Valerie King

by Garden Of Dreams

  As he turned to go, she cried out, “But Henry, stay a moment! I nearly forgot. What was it you wished to say to me?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing to signify.”

  “But you said it was of great importance.”

  He laughed in an odd manner as though he were laughing at himself. “Not so important as a great many other things, like your seeking out George and seeing if you are able to coax at least one pleasant greeting from him, though I promise you it will be a difficult task, indeed!”

  “Very well.”

  She smiled warmly upon him. “You have made me feel exceedingly welcome, Henry, and for that I thank you. Until dinner, then.”

  She watched him quit the armory and a second later he was walking swiftly across the terrace, down the steps, and traversing the weedy, dry lawn, clearly heading for the stables.

  Desiring to greet the third Sandifort brother, she left the armory, returning to the back entrance hall and traversing a quite long hall to the front entrance hall, and set about climbing the wide bank of stairs leading to the first floor. Reaching the first floor she heard shouting not far distant, and glancing to the right she saw a girl whom she presumed to be Eugenia clinging to the wall next to an open doorway. She wore a white muslin gown caught up high about the high waist with a pink ribbon. She was clearly eavesdropping.

  Lucy settled her bonnet once more over her curls and moved in the direction of the squabble.

  “Eugenia,” she called softly as she drew near.

  The girl whirled around, panic in her green eyes. She was very much in the mold of the two younger Sandifort brothers and would no doubt blossom into a considerable beauty. Her hair was a very light red, almost blond, and pulled into a knot atop her head with another pink ribbon. Her mouth was agape as she stared at Lucy.

  “I am Miss Stiles, Lucy Stiles,” she murmured softly. The shouting within grew louder and a deep blush quickly suffused Eugenia’s cheeks.

  “I remember you,” the young girl said, approaching her on tiptoe.

  “You have grown so very pretty and I would know you for a Sandifort at once, for you have the look of your father.” She found she was whispering, for the bickering had not ceased. When a thump resounded, Eugenia whirled back to the doorway.

  “They have been arguing this half hour and more,” she explained.

  “Trouble?” Lucy inquired, moving to stand beside her.

  Eugenia sighed heavily. “Of late they quarrel nearly every day and usually just at this hour, before noon. Mama wishes to go home, you see, even though papa insists the repairs at Baddesley are not yet complete, but mama no longer cares. She wishes to be in her home more than anything.”

  “I can understand her feelings perfectly.”

  “She misses her garden most of all, and it has now been two years, but . . .” Her brow split into furrows.

  “What is it?”

  Eugenia shook her head. “ ’Twould be disloyal for me to say more. I know my parents love each other. Indeed, they do.”

  Lucy could see that Eugenia was worried more than any child ought to be. She therefore changed the subject completely. “Would you do me a very great favor?”

  “Of course,” Eugenia responded sincerely.

  “Well,” Lucy began smiling, “would you be so kind as to fetch Hyacinth, William, and Violet for me? I have brought gifts for all of you and I do believe they need to be removed immediately from my trunks.”

  At that, Eugenia beamed. “At this hour, they are in the schoolroom with Miss Gunville. Where shall I bring them?”

  “To my bedchamber. Though I have not yet been there, Finkley said I would be residing in my usual room which has always been the green and rose chamber on the second floor in the east wing.”

  “Next door to mine!” she finished with a smile.

  “How wonderful,” Lucy responded.

  “I shan’t be but a few minutes.”

  “I will come to you as soon as I greet your parents.”

  She lifted a finger as though to say something, glanced nervously at the doorway from which angry low voices could be heard, shook her head in something very near to despair, and took off on a run.

  Lucy drew in a deep breath and without hesitation entered what proved to be a very pleasant sitting room. As soon as George Sandifort saw her, he whirled around and faced the windows that overlooked the avenue, his complexion high. Rosamunde, reclining on a lavender chaise longue, began to weep into her kerchief all the while gesturing for Lucy to approach her.

  “Lucy,” she called out in faint accents at last. “You have come to us. How we have needed you!”

  For some reason George took umbrage at these words and faced Lucy abruptly. Running a hand wildly through his blond hair, he cried, “Fine house you have come to, although I do hope you may have some effect on my wife. At the very least I wish you would persuade her to stop her caterwauling and weeping!” He bowed once curtly and marched from the room.

  Lucy turned in much astonishment to watch him go. He was a big man, quite broad-shouldered with heavy, muscular thighs. He was in most respects a larger version of Henry, but not in possession of Henry’s intelligence, wit, or ease of manner. Yet Lucy had always had the impression that she was never safer than with George nearby. After all, he had once lifted a carriage off Henry, saving his life. In this moment, however, he had all the appearance of a man who had lost complete control of his life.

  She turned to Rosamunde, however, and smiled. “I saw Eugenia a few minutes ago. How pretty she is become. She will break a great many hearts in the coming years. She is ten now, is she not?”

  “Though I am her mother, I fear I must agree with you, she is as pretty a child as I have ever seen.” A frown descended over her brow. Rosamunde was quite lovely with an almost bluish hue to her exceedingly fair skin. Her eyes were the color of the sky and her elegant red hair, when released from its careful braids, hung to her waist. For the barest moment Lucy wondered if she had begun to fear that George had strayed in his affections.

  That seemed impossible, for there had never been but one lady for George Sandifort. He had tumbled in love with Rosamunde when he was eighteen and married her before his next birthday. Eugenia had been the result of the wedding night, for her birth had been nine months to the day. It had been believed and hoped that their home, Baddesley, would soon be full of young Sandiforts ready to spar with the world, but none had followed, not one. The subject had never been raised within her hearing, but she believed the disappointment between them was severe.

  “You look as beautiful as ever,” Lucy stated. She drew close and Rosamunde extended her arms to her. Lucy embraced her gently and kissed her cheek, taking care not to bump her forehead with the brim of her bonnet. She smelled of lemon. She was very thin. Holding her bird-like arms she began to wonder if Rosamunde was ill. “I trust you are well?”

  Rosamunde released a very deep sigh. “You have no notion how I suffer from the spasms and pains in my side. And there are times when my heart races and I cannot breathe.” She laid a theatrical hand across her brow and suddenly Lucy laughed.

  “I vow you should have performed in the theatre.”

  For an instant, Rosamunde appeared offended, but then a quick, secretive smile overtook her features. “You always understood me.” She giggled and a great deal of light flowed into her pale complexion. What a strange enigmatic person she was.

  Lucy remained with her conversing for several minutes, all the while knowing that the children were probably awaiting her in her bedchamber. Rosamunde talked in one quick, long streak, wrapping and unwrapping her lace kerchief in and around her fingers. “The entire house is in uproar. Her ladyship rules every inch of the manor and speaks in such vulgar ways, embarrassing all of us and dominating the men with her sly looks. I despise her more than I can say. She makes no secret of detesting me as well as Hetty. I wish I had never come to Aldershaw. I wish George had never forced me to leave my home. I long to return to Bad
desley. Oh, Lucy, I long for it more than I can say!”

  Lucy listened attentively, trying to understand with as much clarity as she could why it would seem Rosamunde had taken to her chaise longue. She remained for a few minutes longer, expressed her hope that they might become better acquainted in the coming weeks, and at last quit the sitting room.

  Once in the hall beyond, and out of view of Rosamunde, she drew in a deep breath. She had been at Aldershaw less than three hours and already it seemed the roof hung too low over her head.

  She made her way to the formal and slightly spiraled staircase that connected the first and second floors at the east end of the Elizabethan mansion. She was about to climb the stairs when she heard Robert call her name.

  With a hand on the banister, she turned to face him. He was coming from the direction of the main staircase and seemed quite serious in expression. Her heart skipped a beat as memories of the several kisses they had so recently shared rushed back to her like a quick breeze. Her breath caught in her throat. He had changed into riding gear and strode toward her in his purposeful manner.

  In these few seconds, time slowed. Her gaze drifted over his fine figure, the breadth of his shoulders, the buckskin of his breeches defining lean, athletic legs. And what was there in a glossy pair of boots and well-tied neckcloth that became a gentleman so very well?

  Her heart was racing by the time he reached her and covered her hand with his own. “I am glad I found you. I am so very sorry. I must apologize for what happened earlier. I should never have kissed you as I did. The entire event was wholly unwise and completely unforgivable. I do most earnestly and humbly beg your pardon.”

  How sincere he seems, she thought, but a whisper of rage whipped through her mind. How could he refer to a kiss they had shared in such a manner, as though he needed to have the sin of it expunged from his soul.

  “I kissed you first,” she stated softly, withdrawing her hand from beneath his.

  “Well, yes, but . . .”

  “Am I now to apologize to you because what I did was so unforgivable in your eyes?”

  He frowned. “I did not mean to imply . . . Oh, Lucy, why do you turn this about? I only meant that I was sorry for my conduct, that the whole thing got so wildly out of hand.”

  What was it in Robert that so set up her back? She ought to be grateful that he was apologizing. Instead, she was offended, rather deeply, perhaps because for a particle of a second she had begun to think he actually cared for her. “Well, God forbid that a little passion steal between us!” she cried. She did not wait for him to offer his apologies again, but rather began mounting the stairs quickly.

  “Lucy!” he called after her.

  “The children are awaiting me,” she retorted over her shoulder. “I brought them presents and I do not desire to keep them waiting any longer.”

  “Lucy,” he muttered, his voice a growl.

  Lucy reached the top of the stairs and felt compelled to look back, even perhaps to beg pardon for becoming the crab as she had just now. She opened her mouth to speak, but Robert was gone.

  Just as well, she thought. Venturing down the hall that led to her rooms, she felt intensely frustrated, yet she was not certain why. She ought to have appreciated his apology, his attempt to make peace with her, and yet she felt it was a complete insult to call any of the kisses they had shared unforgivable . Oh, but what did it matter? Why was she even up in the boughs? She would never comprehend Robert and he certainly did not understand her in the least. How could he ever know, for instance, how deeply wounded she felt when he offered his criticisms or gave her hints on just how she should conduct herself?

  When she reached her rooms, she heard a great deal of childish laughter and squealing coming from her bedchamber. She passed through her sitting room and peeked around the edge of the open door to see what had brought such merriment. A game of tag was in progress and of such a lively nature that she was tempted to join the four young bodies racing around the room, over her bed, and through her several trunks.

  After a few minutes of delighting in their antics, she finally made her presence known. “Hallo,” she called out, walking in as though she had just arrived.

  The children all stopped playing, freezing in position for a moment then gathering shyly about Eugenia. Three years had passed since she had last seen Hyacinth, William, and Violet. How very much each had grown!

  She approached the eldest first. “You must be Hyacinth. I see we have the same hair.”

  Hyacinth smiled. “We do. Is yours always curly? Mine is.”

  Lucy untied the ribbons of her bonnet and removed the feather-laden creation from her head. She then withdrew several hairpins that had been keeping her coiffure in place and shook out her curls. How good it felt to be freed after hours of traveling. She turned around and let Hyacinth observe for herself. Her hair was very long though not so long as Rosamunde’s. “A little wet weather and my whole head appears as though it exploded.”

  Hyacinth clapped. “It is just like mine!” she cried.

  William apparently liked her description, for he laughed heartily.

  Lucy turned around and faced the children once more. “You must be William.” He was a sturdy lad with black hair and gray eyes, not at all in the mold of his elder half brothers and sisters. His chin was pointed, his nose rather aquiline in appearance, and his expression bold. He was the sort of boy one expected to grow into a rather forceful man.

  She approached him and offered her hand to him. He assumed a more formal position as a young gentleman ought and took her hand, giving it a proper squeeze. “How do you do, Cousin Lucy?” he asked, bowing just as he ought.

  “Very well, I thank you.”

  “Are you really our cousin?” Violet asked.

  Lucy turned to the smallest and youngest of the Sandiforts. “No, not really, I’m ’fraid. But I have known your family for so long, for my father and your father were exceedingly good friends, that I often feel as though I am related to all the Sandiforts.”

  “I like you,” she stated with childlike simplicity.

  “And I like you very much, but my, how big you are. When I last saw you, you were barely as tall as my knee, for that was fully three years past.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I am nearly as tall as William.”

  “You are not,” William retorted hotly, as was only proper since his younger sister had so violently offended his masculine dignity.

  “Well, at least I come to your shoulder.” Lucy was a trifle stunned by Violet’s appearance. When she had last seen her she was so young that she had but wisps of hair. At five years old, her pretty locks were a shocking red color and her eyes a very pale blue. Save for a faint resemblance to her mother, whose hair was dark brown, there was nothing of the Sandifort look about her.

  Oh dear, she thought, awareness dawning sharply. She had always heard rumors of Lady Sandifort’s conduct but she believed that in both William and Violet she saw the truth returning her gaze innocently.

  Lucy knelt before her largest trunk. “I brought presents for you, as I am sure Eugenia has already told you.”

  Violet drew close. “But if you are not our cousin, what do we call you? Must we call you Miss Stiles?”

  “That sounds far too formal when I do feel like your cousin. Please call me Lucy, or Cousin Lucy if you like. I shall be here until the end of September and I do hope that I will be treated like one of the family.”

  Violet smiled so sweetly and the next moment dropped down to sit close beside her. “I like you,” she whispered.

  Lucy’s heart melted at the tender expression on the child’s face. “I like you very much, too. Now, shall we open the trunk?” She glanced around the bank of faces.

  A resounding “Yes” returned to her quite in unison.

  When the trunk was wide open, she dispersed a box to Hyacinth containing a colorful variety of embroidery threads, a new riding crop to William, and a doll to Violet that she had made h
erself. To Eugenia she presented a parcel of white muslin embroidered with strawberries.

  “This will make the most lovely gown,” she cried.

  Lucy was delighted to see Eugenia’s eyes sparkle, since she could still recall being ten years of age and growing in awareness almost daily as to how important fashion was to any lady of quality.

  A rapping sounded on the door and Hetty appeared suddenly. “Lucy!” she cried. “Oh, do but look at you sitting on the floor, with Violet almost on your lap. Hyacinth, what have you there? What a lovely array of colors.”

  “I cannot wait to begin a new sampler,” Hyacinth said in her sweet voice.

  Hetty sat down on the bed beside her niece. “Ginny, did Lucy bring you this muslin? How very pretty!”

  Eugenia beamed her delight.

  “She gave me a riding crop,” William announced, slapping it against his thigh several times. “I must show Henry at once!” He ran from the room and a moment later appeared in the doorway again. “Thank you, Cousin Lucy!” Then he was gone.

  Lucy lifted her hand to call after him, realizing Henry was presently from home, but she could hear in the distance his running feet pounding down the stairs. If nothing more, he could show his new acquisition to either of his remaining elder brothers, if he could find them.

  “I can see you have made everyone very happy,” Hetty said, her arm about Eugenia’s waist. “And look at all these trunks! One, two, three . . . good heavens, there are seven in all!”

  Lucy shrugged. “I thought I might as well have my wardrobe with me as not. I no longer live at Littleton and though I have a great deal of my mother’s furniture, which I put in storage, I could not bring myself to place everything there as well.”

  “The gowns might mildew if not properly attended to.”

  “As well I know.”

  “And now, my darlings,” Hetty said, addressing the girls, “I fear I must spirit Lucy away and you must return to your lessons.”

  Lucy slid Violet from her lap and rose to her feet. Eugenia slipped from the bed and immediately took Violet’s hand. “Pray do not pout,” she said to her youngest aunt, “for it makes you look quite ugly.”