Sophia, busy piecing together her son’s rambling description of riding on Rufus’ back, did not pay much attention. “I’ll stay in my old room, if that suits you.”
Roxanne turned bright red. Julian took her hand.
“Of course you’ll stay in your old room,” he said, squeezing Roxanne’s fingers with meaning. “Now do come and see the horse Philip gave me.”
Her face wreathed in smiles, Sophia kissed her son and instructed Nurse to take him off to bath. She linked her arm through her brother’s and said, “Isn’t Philip the dearest of men. He is so generous.”
Roxanne watched as brother and sister disappeared through the door. Julian’s backward glance and contorted facial expressions confused her, although possibly he meant to be reassuring. On her way upstairs Roxanne bumped into Mrs. Dawson who wore a faintly embarrassed air.
“I’ve taken the liberty of putting Miss Sophia in her old room,” she said with an unaccustomed bob.
Roxanne took a deep breath. “Of course, Mrs. Dawson.”
Mrs. Dawson rushed on in her explanation as if Roxanne had not spoken. “And since there’s no other rooms ready for a lady, Becky and me have taken your things to…er…Master Julian’s room and Peters has made his lordship comfortable in his father’s room, the old earl’s quarters.”
Roxanne frowned. “Is it habitable?”
Mrs. Dawson nodded. “Oh yes, certainly it is. Just a bit dusty, but nothing Nellie and Becky cannot sort out within the hour. We’ll air the sheets and lay a fire. He’ll be as right as rain.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”
The housekeeper beamed. “Just like the old days, milady. Before her ladyship died, I should say. We used to have such entertainments and parties, the like of which you never saw.”
She hurried away, calling Nellie, before Roxanne could reply.
Chapter Twelve
To her surprise, Roxanne slept well. There were no bad dreams to haunt her. She had thought it might be difficult to fall asleep in Julian’s bed. However, the faint aroma of his cologne soothed her and she woke refreshed and energised.
The sounds of childish shrieks and Rufus barking drifted up from below. Pulling on a robe, she peered out the window and saw Julian romping with Master Francis on the lawn. The child perched on his shoulders, squealing with delight, his blond curls tousled while Rufus leaped and bounded around them. Pensive, Roxanne leaned on the window sill. Julian was excellent with children and it seemed a pity he had such a strange fixed idea in his head of not having his own heirs. Julian looked up and waved.
“Come down to breakfast,” he called. “Before we eat everything.”
Roxanne laughed and waved back. She washed and dressed quickly, then made her way to the breakfast parlour. Julian and Francis had already begun eating. The child’s cheeks were flushed with excitement as he waved his spoon at Roxanne.
“Good morning,” Julian said as she sat down. “I sent Gregson off to do something useful, so I’ll serve us breakfast.”
“Why, thank you,” Roxanne replied, as she unfolded her napkin. “I didn’t know butlering was one of your many talents.”
Julian laid a finger along the side of his nose and gave her a knowing wink. “Aha! We learned many secret skills in the army. It gives us the advantage over the enemy.”
Whistling under his breath, Julian served Roxanne scrambled eggs and bacon, adding a slice of toast to her plate as he set it in front of her. Roxanne thought how he often whistled. It was a comforting sound, something she would miss when—
She quickly dispelled any thoughts in that direction and asked, “What are your plans today?”
Julian ruffled his nephew’s hair. “I thought young Francis could accompany me to inspect the farms and maybe meet a few sheep along the way.”
“Sheep!” Francis announced, with an expectant air. “Pony!”
Roxanne raised her eyebrows. “A pony already? He’s not even two!”
Julian laughed. “The earlier one begins, the better.” He noticed her concerned expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful with him.”
He swung his nephew up onto his shoulders and galloped out the door, imitating a horse. Roxanne heard an altercation erupt between Francis’s doting nurse and Julian.
“But your lordship, Master Francis needs—”
He interrupted her. “He needs some bracing country air and not to be molly-coddled. Tell your mistress I’ll be back soon and she’s not to worry.”
“Yes, but sir—”
A scuffle and barking at the front door told Roxanne that Julian and Francis had made their escape with Rufus at their heels and that Nurse had been trounced by a superior force. She smiled to herself while she toyed with the last crust of toast.
As she folded her napkin and rose from the table, Mrs. Dawson entered the room. The housekeeper’s eyes sparkled and her eager expression told Roxanne Mrs. Dawson was happiest when accommodating guests. She whipped several pages from her apron pocket.
“I have the week’s menus here, milady, for your perusal.”
Mrs. Perry had proved herself to be a gifted cook, despite constantly bewailing the fact that it was impossible to serve truly grand dinners on such a limited budget. Roxanne felt tempted to simply wave the pages away and let the cook make the decisions, but no lady in her position could allow that to happen. She glanced at the proposed menus.
“These dishes seem suitable, Mrs. Dawson. Please tell Mrs. Perry I approve and she may lay in the provisions.”
“Very well, milady.”
With that Mrs. Dawson bustled off in the direction of the kitchen.
Roxanne soon realised that Sophia would not be coming down to breakfast, so she collected a basket and scissors from the kitchen, fetched a sun hat, and tied an apron around her waist before setting off for the rose garden. Sam had outdone himself during her sojourn in London and everywhere she saw a profusion of brilliantly coloured blooms. The velvety petals were too tempting to ignore and, humming to herself, she began cutting stems and filling her basket. A familiar voice broke into her reverie.
“Hebe, I perceive a veritable Hebe before my eyes.”
Roxanne’s heart sank. It could not be…but it could only be Mr. Hardwicke. No one else peppered their greetings with allusions to Greek mythology. Wondering why on earth he had come to Penrose, she turned, smiling a welcome she did not feel.
Mr. Hardwicke, attired in what he considered to be appropriate country wear of buckskin breeches, boots and a riding coat, walked towards her, his hands outstretched to grasp hers. He then fell at her knees, still grasping both her hands in his.
“Goddess! Flower of youth! I am inspired.”
Roxanne opened her mouth to give him a laughing reproach when she saw another figure approaching them. It was Edgar Doyle. Again, the terrible shock she had experienced at Sophia’s party hit her full on. She went cold as icy fingers of fear clawed at her insides, a fear she quelled right away.
How had he managed to inveigle his way down to Penrose was her immediate thought. He wore fashionable town attire of an olive green coat and pale yellow pantaloons. He stepped gingerly along the garden path, as if he felt uncomfortable in the country. She noticed he also carried a wooden cane, something she had never noticed him do while at Brentham.
As Edgar came up to them, Roxanne stiffened. Then she heard a terrible low growling. Rufus was not with Julian, as she had thought. He must have wandered back home. The animal, protective of his mistress, raced towards Edgar, his ears and tail flying, his jaws open. Something about Edgar had evidently upset him. Before Roxanne could intervene, Edgar stepped back and twisted the top of his cane. She heard a horrible scraping sound, the sound of steel rasping, as he drew a short thin sword from his cane.
Roxanne screamed and Rufus dropped obediently to the ground just as Sam ran up to the group and grabbed the dog’s collar.
“There’s no need for that, sir.” Sam’s face was white. Although he spoke in a respectful
tone, Roxanne detected an undercurrent of anger in his voice. “He wouldn’t bite anyone. He’s just protecting her la’ship.”
Edgar’s expression began to change and already Roxanne could see the ugliness within him coming out. She stepped forward and laid her hand on the dog’s head.
“Thank you, Sam. People often mistake Rufus for a savage beast when he is not at all like that.” She shot Sam a meaningful look. “Why don’t you take Rufus back to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Perry if she has a bone for him.”
Sam mumbled something and ran off, whistling for the dog. Rufus curled his lips back, showing Edgar his formidable array of teeth, before loping after Sam.
Edgar struggled to contain himself, his heightened colour revealing his anger as he sheathed the sword stick. “I don’t like dogs,” he said stiffly. He scowled at the figures of Sam and Rufus heading for the house.
“And from the looks of it,” Mr. Hardwicke said with a chuckle, “they don’t like you.”
The poet’s remark was so ingenuous that Edgar laughed as well. His black scowl disappeared and the tension eased. Roxanne stood still, the basket of roses hanging over one arm.
Mr. Hardwicke gently retrieved it from her and slipping an arm through hers, said, “My muse and inspiration. Please don’t be angry I have followed you down here. Sophia did say she thought I’d—” He looked behind him at Edgar who was knocking small pebbles and leaves out the path with his cane. “I mean that we’d be welcome to pay a visit.” He patted Roxanne’s hand. “After all, we cannot have you languishing away in the countryside.”
Roxanne pulled her hand from his arm.
“Thank you for your concern, but I happen to like the countryside, Mr. Hardwicke,” she said in a lofty tone. “As for languishing, that’s impossible with so many things to do.”
Mr. Hardwicke stopped, nonplussed. Then he put the basket down, flung his arms wide and spun around. “A paradise, populated by the denizens of the forest! I am inspired. An ode to verdant woodlands.”
He rushed to a stone bench, flung himself down and held his hands in his head, muttering impromptu verses. Edgar took the opportunity to sidle up to Roxanne.
She folded her arms, her basket of roses forgotten at her feet. “What do you want, Mr. Doyle?”
He picked up the basket and pretended to select a rose. “Mister Doyle? My word, still so formal. Don’t be so haughty, my beauty. I told you that you wouldn’t get away from me so easily.” His voice was a silky, sinister whisper. “I’ll tell you soon what I want.” He reached out and grasped her wrist, his fingers tightening on her delicate skin. “One word to that nincompoop fiancé of yours and I’ll spill the beans.”
Roxanne glared at him. She didn’t feel as safe as before. He had managed to invade her sanctuary and that unnerved her. “He won’t believe you.”
Edgar simply raised a supercilious eyebrow. “No? I think he will once we’ve had a little talk.”
Roxanne did not reply. Edgar seemed more confident now. She knew he had no physical proof, but perhaps he could produce the parson as a witness to the ceremony.
He squeezed hard. “I’ll be watching you.”
She pulled her arm away.
“Edgar, dear fellow, come and listen to what I’ve composed,” called the poet from his seat.
“I’ll be with you right away,” Edgar replied. He stared hard at Roxanne. “Remember what I said.”
Roxanne grabbed her basket of flowers and walked quickly down the path, heading back to the house. When she entered the house she found the place in a pleasant uproar. Mrs. Dawson was giving orders to Nellie and Becky as well as two girls she had never seen before.
“Oh, milady,” gabbled the housekeeper, “begging your pardon, but what with new guests and all, I thought we should get in some extra help.” She gave her mistress a knowing glance. “Cleaning and cooking and dusting. They’ll be useful.”
“But who are they?” asked Roxanne, inspecting the two girls who stood with their heads bowed, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of their aprons.
“Ooh! Didn’t I say?” said Mrs. Dawson. “This here’s Rosie.” She accompanied the introduction with a reproving hiss to Rosie to mind her manners and make her curtsey. “And this here’s Gladys.”
Gladys bobbed her obeisance without being encouraged.
Roxanne took the housekeeper to one side. “Mrs. Dawson, I don’t think I have to tell you—”
Mrs. Dawson drew herself up and gave Roxanne a triumphant smile. “Begging your pardon, milady, but it just so happens that these two girls are my Cousin Betsy’s lasses. They need training up before they can go into service and, since we’ve been inundated with visitors, Mrs. Perry and me thought this is their chance to get some experience and help out.” She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully. “Just a little something for their troubles, milady, not at all expensive. And only while we have the guests.” Her expression was one of eager anticipation.
Roxanne frowned. “Well…”
“I knew you’d approve, milady.” The housekeeper beamed and then shot the girls a dark look. “Why are you two standing around doing nothing? Off you go now!”
They shot off in the direction of the upstairs bedrooms.
“You see,” said Mrs. Dawson with a confiding air, “this is all Divine Providence. We have the extra visitors and the good Lord has sent me the extra hands.”
Roxanne opened her mouth to ask about the sleeping arrangements when Mrs. Dawson interrupted again.
“And I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward because I took it into my own head to put the two gentlemen in Master Bevin’s old bedroom and the green bedroom.”
“But Mrs. Dawson, sheets, pillowcases…do we have enough linen and blankets?”
Mrs. Dawson’s eyes gleamed with a kind of hectic euphoria at the idea of a domestic challenge involving overnight guests. “All that darning and stitching has come in handy,” she announced. “There’s sheets enough for the whole village!”
“I certainly don’t want the whole village to stay,” Roxanne said firmly. “Two unexpected gentlemen are enough.”
Mrs. Dawson cocked her head to one side. “But gentlemen aren’t half as much trouble as ladies, milady. Give a gent a nice dinner, clean sheets, and a good fire in his room and he’ll be happy. It’s the ladies that give us the headaches.”
She spied Becky creeping down the stairs and whirled upon her with a screech, banishing the terrified handmaiden back up the stairs with instructions to “finish dusting Master Bevin’s old room this instant.”
Roxanne placed the basket of flowers on the hall table and turned to enter the library. Gregson stood in her path. He coughed and wrung his hands; a gesture Roxanne had learned by now was a prelude to discussing something he considered to be of grave importance.
“Yes, Gregson, what is it?”
Gregson steered his mistress into the library where she saw two strapping young men, neatly attired in what appeared to be their best suits.
Gregson waved at them. “In view of the fact—”
Roxanne silenced him with an upraised hand. “Let me guess. These are two young relatives and given the influx of guests, you thought it would be a good idea for them to gain some work experience as well as helping out.”
Gregson looked relieved. “How perspicacious of you, milady. Bernard and Harold are my brother Fred’s boys, looking to make their way in the world.” He adopted a lugubrious expression. “Unfortunately they cannot arrive in London untutored and inexperienced. If milady would be so kind…” His words hung in the air, his implication clear.
Wondering how the news of unexpected guests had travelled so quickly round the village, Roxanne sighed. “Yes, Gregson, of course they can help out.”
Gregson drew closer and murmured, “There’s no need to worry about wages, milady. A small token is enough reward for the experience and skills they will gain serving their betters.” He clicked his fingers and the newly appointed footmen filed out of t
he room. Gregson wore an unaccustomed smile on his craggy face. “It gives us all much pleasure to see guests and entertainment again at Penrose.”
Anxious to avoid another description of the past festivities, Roxanne said hastily, “I agree, Gregson. As long as you’re able to handle all the arrangements.”
Gregson’s face fell. “Milady!”
Roxanne smiled her apology. “I am sure I can leave everything in your capable hands.”
Gregson bowed. “Yes, milady.”
To Roxanne’s relief, Julian returned just then with his nephew. A disapproving Nurse whisked her charge off to change his clothes, ignoring Master Francis’s cries to stay and play longer with his uncle.
Although Roxanne doted on the little boy, she was anxious to get Julian alone. She pulled him into the library, but as she opened her mouth to relate the extent of the social disaster ahead, Julian placed a reproving finger against her lips.
“Hush, my dear, before you even begin to worry.”
“But, Julian, the place is overflowing with people. Mr. Hardwicke arrived with that horrible Mr. Doyle. I have no idea what to serve for dinner tonight. I don’t even know if the place is fit for guests and it’s all very well that we don’t mind camping like a band of gypsies in this big old house but—”
Julian enveloped her in his arms, pressing her against his chest. He smelled so masculine, a faint whiff of spiced cologne, an outdoor tang of leaves and grass, and an indefinable essence that made him unique. For a brief moment Roxanne closed her eyes, wishing she could stay there forever.
He released her, but continued to hold her arms in a gentle embrace. “Why is Mr. Doyle horrible? After all, he is your second cousin once removed around the mulberry bush.”
Her smile was a small reluctant twitch of her lips more than a smile. “He is annoying and ingratiating and—I don’t know what, but I don’t like him. He’s a social climber.”
Julian made a tut-tut noise. “Just like half of London. Let’s not denounce the man for wanting to advance himself.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Now what else is bothering you?”
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