by Syrie James
She was grateful to Lord Saunders for extending the invitation to stay at Trevelyan Manor, and giving her a ride. But she had imagined such a different outcome to this day. By now, she should have been sitting around the dinner table at Polperran House, laughing and exchanging stories with Alexandra, Thomas, and his sisters Julia and Lillie.
Instead, she was going to spend who knew how long at a strange house where she was not expected, barely knew anyone, and would surely feel in the way. And every day spent there she would, no doubt, be obliged to see Lord Saunders.
Although she’d sensed an initial warmth from him, after their conversation, he’d been moody and distant, exchanging only the briefest of comments. An unspoken tension filled the confined space that they shared. She knew that she’d upset him with her comments about the infamous Miss Townsend, and felt bad about that. But she’d spoken only the truth. It wasn’t her fault that he’d betrayed his best friend.
The coach rumbled on for what seemed like an eternity. Madeleine was just starting to nod off when at last, she heard the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels.
“Here we are,” Saunders said matter-of-factly.
Madeleine wiped at a window with her handkerchief and peered out. The carriage was making its way down a long drive past tall, dripping trees and masses of shrubbery. Ahead stood an immense two-story Palladian building of granite and gray slate, featuring a triangular central pediment and a rooftop teeming with chimneys and dormers.
“What a lovely house,” Madeleine murmured. It occurred to her that Lord Saunders had been born and raised here, and would inherit this place one day.
“Thank you,” was Saunders’s curt reply.
The coach stopped beneath the stone portico covering the front entrance. The driver pulled down the steps from the vehicle and they descended. Saunders dutifully offered his gloved hand to help her alight. This time, she felt no romantic stirrings when his hand gripped hers, and she was glad of it.
As her feet touched the gravel, Madeleine felt a chill through the thin soles of her low boots. The cry of a distant gull pierced the air, an accompaniment to the steady beat of the rain. She inhaled deeply, detecting the scent of the sea in the air as she studied the immense house before them.
“How close is the coast?” she inquired.
“Less than a quarter mile,” Saunders answered. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the massive mahogany front door, which had just swung open.
An imposing man in a black tailcoat appeared. His jet-black hair was threaded with hints of gray. “Good evening, my lord,” he said to Saunders, his keen blue eyes registering surprise as he stepped back to admit them entry.
Saunders returned the greeting, then said, “Miss Atherton, may I present Woodson, our butler. Woodson, this is Miss Madeleine Atherton, Lord Longford’s sister-in-law. She will be staying with us for a while.”
“How do you do,” Madeleine told the butler.
Woodson bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Atherton.”
Saunders handed his gloves and hat to Woodson, who also took Madeleine’s cloak. She glanced about. The entrance hall was spacious and beautiful, featuring several tall windows beneath a ceiling at least fifteen feet high. A fire burned in a marble fireplace, imbuing the room with warmth.
“How is my father?” Saunders asked the butler.
“He is sleeping, my lord. Dr. Hancock was just here and gave strict instructions that he not be disturbed until morning.”
“What did the doctor say? Is Father . . . ?”
“He said His Lordship is doing as well as can be expected.”
“Whatever that means.” Saunders sighed, obviously distressed. “And my mother?”
“She is awaiting your arrival in the saloon.”
“Thank you. We shall make our way there.”
“Shall I speak to Mrs. Dean about preparing a room in the guest wing, my lord? The green room, perhaps? And set another place for dinner?”
“Yes, exactly so. Thank you, Woodson.”
The butler bowed and vanished. Saunders silently beckoned Madeleine to follow him. Tension radiated off of him in waves. She wondered at the cause of it. Was it because he was worried about his father? Or was it her fault—because she was an unwelcome visitor who had called him on his bad reputation and mentioned a former, unhealthy alliance? Or all of the above?
She moved after him with a sigh, searching for something to say. “Woodson seems to be a capable fellow.”
“He is,” was Saunders’s brief reply. He led her through an arched entryway into a central hall, where a huge mahogany staircase swept up to the next level, its walls hung with seemingly endless numbers of ancestral portraits in gilded frames.
As they passed through, Madeleine tried again. “Has Woodson been here long?”
“Since I was a boy. Woodson knows precisely what a person needs before he or she even realizes they require it.”
“What a handy person to have around.”
“Indeed.”
And there the conversation ended. They continued down a long hall. Madeleine knew she had an uncomfortable few days ahead of her unless she could figure out how to mitigate the discord between them. She might not approve of this man, but she felt now that some of the comments she’d made in the carriage might have been a bit insensitive. Perhaps she owed him an apology.
“Lord Saunders,” she began.
But her voice broke off as they entered a large, refined chamber, the beauty of which captured all her attention. Carved dark paneling gleamed on walls hung with so many works of art, it resembled a museum. The furnishings were elegant and of the finest quality. Brocade curtains framed a row of tall windows topped by fanlights, overlooking a green lawn. Everything beyond was shrouded in low-lying mist and the steady rain which poured from the early evening sky. “Oh,” Madeleine breathed in appreciation.
Two women were seated in wingback chairs facing an immense white marble fireplace. Madeleine could see their long skirts, but not their faces. One of them set aside her needlework and stood.
It was Lady Trevelyan. An attractive woman in her midfifties, she was attired in a perfectly tailored dove-gray gown. Her hair, styled in the newest fashion, was the same shade of dark brown as her son’s, and laced with a few silvery streaks. “Charles!” she called out in a throaty voice, holding out her hands as she crossed the room to greet him. “How was your journey?” Catching sight of Madeleine, her brows lifted with curiosity.
“Uneventful,” Saunders replied. “I am so sorry to hear that Father is ill.”
“Thank you, dear,” Lady Trevelyan responded with worried eyes. “I have been beside myself these past few days, but I trust Dr. Hancock is doing all he can.”
Lady Trevelyan and Lord Saunders clasped hands and he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. At this display of affection, Madeleine felt a twinge of envy. Her own mother was anything but affectionate. Their relationship was often fraught with difficulty, a tug of war between what her mother wanted for her and what Madeleine wished for herself.
“Mother, do you remember Miss Madeleine Atherton, from New York?” Lord Saunders gestured to her. “You met at Longford’s wedding. She is his sister-in-law.”
“Of course.” Lady Trevelyan smiled. “How delightful to see you again, Miss Atherton.”
“And you, Lady Trevelyan. Please forgive me for dropping in so unexpectedly. My plans for today have gone awry.”
“I found her at the train station in Bolton,” Saunders explained, “hoping to go to Polperran House.”
“Is not the family away at Bath?” Lady Trevelyan inquired.
“Apparently, everyone seemed to know that but me. Lady Trevelyan, do you know why they went to Bath?” Madeleine added urgently. “Is my sister unwell?”
“I do not believe so,” Lady Trevelyan replied. “I recall Dr. Hancock mentioning something the other day about the countess being in fine health, but even so, Lord Longford wished her to take the waters at Bath.”
“I see. Thank you, that is a relief to hear.”
“Miss Atherton arrived at Bolton unexpected, with no means of transportation,” Saunders said matter-of-factly. “We found the road to Polperran House flooded, so I insisted that she stay with us.”
“I’m only here until the roads are clear,” Madeleine put in hastily. “Which I hope won’t be more than a day or two.”
Lady Trevelyan let go a short laugh. “You are clearly unfamiliar with the roads of Cornwall, Miss Atherton. With these rains, the road to Polperran House may be impassable for a week entire. And what would you do there in any case, with no one in residence except the servants? No, my son is right. You must stay with us until your sister returns.” She glanced at Saunders. “Have you spoken to Woodson?”
“He said something about preparing a room in the guest wing, and setting a place at dinner.”
“Perfect.” She gave Madeleine another smile. “You see, it is all arranged.”
“You are too kind. Thank you so much. But I feel terrible, imposing like this.” She looked to both Lady Trevelyan and Lord Saunders as she spoke from the heart. “Especially with Lord Trevelyan being ill. And Your Ladyship, I know you have children—”
“It is no imposition at all,” Lady Trevelyan assured her with a wave of her hand. “My son James is in Ireland with friends for the entire summer. Helen and Anna are cared for by the governess. Your being here actually comes at a good time. We have another guest who I believe will appreciate your company.” Lady Trevelyan turned to the unseen lady in the other wingback chair and called out, “My dear, do come and be introduced to Miss Atherton.”
A young lady stood and, calmly smoothing out her skirts, strode over to join them. Her clothing proclaimed her to be a member of the upper class. She looked to be in her early twenties, and her pale blond hair was swept up in curls above a pretty face.
“Sophie, may I present Miss Atherton from America. Miss Atherton, this is my niece, Lady Sophie Caswell.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sophie.” They exchanged a curtsy.
“And you, Miss Atherton,” the young lady responded in a gentle voice.
In her rose-colored gown, Lady Sophie reminded Madeline of a spoonful of sherbet. Cool and sweet. Yet her expression was open and sincere, without a trace of haughtiness. Madeleine decided at once that she liked her.
Lady Sophie turned to Lord Saunders and added with undisguised affection, “Hello, Charles.”
“Sophie,” he said.
It was only then that Madeleine noticed Lord Saunders’s expression.
He was frozen in surprise. And he didn’t look particularly happy.
Charles recovered his wits, took his cousin’s hand, and kissed it. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”
“It all came about rather suddenly, Charles,” his mother said, before Sophie could reply. “You know that Sophie and her mother have been cast adrift these past three years, ever since my brother Dermot passed away?”
“Of course I do.” To Sophie, Charles added, “I admired your father. Again, I am so very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It was a very hard blow indeed, losing Papa.” To Lady Trevelyan, she continued, “But we were not truly cast adrift, Aunt Charlotte. Indeed, we did lose our home—”
“Which is such a shame,” his mother interrupted with a frown. “I do not agree with this entail business being reserved for sons, but not daughters.” For Miss Atherton’s benefit, she added, “As Sophie is my brother’s only child, his estate and earldom went to a distant male relation. His poor wife and daughter were left homeless and nearly penniless.”
“It was not so bad as that,” Sophie insisted softly. “We have a small income and many friends and relations who were so kind as to put us up. Your mother invited us ever so many times, Charles. But then . . . Mama married again.”
“Clarissa has just wed Baron Kedleston of Derbyshire,” Lady Trevelyan explained, “and they have gone off to Cairo on the first leg of a world tour. I would not hear of Sophie going with them, so I invited her to stay.”
“Just for the summer,” Sophie put in, casting a quick look at Charles. “I mean to join them in Greece at the end of September.”
Charles registered this information, aware of what had been left unsaid: that his mother had brought Sophie to Trevelyan Manor in the hopes that he would finally propose, making Sophie’s departure for Greece unnecessary.
The doe-eyed look on Sophie’s face signaled that she was desirous of the same thing.
His chest suddenly seemed to be constricted by a rigid band of steel.
He sensed Miss Atherton’s eyes on him as well. Her look of silent, amused comprehension implied that she, too, suspected what was going on. Which made him want to hit something. Hard. It wasn’t so much the idea of being wed to Sophie that bothered him. It was the setup. The hope in her eyes. The look on his mother’s face. The apparent urgency of it, when there seemed to be no good reason to hurry.
Charles gritted his teeth and forced a smile. “I wish your mother and her new husband all the best,” he told Sophie. “And how wonderful to have you here, cousin,” he added. “I only hope you will not find it too dull to pass the entire summer in our company.”
“You know I have always loved Trevelyan Manor,” Sophie replied. “It will be even more pleasant now that you are home.”
Thankfully, at that exact moment, Woodson appeared in the doorway with a maid and announced, “I have sent up Miss Atherton’s trunk to the green room, my lady. I thought you might wish Martin to assist her to change for dinner.”
“Right you are, Woodson,” his mother responded. “I was just about to ring for you.”
As his valet helped him change into his tailcoat and tie for dinner, Charles reflected with annoyance on the situation at hand. He had come home specifically to see his father, but was banned from doing so until tomorrow. In the meantime, he was stuck at the manor house with two women he had never thought to find here, with whom he would be obliged to dine and make small talk. Bollocks.
Sophie was a lovely person. He ought not to object to her company. But . . . Sophie had expectations. Justifiable expectations, to be sure. But those expectations felt like a weight around his neck every moment he was in her presence.
As for Miss Atherton—she was just too damned appealing for his own good. Even knowing that she was on the cash-for-coronets treadmill, a path he abhorred, he had been attracted to her from the moment of their first meeting. An attraction that had only increased when he’d encountered her at the train station today. He admired her spirit, and had greatly enjoyed their banter in the carriage—at least the first part of it.
The accusation she’d made (How could you do it? How could you betray your best friend like that?) still rang uncomfortably in his ears, making him testy and irritable. He could hardly believe she’d had the temerity to ask the question. At the time, he had not attempted to defend himself. It had felt wrong to discuss such an intimate piece of personal history with someone he did not know very well. He wished there were a way to apprise her of the truth. But how did one even broach a subject like that?
If only he could shake off this unwelcome interest in her. The interest was clearly one-sided. Which was just as well, since for a great many reasons, he needed to nip his in the bud straightaway.
Damn it all to hell, she was going to be at Trevelyan Manor for days, possibly a week entire. How was he going to get through it, running into her in the halls, seeing her every day at breakfast, tea, and dinner? There was only one solution: he had to get his arse out of here. See his father in the morning and quit the house, the sooner the better.
Charles had just settled on this plan of action and was striding down the hall on his way to dinner, when he ran into Miss Atherton at the head of the stairs, coming from the guest wing.
He caught his breath at the sight of her. Her slender arms, tiny waist, and well-proportioned bosom were displayed
to perfection in her low-cut evening gown of teal silk, which complemented her creamy complexion and made her blue eyes look even bluer.
“My lord,” she said, tugging her long white gloves into place.
A familiar, inconvenient tug of attraction coursed through him. He struggled to ignore it, reminding himself that she disliked him, and he was annoyed with her. “I hope you found your room comfortable, Miss Atherton?” he said politely.
“It’s lovely. Thank you again for your hospitality.”
“It is not my doing, but my mother’s, and the efforts of the staff.”
“Even so. If not for you, I might still be standing on the platform in Bolton, drenched to the bone.”
“I doubt that. You seem to me a very capable person. Had I not been present, I feel certain you would have found someone else to help you.”
“I suppose I would have.” She looked at him. “Lord Saunders,” she added boldly and without sentiment, “I wanted to apologize for what I said in the carriage earlier. I regret bringing up . . . a certain incident four years ago.”
Charles started. He hadn’t expected that. “I appreciate the apology, Miss Atherton,” he replied quietly. “Please, trouble yourself no further. I know I am not a perfect man.”
“Well, I feel bad. I think we got off to a rocky start. I was hoping we could go back and start over?”
He hesitated. Even though he didn’t perceive any lessening of the indictment in her eyes, her apology and wish to make amends appeared to be sincere, which took some of the sting out of the situation. If only he could tell her what had really happened, right now, this very moment. But they were standing at the top of the stairs, in earshot of passing servants, and there wasn’t time in any case—the dinner bell had already rung. “I would like that as well.”
“Good.”
They started down the staircase together.
“So, am I reading the situation correctly?” she asked suddenly. “Is it your mother’s hope that you will marry your cousin Sophie?”