The Lords & Ladies Box Set

by Fenella J Miller

  Eventually she was done. With a final shiver she sat up and a clean white handkerchief was

  pushed into her hand. She blew her nose vigorously and wiped her eyes. Then she froze; her eyes flew up to meet Richard’s quizzical stare.

  She was sitting on a man’s lap! The horror of the situation she found herself in was reflected on her face. Richard, recognising her distress at her unorthodox position, gently removed her from his knees and returned her to the safety of the sofa. He leant across to the mantel-shelf and pulled the bell strap.

  Foster appeared instantly. ‘Miss Rivenhall would like some tea. Has the doctor returned yet?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, he is upstairs now.’

  ‘Good; have Cook put up some food for us and have it brought with the tea.’

  ‘At once, my lord.’

  Amelia felt numb. She was finding it difficult to adjust to her constantly changing circumstances. Lord Rivenhall had returned and restored their fortunes, and a second Lord Rivenhall had appeared and then her beloved mother had died, and all in the space of the day. Her head drooped, her neck felt too fragile to support it. All she wanted to do was close her eyes, sink into welcome oblivion where sadness could not penetrate.

  With a sigh she fell into a deep restorative sleep and was not aware of being carried back upstairs and placed tenderly on her own comfortable bed and neither did she remember being covered by a soft embroidered quilt.

  The sun was shining when Amelia opened her eyes. For a moment she felt well then she remembered and a black cloud of misery engulfed her. She turned to pull the cover back over her head then realized she was still dressed. She had no desire to get up, for what was awaiting her was too awful to deal with, but she could not remain in her soiled clothes. She heard the sound of her drapes being pulled back and bright autumn sunshine flooded her room.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rivenhall. Will you be ready for your bath now or after your hot chocolate?’

  Amelia stared at the girl nervously bobbing a curtsy in front of her. Who was she? Where had this strange young woman appeared from? Too weary to question something of such unimportance she pulled herself upright before answering.

  ‘Bath now, please. And take that away. I do not want it.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ The girl almost ran from the room carrying the tray with the offending drink. Amelia heard the welcome sounds of her bath being filled next door.

  The communicating door opened and Martha emerged in a cloud of steam. ‘It’s all ready, Miss Millie. A hot soak will do you good. Come on now, let me help you up.’

  She allowed herself to be led towards the bath. Papa had installed the new-fangled cast iron bath tubs upstairs the year before his death. She no longer considered them a luxury but a necessity, especially on a day like today.

  After soaking in hot scented water and letting Martha wash her hair she began to feel more ready to face the day. When the water cooled and her skin started to shrivel she knew she must get out and face the horror of a life without her beloved mama.

  The black mourning dress, which had been made at her father’s demise eighteen months before, was loose on her now. She asked Martha to dress her hair severely into a knot at the back of her head and then she was ready to face what awaited her.

  She found it difficult to walk past the door of her mother’s chamber knowing she was no longer in it so she averted her eyes and forced herself on.

  Downstairs she hesitated, not sure which way to go or what she should be doing. Instinctively she headed for the library- it was warm and safe there. As she approached the door she could hear the sound of raised voices from inside. She froze; who could be so insensitive as to be shouting on the day after her mother’s death?

  Then she remembered the argument outside the drawing-room when Richard had struck the odious Mr Rivenhall and her mother, hearing the noise and seeing the fight, had collapsed. A red hot rage consumed her. It was their fault her mother was dead. If Mr Rivenhall had not shouted and Richard had not struck him then her mother would still be alive. Without waiting to consider the correctness of her assumption she burst into the room.

  Both men turned to fix her in their astonished stare. ‘How dare you raise your voices in this house? Have you no sense of decency, no respect?’ Amelia glared at them. Richard, instantly aware something was gravely wrong, stepped forward with a smile of welcome, but no words.

  Rivenhall, insensitive to atmosphere, continued his harangue, but now addressed it to Amelia. ‘May I offer my sincere condolences on the sad passing of Lady Rivenhall, Cousin Amelia? I am glad you have come as I wish to offer my assistance at this difficult time. This man is an impostor! He is not Lord Rivenhall; he stole the papers and has come here to defraud you. You only have to look at him to see…’

  ‘Silence!’ Richard’s icy command was instantly obeyed. The man saw death staring back at him and sensibly retreated behind the highest, most solid, chair he could find. Richard continued, ‘I must apologize, my dear, it was unforgivable and disrespectful of us.’

  He moved smoothly to her side and taking her elbow turned her round and guided her back down the passageway. The less she saw of Mr Rivenhall the better.

  Hardly knowing how she got there Amelia found herself seated in the small drawing-room. Richard rang the bell and another unfamiliar maid answered the call.

  ‘Have tea and toast brought here, now, please.’

  The girl retreated and Amelia roused enough to speak. ‘Who is that girl? She is the second one I have not recognized this morning.’

  ‘Mary is one of three new maids that arrived from the village last night. I know you should have interviewed them first, but Higgs vouched for their probity and I felt that was good enough. In the circumstances I felt you would not want to be involved.’

  ‘Thank you, that was considerate. I am sure the girls will be good workers if Higgs has recommended them. Foster needs footmen, and John needs grooms now that you are re-staffing Rivenhall.’

  ‘The matter is already in hand. I have also sent John to purchase a pair of carriage horses and a mount for you that he has heard about.’ He didn’t need to state why the carriage would be needed; they could hardly walk to the churchyard.

  The tea tray arrived and Amelia found she was able to drink several cups but the toast was ignored. Richard frowned when he saw the plate of untouched food. ‘You have to eat, Millie. Starving yourself will help no one. You will become unwell.’

  She stared at him with dislike. The man was a brute, he hit people, took liberties with her person and was now accusing her of deliberately starving herself.

  ‘I am not hungry. When I am, I will eat, not before.’ She rose, her expression contemptuous. ‘It is not your place to criticise me or tell me how to go on. You are little more than a stranger.’

  ‘Hardly that, Amelia. I am your first cousin, and, I have to remind you, your legal guardian; I have every right to speak how I please in my own house.’

  Chapter Five

  Amelia’s eyes widened at his words. This was true; he was her guardian until she reached her majority. He did have every right to make demands that she would be expected to obey. Well, she could not prevent him taking over the estate but she would not answer to him; she would not be dictated to. Then everything became too much and her defiance collapsed.

  She nodded, sadly, too tired to argue further. ‘You are correct, of course, my lord, and I beg you to forgive me. Now, please excuse me, I am feeling a little unwell and must retire to my room.’

  Richard’s expression softened. ‘Do not run away, Millie, not from me. I can help you through this difficult time, if you will allow me to.’

  Amelia hesitated. She really did not wish to be alone just now. He stepped forward and took her cold hands in his. ‘Look at me, Amelia,’ he said quietly. Reluctantly she looked up. ‘I am your friend, Millie, on your side. I will protect you, take care of you.’ He was very persuasive and Amelia allowed herself to be re-seated by the fire.<
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  But she would not eat the wretched toast however much he argued. Richard seeing her rebellion wisely refrained from mentioning the uneaten snack. He stood with his back to her, ostensibly warming his hands at the flames, allowing her time to become composed. A short while later he faced her, and with a friendly smile, he folded himself into an adjacent chair.

  ‘Amelia, we have to talk. There are things we must settle. Are you feeling well enough?’ She shrugged but made no reply. He took that as an affirmative. ‘I have seen the vicar and the funeral is for the day after tomorrow, do you wish to attend?’

  Stunned, she looked up. ‘Of course, why should you suppose I should not wish to go?’

  ‘It is not customary for ladies to attend funerals, did you not know that?’

  She shook her head. ‘No; my mother never mentioned to me that it was improper for us to see my papa buried. It is a ridiculous rule; do ladies not have as much right to honour their loved ones, as gentlemen?’

  Richard seemed pleased to see his deliberately contentious question had animated her. Presumably he did not wish her to sink into apathy. ‘Very well, my dear, you shall accompany me, if that is what you wish. I believe the custom developed to protect ladies from unnecessary unpleasantness.’

  They sat in companionable silence for a while, both staring into the flames. Then Amelia recalled a problem. ‘What about the odious Mr Rivenhall? Will he have to come?’

  ‘Yes, I am afraid so. Although he is mistaken in his belief that he is Lord Rivenhall, he is still a distant relative of yours and will expect to attend.’

  Quiet overtook the small drawing-room again. She was lost in thought as she recalled the events that led up to her parent’s death. Abruptly Amelia stood and began to walk around the room, her heavy black skirts swishing as she moved. She stopped in front of him and stared hard, trying to assess his honesty and worth. She came to a decision.

  ‘Richard, there are several things about all this that worry me. But now is not the time to discuss them. I shall let the matter rest, but be certain, when this week is over, and I am myself, I shall insist

  on having the answers.’

  He surged to his feet, towering over her, his bulk blocking out the warmth from the fire. His expression was impassive. ‘Of course, Amelia, I completely understand. When you are ready to hear the answers you shall be given them. But for now shall we present a united front to the world?’

  ‘Yes, that would be best. Nothing of this must be allowed to interfere with the funeral. Now, if you will excuse me, there are letters I must write, I am sure you understand.’ Not waiting for his reply she walked away, head high, determined not to let her grief overwhelm her again.

  The day of the funeral dawned inappropriately bright. Amelia had hoped it would rain. But the late October sunshine bathed the park in light and the trees stood golden in their autumn finery.

  She knew Richard had organised everything to perfection. The funeral party, which would consist of herself and Richard, was going to travel in the Rivenhall carriage, pulled by the new black horses. The hateful Rivenhall was to follow in his own chaise. The local gentry, who had been invited, would be waiting for them at the church. She was pleased Richard had given the servants permission to attend and that they would be standing at the rear of the little Norman church to pay their respects.

  His years of planning military campaigns, on the Peninsular, meant such a small event had posed him no difficulty at all. She was relieved that William Rivenhall kept out of their way, keeping to the room he had been allocated, but now she would have to be polite to him.

  Until today meals had been served on trays, in private; the curtains had remained closed in all

  the main reception rooms, as a mark of respect. She wished she could still be left to grieve in private.

  The service was brief, the church freezing cold. Amelia stood numbly watching her mother’s interment in the family tomb glad that Richard stood by her side throughout the ordeal. Back at the house she nodded and thanked her guests but was unaware of their status or their names. The small gathering at the house passed with Amelia scarcely aware of what was happening. She had braced herself to endure the day without breaking down, but had only managed to do so by remaining aloof from the events and people.

  *

  Visitors thought her dignified and mature beyond her years, but Richard realized the calm exterior was a facade that could crack at any moment. He believed he had come to know his cousin well over the last three days and to understand and appreciate her courage and intelligence.

  He was sure when the questions came he would be able to put her mind at rest but his first concern was to persuade her to eat before she suffered a serious collapse.

  The butler showed the last mourners out and Rivenhall returned to mournful silence. The staff went about their duties sombre faced, and Amelia, profoundly grateful she had survived the day without disgracing herself, retreated to the privacy of her room.

  When Martha arrived with yet another, unwanted, tray she was resigned. Whatever she said to the contrary they would keep coming, relentlessly, until she gave in and ate something. ‘What has Cook sent this time, Martha?’

  ‘Soup, Miss Millie, and sweet rolls, nothing else’

  Amelia glanced, disinterested, at the offering, about to refuse. But the appetising smell that

  wafted from the tureen made her empty stomach gurgle. Maybe she should try a little, it did smell

  rather good. She sat down at the table and dipped the spoon into the steaming broth, expecting her appetite to fail again. Almost of its own volition the spoon dipped and filled, dipped and filled, until to her surprise, and Martha’s relief, the soup was gone. The rolls disappeared next, thickly spread with home churned butter. Still hungry Amelia looked round for more to eat but the tray was empty.

  ‘I expect you feel a lot better now, Miss Millie. We have been that worried about you, these last two days.’

  Amelia smiled. ‘Yes, I do feel better. However I think I will go to bed, sleep will bring an end to this dreadful day.’

  *

  Richard sat behind the substantial wooden desk, in the estate office, facing his accuser, William Rivenhall. He leant back in his chair and put his boots, insultingly, on the wooden surface. His posture was relaxed but his mind was alert and assessing how much damage the man could do to his reputation before the claim was settled. Rivenhall eyed the boots with disfavour.

  ‘Well, Rivenhall, let us begin. What is all this nonsense that you believe can expose me as an impostor and establish your claim?’

  ‘You may sneer at me now, but I will find you out, and then the boot will be on the other foot.’

  Richard smiled serenely, and pointedly, at his feet, resting casually on the top of the desk between them. William jumped up goaded by this lack of respect and leaning forward shouted.

  ‘No, I shall not ask you these questions, or reveal what I know, I shall talk to Cousin Amelia; she will see I am the true heir.’

  Like lightning his hand shot out and his feet crashed to the floor. He grabbed the man by the lapels of his fancy blue topcoat. Richard’s face was almost touching his when he spoke. His voice was quiet, deadly quiet.

  ‘If you go near Amelia with this, I shall kill you. She will be allowed to grieve in peace, is that clear?’

  His opponent, his breathing restricted by the vice like grip, was able only to nod, which he did, vigorously. Richard released him and he staggered back grasping for breath.

  ‘You are a mindless and uncouth soldier. You are not fit to be Lord Rivenhall. It will be over my dead body that you keep this title.’

  Richard, his flash of temper gone, smiled, his eyes still glittering a warning. ‘Do not tempt me, Rivenhall. I have spent all my adult life dealing out death without compunction.’

  ‘I will not stay here to have my life threatened. I shall repair to the village. But as soon as Cousin Amelia is receiving visitors I shall be back, and nothing yo
u can do will stop me speaking to her.’

  Richard stood up; he loomed over the slighter man menacingly. ‘If you attempt to contact Amelia before I give you leave you will live to regret it.’

  His accuser swallowed nervously. The man was not going to win a trial of strength against him but he would try and prevail through cunning; for certain, in that area he had the upper hand.

  He bowed stiffly. ‘I shall bid you good day.’ He did not call Richard by his title.

  Richard inclined his head. ‘See yourself out, Rivenhall.’ Then he turned his back and stared out of the window, apparently indifferent to the calculated insult he had delivered.

  Amelia was descending the stairs as her unwanted guest, a new footman carrying his bags,

  departed. She realized that in the three days since her beloved mother had been laid to rest life had been continuing downstairs, as normal. The promised additions to the staff had been appointed, the house had been returned to its previous pristine cleanliness and someone had arranged large vases of autumn flowers and placed them attractively, on polished tables, in the hall.

  She was still sad, it would take much longer to recover from such a loss, but she was resigned, and over the worst and now believed she was strong enough to resume her duties. She had to meet the new people, take back control of the household.

  She glanced round at the shining woodwork and sparkling windows and smiled. Richard was managing her responsibilities admirably but he would be glad to relinquish the domestic details and get on with the serious business of running the vast estate.

  She spotted Foster crossing the hall. ‘Where shall I find his lordship?’

  ‘He is in the estate office, Miss Amelia. I am about to convey a tray of coffee to him. Is it your wish that I add a cup for you?’

  She half-smiled, how pompous he had become since the arrival of Cousin Richard. ‘Yes, do that, Foster.’