Fran Keighley

by The Next Heir (lit)

  Turning, at the first opportunity, Amanda attempted to draw out Eulalia and get upon terms with her, since they were of an age and would doubtless be living out the rest of their lives in fairly close proximity.

  Amanda was fortunate when she inquired about the children; Eulalia was a devoted mother to her three little girls. Two other children had died in infancy, a son had been stillborn, and Eulalia had suffered miscarriages between. That was ample reason for Eulalia's generally depressed drabness, Amanda charitably reflected.

  Indeed, conversation glowed once it turned to the children; never had there been such bright, charming, healthy youngsters, according to their mama and doting grandmama, although Eulalia confided fears of childhood illnesses such as had taken lives of others she knew.

  Lady Mathilda scoffed at that. "Those children lacked the strong constitution of the entire Lyndon line. Indeed, I believe I may say with confidence that we have always been extremely healthy, and the air at Devonridge is particularly salubrious." Her ladyship did give Eulalia a critically considering glance, as if speculating about Eulalia's constitution and line, as demonstrated by the miscarriages and babies which hadn't survived more than a few months. She raked Amanda with a sharp stare. "You are an only child, I perceive? Did others fail to survive? I trust you will be more fortunate."

  "I hope so, indeed," Amanda managed, taken aback, and was relieved when conversation returned to the excellences of the three little girls, whom she was to have the pleasure of meeting in the morning.

  In short the only respect in which Eulalia's and, more important to their grandmama, Humphrey's children could possibly be bettered were if they might have been sons instead of daughters.

  Amanda battled the uncharitable thought that these were unlikely to be attractive children, with such parents; perhaps, after all, they would more nearly resemble their cousins Julian and Sally. In the morning, she would learn.

  The evening was not prolonged; Humphrey did not accompany the other gentlemen in rejoining the ladies, a circumstance which made Eulalia tighten her lips and draw her thin brows together quite disapprovingly. Lord Devonridge and Sir Henry dozed intermittently, and at quite an early hour Lady Mathilda complacently announced that they did not keep Town Hours at Devonridge, and all retired.

  "Lord, what a dull evening," Lyndon exclaimed as soon as the Red Room door was safely closed behind them. "Humphrey, if you wondered at his absence, made heavy indentures into the brandy. At last view he was weaving unsteadily in the direction of what I presume was his bedchamber, his valet and two footmen guiding him, or attempting to do so, and taking a fresh bottle with him. I wonder what he will do first, empty it or pass out? Ah well, I shouldn't care to be in his plight. Especially now, honeymooning with you. Come here, love. You promised later...!"

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  The house lay before them on a slight rise, an attractive small Tudor mansion with black half-timbering against white stucco, and brick that had mellowed to soft rose.

  Some neglect showed, as they drew nearer. The white was dirty gray upon closer inspection, and ivy grew up on the walls to tap at windows and in some instances to nearly cover them.

  The drive was rutted and muddy, with weeds growing in it. The shrubbery, as well, grew unchecked, and powers of detection were needed to find flowers amid the choking undergrowth.

  Cats slunk and scampered away from the approaching horses and chaise, taking cover among the weeds and bushes. The exception was a big old black tom that sat regally at the side of the drive, surveying their progress.

  A black cat. That was lucky. In England, at least. In other lands, Amanda had read, black cats were considered unlucky. However, this was England they were in, so the British belief should apply. Amanda hoped so. Her marriage needed all the luck available.

  However, in the sunshine of a spring morning, the entire effect of the wilderness, a jungle for the cats, was not unpleasing. The bright gold of forsythia spangled the shrubbery, and tulips rose determinedly through the dead weeds. Lilac bloomed fragrantly, and trees and bushes showed tender young green leaves.

  Highbriars seemed welcoming, and even as Amanda determined to set gardeners to work cleaning out those weeds that choked the garden and drive, and pruning back the shrubs, she enjoyed the change from the excessively formal neatness she had known for so long.

  "If this is an indication of the state of the interior...?" Lyndon drawled, lifting his quizzing glass to survey the drive as the post chaise bounced and swayed over the ruts. "Perhaps we should have come last night, when dusk would have given it a merciful cover."

  "No, for everything always seems worse at night," Amanda differed. "I always feel more able to cope, by far, early in the day. I like it, Lyndon. It's the first time I've truly had a home of my own. I wonder that your cousins should not prefer one, to living at Devonridge."

  "Oh, they'd opt for grandeur, any time," Lyndon said carelessly. "Well, my dear, shall we enter and survey our palatial accommodations?"

  For the chaise had drawn up on the broad, if neglected, carriage sweep before the door, and the groom was letting down the steps.

  Amanda lightly descended, looking about, and smiling at a plump calico cat that sprawled on the porch, its kittens tumbling about in mock battles.

  "Oh, look at the little marmalade one. Isn't it darling?"

  "Darlings galore, I should think." However, if his words were critical, his tone was indulgent. "I made count of seven, before these. If there are this number to be seen, how many are present but unseen?"

  An elderly butler opened the door to them, and a plump housekeeper of like age awaited them in the hall, and made a deep curtsy to them.

  Amanda felt shy of them until she suddenly realized that they were equally nervous of their new master and mistress. After all, they were of time in life to make securing new positions difficult, and would they have pensions if their new employers preferred younger servants and discharged them?

  Amanda doubted it, and so she smiled kindly upon them, growing in confidence. She was, after all, mistress here, no longer a poor relation lacking in importance and authority. If they would do at all, keeping them was preferable to having to hire decent new servants, immediately upon arrival. She remembered the difficulty Lady Cordelia always had, finding and keeping good help.

  The housekeeper was anxious to show them over their new domain, although full of apologies for the shabbiness. "Miss Lyndon, may she rest in peace, bless her, ma'am, didn't want to be bothered by change. Well, I daresay you know how the elderly do get, and since the poor old lady passed on, well, the house has been shut up. I've done as best I could, but with just Price and Cook and me and one girl, and no money for more servant girls till his lordship sent over word..."

  "Of course, and very well you've done," Amanda told her, sincerely and smiling.

  The house was shabby, no two ways from that, with carpets threadbare and faded draperies and upholstery, but it was shining clean, with furniture polished and the little diamond-shaped panes of the mullioned windows freshly washed both inside and out. They cast little rainbows of color into the rooms.

  "Oh, ma'am, it's ever so good of you to say so. I'm sure we have done what we could."

  Amanda nodded at her. "It is a true comfort to find I have such a capable, reliable housekeeper. You must have managed the maids to excellent advantage to do so much in such a short time."

  "Oh well, as to that, I won't say we contrived to do up the whole house, ma'am. There wasn't time for that." Mrs. Price was both pleased and flustered. "We did do up the principal rooms, upstairs and down, and we'll get the spare bedchambers done in a twinkling of a bedpost, you'll see."

  While they talked, Mrs. Price conducted them through the rooms. Those were of a decent size, Amanda noted with approval, not a rabbit warren of tiny rooms such as these old houses sometimes had, yet not imposingly huge such as at Devonridge, either. Most were low-ceilinged, some walls handsomely paneled, other
s covered with faded paper.

  The drawing room was well proportioned. The library was full of ancient, untouched-looking books (she must write Sally to arrange for her to receive the latest books at regular intervals. Splendid thrilling romantic novels! How lovely to now have the means and freedom to do so). The morning room was filled with sunlight. There was a spacious dining room, and a snug breakfast parlor.

  They ascended the handsome staircase with its broad, shallow treads and carved balustrade. A hallway led right and left to the bedchambers.

  The largest of those, with an adjoining dressing room, was in readiness, and Amanda's maid was already busy unpacking Amanda's bandboxes and trunks there. Pym glanced up with a smile, and bobbed a little curtsy before continuing.

  As Mrs. Price had apologetically warned, only the main bedchambers had been set in readiness. The lesser ones still bore signs of neglect, dusted but sadly in need of polishing and renovation.

  Amanda concluded the tour and assented to Mrs. Price's suggestion of a nuncheon in the breakfast parlor, feeling well pleased with her new home. It was snug, cozy and homelike, and she could do much with it, she felt certain.

  "Plain, but excellent," was Lyndon's verdict upon first taste of the nuncheon. "Well, my love, I'm no housekeeper, but I can see you've got your work cut out for you. The place is sadly depressing, and I fear the outside is, too. I shall leave you to further conferences with your servants, and examine the stables after we finish here. I trust the land has been kept in better heart."

  "Yes, it is rather depressing, but I'm sure that shall soon be corrected." Amanda could promise that, with every confidence, in light of the duke's generous decree. "I believe I shall keep the most part of the furniture. It fits well with the house, don't you think? At least for the beginning. I shall content myself with new carpets and draperies, and those will do wonders. Your aunt gave me the most explicit instructions where best to select them."

  "The carriage and horses shall be at your disposal whenever you wish," Lyndon vouchsafed. "I shall be riding, or driving my curricle and the grays."

  Amanda hesitated briefly, expression troubled, pleading. "Lyndon, I do fear Lady Mathilda means to be over here daily to supervise and command me. You won't, that is, will you-?" she broke off in confusion, gazing at him in appeal.

  He looked at her, frowning, before he understood. "Oh, you want her put to rout?" He grinned. "Gladly. The old trout has been sharp enough with me, in past. I shall happily return the favor."

  "Well, but I shouldn't wish her to be offended. I feel sure she does mean exceedingly kindly, except, well, I think her tastes and mine would not coincide. I should like, ever so much, to do it all by myself. Ourselves," she amended hastily.

  "By yourself, love." He smiled, but he wasn't deluded by her flattering attempt to include him. "Aunt Mat's tastes would surely not coincide. You do as you please, so long as you do not share your cousin's fondness for the reptilian. I should prefer not to have furnishings which seem about to devour me."

  "No, no, nor should I," Amanda assured him. "As I said, I quite like many of the pieces already here."

  "As for Aunt Mat coming the tartar over you," a brow rose mockingly. "Make yourself scarce, love. Shop and see the local points of interest, such as they are. Return calls. She can hardly ride roughshod over you if you are not here, can she? I shall direct our staff that any commands which she gives in your absence are not to be carried out unless we second them."

  "Oh, Lyndon, I do thank you. I was sure I could depend upon you, that you would know just how to proceed." Well, she had hoped he would aid her.

  And the redoubtable Lady Mathilda suddenly seemed far less intimidating, when lightly referred to as Aunt Mat.

  * * *

  The next days were busy ones for the newlywed pair. Lyndon had come striding back in at teatime, that first day, to announce in disgusted accents that the stables were even worse than the house. They were fit, perhaps, for plough-horses, but decidedly not for his highbred animals a moment longer than necessary; therefore he must instantly supervise the stables' cleaning and repair.

  "Though, mind you, it could be worse. They're well laid out, and there is room to spare, far more than you'd expect in a place this size," he added fair-mindedly. "In fact, it gives me a mind to do some breeding and training. Thought of it for years, but never had the stabling it requires. While Grandpapa's in such a warm humor, I think I shall try a touch at getting him to stake me for some brood mares and young 'uns. You might put a word in, my sweet. He seems vastly taken with you."

  "I'll do my best," Amanda promised, thinking that it might be very well for Lyndon to have an absorbing interest here in the country.

  That would simultaneously keep him with her, and away from his wild companions in the city for at least a portion of the year. He was not vicious, she was certain, merely possessed of a daredevil streak which defied discretion, with those wrong friends of his influencing him to yet more defiant exploits-just as they had been doubtless influenced to emulate him.

  So Lyndon supervised the renovation of the stables and personally examined the condition of the fences, which had also been severely neglected. Meanwhile, Amanda followed his direction and ordered the carriage to be readied for a shopping expedition in the nearest town of adequate size. She left directly after an early breakfast, armed with her own lists, as well as those of Lady Mathilda. She did appreciate those, but she wished to make her own choices.

  Shopping alone was more business than delightful sport, and Amanda longed to have Sally along to help discuss the virtues of this versus that. However, perhaps it was best, as she had thought concerning Lady Mathilda, for her to be strictly on her own, uninfluenced by any other opinions, even a close friend's. And, indeed, she found that she did do remarkably well, unaided.

  Shopkeepers recognized the expensive elegance of Amanda's attire and that of her carriage and pair, and if more were required to assure their enthusiastic cooperation, her groom's quietly proud mention of Lord Devonridge proved sufficient. Lady Mathilda truly had recommended well. These shops were well stocked, although of course smaller and less numerous than the ones in London, and Amanda made excellent progress.

  Mrs. Price had furnished her with the measurements of the rooms, of course, and Amanda took his lordship at his word and bought freely. There were delicately hued Oriental carpets: a fresh consignment had arrived only the day before and were still being unpacked. She was, the proprietor informed her, the very first to see them. He hastened to have the rest readied for her examination. Consulting her lists, Amanda chose carpet for each of the principal downstairs rooms most in need, plus one in sapphire and ivory for the master bedchamber.

  Draperies and upholstery fabrics presented more problems. She would employ colors echoing those in the carpets, but which? There were so many lovely designs in those. Ultimately, Amanda accepted the shop owner's suggestion, taking pattern books home with her to study at her leisure.

  Amanda rested over lunch at an inn that Lyndon, consulted the previous evening, had recommended. Refreshed, she sallied forth once more.

  Furniture warehouses were a great temptation, and she felt certain it would prove necessary to make additions to what was already at Highbriars, but for now she restrained herself. Best to go slowly until she knew what she truly needed and wanted. There was no necessity, after all, to buy all she wanted on this one foray. She contented herself with merely selecting a few pieces finished in white and gold, after the French mode, for a daintily feminine boudoir such as Amanda had always dreamed of having. Chairs, a small writing table, a day bed, and a tall corner étagère.

  Then, hoping that Lord Devonridge would not consider that she stretched his permission over-far, Amanda made other purchases. There was a clever Frenchwoman, an émigré from the Revolution, who kept a shop, and Amanda made additions to her wardrobe.

  After all, Amanda had already worn her sole evening gown, the cream silk, each evening, and her two day dres
ses, and she felt the need for variety. Not only was this for her own sake, but to hold Lyndon's interest, and to look well on the future visits to Devonridge that she considered probable.

  She had clothing inherited from her cousins, of course, but she scorned to count those unflattering garments. She would give them to the maids, or possibly to the rector's wife for distribution to the poor, at first opportunity.

  Madame Jolie was delighted to welcome a new customer, closely related to the Duke of Devonridge, with the youth and figure to do justice to her finest creations, and her compliments were both warm and sincere. Moreover, Madame Jolie sent unrolling gleaming bundles of satins and brocades, soft muslins and chintzes and dimities, and spread forth her own sketches of gowns yet in the planning. Amanda studied them with enthusiasm to match Madame Jolie's, and was pleased to order several to be made up to her measurements. Two designs did not seem to properly fit any of the fabrics which were on hand, but Madame Jolie quickly assured her that more materials were on order and would be present for her inspection upon a subsequent visit to town, when she had the fittings on the others. In all, what had been intended as a brief stop to possibly buy a gown or two, stretched into close on three hours before Amanda left the shop, her groom aiding Madame Jolie and Madame's assistants in carrying the purchases out to the already-full carriage, and fitting them in.

  "Why, Amanda Blackton!" exclaimed a smartly dressed young lady, who had been proceeding along the street, attended by an abigail bearing her packages. "It is surely Amanda! But what do you here? You're married? What is your direction?"

  Amanda turned in pleased surprise, recognizing the clear, sweet voice. "Marianne! Marianne Nesbitt! Why, to be sure, you do reside here. Yes, I am Mrs. Julian Lyndon now. We are settled at Highbriars. Or settling," she added, with a rueful glance at all the parcels and boxes burdening her carriage and attendants. "We arrived only in recent days, and there is a deal to be done, I do assure you."