After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  “I would say that is a blessing.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. But when she seems younger than you, although she is almost a year older, you may understand why.”

  Christelle could feel heat rising within her. He appreciated her maturity, and it gave her pleasure. Part of her wished she could leave with Dr. Craig at this very moment.

  “Do not let them force you into anything with which you are not comfortable. The Ashbury family is quite a force in the ton and do not always understand everyone does not wish for notoriety.”

  “I think if you will be near, most anything will be acceptable to me.”

  Seamus let out a deep sigh.

  “What is the matter?” she asked with concern. Something was bothering him.

  He hesitated to answer. “Nothing. Nothing is the matter. I will always be here for you.” He looked up at her and smiled, though she could see doubt in his eyes.

  The next morning, Seamus thought to catch Christelle early before she was monopolized again—and invite her for a walk. Yesterday, after tea, she had delighted in playing with the children, then following dinner, there had been a friendly Ashbury game of charades. Friendly also meant competitive to a fault. There had been a few moments in which to speak to Christelle, but there was always someone else within earshot.

  He did love his family—every idiosyncratic bit—but they would be shocked at the number of times he had contemplated throwing Christelle over his shoulder and running from the room. It would have taken everyone else a while to realize it was not part of the game. He laughed. He should have done it. It had looked as though it would be his best hope to have time alone with her.

  The breakfast room was still empty by the time he finished his meal and second cup of coffee. It had been a late night, but his body was unaccustomed to sleeping past six, no matter how tired he was.

  He walked into the entry hall and there was still no sign of life in the household. He decided to go for a walk and take in some fresh air.

  When he passed by the study, with its doors still closed, he overheard voices.

  “Perhaps Maili is right. We should take her to Town for the Season.”

  “I am not certain she will enjoy it.”

  Seamus did not want to overhear the intimate conversation between Yardley and Beaujolais. He put on his great coat and hat as quickly as possible but still was privy to more than he wished.

  “What will everyone say when they see her?”

  “At least she does not look like Lillian?” Yardley replied mockingly.

  “Thank God for that, but no. Someone is bound to tell her how her mother died. Perhaps it would be best to tell her now.”

  “I think it would be too much. It will not be easy, either way. Let her get to know you first.”

  “I do not like having secrets between us. It will be hard enough for her to accept me.”

  “I do not agree. She is nothing like Lillian. She is eager to please.”

  “She appears to be,” Beaujolais agreed.

  “And when she knows you as I do...” Yardley’s voice lowered and trailed off.

  There was a moment of silence and Seamus wished he was both invisible and deaf, but the front door was locked.

  “I take it back. I do not want her to know you in quite the same fashion,” Yardley went on in a seductive tone.

  “Benedict, this is serious.”

  “We survived the problem of Lillian, we will survive this,” he said, his tone serious again. “I am a duke, you are a duchess. She is our daughter, and if we accept her as such, so will the rest of the world.”

  “What if she wishes to remain plain Miss Christelle Stanton, modiste?”

  “There is nothing plain about her. If she wished to remain anonymous, she should not have come.”

  “I do not think that is quite fair.”

  “Perhaps I am being severe. I will not be overbearing, but I do want her to have every opportunity she is entitled to as our daughter.”

  Seamus tried to move away but the floor creaked and he froze. Could he not be honourable and leave the eavesdropping without appearing guilty?

  “What would you hope for her?” Beaujolais asked Yardley.

  “A happy home, a place in our family, a rightful place in Society, and a suitable marriage, to begin with,” he rattled off.

  “It seems so sudden.”

  “A bit of a fairytale, yes. But with you to bring her out, I have no doubt she will have her prince and a happy ending.”

  “If that is your wish... and hers.”

  There was deafening silence yet again, and Seamus decided to make a run for it. No doubt the servants knew which floorboards creaked, but he did not wish to hear or imagine any more. He dashed through the house down the stairs to the kitchen with a greeting and a smile and inhaled deeply of the crisp winter air when he had reached the safety of the outdoors.

  Seamus walked down the path from the house, drawn to the serenity of the glassy water. He stood on the stone bridge for some time watching waterfowl soar and swoop down from the round temple guarding the lake. He knew he must allow Christelle to have this Season without interference from him, reflecting about what was on his conscience. She did seem to return his regard, but that might change when other more attractive suitors and titles pursued her in earnest. And Yardley might not approve of his suit. Either way, she needed time before he courted her. It would be difficult to stand back and watch, but he knew it was right.

  He felt more at ease by the time he began his return trip. As he was coming up the path, Yardley was walking out towards him.

  “Good morning, Seamus.”

  “Good morning, sir.” Seamus was still uncomfortable calling him Yardley, even though he had been his uncle for well over a decade. Yardley fell in step with him and they walked side-by-side back to the house.

  “The men are shooting to fill the larder. Will you join us?”

  Seamus hesitated.

  “The ladies are going into the village this morning, and if the weather holds, they have a pall-mall re-match planned for the afternoon. Heaven help us all.”

  “Yes, of course. I am a bit rusty with a fowling piece,” Seamus confessed.

  “Fret not. Harris will get your share and then some.”

  Seamus was quite a good shot, but he never had liked killing things. It went against his nature as a physician.

  “I did want to repeat my gratefulness to you—in earnest, for saving Christelle. I know you are a good man—and when I think of what could have happened...” Yardley's voice cracked.

  “Yes. It was not a stretch for my imagination, either. It could have easily been one of my sisters.” Would he be so thankful if he knew how he truly felt about her?

  Yardley looked away for a few steps, then stopped. “Seamus, I would like to do something for you.”

  Seamus could not think of what he meant. “Thanking me is enough.”

  “I would like to show you my gratitude.”

  “Just for helping a lost girl from a bridge who would have frozen to death? I could not accept it, sir. It would not be right. I had no idea she was your daughter, and I would have helped her, regardless.”

  Yardley stared at him, and though uncomfortable, Seamus held his gaze. Yardley was not used to being told no, but this was a matter of integrity.

  “I beg your pardon,” Yardley said softly. “I intended no offence.”

  Seamus inclined his head.

  “However, I feel I should do something!” he persisted.

  “Sir,” Seamus began.

  “Benedict or Yardley, please. Even Uncle is preferable to sir!”

  “Very well, Yardley. Nevertheless, seeing Lady Christelle welcomed here has been thanks enough. I confess I will miss spending Wednesday afternoons with her, but she deserves this.”

  “What precisely were you doing on Wednesdays?” Yardley looked sideways at him.

  “I took her to Astley’s; walking in the park, once...”
/>   “This is a dilemma.”

  “How so? It was all very proper, sir.”

  “But she had no chaperone, and you must have been seen. Although you are cousins…”

  Seamus thought back to Lord and Lady Roth, and knew what he said was likely true. He would dearly love to ask for her hand in marriage at that very moment, but he could sense Yardley was not ready to part with his daughter yet. They needed time together. And would he consider an adopted physician to be good enough for her?

  Chapter 14

  The ladies are going into the village this morning,” Maili informed Christelle as she walked in from the adjoining room. The two of them were sharing a sitting room, and Christelle had been indulging in reading a book—something she rarely ever had chance to do. Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from the page.

  What was she expected to say? Have a pleasant outing?

  “Well, are you not coming with us?” Maili looked confused.

  “Oh. I did not know I was supposed to.”

  Maili's mouth twisted a little to the side. “Perhaps I should have asked you rather than told you. I assumed you would know you were invited.”

  “I was never invited on such excursions while at school. I did not understand what you meant.”

  “I never went to school,” Maili confessed as she twirled a curl which hung over her shoulder. “I suppose there were lessons at the orphanage and we had a governess at the castle.”

  “A castle?”

  “Yes.” Maili laughed. “This is just as grand, though I don't believe it has a dungeon.”

  “I am afraid to know where the other sister lives,” Christelle muttered.

  “Oh, they have an ordinary house, but they do sometimes live on their boat.”

  Christelle knew her eyes must be wide with curiosity. What an extraordinary family she had come into. “What shall we do in the village?” Christelle asked.

  “Buy ribbons and gloves, visit with the villagers, that sort of thing. Mama says it is our duty to support the tenants and such. The men are going shooting, which sounds more fun to me.”

  “Do you like to hunt?” Christelle had never thought of ladies hunting.

  “Certainly!” Maili exclaimed. “John taught me. He is married to my sister, Catriona. You will have to visit Scotland to meet them. He was injured in the war and does not travel often.”

  Christelle stood and placed her book on the stand. “I will need a bonnet and pelisse, I think.”

  “Some boots would be useful also,” Maili replied following her into her room. “What are these?” she asked, noticing some of Christelle's sketches on the desk.

  “A hobby now, I suppose,” she said wistfully as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet.

  “These are glorious!” Maili glanced back and forth between Christelle and one of the sketches. “Why, this is the one you are wearing!”

  Christelle smiled. “It is. Madame helped me to make it before I left.”

  “I forgot you were working for Madame Monique. I hope to have new gowns soon. I've always wanted to dance at real balls and drive in the park. Oh, and go to the theatre!” She leaned against the dressing table and threw her hand to her forehead in dramatic illustration. “Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? I have always enjoyed theatricals. I wonder if we might put a play on before we leave?”

  “Should we not be meeting the others?” Christelle asked, hoping to divert Maili from this line of thought. She could think of no horror greater than performing on the stage with thousands of eyes upon her.

  “Oh, yes! I had already forgotten!”

  Christelle followed her out of the room, wondering what it would be like to feel so carefree? To worry about nothing other than parties and handsome men? Perhaps that was a bit unfair. She did not know Maili well yet.

  All four of the ladies were waiting for them in the entry hall.

  “What a lovely gown, Christelle,” Beaujolais remarked.

  “It is one of her own designs,” Maili proclaimed.

  “Is it? I believe I had best consult you in the future,” Anjou said to Christelle.

  “It would be wise to keep it our little secret,” Lady Ashbury said. “With so many of us to accoutre, she will run out of ideas.”

  And they did not wish anyone to know, Christelle knew. She had no intention of stopping what she enjoyed, even if it was only for family.

  They took two carriages, one with the ducal crest, and the other with that of the Marquessate. They were not travelling incognito, to say the least. Christelle sat forward facing, next to Lady Ashbury.

  “I think the best approach is to answer questions honestly but succinctly,” the Lady announced. “It is best to present her to everyone before the outcry has a chance to start.”

  “Do you mean me?”

  “Of course, chérie. We are taking this excursion to show you off in the village.”

  Christelle had to bite her inner lip to keep her face impassive—a trick she had learned long ago at Harriot’s. She felt a sudden longing for Dr. Craig. They should be walking and talking now. Instead, she was to be paraded around and forced to meet strangers.

  “You will become accustomed, my dear. But for a little while you will be very much on display, and people will be curious.”

  “It is a fantastic thing,” Beaujolais said quietly. “I still cannot believe, though I see you with my own eyes.”

  “I understand. It is how I feel when I see my father. To think all of these years he never knew of my existence.”

  “Did you enjoy meeting the children?” Beaujolais asked kindly.

  “Very much so. Rosalind and I favour each other. In temperament and looks.”

  “It is how I knew you immediately,” Beaujolais confessed.

  “I think Maili's temperament is more suited to this Season you speak of. I do not enjoy large gatherings—or being the centre of attention.”

  “It is a necessity, chérie. Margaux did not enjoy it either, but you will be a success. No doubt suitors will be lining the streets for your hand,” put in Lady Ashbury.

  Christelle looked at Beaujolais for help. She seemed to give her a sympathetic look.

  “Here we are!” Lady Ashbury pronounced. “Let us see if we can find some more accessories to complete your trousseau.”

  “More? But we purchased enough in London to last for years.”

  Lady Ashbury simply laughed as they alighted.

  Beaujolais leaned over and whispered, “Just nod and smile. It is futile to protest.”

  Why did Christelle feel her wishes were becoming more and more disregarded with each passing day?

  How long should she allow this to continue? It seemed as though she was losing control of herself, though everyone appeared to have her best interests at heart. It did not mean it was what she wanted.

  How many more fowl must die before they would be done? Seamus wondered as the gunpowder smoke wafted around him. It felt as though they had been shooting for hours. He had felled two birds, which was enough for both him and Christelle’s portions, but the other men had continued to shoot and the spaniels to retrieve their kills.

  “I suppose we should return soon. I know the ladies were wishing to play games this afternoon,” Yardley remarked in a half-hearted manner to no one in particular.

  Harris and Gavin groaned aloud.

  “Yes, I know, but we must humour them from time to time,” he added sympathetically. “The trick is to play like they are men. Do not treat them as ladies.”

  “I would not dare!” Harris said with scorn. “I enjoy every minute of watching them lose.”

  Seamus and Gavin laughed. The sisters did not care for losing.

  “I do not enjoy sleeping in the other room, however,” Gavin added.

  “Victory is bitter-sweet, eh?” Harris asked with a knowing glance.

  “Very much so.”

  The men handed their rifles to the accompanying servants and began the mile trek back to the house. They w
atched the carriages coming up the drive conveying the ladies, and greeted them at the door before they went in to wash and change their raiment.

  “How did you fare in the village?” Yardley asked as he helped Christelle and Beaujolais down.

  Beaujolais let out a deep sigh. “We ran into the rector and his wife.”

  “It was bound to happen soon, if not today,” he remarked.

  “Yes, but now the entire village will know before tea.”

  “It was what we wanted. We will carry on as normal. Anyone who does not approve may move to another village.”

  Seamus listened with admiration. What must it be like to be a duke?

  “Are we still in order for our match today?” Yardley was asking.

  “I think I would prefer a rest after tea,” Beaujolais answered.

  Yardley wrinkled his brow. “Are you unwell?”

  Seamus's ears perked up at the familiar word.

  “No. Just fagged.”

  Seamus was relieved. He would much rather escort Christelle on a walk at the moment than either play a game or attend the Duchess.

  Christelle was still surrounded by the other ladies and he feared he would never have a moment with her again. But they began to retire upstairs with their husbands and he caught her glance. He was conscious of his shooting attire and dirty boots, but he was afraid to miss the small chance. He manoeuvred his way to her side.

  “Have you enjoyed your excursion?”

  “Everyone has been very kind,” she said with a tired-looking smile that said more than her words.

  “Would you care to take a walk later? At least around the gardens?” he asked hopefully.

  “May we go now?” She surprised him by asking.

  “If you do not mind me as I am.”

  “Non. I have seen many sides of you on this trip,” she said with an amused twinkle in her eye.

  “I hope they do not offend.”

  “On the contrary. They are all equally charming.”

  He led her around the side of the house to the landscaped garden. It was more wild and natural, in the Capability Brown style, than the manicured parterre gardens set out at the front of the imposing mansion.

  When they were finally alone and some distance from the house, she asked, “Are they always this passionate?”