Nuncheon brought most of the family together, save for the children. Rosamunde had also been absent ever since having come home foxed from Chaleford. Lucy therefore quickly acquired the habit of taking a tray to her as well, a light meal concocted by Cook to tempt her waning appetite. Of all the inmates at Aldershaw, Lucy was worried the most about Rosamunde.
On this day, a scant few days before Valmaston was due to arrive at Aldershaw, Lucy prepared her tray with a quaking heart. She had put into motion an adventure which should have been accomplished at least a twelvemonth past. She had even had the audacity to include Robert in the ruse. He had been reluctant, even hostile at first to what she wished to do, but became quickly resigned because, as he said, he had had his own unhappy suspicions for several months now.
When Lucy took Rosamunde her tray, she found her still sleeping even though it was almost noon, not an unusual circumstance since the day before had been her weekly escapade to her “infirmed” friend’s home in Chaleford. Lucy found her difficult to awaken, as was also usual.
Finally, however, Rosamunde opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched. “What is the hour?”
“But ten minutes until twelve o’clock.”
“Good heavens. Have I slept that long? Why, that is more than eleven hours!” She seemed surprised but quite lethargic.
“Well, you cannot keep sleeping today. As it happens I am greatly in need of a companion for a trip I must take into Bickfield.”
“I do not wish to go to Bickfield.”
Lucy settled the tray on the bed beside Rosamunde. “You must eat and we must take our trip. I believe Eugenia would benefit from a short drive, for she has seemed a trifle blue-devilled of late.”
Rosamunde frowned. “Has she?” She knew Rosamunde would do anything for her daughter.
“Very much so. Besides, an outing would benefit you greatly as well. We could have tea at The George.”
“If you say it is necessary then of course I shall go with you.” With some difficulty she pushed herself to a sitting position and began nibbling on a piece of toast.
Lucy shoved the drapes back, which caused Rosamunde to groan and wince.
“Have you been at the peach ratafia again?” Lucy asked.
“No!” Rosamunde exclaimed, wincing a little more. “Well, perhaps I did have a glass or two.”
Lucy chuckled. “Drink your tea. You will feel better.”
So it was that in an hour, Lucy, Rosamunde, and Eugenia met Robert at the bottom of the stairs.
“Are you attending us?” Rosamunde asked, a little shocked as she glanced from Robert to Lucy and back again.
He offered his arm to her. “I hope you do not mind. But I begged Lucy to permit me to join you.”
Rosamunde took his arm. “Of course I do not mind. You are always so kind to me, Robert.”
Lucy followed behind with Eugenia and felt her heart swell. This much was true about Robert: he had always shown a great deal of kindness, even compassion, to Rosamunde.
When the coach reached the end of the avenue, instead of heading to Bickfield the conveyance continued in a southerly direction.
“Where are we going?” Rosamunde asked. “We should have turned left.”
“We are kidnapping you,” Lucy said with a smile. “We are not going to Bickfield and I fear we will be traveling well into the evening.”
“I do not understand. Where precisely are we going?”
Eugenia’s eyes brightened. “I know,” she cried. “Baddesley! Lucy and Robert are taking us to Baddesley. Mama, we are going home!”
“I have a very intelligent niece,” Robert said, smiling at Eugenia, who sat across from him.
“Baddesley?” Rosamunde queried in little more than a whisper.
“Yes,” Lucy said. “We have quite gone beyond the pale and I for one have every certainty that your husband will never forgive me for concocting this scheme in the first place, but I could think of no reason not to let you at least see your home. I am certain you do not give a fig that the house is still undergoing repairs.”
Rosamunde squeaked a reply, but she had taken to crying so suddenly and violently that she could not be understood. She held a kerchief to her face and sobbed. Robert put his arm about her shoulder, holding her tightly as she promptly buried her face in his coat.
“Mama, pray do not,” Eugenia said, reaching for her, but the tears did not abate for at least half an hour, after which time she must have thanked Lucy a hundred times.
“I am going home. I am going home. I will not return to Aldershaw, Robert, no matter what George says! I do not mind living in a mountain of dust so long as I can be in my own house!”
Robert merely smiled at her and patted her hand gently.
The moon was high by the time the coach drew before the gates of Baddesley. The land was drenched in a lovely pale light.
“It almost looks as though the shrubs and trees are covered in snow,” Eugenia said.
The gate proved to be rusted badly and the footman, to everyone’s surprise, had some difficulty opening it. At last the coach bowled through, venturing onto the rather long and circuitous drive, which in turn proved to be scandalously overgrown. Branches frequently scraped the sides of the coach.
“My poor garden,” Rosamunde whispered. “What has happened here? George promised me that the gardens would be tended while I was away.”
The experience in the dark, with only lamplight from the coach and faint moonlight from above to illuminate the thick growth, caused Lucy to shiver. “It is very bad. Worse even than Aldershaw was when I first arrived.”
“So it is,” Rosamunde said, straining against the glass in an attempt to see. “The edge of the woods and shrubs should end soon.”
The coach broke out into a more open flow of land but even the moonlight showed a wretchedly forsaken garden.
Rosamunde began to weep. “It is just as I feared. The gardeners have grown lazy.”
Lucy felt in her heart that something far worse had happened but she could not bring herself to say it. She glanced at Robert and even in the darkness of the coach she could see that his expression was exceedingly somber.
When at last the coach drew before the ancient Tudor mansion, built of stone, the whole party had fallen silent. Lucy felt quite sick at heart and could only imagine what Rosamunde’s thoughts and feelings were at present. In the dim light Lucy could hear her sniffs and the fluttering of the white kerchief as it flew to her cheeks again and again.
Robert ordered the coachman to remain on the drive instead of seeking the stables, as would have been usual. Lucy took Rosamunde’s arm and approached the door. She struck the knocker again and again quite vigorously but there was no response. She repeated the rapping. She waited. She rapped again. Finally she pressed the latch and to her surprise the door opened.
“It was not even locked,” Eugenia said, clinging to her mother.
Lucy walked in, feeling as though she had stepped into a nightmare. The air smelled of damp, dust, and rot.
“My house. My poor, poor house,” was all Rosamunde could say.
Eugenia had moved to the drawing room to the left of the entrance hall and peered within. “Mama, all the furniture is gone.”
“What? You must be mistaken. You simply cannot see because it is too dark.” She moved to stand beside her daughter and peered within. “Oh, dear God. Even the drapes are gone.”
Robert entered the house last and immediately sent one of the footmen on an errand to see if he might find a stray candle or two. When at last he returned he bore a candelabra in hand. Making use of the carriage lamps, the candles were soon lit. What had already been perceived in the gloom and darkness was now illuminated.
The house had every appearance of having been abandoned, and that for a very long time, indeed.
Lucy watched Rosamunde closely, fearing that the state of the house would be the undoing of her mind. Robert led the way from room to room, holding the candelabra aloft and walking
very slowly. Rosamunde followed behind, while Lucy and Eugenia trailed in their wake. Every chamber was in the same state as the one before.
Eugenia took Lucy’s hand.
“Very well,” Rosamunde said over and over as chamber upon chamber revealed the decay of Baddesley to her. “Very well. Very well.”
To Lucy’s surprise, Rosamunde’s shoulders straightened and her voice grew stronger than she had ever known it to be. When at last Robert returned the party to the entrance hall, Rosamunde bore an expression of acceptance, even of relief. “I had always thought he was not telling me the truth,” she said quietly. “But I had no way of proving it.”
Robert was just suggesting that they return to the nearest village and stay the night at The White Horse when the door suddenly burst open.
Lucy had never been more shocked than to see George standing on the threshhold. His complexion was pale and sweat glistened on his forehead. His clothes were dusty from head to toe.
Rosamunde moved forward. “Did you ride all this distance, my love?”
He nodded.
Silence reigned in the hall for a long moment until Rosamunde ran to him. He opened his arms wide, tears now brimming in his eyes. “I am so sorry. I put every tuppence of your dowry into our home, into the surrounding farms, but I could not increase the rent rolls. We have lost everything.”
“You should have told me.”
George held her for a long moment then drew her to the stairs, where they sat down together, his arm tightly about her shoulders. He looked exhausted, as much from riding so far as he had as from having kept the horrible secret of his loss of Baddesley. Rosamunde sat down beside him and possessed herself of his hand. Eugenia went to him as well and took the other.
George looked up at Robert. “I owe you so much that I can never repay, brother.”
“We are a family, George. You owe me nothing.”
When he started to say more, Lucy quickly took his arm. He paused and glanced down at her, a frown in his eyes. She shook her head. “Will you walk out with me?” she asked quietly.
He glanced at the family nestled tightly together on the stairs. “Yes, of course.” He settled the candelabra in the middle of the floor and escorted her out of doors, beckoning the footman to leave as well.
Once outside, Lucy drew him away from the coach. Her own heart was aching at the truth about George’s loss.
“It is not at all uncommon in these days of failed harvests,” he said somberly.
“I know,” she murmured.
“You were proven right again, Lucy. I am beginning to feel completely daunted by your perceptions. I only wonder what you must think of me, since you seem to know us all so well.”
She stopped him in their slow progress and turned toward him. “I think that you are a fine brother and one of the kindest men I have ever known. After all, how many gentlemen, known to take great pride in their coats, would have permitted a lady to come the watering pot on so expensive a superfine as yours?”
At that he chuckled. “Dear Lucy, how you make me laugh when you must know my heart is breaking for my brother.”
“Mine as well,” she said, smiling up into his face but feeling very sad.
His gaze caught and held. The moonlight was sufficiently bright for her to see the sudden glitter in his eyes. She experienced some difficulty in breathing. What was he thinking? she wondered.
Robert looked into Lucy’s eyes, as much as he was able in the darkness of the night. Still, he saw the sparkle that so completely bespoke her bright temper. He was so full of affection, of gratitude in this moment that he could not find the proper words to give expression to all he was feeling. He touched her cheek with his hand. “Lucy,” he whispered, leaning toward her. He felt a strong desire to kiss her, not in passion but in appreciation.
Eugenia called from the doorway. “Lucy, I am to sit between you and Uncle Robert. Papa means to ride in the coach as well.”
“Of course,” Lucy called back to her.
Robert did not want to let the moment slip away but he had no choice. He lowered his hand and turned back with her to move in the direction of the coach. Awareness dawned and he came to his senses. Good God, he had almost kissed her again, the lady with whom Henry was so violently in love. How grateful he was that Eugenia had interrupted them, only he could not help but wonder if Lucy would have allowed the kiss.
Lucy’s heart was pounding so hard that she found it difficult to breathe. He had almost kissed her again and she had wanted him to so very much. What then would have been the result? Would he have been apologetic once more? Regretful? Or this time might he have admitted that something extraordinary existed between them? As she mounted the steps of the coach, she sighed heavily. She simply did not know.
CHAPTER TEN
Two days later, Lucy stood on the front steps of Aldershaw conversing with Hetty.
“Did Rosamunde reveal to you where it was she went every week?” Hetty asked.
Lucy did not answer at first. Her gaze was fixed in the distance, to the coach bowling along the drive away from the manor. The large conveyance, laden with Rosamunde’s, Eugenia’s, and George’s trunks, was just turning into the lane heading in the direction of Wiltshire, where Rosamunde’s father had a fine estate. She waved one last time and thought she caught a glimpse of Eugenia’s woebegone face. Though Ginny was excited about the prospect of living with her grandfather, who had always doted on her, she was very sad to be leaving Hyacinth, Violet, and William as well as her other aunts and uncles.
“No,” she said at last, “Rosamunde did not confide in me.”
“Well,” Hetty began, her voice swelling with pride, “she did tell me. It would seem she was not visiting an invalid at all, but rather three robust friends with whom she played whist, drank a great deal of tea, and quite frequently consumed more peach ratafia than four ladies of quality ought ever to imbibe.”
Lucy could only laugh. “Dear Rosamunde. Only, why would she keep secret such an innocuous weekly adventure?”
“I have come to believe that both my brother George and Rosamunde are very private individuals. I daresay Rosamunde did not want anyone knowing that she drank to excess so frequently as she did.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Did George make amends, Lucy? For I know he was previously quite put out with you.”
At that Lucy smiled. “Actually, he thanked me for ‘interfering’ in his affairs. He had abandoned Baddesley over a year past but he had found it impossible to admit the truth to either his brother or his wife.”
“I still cannot credit that he kept his circumstances from all of us these two years and more. Robert told me very little and I was unwilling to pry. Did George reveal anything more to you? All I know is that the estate is ruined.”
Lucy sighed. “It is not an unusual tale and I do not see that George did anything wrong. The farms on the Baddesley rent rolls were simply unable to produce sufficient income to sustain the estate, but he blamed himself particularly since he had used Rosamunde’s dowry in trying to improve the farms. Perhaps there was a degree of mismanagement on his part, but then not every man has a talent for husbandry.”
“He will do far better in the army. Robert was very right to purchase him a pair of colors.”
“I think George will be very happy wearing a red coat.”
“I could not agree more,” Hetty said. “And so George and his family are gone but Valmaston arrives tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Lucy agreed with a smile, “and I am convinced he will greatly enhance our daily pleasures. He is one of the most amusing gentlemen I have ever known. I even predict that you will like him very much, indeed, despite his reputation.”
At that Hetty lifted her chin a trifle. “I have never approved of libertines and I shan’t begin now.”
“We shall see,” Lucy said. She had every confidence that Valmaston would eventually win Hetty’s approval and possibly even her friendship. “And now I think we ought
to go in search of the children. They have been very sad that Eugenia will no longer form part of their daily comings and goings.”
“As well I know.”
“Then I suggest we begin by having them each write a letter to Eugenia today. That will give them something to look forward to, for I know that Eugenia will have no difficulty in responding, as bookish as she is. She will treasure receiving letters from her youngest aunts and uncle. But where are they?”
“The fort, of course,” Hetty said.
“Of course.”
Later that afternoon, Robert begged Lucy to take a turn about the garden with him. He was oddly contrite. “I believe I owe you an apology, for I was greatly mistaken.”
“In what?” she asked, uncertain what he meant.
“I believed your involvement with George and Rosamunde officious and interfering—those may have even been my words at one time.”
“Yes, they were,” she responded cheerfully.
“You needn’t gloat.”
“I think I should gloat, for you are so quick to criticize me and in this instance you have been proven wrong.”
He shook his head. “You shall get no more of an apology from me than that, not if you are going to behave like a simpleton.”
“Oh, do stubble it, Robert!” she cried, slinging her hands behind her back. “I must tell Quarley to trim back that rhododendron a trifle.”
“The gardens are prettier every day.”
“I only hope they are lovely enough to please Valmaston’s eye.”
“You are being quite obnoxious, my girl.”
“I am, are I not?” She then laughed, but not for long. “I know I have been teasing you but I am not unaware of how painful your interview with George must have been. Were you terribly surprised to learn all the details?”
“How could I be when for the last several months he appeared so guilty when I would ask him about the repairs on Baddesley.”
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