“Good morning, Miss Chesney,” he said as she stepped into the gig.
Rufus bounded in as well and squeezed himself behind the pair.
“I see that you have completely stolen my dog’s affections. I had hoped it was just a passing flirtation, but it’s obvious you have won his heart.”
Roxanne giggled. “I must say, I have changed my mind about the so-called fidelity of man’s best friend. Rufus appears to be woman’s best friend.”
“He has an eye for an enchanting lady,” said Julian as he flicked the whip and the cob trotted off down the driveway. “Sensible animal. I would never get away with lying on the carpet and licking a beautiful woman’s hand, begging for an ear rubbing.”
Roxanne felt that familiar cold shiver down her spine whenever he paid her a compliment, but a sideways glance at his face reassured her that his comment had been tossed to her as easily as a mention of the weather. Julian Trevallon had the knack of saying the nicest things in the most artless manner, she concluded. After all, in London, ladies and gentlemen said forward, shocking things to each other and thought it funny and clever to flirt outrageously. No one in fashionable circles seemed to take anything very seriously. It was clear she had led a sheltered life in Brentham. She frowned. It would not do to be thought a country yokel. Perhaps she should try to be more adaptable. Evidently, she was far too staid and took his words at face value when he was accustomed to clever retorts from his female acquaintances in London. He must be used to more sophisticated company there. Roxanne was not sure why it was important to her that Julian did not consider her dull and boring. After all, she reminded herself, it would just be an arrangement for six months, not something permanent. And besides, she had not made her mind up yet about accepting his proposal.
“Maybe you should take lessons from a master in the art of ingratiation,” she told him with a solemn air. She smiled at his surprised expression.
Roxanne looked around. “Where are we going?”
“I thought the best way of helping you make up your mind was for you to see Penrose and the surrounding estate, then the house. That way you’ll appreciate why I am determined to restore my heritage to what it once was.”
Roxanne nodded. She could understand his fervour, his passion. She had seen the same look on her father’s face as he catalogued his collection of coins and artifacts, handling the remnants of history with reverence and awe. She had heard the tremor, the emotion in Horace’s voice as he described to her the wonders of the dig he was investigating. How lucky they were to have something that drove them forward, gave them hope, and created a reason to live. Roxanne wondered if she would ever feel the same way about life, instead of the hunted sensation every time she thought of Edgar. Then she relaxed. What childish thoughts. She was miles away, safe in the countryside, in a place where no one would find her or even think to look.
She gazed about with interest. Julian pointed out several historic features such as a tumbledown Norman church, the fallen ruins of a Roman watchtower, and then gesturing in the direction of the fields. A sweep of his arm turned her gaze towards the village. As they drove along, she began to see how this place, the very soil, held Julian’s heart and soul. Roxanne envied him his feeling of rootedness and belonging. Evidently, Julian had a sense of history, of being at one with his forefathers and being complete within himself.
Julian stopped several times to converse with his tenant farmers, who gave her polite and interested glances. It was clear that already he had achieved much in the way of repair to buildings and regeneration of farmlands. Roxanne noticed that the grounds and gardens of Penrose were neglected and much improvement could still be done. The copses of trees had gone wild, in some places the grass was waist-high, and the hedges were overgrown. The flowerbeds contained mostly weeds. Julian nodded when she remarked upon it and explained that the productivity of the farms came first. The aesthetics could come later. He outlined his plans for the village. The church roof needed repairing, and he had persuaded a local merchant to donate an empty building in the village to start a small school. His next step was an infirmary since the nearest hospital was miles away.
Roxanne was moved by his strong sense of compassion for the people around him. He replied that their successes ensured his, thus were farmers and landed gentry bound together. When they returned to the house, Roxanne felt she had a better understanding of why he was prepared to offer a complete stranger his hand in marriage for a commercial purpose.
As Julian handed Roxanne down from the gig he said, “Would you care for tea, and then we can look at the house.”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” she replied. “Perhaps I should change my clothes? If you think that I…er…I am not sure.”
“Miss Chesney, think of it as a service you are performing for my sister and me. Those clothes would not be worn by anyone else in this house and think of the dreadful waste.”
His mock severe expression had the desired effect.
Roxanne burst out laughing. “If you insist,” she conceded, “but only while I am here.”
He nodded. “And, if you accept my offer, you will be able to buy yourself a thousand bonnets or pelisses or whatever is dearest to a young lady’s heart.”
She smiled and ran up the stairs to the house. The door opened and Roxanne saw an elderly gentleman who was obviously the butler. Somehow their paths had not crossed before now. Roxanne was not surprised. The house was so large, she felt, that an army could get lost in it for a week.
The septuagenarian, with a doorknocker nose and thinning grey hair, bowed deeply. “Good day, Miss. I am Gregson, at your service, Miss.”
Roxanne gave him an enchanting smile that straightway recruited the frosty Gregson to her camp and replied, “Thank you, Gregson. I shall ask if I need anything.”
When Roxanne made her way down to the dining room, tea was already waiting for her. Mrs. Dawson had thoughtfully provided an array of sandwiches and cold meat for the hungry explorers. Rufus was ensconced as near to the spread as possible, his tongue hanging out in anticipation of tidbits. The earl rose to greet her.
They ate and then, as Julian had suggested, walked around the house. Mrs. Dawson was correct. Most of the rooms were shut up and Holland covers hid the furniture. Roxanne lifted the covers several times and was disappointed to find the furniture old-fashioned and much of it in poor condition. However, walking around with Julian and listening to his eloquent plans for refurbishment, she imagined how delightful Penrose could be. The right curtains, matching fabrics, lighter shades of paint on the walls, and removing some of the unwieldy furnishings would do wonders towards transforming the place. He had already begun by renovating Sophia’s bedroom, the dining room and his own suite of rooms.
“Of course I wouldn’t touch the library,” Julian declared. “It has been like that since my great-grandfather’s time.”
Privately Roxanne thought so too, considering the state of the curtains and the shabby sofa and chairs, but merely made a polite murmur in return. It was not her place to comment since it was not her house.
“What do you think?” he asked, clearly carried away by his dream of total redecoration. “In fact, what are you thinking right now?”
Roxanne blushed. “I would not presume to dictate to you what I think, but perhaps the library curtains could be replaced. They seem to have given service…er…beyond the call of duty. And the carpets in the hall look chewed around the edges.”
Julian gave a shout of laughter. “Miss Chesney, I appreciate your direct manner. You are quite right. We shall consign the library curtains and the hall carpets to the rubbish heap!”
Roxanne smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious. She had to stop herself mentally removing gloomy pictures and banishing shabby chairs.
Julian linked his arms through hers in such a comfortable way that Roxanne felt it would be churlish to reject his light, brotherly clasp.
“Come along,” he said. “I’m going to show you the rogue�
��s gallery!”
“The rogue’s gallery?” she echoed.
Julian winked at her like a mischievous schoolboy. “The Long Gallery, where we keep the family portraits.”
Together they slowly traversed the gallery, gazing upon the long-dead faces of Julian’s ancestors. His family tree seemed to stretch back ages into the mists of time. Roxanne felt even more the weight of his inherited burden.
No wonder he feels this burning need to restore the place. It’s as if the ghosts of the past are demanding it of him.
Roxanne hardly heard Julian’s explanations until they stopped in front of a portrait of a very beautiful, dark-haired woman.
“My mother, Elizabeth,” Julian said quietly. “She died giving birth to Sophia. My father never recovered from the shock.”
Next to her hung the portrait of a firm-chinned, fair man, very like Julian in features.
“My father, Edward. He was not an easy man to know. I think he felt more deeply than he revealed to others.”
Next to that portrait hung one of an exceptionally handsome young man, the image of Julian’s mother.
“Is this…?” Roxanne stammered, gazing at the young man captured by the artist; a study in sensitivity with a delicate face and large soulful eyes. He had the air of a poet, with a ruffled shirt reminiscent of Byron, or perhaps the disorderly cluster of dark curls and his rather feminine mouth gave that impression?
“Yes.” Julian’s reply was brusque. “My older brother Bevin, who would have been the next Earl of Pennington, had he lived. He killed himself, broke my father’s heart, and destroyed the family fortunes. My father worshipped the ground he walked on, possibly because of the resemblance to my mother. In return Bevin abused his love.”
Julian pondered on the face of his brother.
Curious, Roxanne prompted, “Tell me about him.”
“Bevin would have been thirty-two had he lived. He consumed our father’s attention. Bevin was blessed with irresistible charm and a character steeped in moral turpitude. His studies a failure, my brother devoted himself to living the life of an elegant young rake.”
Roxanne heard a clear note of bitterness in Julian’s voice…bitterness tinged with sadness.
“Our doting father could see nothing more in Bevin’s costly escapades than spirited ‘high jinks.’ He paid Bevin’s numerous gambling debts without protest and lived only for his son’s infrequent visits to Penrose. My father’s health had suffered for years after our mother’s death, and not long after the news of Bevin’s death—he broke his neck and the horse’s leg in attempting to leap a particularly high hedge—the old man slipped away.”
The next two portraits were evidently the present earl and Sophia, Julian’s younger sister. Her lovely face gazed out of the heavy gilt frame, a halo of golden curls cascading onto her shoulders, offset by an azure blue dress. Sophia’s eyes were cerulean, her mouth a dainty pink rosebud and her laughing expression denoting someone who saw the joy in life.
“She looks so happy,” Roxanne remarked.
“She has every reason to be,” Julian replied. “My aunt Semphronia—affectionately known by us as the family tyrant—decided that it was unhealthy for a young female to be reared in what she called a ‘crumbing old mausoleum.’ My aunt whisked her off to live in a far more salubrious establishment as soon as Sophia was past nursery age. Aunt Semphronia never had children, so she lavished all her maternal sentiment on us. You wouldn’t think so to meet her. She’s a formidable old battle axe whose stentorian tones and severe looks hide a heart of gold.”
He touched the gilt frame of the portrait.
“It was thanks to her that Sophia escaped a dismal life here and had a brilliant Season. As a result, and despite her paltry two thousand a year, Sophia made an excellent marriage to a good man who loves her with his heart and soul. Silverton is an affectionate and generous husband.”
Julian was silent. Roxanne felt uncomfortable. The institution of marriage was sacred, yet they were both considering something that seemed brutally cold and contrary to the tenets of matrimony.
Feeling self-conscious, Roxanne moved to the next picture. A magnificent chestnut stallion was depicted in a field, rearing up, his hooves and tail flying in frozen stillness.
“He’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “What a splendid horse.”
Julian came to stand next to her. “Yes, that’s Sirius, my horse.”
Roxanne reddened. Of course it was Sirius; how could she be so stupid, she chided herself inwardly.
Julian laughed. It was a short, bitter sound. “No, don’t worry that Mrs. Dawson told you the story. Horrible, but true. Bevin pushed him at a fence that was far too high. Poor, brave Sirius. He didn’t just toss Bevin off and trot home as he should have done. His courage and obedience were wasted on that…that…”
Julian’s face went white and he clenched his jaw. Roxanne felt sure she could see drops of moisture glinting in his eyes. Quickly she drew her arm though his and tugged him down the passage.
“Perhaps we have had enough of the past for one day, Mr. Trevallon,” she whispered. “Look to the future.”
At her words Julian squared his shoulders. He stopped and took both her hands in his. He looked deep into her eyes.
“Miss Chesney, I beg of you to forgive my rude persistence, but please will you give me an answer. Will you enter into this agreement with me and save Penrose and my soul?”
Roxanne felt a wave of serenity wash over her. The die was cast; she would be safe for six months and in return would gain the security she needed to escape men like Edgar in the future. Besides, who could accuse the Countess of Pennington of murder? She had seen herself in the mirror; an amazing transformation wrought by the outer trappings of gentility and fine clothes. She would do it, and succeed.
“I will.”
Roxanne was not quite prepared for a hoot of boyish laughter in her ear, nor did she anticipate being swept off her feet and swung round in a circle. Julian hugged her with the fervour of a drowning man and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek.
“Miss Chesney, you are a goddess. A paragon of all that’s good and pure. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you a thousand times!”
“Mr. Trevallon, please,” Roxanne stuttered in her anxiety. “I have said yes, but what do we do now?”
Julian stopped and stared at her. “You have no idea do you? Absolutely no idea of the enormity of the deed you have done for me. You have no concept of how this will transform both our lives, how the people around me will prosper.”
“No, not really.” Roxanne gave a shaky laugh. “I suppose because we never had money, well not in the real sense of being wealthy, I cannot conceive of great and marvellous riches.”
Julian’s eyes burned with intensity. Excitement transformed his face.
“Well, from this moment on, you must. You will be an independent woman with all the good things in life to look forward to.”
“Goodness.” Roxanne gave a nervous giggle. “I think I need to sit down and digest all this.”
Julian linked his arm in hers. “Let’s go down to the library and I will explain our plan of action.”
Roxanne laughed. “You make it sound like a military campaign.”
“In a way it is!” Julian shot her a triumphant grin. His eyes glowed like pale flames.
In the library he outlined the next steps in the plan. “I must go to London tomorrow.”
Roxanne felt a cold chill. He was going? She had become so accustomed to his presence already, yet it had only been a few days. “Must you?”
“Yes, of course I must go.” He sounded surprised. “I have to inform Mr. Huggett, the solicitor, and get a special licence.”
“Does it have to be that way?”
Julian sat down next to her, took her hand in his and patted it. Roxanne liked the feel of his hand on hers, even though it felt very much as if he was patting the head of a small puppy.
“Since there is no time to call banns, it has t
o be special licence. In addition, Great-Uncle Oswald has made it impossible to wed in a church. Midnight? I don’t think we’d be allowed to do such a thing!”
His smile was infectious, his confidence all-embracing. How could she argue?
“I’ll be back on Friday morning and we will rehearse what happens in the evening, with the ceremony and everything. Then we also have to draw up our own agreement so I shall bring my personal lawyer to the house. You’ll like Musgrove. Bit of a starchy fellow, but he’ll make sure the agreement is fair and balanced.”
Roxanne felt as if her head was spinning round. All she could do was nod in acquiescence. Her new life was about to begin.
Chapter Six
It was Friday already. Roxanne was not sure how time had flown by so quickly without her noticing. As the morning dawned bright and clear, she felt a tight knot in the pit of her stomach. For the past two days she had rested, read a little, and not thought very much about the future. Somehow, with Julian away, nothing seemed to be of singular importance. When he was there life was more interesting. Roxanne told herself it was only because she had no one else to talk to. However, despite her apprehension regarding the forthcoming nuptials, she was pleased he would be home that morning.
Julian had told her to make herself at home, acquaint herself with the house, and do whatever she liked. Roxanne found a willing collaborator in the shape of Mrs. Dawson in this respect. When she wandered down to the kitchen, the housekeeper solemnly introduced her to the cook—her widowed sister, Mrs. Perry—and the scullery maid, Nellie, who was sent off to do some polishing after she blushed a fiery red and made a clumsy curtsey. It was evident that such a huge house should have more staff, such as footmen, parlour maids, scullery maids, stable hands, gardeners, and the like. Roxanne thought it was just as well most of the rooms were shut up. However, the small squad of servants behaved as if things were perfectly normal, with Mrs. Dawson not too proud to clean and Gregson officiating as footman when required.
Married at Midnight: An Authentic Regency Romance Page 6