The Second Lady Southvale

by Sandra Heath

  He’d been up since dawn, and was now riding slowly down through the park on one of the largest and most capricious thoroughbreds in the stables, chosen deliberately to take his mind off other things. He wore a pine-green riding coat and pale-gray cord breeches, and hadn’t bothered to put on a top hat, so that the bright autumn sun shone on his coal-black hair. But for all his Bond Street elegance, he still looked and felt ragged, for sleep was proving hard to come by. The letter he’d struggled over had been written and sent, and all he could think of was the unhappiness with which it would be read. A nerve flickered at his temple, and his lips pressed into a firm line as he kicked his heels, suddenly urging the great bay more swiftly down toward the lake.

  A shy herd of red deer fled before him, veering away to his right to melt into the thick fringe of trees marking the boundary of the estate with the Hampstead road. He could just make out the lodge by the main gates, and the lodge-keeper at work in the tiny vegetable garden at the rear. The lake sparkled in the sunshine in the valley below, the blue water dotted with graceful white swans. It was lined by more trees, some of them evergreen, but most of them in the full fiery glory of autumn color. Down beyond the lake and the valley, below the invigorating air of the high heath, London stretched away into the distance, and the day was so clear that he could easily distinguish the dome of St Paul’s on the horizon.

  Behind him, Greys shone white on its grassy terrace, its shuttered windows gazing blindly over the park, but he didn’t look back as he reached the trees by the shore of the lake, riding through them to the water’s edge. There he reined in, leaning forward slightly on the pommel and gazing across the sheet of water that looked so natural, but that had been achieved in his great-grandfather’s time by the damming of a small stream. A slight miscalculation with the surveying had meant that the water crept up six feet farther than originally intended, encircling a tiny rise in the land where an old summerhouse was built in the branches of an ancient oak tree. Rather than attempt to lower the lake again, a little Chinese bridge had been built, spanning the shallow water between the shore and the newly made island, and what had commenced as a mistake had been turned into a very lovely and novel feature.

  On impulse, he dismounted, leading the horse to the bridge and tethering it. Then he walked across to the little island. A barely discernible breeze played through the leaves of the oak tree, loosening some of them so that they sailed idly down to rock on the water like little orange-and-gold boats. The summerhouse had been built two hundred years before, when the original Greys had gazed down over a tree-filled valley where a stream flowed between mossy banks, and was an elegant little structure with arched, leaded windows. Half-timbered and topped by a gracefully pointed roof, it nestled comfortably among the thick, gnarled branches, approached up a winding wooden staircase that led to a little arched door.

  Philip gazed up at it, noticing how faded the wood was now and how loose some of the little tiles were on the roof. He and Katherine had played there all the time when they’d been children, but it had been sadly neglected of late. Slowly he went up the wooden staircase, pausing to shake the handrail as it wobbled beneath his touch.

  The arched door creaked on its rusty hinges, and a damp smell drifted out toward him. There was sudden startled fluttering, and he ducked as a frightened dove flew out past him. When he went inside, he saw that one of the windows overlooking the middle of the lake had at some time been blown open by the wind, and doves had been roosting in the summer-house rather than the dovecote in the kitchen garden behind the house.

  The vagaries of the weather had swept in through the open window, spoiling the pretty wallpaper that had once been such a delicate blend of pink and gold, but that was now a faded, nondescript stone color. Some of the paper was peeling and damp, and he noticed a loose board above the door. The floor was in need of attention, too, for not only had the doves left their mark, but some of the boards were beginning to look rotten.

  His riding crop tapping against his gleaming top boot, Philip glanced sadly around. It was his fault that the little building had come to such a sorry pass, for he hadn’t given it much thought for years now. Things would have to be put right and the summerhouse rebuilt completely if necessary.

  Leaning a hand on the wall, he looked out of the open window. The sunlight flashed on the lake, and two swans glided silently past. He could hear the murmur of the breeze in the oak tree and the lap of the little wavelets against the shore. It was peaceful and very beautiful.

  He gazed at the patterns on the water, wishing that he could stay here in seclusion forever. But he was merely putting off the inevitable, and some time soon he had to go back to London: he had no other choice. He’d never shrunk from his duty in the past, and now wasn’t the time to start. ‘Duty.’ The very word cut into him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, it seemed that he could see Rosalind’s face shimmering in the glittering water below.

  His breath escaped slowly, and suddenly his mind was made up. He wouldn’t wait until the eve of his Foreign Office appointment before returning to London, he’d go tomorrow.

  Turning, he left the summerhouse and descended the staircase. His horse pricked its ears as he crossed the Chinese bridge, and soon he was riding back up through the park toward the house. Fifteen minutes later a groom set off for Southvale House with a message for Katherine and Lady Eleanor.

  After breakfast, Katherine set off on the various calls she’d arranged before Rosalind’s arrival, and Rosalind went back up the staircase toward her room, still trying to think of a suitable excuse not to go anywhere with Gerald.

  Reaching the top of the first flight of stairs, she saw that the drawing-room doors were open. Celia’s portrait faced her, the dainty figure in pale-pink satin standing out against its thundery background. Rosalind paused, staring at her predecessor’s likeness. Celia’s face was a sweet, delectable mask, hiding the real woman beneath. Philip believed he’d married an angel, but an angel wouldn’t have set out to so deliberately break Katherine’s heart, and an angel wouldn’t have tried to wreak punishment upon an innocent stableboy who couldn’t have been expected to know she’d changed her fickle mind about a ride.

  Rosalind gazed at the portrait for a moment longer and then went to close the drawing-room doors. Gathering her green dimity skirts, she hurried on up to the floor above and along the passage toward the pagoda room. As she went inside, however, she saw Annie start guiltily from the window, dabbing a handkerchief to her tearstained eyes.

  Rosalind paused in surprise. ‘Annie? Whatever is it?’

  ‘Nothing, madam,’ said the maid quickly, striving to quell the tears.

  ‘Do you usually cry for no good reason?’ asked Rosalind, not unkindly.

  ‘No, m-madam.’ The maid hung her head, her shoulders shaking.

  Rosalind went to her. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘It’s my mother, madam. She’s been ill for a while now, and just after I’d shown you down to the terrace, my sister brought a message. Mam’s worse.’

  ‘Do you wish to go to her?’

  ‘But Lady Eleanor has instructed me to accompany you when you drive with Mr Beaufort.’

  ‘There isn’t going to be any drive if I can help it,’ replied Rosalind determinedly.

  ‘There isn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is it because you’re so very tired after traveling from Cornwall?’

  What an excellent excuse! Rosalind nodded. ‘Yes, Annie, it is. I’m quite exhausted, and I’m sure Mr Beaufort will understand if I decline his kind invitation.’ And if he doesn’t, let him stew.

  Annie looked hopefully at her. ‘Do you really mean that I can go to see my mother?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m quite capable of existing for a while without a maid. I’m not entirely helpless.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Miss Carberry. You’ll never know how grateful I am.’

  ‘Go along now, Annie, and you can have the rest of t
he day. I’m sure Lady Eleanor will not mind, and if she does, then I’ll say it’s all my fault, which it is.’

  At a loss for words to express her gratitude, Annie hurried away, almost as if she was afraid Rosalind would change her mind. Rosalind smiled a little. It seemed that Annie was human, after all, with very human emotions. But then, didn’t every loving daughter worry about her mother? Rosalind lowered her eyes. She was a loving daughter herself, but she’d left home in such a way that distress was bound to have been the result. True, she’d sent a note from Annapolis, but it would have provided scant comfort. It was time to write another letter, to let them know she’d arrived safely.

  But as she went down to the floor below again, to the drawing-room, where she’d noticed a small writing desk the evening before, she thought wryly that if things continued to go the way they appeared to be going, she and the letter would probably arrive back in Washington together.

  She ignored Celia’s portrait as she commenced the letter, but she was conscious of its presence all the time. She didn’t tell her family of the disagreeable things that had happened to her since her arrival in London; she just wrote about the good things, such as they were. Well, she was in London, she was staying at Southvale House, and both Lady Eleanor and Katherine had been kind to her. It was also true that Gerald Beaufort was coming to escort her over the town today; there was no need to add that he was loathsome in the extreme and that she wouldn’t go out anywhere with him if he were the last man on earth.

  She’d just completed the letter when Richardson came to inform her that Gerald had called and was waiting in the entrance hall. She took her time about sanding, folding, and sealing the letter, for it wouldn’t do Gerald any harm to be kept kicking his elegant heels for a while, and then, when she was quite ready, she went down to speak to him.

  He was standing by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece and one shining boot upon the polished fender. He was looking into the flames and didn’t at first hear her approach. The firelight glowed on his face and burnished his dark-chestnut hair to bright copper. He wore a mulberry coat and cream corduroy breeches, and his waistcoat was made of particularly fine silver brocade. A bunch of keys was suspended from his fob, and a golden pin shone in the neat folds of his starched neckcloth. His top hat, gloves, and ebony-handled cane lay on the silver-topped table in the center of the hall.

  She’d almost reached the bottom when he heard her. He turned quickly and came toward her. ‘Good morning, Miss Carberry,’ he said in a very agreeable tone.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Beaufort,’ she replied coolly.

  The coolness wasn’t lost upon him. ‘I see I have yet to redeem myself.’

  She didn’t reply.

  He exhaled softly. ‘Miss Carberry, I realize that I was a little rude yesterday—’

  ‘A little rude? Sir, you were monumentally rude.’

  ‘Er, yes, I believe I was. Believe me, I’m truly sorry to have treated you so appallingly.’

  She eyed him suspiciously. ‘I find it hard to believe in such a complete volte face, Mr Beaufort. You made your feelings toward me very plain indeed when we first met yesterday, and then, without warning, you are all sweetness and charm. Why?’

  ‘Perhaps because I realized how wrong I was about you.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Miss Carberry, I made a gross error of judgment, and I bitterly regret it now. If I could undo those minutes yesterday, I would, but the sin is committed now. All I can do is try to make amends, and I will do, if you will but give me the chance. It was Lady Eleanor’s suggestion that I take you to see some of the sights of London this morning.’

  ‘I’m far too fatigued after my arduous journey to consider a carriage drive, sir,’ she replied firmly.

  His hazel eyes were shrewd, and the faintest of smiles touched his lips, as if he knew it was just an excuse. ‘Well, I suppose that’s understandable,’ he murmured. ‘Miss Carberry, fresh air is said to be a sovereign cure for fatigue, so perhaps a walk in the park would be beneficial?’

  ‘Mr Beaufort—’

  ‘A short walk in the park, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘All you ask? Sir, you’re inviting me to ignore propriety.’

  ‘A maid can accompany us, indeed, I would expect such a precaution. Forgive me if I gave any impression to the contrary,’ he replied quickly.

  But still she held her ground. ‘I would prefer not to, sir,’ she said candidly.

  ‘Miss Carberry, have you declared war upon me? Can we not negotiate a little? Surely a cessation of hostilities is our joint goal?’ He smiled winningly.

  ‘What does it take to convince you, Mr Beaufort?’ she said coolly.

  ‘I’m determined to get into your good books, Miss Carberry. Please take a walk with me.’

  She hesitated, for it was quite plain that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  ‘Please,’ he pressed, smiling again. ‘I can instruct Richardson immediately concerning a maid to accompany us.’

  She gave in. ‘Very well, Mr Beaufort. A short walk.’

  ‘Ten minutes only, I promise.’

  15

  She went to put on her warm brown velvet cloak and her gypsy hat, for which she chose wide brown satin ribbons. Annie had already dressed her hair into a fine knot from which tumbled a number of thin ringlets, and all she had to do was recomb the framing of little soft curls around her face.

  Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what was bound to be a somewhat strained occasion, she left the pagoda room to go down to where he still awaited her. A maid waited discreetly by the door.

  His glance swept over Rosalind as she descended the staircase, and he smiled. ‘How suitable for a walk, Miss Carberry,’ he said.

  She gave him a smile of sorts, but didn’t respond. He sounded so pleasant and charming that it was difficult to recall how he’d been the evening before, but she could and did recall that other Gerald Beaufort, and it was enough for her to use a very long spoon when supping with him.

  He retrieved his top hat, gloves, and cane from the table, and then offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  She rested her hand only lightly over his sleeve and didn’t enjoy even that small contact. She didn’t like him, she wished Lady Eleanor hadn’t asked him to come here today, and she wished the walk was already over and done with.

  Followed by the maid, they emerged from the grounds of Southvale House through the postern gate just below the terrace. She glanced up at the rotunda as they passed, and she saw that a maid was engaged in polishing the windows. The gardener she’d seen earlier was still busy, and there were two others and a boy with him now. All the potted plants had evidently been carried out to their allotted places, but now the path was being raked, nearby shrubs were being pruned, and the fallen leaves were being gathered so that the grass before Lord Southvale’s residence was clear and green. They all paused as Rosalind and Gerald walked by, the maid still following, and after touching their hats respectfully, continued with their work. Rosalind could feel their speculative gazes following her, however, and wondered what the talk was among the servants. No doubt they were taken up with little else but the astonishing arrival of a prospective new Lady Southvale – an American one at that.

  Gerald escorted her along the path and then north into the broad gravel walk she’d noticed earlier. It connected the Piccadilly end of the park with the Mall in the south, and was a place where a number of ladies and gentlemen strolled enjoying the sun. The buildings of Picadilly faced her, as did the northern boundary wall of the park, and in front of that she could see the shining stretch of water she’d observed from the rotunda while waiting for Katherine.

  Gerald was determined to be agreeable and informative. ‘This is the Queen’s Walk,’ he told her. ‘It’s named after Queen Caroline, consort of King George the Second. It seems she wished to be able to walk privately in the park from St James’s Palace, and so this was originally not open to the public.
’

  He smiled. ‘Royalty considers itself to be vastly superior to the rest of us, Miss Carberry, and Queen Caroline thought it a little more than most. We have to thank her for her interest in parks, however, for she was responsible for a great many improvements. Besides, it was her desire to exclude the rest of us that led to her early demise. There used to be a summer pavilion here, built solely for her, and she took to using it in all weathers. She went to it one particularly cold November day, sat there a little too long, and caught a severe chill, from which she died ten days later. Her private walk has been available to the rest of us for some time now, as are all the other royal parks.’

  They strolled on, and the rectangular stretch of water ahead became easier to make out. Small boys were sailing toy boats on it, and there were some ducks.

  Gerald saw her looking at it. ‘It’s the reservoir belonging to the Chelsea Water Works. There’s always a great deal of water in the park, because the Tyburn stream passes beneath it. This reservoir, and another one in Hyde Park, close to Park Lane, provides water for Mayfair.’ He pointed his cane toward Piccadilly and the elegant streets to the north beyond it.

  ‘Where do you live, Mr Beaufort?’ she asked, remembering that the footman Richardson had sent looking for him yesterday had mentioned a house in Piccadilly.

  Gerald pointed with his cane again. ‘Do you see that house with the blue-painted dormer windows in the roof?’

  ‘The narrow, four-storey one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is Maison Beaufort; at least, it will be for the next six months, after which my lease runs out and I’ll be thrown out on the street.’

  ‘Gambling debts?’ she asked directly.

  His hazel eyes flickered over her. ‘Yes, Miss Carberry, gambling debts. Do you disapprove?’

  ‘I can’t say I find it laudable, but it does seem to be the way of a great many gentlemen, including my own brother.’