by Karen Tuft
“I wish to pack for a two day’s journey. Nothing too elaborate; clothing suitable for the countryside.”
Tibbetts curtsied and left.
“Our little sister is hatching something devious, it would seem,” Alex whispered loudly behind his hand to Anthony.
“There is a definite glint in her eye,” Anthony replied. “It has me quaking in my boots.”
“Enough, both of you,” she said. “If I am to consign my fate to him, I will do so with both eyes open. I am determined in this.”
“If that is so, Weezy,” Anthony said, “then, assuredly, Alex and I will help you.”
“Thank you. For I wish to go to Buckinghamshire, to Farleigh Manor. Tomorrow morning, at first light. I want to speak to the people there, the people who actually know William and know him best.”
“You have our undivided attention,” Alex said.
* * *
Louisa awoke early the next morning, clear-headed and with a sense of resolve.
Buckinghamshire was a mere half day’s journey from London, and since she intended to be there for only a day or two, packing was easily completed and the carriage readied by ten o’clock. It was fortuitous that she had known Mama and Papa had both planned to leave the house early, Papa to the House of Lords and Mama to deliver charity boxes.
It had been agreed amongst the siblings that Anthony would remain in London to explain Louisa and Alex’s sudden absence and deal with any unforeseen trouble that might arise. Trouble meaning Lord Farleigh. Anthony had assured Louisa he could ward Farleigh off for a day or two with excuses that she had been shaken by their encounter—which was true enough—and wasn’t ready to see him yet as a result.
Additionally, Anthony was to tell their parents that Louisa and Alex were visiting Farleigh Manor so she could become acquainted with her future home—also essentially true, albeit not the entire truth since they had not been invited to do so by William, but Mama and Papa would assume so. If either parent raised questions regarding the suddenness of the trip, Anthony was to weave a colorful fabric of explanations that would reassure them, especially when they knew Alex would be at Louisa’s side the entire time, along with Louisa’s personal maid, Tibbetts.
Louisa and Alex made good time and arrived in the village of Farsham, the seat of Viscount Farleigh, by midafternoon. Louisa wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find and was pleasantly surprised by what she discovered. The village was small but boasted, among other things, a bakery and a grocer, a millinery shop, a lovely ancient church, and a pub called the George and Dragon, which seemed to be doing a thriving business at the moment.
They learned from a friendly and curious villager that if they followed the high street, they would come to a road on the right that wound around a nearby hill, and on the other side of the hill, they would find Farleigh Manor.
They found the road described, and Louisa stared out the carriage window as they rounded the hill, taking in every rock and tree and flower and trying to imagine William here as a boy. They eventually spotted a tree-lined lane that marked the entrance to the manor and turned onto it. And then the house came into view.
Farleigh Manor did not compare by half to the grandeur of Ashworth Park, the country estate of her father, but had a modest, rustic charm. It was constructed of red brick, covered in ivy, and had two stories and an attic. It was laid out symmetrically with a generous use of windows.
As the carriage rolled up to the front entrance, the doors of the manor house opened, and an elderly, white-haired man with stooped shoulders stepped outside.
Alex exited the carriage first and then assisted Louisa from the carriage. He handed his calling card to the man. “The Earl of Halford,” he said, using his most bored, aristocratic tone. “And my sister, Lady Louisa Hargreaves, daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth.”
“Welcome to Farleigh Manor, your lordship, your ladyship,” the man said with a deep, formal bow. “Grimshaw, the butler, at your service. We’ve been expecting you.” He looked about. “But where is Lord Farleigh? Has he been detained?”
“Still in London, I’m afraid,” Alex drawled. “But we chose to come anyway. Hope that isn’t a problem.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Grimshaw said. He gestured for them to enter. “As I say, we’ve been expecting you.”
A woman wearing a neat gray dress stepped outside to join them. “Indeed, we have,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Welcome to Farleigh Manor.”
“May I present Mrs. Holly, the housekeeper,” Grimshaw said. “Mrs. Holly, this is the Earl of Halford and his sister, Lady Louisa Hargreaves.”
“Oh, and just look at you!” Mrs. Holly exclaimed. “You’re as pretty as I hoped you’d be. Prettier! But where have my manners gone? Gracious me!” She quickly curtsied to them both before clutching her hands to her breast. “Goodness, but you are a dream come true after all these years! When our dear boy—”
Grimshaw cleared his throat.
“There I go again,” she said. “What I mean to say is, when Lord Farleigh sent word for us to prepare for the arrival of a new viscountess, we were beside ourselves with joy. But now that you’re here, seeing you . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she searched in her apron pocket, retrieving a handkerchief that she used to dab at her eyes.
“Please forgive Mrs. Holly,” Grimshaw said. “She was that fond of his lordship as a lad. We all were, come to that.” He gestured for them to enter Farleigh Manor ahead of himself and the housekeeper.
The Ashworth butlers, Gibbs and Buxton, would never have spoken in such an informal manner, especially to utter strangers, nor would the housekeepers. It simply wasn’t done. But Louisa thought their candid comments surprisingly sweet, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a serene look on her face.
Alex couldn’t hide his amusement, however, and chuckled as they preceded the others into the house. “What a place,” he whispered in Louisa’s ear.
Indeed, she thought but not quite for the same reasons as Alex.
* * *
Notwithstanding the best of intentions, William had a difficult time leaving his house Monday morning. He’d planned on seeing Louisa first thing—well, as soon as it was socially appropriate to call upon her. Ladies had particular hours for such things, he knew, not that he knew precisely what hours were considered appropriate.
He’d decided, therefore, to call at one o’clock. It was early enough to be considered a morning call, and late enough not to be seen as gauche. He thought.
He really had no idea.
It hadn’t helped that he’d barely slept a wink. He must have repeated the utterly mortifying conversation he’d had with Louisa in his head hundreds of times during the night. He’d viewed his words from every conceivable angle, and his conclusion had always been the same: they had been gut-wrenching, ludicrous, and wholly inadequate.
He’d hunted down Mrs. Gideon and asked her with extreme politeness if she would put his best suit of clothes into the best order possible. Normally, she had a girl who saw to William’s shirts and linens, considering it beneath her role as housekeeper to do laundry. But after a bit of cajoling and pressing a few quid into her palm, she’d agreed.
It took her an hour or so to brush his clothes and iron a few neckcloths while he polished his boots, and she did it without too much grumbling, for which William’s aching head was truly grateful. He was definitely going to consider the pluses and minuses of hiring a valet in the future—it might be worth the expense after all.
He bathed, took his time shaving so he didn’t miss any stubble lurking in the corners of his jaw or by his ears, dressed, and tied his neckcloth.
He pulled off the neckcloth and tossed it aside, taking another.
He pulled that one off as well.
After the fourth neckcloth, which resulted in an irate Mrs. Gideon stating unequivocally that if he removed this neckcloth, she would not iron another for him for the rest of her days, no matter what, he decided—reluctantly—t
hat it would have to do.
He checked himself one last time in the mirror by the front door and left home . . . only to return when he realized he’d forgotten his hat and gloves and pocket watch.
Blasted fool.
Finally, at two minutes after two o’clock—he checked his pocket watch to be sure of the time—he arrived at Ashworth House, silently hoping no one had seen his approach yet so that he still had the option of changing his mind. Then he mentally kicked himself for wanting to change his mind. He was a coward as well as a fool.
He straightened, walked to the door, and knocked.
The door immediately opened, but it wasn’t the Ashworth butler standing before him. It was Lord Anthony.
“Ah, Farleigh, I thought that was you I saw through the window,” he said in an overly gregarious tone. “Never mind, Gibbs, I got the door,” he called over his shoulder. But instead of inviting William inside, he came outside and pulled the door shut behind him.
“I’m here to call on your sister,” William said, although, really, it needed no explanation. Lord Anthony would deduce the fact by William’s simply being here. If his head didn’t throb like a beast, he would be able to think more clearly.
“She’s not receiving visitors today,” Lord Anthony replied.
“Is she unwell? Is everything all right?” The idea that their conversation last night may have distressed her made William’s head throb even harder.
“She was rather upset last evening . . . after you left.” Lord Anthony let his words linger on the air for the few moments, but even so, William couldn’t come up with a reasonable response before Lord Anthony continued. “Say, Farleigh, I was just on my way to take in a few rounds at Gentleman Jackson’s. Are you a boxer, by any chance?”
One didn’t survive boy’s school without quickly figuring out how to use one’s fists, yet William couldn’t precisely recall the last time he’d actually done any boxing. “Well, I—”
“Excellent! You must join me, then. What finer way for future brothers-in-law to become better acquainted than a few gentlemanly rounds of boxing.” He threw his arm around William’s shoulders and led him rather aggressively back toward the street.
William skidded to a halt. “Wait. What about Louisa? She and I have a conversation to finish. I have a promise to keep with her.”
“And keep it you must. But it shan’t be happening today, old chap; I can tell you that with a high degree of certainty. Where is your carriage?”
“I, uh, hackney,” William said. He hadn’t wanted Walter to be present, in case he’d ultimately chosen the cowardly route.
“Follow me, then.” Lord Anthony took off in the direction of the private lane that led to the mews behind Ashworth House, and William mutely followed.
Lord Anthony located one of the grooms, a boy of about eighteen, and instructed him to get his curricle ready. In no time at all—William was quite sure he’d shut his eyes for only a moment—the groom returned with a fine curricle William couldn’t help but admire and even covet just a bit.
“Thank you, Tom,” Lord Anthony said. “Good man. We’re going to Gentleman Jackson’s. Hop on back.”
Lord Anthony climbed into the curricle and took the reins from Tom, who jumped into his seat at the back of the curricle. “Come on, then, Farleigh. Let’s be off,” Lord Anthony called. “Time is our enemy.”
That statement was true enough, William thought as he climbed into the curricle. Time was definitely his enemy, as he had once again lost an opportunity to speak with Louisa. She had been upset enough to not accept visitors today. William concluded that by “visitors,” she’d meant him. It was also highly likely that at least one of her brothers was fully aware of the situation.
And William had just agreed to a few rounds of boxing with him. He hoped he and his head survived.
* * *
The first thing Louisa noticed when she stepped into the entry hall of Farleigh Manor was its overall emptiness. There were no paintings accenting the walls as there were at Ashworth Park and Ashworth House, except for a single piece of framed needlework. Dark rectangles on the walls showed where paintings had hung—the rest of the wallpaper having faded over the years, leaving the artworks’ drab ghosts behind. At Ashworth Park, a great chandelier with shining crystals illuminated the entry hall, but Farleigh Manor boasted no such extravagance, beyond a telltale mark in the high ceiling where a chandelier of some sort must have hung.
Mrs. Holly excused herself and bustled out of the room, leaving Louisa and Alex with Grimshaw, but in short order, she was back, leading a small group of people into the hall single file—the service staff of Farleigh Manor. A few of them were wiping their dirty hands on aprons or shirtsleeves, and Louisa heard Alex snort.
They were introduced to Matthew, the steward, who’d “recently been promoted from groundskeeper, milady”; the cook, Mrs. Brill, and her daughter, Mary, a sweet girl who appeared to be slow-witted and rather childlike; Samuel, the stable master; as well as a young girl, Sally, and a boy, Jim, who served as maid- and man-of-all-work.
“I’m very pleased to meet you all,” Louisa said, smiling, hoping she came across as kind and approachable. She needed to earn their trust quickly if she was to learn anything of import in the next day and a half.
Mary, the simple girl, broke the line and rushed toward her, her arms outstretched. “You’re the real one, then, what’s marrying our Will and giving ’im babies! Not the one—”
Mrs. Brill darted after her and quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back into line. “Hush, Mary, dear,” Mrs. Brill murmured. “Apologies, milady.”
“Not to worry,” Louisa said, taken aback. Mary’s innocent words had provided the first real evidence that another woman was involved somehow, but they weren’t at all what Louisa had hoped to hear. “Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you would show my brother and me to our rooms so we can get settled in. Afterward, I should like to tour the house and get to know each of you better.”
“Very good, milady,” Mrs. Holly said, nodding.
Old Grimshaw bowed. “Jim will see that your trunks are taken upstairs.”
“Sally, get some fresh water and towels for Lady Louisa and Lord Halford,” Mrs. Holly added. The housekeeper was beaming. “Such a pleasure to have you here at last, milady! And you too, milord,” she hastily added.
“Hmph,” Alex said, arching his eyebrow and looking down his nose at her, but Louisa knew he was actually laughing inside.
Mrs. Holly led the way up the stairs and showed each of them their guest rooms. The rooms were sparsely furnished, the quality not much better than that of a rustic inn, but Mrs. Holly was gracious and helpful and unapologetic about its appearance, which Louisa appreciated.
After a quick review of his room, Alex excused himself, telling Louisa he wished to go outside and get better acquainted with Samuel, the stable master, and Matthew, the groundskeeper-slash-steward.
“If you would meet me in the entry hall in fifteen minutes, Mrs. Holly, I would be grateful. And then you may show me the house,” Louisa said.
“Very good, milady.” Mrs. Holly curtsied and left.
The tour began in the sitting room. Louisa checked the condition of the few pieces of furniture, then carefully inspected the draperies for holes. Mrs. Holly hovered nearby, ready to answer questions. “We have done our best to keep the house in good repair, I assure you,” she said.
Louisa nodded in acknowledgment. She ran her fingers over the mantelpiece, noting there was another framed piece of needlework hanging above the fireplace. “This is lovely. Who was it done by?” she asked.
“The current Lord Farleigh’s mother,” Mrs. Holly said. “Such a talented lady, she was too. An eye for color such as few people have, I daresay. She had a sketchbook she kept for her ideas, but—well, it’s gone now. But her son got her talent, as I’m sure you already know.”
Louisa did know. William’s painting of the oak tree was ample proof.
So far,
she’d found Mrs. Holly’s work exceptional. So exceptional, in fact, that regardless of how threadbare the rugs were or the wear on the upholstery of the single sofa facing the fireplace or the removal of paintings from the walls, one still felt a sense of tidy respectability. The tables—there were but two small ones—were lacking ornamental pieces one would normally find on display in the homes of the upper classes but were dressed with inexpensive crockery overflowing with flowers instead. Louisa didn’t ask, but owing to what she’d learned so far about the former viscount, she assumed anything of value had been sold to cover his debts at various points in time.
Louisa followed Mrs. Holly upstairs to the private family rooms, specifically the viscount’s private suite, located in the wing opposite those of the guest rooms she and Alex were using. The viscount’s rooms, done in dark woods and shades of burgundy, were not in the same shabby state as the rest of Farleigh Manor and had been cleaned and aired recently—no doubt in preparation for the new viscount, yet Louisa could see no evidence that William had stayed here.
The adjoining viscountess’s rooms were decorated in pale greens and pinks, the bed neatly made. A lone bud vase with a single pink rose sat on a table by the window, and another framed needlework William’s mother had made hung on an otherwise bare wall. There was a sad emptiness here, and Louisa ached for a boy who had been separated from his mother too soon and then had lost her.
They proceeded down the hall, and Mrs. Holly pointed out William’s room. “Not that there’s much to see there that you haven’t already seen in the other rooms, milady,” she said.
Mrs. Holly was right—the room, while smaller, wasn’t much different from the master suite, with the same dark woods and deep colors giving it an overtly masculine look. The four-poster bed had a dark-blue counterpane and bed curtains, with matching drapes at the window. A landscape hung on the wall above the fireplace, which had been cleaned and laid with tinder for its next use. Louisa examined the landscape, appreciating the bold strokes the artist had used, the contrast between light and shade. It had the same artist’s signature on it as the oak tree, but she’d already observed the similarities in style of both pieces. William had painted this one too.