‘I am Mrs Kemp,’ the woman said, shaking her head at Flora’s appearance. ‘Your duties have been explained to you?’
‘Yes, thank you. They have.’ After a fashion.
‘And you imagine you can cope with the countess?’
‘I have not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance,’ Flora replied, lifting her chin and refusing to allow Mrs Kemp’s superior manner to affect her. ‘But if the lady charged with appointing me had not thought so, I don’t imagine I would be here.’
‘Yes well, time will tell. I will have a maid show you to your room, which adjoins the countess’s, in case she has need of you during the night. Once you are settled I will introduce you to her ladyship.’
The maid led her up a wide staircase that branched off in two directions at the first floor onto landings wide enough to house comfortable couches that looked down over the hall. There was a musicians’ gallery at one end, confirming Flora’s assumption that balls were held in the grand hall. The maid walked along at a brisk pace and in silence, as though she had better things to do with her time than to waste it befriending a glorified servant. Comfortable with silences, Flora simply took in everything she saw and didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation.
‘This is you,’ the maid said in a neutral tone.
She opened a door to a large and very pretty room with a view directly over the lake. The walls were papered in yellow stripes—a theme that was carried through to the bed’s hangings and coverlet, as well as the cushions on the window seat and those in the sitting area at one end.
‘Your things arrived and have been unpacked. There’s a bathroom across the hall and that door leads to the countess’s room. Mrs Kemp will introduce you. I’ll bring up tea.’
And with that, the maid left. Flora sat down on the edge of the bed, threw off her despised hat and reminded herself that despite the fact that she hadn’t been made to feel especially welcome, things could be worse. Considerably worse.
Chapter Two
Luke Beranger, the Earl of Swindon, challenged his brothers to a three-mile gallop across the open fields on the edge of the Beranger estate, a regular shortcut on their return from the local village of Ashton Keynes. It had become a tradition, a reckless, no quarter asked or given race undertaken by the four of them when reunited after the separations that were necessitated by their individual circumstances. An old and familiar stamping ground, those fields had witnessed their share of spills and broken bones as the brothers developed their equestrian skills, spurred on by sibling rivalry.
‘Hardly seems fair,’ said Charlie, the closest in age to Luke, rubbing his chin. ‘That new stallion of yours has a turn of speed that none of our miserable nags can hope to compete with.’
‘Ah, but look who’s on the beast’s back,’ Henry pointed out. ‘The old man amongst us is losing his edge.’
‘There have to be some compensations for having charge of you lot.’ Luke patted Onyx’s sleek black neck beneath the heavy mane that hung to his shoulders, sitting perfectly still as the stallion pranced sideways, anxious to stretch his legs. ‘I’ll give you a ten-second start.’
‘He wants to kill himself, rather than contemplate matrimony to the fragrant Lily Carlton,’ Henry opined cheerfully. A crow squawked loudly on a nearby tree limb and took to the air with a loud and ungainly clatter of wings, spooking Henry’s horse. Henry managed to settle his mount after a brief struggle.
‘There’s no accounting for taste.’ Sam grinned, freshly released from his studies at Oxford and feeling particularly reckless. ‘Best oblige him then before that gelding of Henry’s deposits him on the ground.’
He spurred his horse forward with a whoop, closely followed by two of his brothers. Luke laughed, allowed them the agreed head start and then released his hold on an increasingly frantic Onyx, leaning forward as he encouraged him to lengthen his stride and chase them down.
‘Feeling better?’ Charlie asked, when Luke and Onyx sped past the others mere feet from the end of the agreed course.
‘Better?’ Luke feigned surprise. ‘I won, didn’t I?’
‘I’m not referring to the race, and you know it. You can’t fool me, big brother. What’s troubling you?’
‘Oh, take no notice of me.’
‘We don’t, as a general rule,’ Henry pointed out.
‘You don’t need to marry Miss Carlton if you’re having doubts,’ Charlie reminded him. ‘Can’t see why you would have, though. She turns enough heads. But still, perhaps you know something about her character that we don’t.’
‘I can’t help wondering why she chose to take a year-long European tour with her family when she could have been preparing for her presentation,’ Henry said thoughtfully. ‘In my experience, nothing rates higher for a young woman, especially one as beautiful as Miss Carlton, than being let loose on society.’
‘Luke can ask her,’ Sam suggested.
‘Ask her yourself.’ Luke felt contrary, unsettled, resentful, but could not have said if it was the prospect of matrimony that lay at the root of his discontent. ‘I don’t recall saying anything about marrying the girl.’
‘Maybe not, but your name has been linked to hers often enough to create speculation,’ Henry pointed out. ‘And now she’s coming to this damned shindig you’ve decided to throw.’
‘Don’t blame me for that. Emma talked me into it,’ Luke said, referring to the elder of his two sisters.
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘The thing is, big brother, if you’ve decided against Miss Carlton then you need to make it clear. I dare say she has expectations and you’ll find yourself saddled with breach of promise accusations if you continue to dither.’
Luke gave an abrupt nod, aware that Charlie had it right. Lily Carlton was a beautiful creature, no question. She seemed fond of Luke’s sisters and would be the ideal person to steer them through the minefield that was society at play when they made their debuts. She seemed to be sweet-tempered and…well, without fault. It was her perfection that troubled Luke, he realised, now that Charlie had forced him to confront his doubts.
No one was that perfect, and when he was with her he sometimes sensed…well, he wasn’t sure what precisely, but at unguarded moments he felt as though she was hiding part of herself from him. He gave a mirthless laugh at the thought. Wasn’t that what he was doing in considering her as his wife? He didn’t love her but marrying someone—anyone—would resolve most of his problems, at least insofar as the girls were concerned. In return, Lily would become his countess, a situation which would afford her considerable prestige, to say nothing of wealth and comfort. The Swindon coffers were gratifyingly full and she would want for nothing. It seemed like a fair exchange.
He was, as Charlie never failed to remind him, behaving like an over-indulged child. It was not Grandmamma’s fault if the death of her only child had sent her out of her wits. She’d had only a tenuous hold upon them at the best of times. But now…well, their inability to retain the services of a reliable companion for the old lady, despite Luke’s willingness to pay a generous salary, said it all. Luke could not depend upon his aged grandmother to do anything other than cause the maximum amount of trouble.
‘If you’re feeling so unsociable,’ Charlie remarked, riding beside Luke and giving his horse a long rein as he recovered his breath, ‘I find it strange that you have agreed to invite quite so many people. I mean, it’s not as though you can depend upon Grandmamma to act as your hostess.’
‘God forbid!’ Luke shuddered and then laughed. Despite her foibles, or perhaps because of them, Luke and all his brothers were inordinately fond of the old girl. ‘No, it will do Emma good to receive our guests. Miss Haughton is on hand to guide her,’ he added, referring to his sisters’ long-serving governess. ‘We can but hope that Grandmamma will hide herself away.’
Henry, who had been listening to the conversation, gave a hoot of laughter. ‘There’s about as much chance of that happening as t
here is of Sam graduating from Oxford without tarnishing the family name beyond recall.’
‘Ha! Fat hope of my achieving that ambition and, trust me, I’ve tried. You three are living legends in that venerable place, and not because of your dedication to your studies, either. You haven’t left me with any original ways in which to tarnish the Beranger name. Damned inconsiderate, if you ask me.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ Luke replied, laughing.
‘What are we going to do about Grandmamma?’ Henry’s question caused Luke’s smile to fade abruptly.
‘We are not going to follow that charlatan of a doctor’s suggestion and have her committed,’ he said with determination.
‘I understand how you feel, Luke,’ Charlie said, sympathy in his tone. ‘We all do, but she’s become a law unto herself, and puts herself in danger. She was found up on the roof early the other morning in her nightgown. Said she was talking to the moon.’
‘Well, let’s hope for her sake it was talking back,’ Sam said, attempting to lighten the mood.
‘We have appointed another companion who is due to commence her duties momentarily,’ Luke said, dubious about her chances of success.
‘What makes you suppose this one will survive for any longer than the others?’ Charlie asked. ‘Grandmamma has frightened off three already this year.’
‘I haven’t met this one. I left it to our London attorney to make the appointment. His judgement can’t be any worse than mine. This latest creature, I gather, comes from a religious background.’
Luke’s disclosure was greeted with groans.
‘Grandmamma will eat her for breakfast,’ Henry said, recovering from his shock first. ‘Whatever made Dobson think some parson’s daughter would be suitable.’
‘If she lasts for the duration of the party and tempers the worst of Grandmamma’s eccentricities I shall be content.’
‘Ever the optimist,’ Charlie said, leading the way onto a narrow track that acted as a shortcut to Beranger Court’s stables.
Still feeling oddly disgruntled, Luke strode into his library and rang the bell for Paul Dalton, his close friend who acted as his secretary, valet, confidante and advisor. Paul and Luke had met at Eton and immediately formed a bond. As a younger son, Paul was obliged to make his own way in the world. Aware of his intelligence and ability to keep meticulous records, Luke had offered him a position as his right-hand man. He had never regretted that decision. Quite apart from anything else, Luke was grateful to have a man at his side who wasn’t slow to tell him when he behaved like an ass.
‘The new companion’s arrived,’ Paul said when he responded to the summons. ‘Think Dobson’s made a mistake.’
Luke uttered a few choice oaths. ‘Why?’ he asked.
‘She’s a child, Luke. Your grandmother will enjoy scaring the living daylights out of her. I don’t see her lasting a week.’
‘That’s what Henry just said. He used more or less those exact words.’ Luke grimaced. ‘Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now. Dobson insists that she will suit.’ Luke lifted his head and ran the fingers of one hand through his unruly brown hair, not much optimism in his tone.
‘You’ll soon know. Mrs Kemp has just gone up to make the introduction.’
‘Right.’ Luke sat straight and adjured himself to put his grandmother from his mind. He would speak with the new companion himself, if she survived the introduction to Grandmamma, and assure her that things were not as bad as they appeared. How he would manage to convince her, he had yet to decide. Just because he rather liked his senile relative it didn’t follow that anyone meeting her for the first time would feel similarly inclined, especially if Grandmamma took to hurling hairbrushes at her, as she had done once or twice with previous companions, claiming that their stupidity was beyond endurance.
‘How are the plans for the party coming along?’ Luke asked. He had entrusted Paul with overseeing the preparations that his sister Emma thought she had sole responsibility for. Emma was a mature eighteen-year-old, but even so, arranging a week-long party when she herself was not yet out would test her abilities to the maximum.
‘Only four days to go.’
Luke groaned. ‘Don’t remind me. Why I allowed myself to be talked into…Anyway, any other problems?’
‘Not to the best of my knowledge. Needless to say, every invitation has been accepted. There won’t be a spare bedchamber in the house, but Mrs Kemp has the domestic arrangements well in hand. All you have to do is to show your face now and again and make yourself agreeable; if you possibly can.’
Luke sent Paul a droll look.
‘And, of course,’ Paul added, chuckling, ‘keep your grandmother under control, if you want to impress Miss Carlton.’
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘If Miss Carlton harbours desires to become my countess she will have to take my relatives as she finds them.’
‘Talking of Miss Carlton, her aunt is attending as her chaperone. Seems her mother is indisposed. Anyway, she has asked—the aunt, that is—if her son can tag along. He’s a serving soldier on furlough.’
Luke shrugged. ‘I can see no reason why not. Make sure Emma and Mrs Kent are aware. Another single gentleman will ease the burden on the rest of us.’
Satisfied that the preparations were in hand, Luke dismissed the party from his mind and turned his attention to the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention. During the few days he’d been away Paul had opened all Luke’s letters, dealt with the routine matters and left the rest with neat notes suggesting resolutions to the various problems raised in them for Luke’s approval. The two men worked steadily through the pile.
Luke leaned back in his chair and expelled a sigh of relief when he reached the last one, a letter that Paul had not opened.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, regarding it with suspicion.
‘Absolutely no idea. It arrived yesterday marked for your private and personal attention.’ Paul grinned. ‘Looks like a lady’s hand to me. What games have you been playing this time?’
‘Not what you think, clearly.’
‘Well, I have more than enough work to keep me out of mischief.’ Paul gathered up the pile of letters he was required to answer. ‘I will leave you to enjoy your billet-doux in private.’
‘Too kind of you,’ Luke replied with a look of wry amusement.
As soon as the door closed behind Paul, Luke ignored his sense of foreboding, took a deep breath and opened the letter. His gaze went immediately to the signature.
‘Magda Simpson?’ he said aloud, aware of his heart thudding against his ribcage. He had thought—hoped never to see or hear from her again. He almost called Paul back, but thought better of it. Best read the letter first and find out what it was that she wanted. Whatever it was, it was bound to spell trouble.
*
Flora took a deep breath as she followed Mrs Kemp from her room. The housekeeper’s remote demeanour briefly slipped as she sent Flora the suggestion of a sympathetic look and tapped on the door adjacent to Flora’s. Without waiting for a response, she pushed it open and Flora followed her through it. She squared her shoulders and attempted to appear confident, competent and in control of herself as she stepped into the unknown.
She found herself in a comfortably-appointed sitting room, presumably the countess’s private domain. A fire burned in the grate, despite the fact that the day was warm. A plethora of framed photographs, mostly showing the same couple in stiff poses, adorned the shelf to one side of the dowager’s chair, where she could frequently look at them. Her dead son, Flora supposed, feeling great sympathy for the woman who’d had to bear such a devastating loss.
‘Good afternoon, your ladyship,’ Mrs Kemp said in a brisk yet deferential tone. ‘Here is Miss Latimer come to make your acquaintance.’
An elderly lady with a regal bearing and a surprisingly unwrinkled complexion half-turned in her chair to bestow a calculating look upon Flora through faded blue eyes. Her hair was comple
tely white, exceedingly thick and bundled into an untidy bun that had started to come unravelled. Flora was almost sure she had been reading when they entered the room but hastily concealed her book beneath her skirts.
‘She’s a child.’ The old lady flapped a hand in dismissal of Flora’s presence.
‘Now, don’t be difficult, ma’am, or else the earl will make good on his promise and keep you away from the festivities. We can’t have that now, can we?’ Mrs Kemp glanced with some trepidation at the silver-backed hairbrush that rested on a table close to the dowager countess’s side and backed away from it.
‘I probably look young, ma’am, but I am wise beyond my years. Everyone says as much,’ Flora said in a matter-of-fact tone, biting back her nerves and taking the offensive. Her initial impression suggested that the dowager was lonely rather than disagreeable, cantankerous rather than senile. Time would tell, but Flora had learned to place great stock by her instincts.
‘I’ll leave the two of you to become acquainted,’ Mrs Kemp said, casting another glance in the direction of the hairbrush and beating a hasty retreat.
‘Does she always speak to you as though you were a child?’ Flora wished the words back the moment they escaped her lips. Part of her difficulty was that her extra-sensitive perception when it came to people’s finer feelings sometimes caused her to speak without tempering her words. Strangers usually reacted in two ways to her outbursts. They either took offence or felt an immediate affinity with her. Time would tell which path the countess decided upon, but if the earl had issued threats against his apparently harmless grandmother, then she was in dire need of someone to fight her corner, so the odds were in Flora’s favour.
A Sense of Belonging (Perceptions Book 1) Page 2