The Great Estate

by Sherri Browning

  Mr. Finch appeared in the doorway, a blond head bobbing behind him, a woman’s and then a man’s voice calling out, one or two visitors desperate to get by before being properly announced. Who? She wanted to instruct Finch to send them away, but it would be rude with them standing right there. And then it happened. The thing she had been dreading for the past six years. She froze.

  “Your mother, my lord. The Dowager Countess of Averford has arrived to see you.”

  Five

  Unsurprisingly, Gabriel’s mother didn’t wait for the proper greeting. She pushed right by Finch and took the room by storm. All the hope that had been building inside Gabriel, the dream of a night alone with his wife, turned to ashes when he saw his wife’s eyes widen with alarm at the sight of his mother.

  “Not just a visit, my darlings. I’m home. Home to stay!” His mother threw open her arms and ran at him, enfolding him in a brief embrace before moving on to Sophia. The Dowager Countess knew enough to not embrace Sophia, but worse, she reached out and patted her cheeks instead. “Look at you!”

  Sophia blinked, her mouth remaining open in shock or horror. Shocked horror.

  “Emotion, Gabe! I believe your coolly polite wife is showing emotion! Close your mouth, dear. It’s not a dream. I’m really here. Why didn’t you tell her I was coming?”

  Sophia turned to him, blue eyes blazing. “You knew? You knew your mother’s arrival was imminent, and you didn’t say anything?”

  “I… Forgive me, I tried. You didn’t want to discuss her. And I hardly knew she was coming so soon. I knew she was in Paris, yes, but…”

  “Paris was a mistake.” Mother waved her arms dramatically. “Not entirely. I did choose some lovely gowns, but I decided not to wait for them. Jean-Philippe will have them sent here, of course. Do you know that my measurements are exactly what they were twenty years ago when Charles Frederick first took them?” She posed, hands on hips, then gestured to Sophia’s frock. “A Worth?”

  “Yes, it is. House of Worth.” Sophia wouldn’t say more than necessary. Gabriel was surprised that she’d regained her power of speech in time to answer.

  “She always had taste,” Mother said dismissively, her attention drawn to Sophia’s portrait above the fireplace. She scowled, but the man who had come in quietly after her cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

  “Lord Markham?” It was Gabriel’s turn to be surprised. “What are you doing here? Come in, of course. Make yourself at home. You still know the place well enough, I imagine.”

  “He accompanied me on the train!” Mother spoke in exclamations, revealing to Gabriel that she had already been drinking. She always got loud when drinking. “The dear man! And then to the Dower House, where we met the loveliest couple. Americans! Living in my house! Did you know?”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “We visited with them for some time. Didn’t we, Charlie boy? Great fun. They do like their whiskey, the Americans.”

  “It appears you have a taste for it too.” Gabriel shouldn’t have been so indelicate, but he could hardly contain himself in his anger at her sudden appearance before he could warn Sophia, and just as things were going so well…

  “My fault, I’m afraid.” Lord Markham stepped forward. “She admitted to being nervous on the train, and I suggested a drink might calm her down.”

  “Mother, nervous?” Gabriel stared at Markham as if the man had grown a second head.

  “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” Mother winked at Lord Markham. Winked! Had she been leading the poor man on all afternoon? In his sensitive state following the divorce? Gabriel could not forget that Markham had held an attraction for Mother once upon a time, before she’d married Gabriel’s father. “But yes, I was nervous. I haven’t been back in so long. And then there was Charles, and we started talking and discovered we were headed in the same direction.”

  “Your lovely wife invited me,” Markham informed Gabriel before turning to Sophia. “Thank you, Sophia. I hope it’s not too soon. I’ve been so lonely in London.”

  She hesitated. “I did say that you were welcome to come and see us, Charles. Of course.” If his wife, the consummate hostess, felt any annoyance at Markham’s presence, she didn’t show it. But then, her cheeks remained red from her shock at seeing Mother.

  “Charles? And Sophia? When did the two of you become so close?” Gabriel’s gaze flitted between them from one to the other. He was almost afraid he might catch them sharing a conspiratorial smile or intimate gesture.

  “We’ve all been friends for so long,” Sophia explained. “When I came to find you in London, I met Charles at Averford House. He’d stopped in to whisk you away to the pub, and I asked him to stay for dinner. It only seemed natural to drop all formality.”

  “And the dear girl offered this drowning old man a lifeline with her invitation. I’ll forever be grateful.” Markham bowed in Sophia’s direction. “And then, of course, I had the good fortune of finding Teresa on the train.”

  Teresa, Mother’s given name. So they were all to be an intimate party sharing a jolly, old respite at Thornbrook Park, were they? Gabriel could hardly resent Markham, the poor man, for attempting to distract himself in his time of grief for a crumbled marriage. But Gabriel had his own marriage to think about, his own wife, and how he wanted her all to himself.

  “I might as well send word to Aunt Agatha to join us,” Sophia said. “If we’re to be a group instead of just a pair.” When she met Gabriel’s gaze, she revealed more than she expected, he imagined. He could see the regret clouding her eyes. He wasn’t the only one disappointed in the turn of events, but it was little consolation to think of them both being miserable.

  “Yes, send for her. She does liven up any affair.” At least he could say that for Agatha, that she knew how to keep things exciting with her spirit talk and fortune-telling. “I missed her too, as it happens.”

  “We’ll have a merry bunch indeed,” Mother said, gesturing for Finch to cross the room and pour her some champagne. “The Americans will be joining us too.”

  “The Americans?” Both Gabriel and Sophia turned at once to face Mother.

  “The ones in my house, yes. The Waldens. Very lovely couple. He’s a railroad tycoon, and she’s from a newspaper family. They’re friends with the Belmonts, apparently. You know Alva and her special projects—first suffrage, now organizing tours abroad.”

  “Yes.” Sophia set her glass down, apparently finished after only a few sips. “That’s how they were recommended to us, through our estate agent who was formerly employed by Mrs. Belmont, Alva.”

  If Gabriel remembered correctly, Sophia couldn’t stand Alva Belmont’s daughter, the Duchess of Marlborough, for sweeping into London and stealing all the young men’s hearts before Sophia had been about to make her own debut. Consuelo Vanderbilt was all the men could speak of that year. Quite a few of Gabriel’s own school friends were head over heels for her, even though she was already promised to the duke.

  “Imagine my surprise when I arrived at home to find it occupied. We all had a good laugh, and I invited them here for dinner. If you’re interested in fine English country living, I told them, you’ll find no better example than at Thornbrook Park. A wonder you didn’t put them up here. You have the rooms.”

  “The Dower House is large enough and offered more privacy for them.”

  “And for you. No matter, dear. I’ve arranged for my things to be brought over here and unpacked. I gave myself the blue room. It will do for now. Mrs. Hoyle is preparing everything. The Americans can stay in my house. And how lovely to have someone to entertain! It can get so quiet here in the country.”

  Somehow, his wife managed not to flinch at the news. Sophia liked it quiet. She preferred to rule over their own small group of friends and acquaintances, people she knew well enough to not have to guess their preferences and dislikes. And he wished his mother would rememb
er that the Dower House wasn’t hers exactly, though he would hardly deny his own mother the right to stay there.

  “Charles, has Mr. Finch sent a footman to see to your things?” Sophia was about to gesture for Finch, but Mother stepped in again.

  “Of course. I’m putting him in the green room next to mine.”

  “That will never do,” Sophia said. “The green room and the two next to it are always reserved for the Thornes. Mina and Freddie need their space, and of course there’s the nurse…”

  “Freddie?” Mother crinkled her nose. “You’ve taken to calling Winifred by a boy’s name?”

  Sophia shrugged. “Her parents have, and I always respect their wishes. Besides, I think it suits her. Perhaps you’ll agree with me when you meet her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Does she dress like a boy? Heavens, has Marcus’s desire to have a son taken his last shred of sense?”

  “Actually, she’s a very feminine baby. But what does it matter?” Marcus seemed perfectly content with his girls, at any rate. Not that Gabriel would argue further with his mother if avoidable.

  “Alva Belmont would probably agree with you. She argues with anyone over rights for women. She stayed with us in Italy for weeks, speaking of nothing but rights.”

  “You don’t agree with her? You don’t think we should have rights, Teresa?” Teresa. His wife had taken to calling his mother by her first name. He felt his breath catch, wondering how Mother would bear it.

  She didn’t blink. “We should have rights, but no need to be so strident about it. It’s unladylike.” Mother tipped her glass up and downed all her champagne in one gulp.

  “Mustn’t be unladylike. The horror.” Gabriel flashed a grin at Markham just as Finch stepped in to introduce the Americans.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Walden.” Finch showed them in and took Sophia aside. Gabriel could overhear the butler reassuring his wife that he had used his own judgment and instructed a footman to set Lord Markham up in an east-wing bedroom.

  Sophia, seemingly pleased, rejoined them in time for more personal introductions before going in to dinner.

  “My word, what an impressive portrait.” Mrs. Walden, a short woman with wild red curls barely contained in a bun at the back of her head, endeared herself to Sophia right away with the recognition. “Perhaps you’ll share the name of your artist so I can have one like it of myself.”

  “I’ll write it down for you after dinner.” Sophia reached out to pat the woman’s hand, a kind of spontaneously friendly gesture Gabriel had never seen her make before. “Do you like champagne? We’ve opened a bottle.”

  “Yes, quite a likeness,” Mother observed, seemingly put out at having to share the Americans now that she’d invited them. Gabriel braced himself. “Though of course some time has passed. You look a bit older now, especially around the eyes. I suppose you replaced my portrait as soon as you could.”

  “I only had it done last year,” Sophia said.

  “Oh.” Mother pursed her lips. “Forgive me then. But I suppose aging is inevitable for us all. Which reminds me… Charles was telling me quite the story on the train. How I laughed!”

  “What story?” Sophia asked. But clearly she had an idea, because Gabriel watched her eyes flash daggers at Charles, who colored under her scrutiny.

  “About Lord Wilkerson confusing you for me. Can you imagine? We’re nothing alike.”

  “Nothing at all,” Sophia agreed. “He wasn’t wearing his spectacles.”

  “Ah, that explains it.” Gabriel reached for his wife’s arm and tucked it into his elbow. “The man can’t see a thing without his spectacles. Mother, keep that in mind if he ever comes to call. You’ll look as young as my fair bride to Wilkerson as long as he forgets his eyeglasses.”

  Mother harrumphed loudly. Just when Gabriel supposed things were about to take an unfortunate turn, he watched Aunt Agatha sweep in on Mr. Grant’s arm.

  “I hope we’re not too late. I’d planned on taking dinner in my room, but Miss Puss nudged me to the door, as she does when we’re having a party. I sent word asking Mr. Grant to be kind enough to escort me. I hate to show up to a party unattended.” Agatha, in her crimson and gold ensemble, beamed up at Grant like a lovesick schoolgirl. Would wonders never cease?

  “Mr. Grant, you say?” Catching the scent of fresh prey, Mother crossed the room to the newcomers. “The tycoon?”

  “The estate agent.” Sophia, standing nearby, was all too happy to correct the Dowager Countess. “Mr. Grant came highly recommended by Alva Belmont.”

  “In fact, the countess lured me away. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Averford. I’ve heard so much about you.” Grant cast a conspiratorial glance at Sophia.

  Mother’s gaze darted back and forth between the two of them. “I’m sure you have. With me tucked away in Italy, there’s a certain freedom from reproach.”

  “On the contrary, I’ve always admired how the countess holds you in such high esteem. To move heaven and earth to make sure the house would always stand at the ready in the event of your unheralded return shows no shortage of regard. ‘The dower house is no place for my mother-in-law,’ she always says. ‘She belongs here with her family.’ And here you are.”

  With one blond brow raised, Mother couldn’t hide her astonishment and perhaps a fair amount of skepticism at Grant’s words. Gabriel believed Grant could rival his brother, Marcus, for a quick wit and unshakeable charm.

  Seemingly convinced of the authenticity of Grant’s report, Mother took the man’s arm and led him away from Sophia. “Perhaps you can tell me where she has stored my portrait…”

  Without another thought to the rest of them, Mother started toward the dining room with Mr. Grant.

  “Shall we, then?” Gabriel offered his arm to his wife, knowing the others would follow them in for dinner. “She’s temporarily diverted,” he said for Sophia’s ears alone. “Perhaps long enough for her to regain her bearings.”

  “I’m not sure that I don’t prefer her without her bearings, completely adrift. But she obviously has some command of herself. She made sure that she got to go in first, before her host and hostess. She’ll put herself in charge of our great estate just as soon as she can and make sure the rest of us all answer to her.”

  “I doubt you’ll allow it to happen, darling, now that you’ve established yourself as a force.” He cast her a sidelong glance.

  “I wouldn’t say that I’m a force.” She smiled in his direction as he’d hoped she would.

  “Your minion was prepared to do your bidding. Look how fast he stepped in to smooth things over with Mother.”

  “My minion? Mr. Grant? Are you suggesting I’m some sort of a villain? A witch from the fairy tales perhaps?”

  Gabriel shuddered at his own stupidity. It wasn’t the impression he’d meant to invoke. “Not at all. But he does seem fiercely loyal to you.”

  “Not loyal enough to spare any details of my command under questioning by the enemy.”

  Her words cut him deeply and caught him unprepared. “Your enemy? Tell me it hasn’t come to that. Please, Sophia.” He gripped her by the wrist so that she had to turn to face him. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  Her eyes softened as she soon as she met his gaze. “Of course not, Gabriel. Up until this afternoon, I wasn’t sure. But we’re not enemies. I know it now.”

  She didn’t exactly clarify what they were to each other, if not enemies. Gabriel supposed that she had as much idea of how to define their relationship as he had.

  * * *

  Dinner went wonderfully as always, the Earl and Countess of Averford playing their roles to perfection. While they were seated at the table, it was just another night at Thornbrook Park, another of their celebrated dinners, and not a momentous occasion in which Gabriel and Sophia stumbled over what to say to each other after finally reuniting foll
owing a bitter year apart.

  Conversation flowed more readily than the wine that well-trained footmen replenished before the gilt-edged crystal goblets could even be emptied. Sophia took a liking to their American guests, so much so that she stopped thinking of them as Americans and began to think of them as friends. How they chattered on about this, that, and everything that struck their fancy! Even the Dowager Countess could barely fit a word in edgewise.

  The awkward silence would settle between them later, Sophia supposed. Once the guests were gone. Though Gabriel’s mother would remain, as well as Lord Markham, Aunt Agatha, Mr. Grant, and the countless servants who filled their house. They could put off ever finding themselves alone together again, should they choose to do so.

  But Sophia found that she wanted to be alone with Gabriel. Desperately. She studied him over cordials after dinner in the drawing room. He always held extraordinary command over a room, his mere presence drawing attention. It helped that he was taller than most men of their acquaintance, Sophia supposed. And he had those naturally broad shoulders. Those soulful, brooding brown eyes could turn to weapons in an instant, piercing straight through to one’s soul to lay all secrets bare. She thrilled at the very idea of being laid bare by Gabriel. Take me, Husband. Take me now! Surely they could find a quiet nook away from their guests. With the Americans yammering on, who would notice?

  She smiled at the idea and rejoined the conversation. It wouldn’t do for the hostess to be woolgathering off in a corner, especially not with Gabriel’s mother all too ready to step in and resume the role she clearly believed to be hers by right. Sophia could see the way Teresa looked around the room, likely imagining how things used to be and how she could manage to set them all back to rights.

  “Newport sounds lovely,” Sophia said after Louise Walden finished describing their “cottage” by the sea. It sounded more like a palace, but perhaps Sophia hadn’t been paying proper attention.

  “Only when Alva Belmont’s out of town, to be sure.” Teresa held her empty cordial glass aloft, perhaps waiting for Finch to notice and replace it with a full one. “Otherwise, she must fancy herself Queen of the Coastline, and woe to any who cross her.”