Summerset Abbey: A Bloom in Winter

by Brown, T. J.

  Nanny Iris came over to the table and patted Victoria on her head. Even though Nanny Iris always made Victoria feel like a child rather than the confident young woman she worked so hard to embody, at least the old woman always made her feel warm and genuinely beloved. When Ro and Pru treated her like a child, she always felt patronized, insulted.

  The old woman wiped her hands on her starched white apron and picked up the letter again, even though she had read it three times already. Victoria glowed. She’d been right to come here.

  But instead of reading it again, Nanny Iris frowned. “Why does it say V. Buxton instead of Victoria?”

  Victoria washed her scone down with a sip of tea. “Hmm? Oh, yes. I thought if I used Victoria, someone at the magazine might recognize the name and know me as my father’s daughter. I’m very proud of his work, but I wish to be known for my own merits and make my own opportunities.”

  “Very commendable,” Nanny Iris murmured. “Was there any other reason?”

  “Well, I thought it sounded more established, more impressive. V. Buxton. Don’t you think?”

  Victoria grinned, but when she caught sight of Nanny Iris’s face, her smile faded. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “So this editor, Harold L. Herbert, doesn’t realize you’re a woman?”

  “Well, no,” Victoria admitted. “But that shouldn’t make any difference, should it?”

  “No, it shouldn’t!” Nanny Iris said firmly, and patted her hand.

  But doubt began to creep into Victoria’s mind. Just because it shouldn’t make a difference doesn’t mean it didn’t.

  * * *

  The leaden winter skies hung over Summerset, as heavy and despondent as Rowena felt. In the weeks since Prudence had left, Rowena had developed a pattern of habits designed to keep her mind as empty as possible. In the last four months, her father had died, she’d let her childhood home slip away, and Prudence had left her. Emptiness of the mind was preferable to endless choruses of if only.

  She looked up into the sky again. Her fingers fluttered subconsciously over her lips as she remembered the kiss she shared with the pilot on the frozen lake. She hadn’t seen him since, and it had been weeks. Even the sky felt empty—and too quiet—without the roar of Jon’s plane flying over Summerset Abbey, a once weekly ritual that he’d abandoned without explanation. Rowena wondered whether his brother had put a halt to their budding friendship the moment he had found out at the skating party that she was a Buxton.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed his name.

  Jon.

  She tried to remember how incredibly blue his eyes were and the way his thin, well-formed lips would widen in a smile just for her, but the image was already growing blurry. Instead the memory of her flight in his aeroplane came into her mind. She remembered the thrill of leaving the earth far behind and the soaring freedom of floating above the clouds. She’d felt completely untethered, as if she’d left her problems on the ground. The memory was so sharp and clear, she could almost feel the chill of the wind in her face. Restlessly, she snapped the book she held shut.

  Rowena’s life had never been as fascinating or exciting as Victoria seemed to find it, but at least it used to be interesting and enjoyable. Now Victoria often buzzed about her like a worried bee, sometimes coaxing and other times accusatory, but nothing Victoria said seemed to reach Rowena at all. It was rather as though Victoria were speaking to her through a wall of jellied aspic. Everything in her life—changing dresses for every meal, entertaining Lady Charlotte’s guests, even her occasional trips into the small town of Summerset—suddenly seemed so pointless and exhausting.

  So Rowena read voraciously from the ornate library that held thousands of volumes of books. She didn’t care what books she read and rarely remembered anything about them when she finished, but while reading them, she had no room in her head to dwell upon anything else. When she wasn’t reading, she rode her horse like a fury, taking long runs up through the hills to see into the valley below. Though she rarely admitted it to herself, she was always holding out hope that she’d see an aeroplane soaring through the skies.

  “Yes, I think that’s about enough.”

  Rowena jumped upon hearing her aunt’s clear voice. She looked up from the window seat in the sitting room to find Aunt Charlotte bearing down upon her with the determination of an angry goose. Aunt Charlotte had been Lady Summerset for twenty-five years and the title had long settled itself in the regal set of her finely shaped head atop a long, definitive neck. Her blue-eyed, dark-haired beauty, which had once awed even the Prince of Wales Marlborough set, was still very much in evidence, even though the tautness of the skin had softened, blurring the exquisite lines of her heart-shaped face.

  If her loveliness had once been appealing, Rowena thought as her aunt loomed over her, now it was simply terrifying. Though Aunt Charlotte rarely raised her voice, her temper was known by the frost of her tone and the unrelenting sting of her words.

  In spite of her lethargy, Rowena snapped to attention. “Good morning, Aunt Charlotte. What is about enough?”

  Aunt Charlotte snatched the book out of her hands. “Enough reading. Enough sulking.” Her voice softened just a hair. “Enough grieving.”

  A lump rose in Rowena’s throat, but she only said, “But I like to read.”

  “Nonsense. Or rather, it doesn’t matter if you do like to read, it ruins your eyes and the squinting will give you wrinkles. You’ll also get a stooped posture and rounded back. You’ve met Jane Worth, haven’t you?”

  Rowena frowned. “You mean the short, little woman with the—” Rowena made a curved movement with her hand, showing a humped back.

  Her aunt nodded solemnly. “She always was a bookworm.”

  Rowena tried to shake her head. Surely that couldn’t be true.

  Her aunt continued. “And honestly, child, you look a fright. Your forehead is oily, your hair is lank, and I don’t know how long it’s been since you bathed. You’re one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen, and right now, you wouldn’t merit more than even a passing glance. Enough.”

  Rowena blinked, stunned. Her aunt thought she was beautiful? She’d never told her that before. Had she always thought so?

  To Rowena’s surprise, her aunt sat close to her on the silk window seat and clasped one of Rowena’s hands in her own. Rowena tried to remember another moment when Lady Summerset had touched her affectionately but couldn’t recall a single time, even from the many summers that she spent at the abbey during her childhood.

  “I understand your loss. I, too, lost my father at a young age. But you’re a young woman, and your father’s heart would break if he could see you now.”

  Something twisted painfully inside Rowena. No matter what her aunt’s motives were, there was no doubt in her mind that she was speaking the truth. Her father would hate her moping, her listlessness. Though she had imagined over and over his disappointment at her treatment of Prudence, she had never thought about how saddened he would be at how she was treating herself.

  She nodded, defeated. “You’re right, I’ll go bathe.”

  Aunt Charlotte squeezed her hand ever so slightly and let her go. “Please do. I’ve told Elaine she doesn’t have to make calls with me this afternoon, as you are coming instead.”

  Rowena’s mouth fell open and her aunt gave her a satisfied smile. “So please wear something appropriate.”

  Her aunt left her then, her skirts rustling triumphantly.

  An hour later, after Rowena had been bathed, Susie was still trying to dry her hair. “If you didn’t have so much hair, this would be much easier,” she said, toweling a segment, brushing it, and then toweling it again.

  Rowena agreed. “If I didn’t have long hair or corsets, I would be able to dress myself and in half the time, too.”

  “Those days are coming,” Susie said. “Mark my words.”

  Rowena smiled slightly, wishing she felt that kind of optimism. She wished she could feel a
nything besides sadness.

  “Her ladyship came in while you were in the tub and chose the outfit you are to wear. It’s right lovely, too, miss. You’ll look like such a toff in it. Well, not that you aren’t . . . ” Susie shut her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, miss. I think I am just too chatty to be a lady’s maid!”

  Rowena was too shocked by this information to reassure Susie. “She did? What did she choose?” she asked, rising from the dressing table.

  “The navy blue walking suit, miss.”

  Susie helped her into her chemise, camisole, and corset and waist petticoat, and then brought out the wool walking suit.

  Rowena had never seen it before.

  She almost said something and then thought better of it. Obviously her aunt had given her a gift and wasn’t going to make a fuss about it. The expertly cut wool suit was decorated with black soutache on the lapels and cuffs of the jacket and along the hem of the skirt. The back of the long jacket was gathered together, giving her fullness in the back that softened the silhouette. She marveled at the intricately carved ebony buttons on the front of the jacket and down the side of the skirt. The skirt was a daringly modern four inches above the ground. Either it had been made for someone shorter than Rowena or her aunt was secretly developing modern tastes.

  Because Susie had little experience in doing hair, Hortense, Lady Summerset’s own lady’s maid, busied herself with Rowena’s hair, teaching Susie as she did so. Hortense’s disdain at having been forced into the task of training a mere kitchen servant was evident in the purse of her mouth. “Pourquoi dois-je enseigner cette idiote?!” she muttered under her breath.

  “Soyez prudente, je parle bien le français,” Rowena snapped.

  Susie glared. She wasn’t sure what had been said, but she didn’t like the tone. Hortense lapsed into a sullen silence, but she was a bit more helpful in teaching Susie how to make the simple chignon Rowena liked best. After she was finished, Hortense handed her the combs and brushes she had used. “Don’t forget to wash out your mistress’s tools when you’re finished.” Hortense gave Rowena as small a curtsy as she could manage and left the room.

  Susie’s face screwed up with dislike after the woman left, but she said nothing. Rowena remembered Vic telling her that Hortense had been especially rude to Prudence, and Rowena fought the urge to make a face, too.

  Rowena chose a blue and black pancake hat trimmed with lace, black roses, and an ostrich feather that curled over one ear.

  Her aunt nodded approvingly when Rowena joined her in the Great Hall but said nothing. Elaine, dressed in a simple tea gown, gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for taking my place today, cousin,” she whispered. “Good luck.”

  Rowena smiled at her. She still had a hard time reconciling this pretty, stylish, and vivacious woman with the shy, downtrodden, chubby girl she had known growing up. That Swiss finishing school had done wonders for her. Or more likely it was the simple fact of having a year away from her mother that had given her room to flourish and come into her own.

  “I heard that,” her mother said as she whisked out the door.

  Elaine winked and waved her hand as Rowena followed behind her.

  “The motorcar was the best thing to happen to formal calls,” her aunt said once they were ensconced in the back of the touring car. “Before I could only make a few calls by carriage; now I get to see so many more people and have to spend less time at each call.”

  Rowena watched her aunt, roused for the first time in quite a while by curiosity. Who was this formidably stylish and regal woman? “But I thought you liked making calls, Aunt Charlotte?”

  The woman snorted. “Goodness no. At least not anymore. I suppose I did enjoy it at one time. But after you hear the week’s gossip at the first call, it’s just a matter of hearing it repeated at each subsequent call. And you can imagine how dull that becomes.”

  Rowena gave a surprised laugh. “Is it the same in London?”

  “Oh, no. It’s much more interesting in London because there’s so much more gossip.”

  Rowena settled back into the fine leather of the motor. “Where to first?”

  “We are stopping at the Endicotts’ first, because they won’t be home. Then we will go to the Kinkaids’, because they will be home and I quite like Donald Kinkaid’s new wife and it will make her feel honored that I visited. After that we will be going to the Billingslys’, which is quite a long drive, but Edith is my friend and we have a few things to discuss.”

  “I was unaware that Lord Billingsly lived so close.”

  “They don’t, actually. A visit by carriage would have been impossible. It takes us almost two hours by car, but the other calls are on the way there, so it breaks up the drive quite nicely.”

  Aunt Charlotte didn’t miscalculate a single detail. The Endicotts were not home, so they left their card and made their way to the Kinkaids’. The new Mrs. Kinkaid was droll and pretty and properly awed by Lady Summerset. And she was almost twenty years younger than the former Mrs. Kinkaid, who, Aunt Charlotte confided later, had been a bit militant.

  Rowena giggled at this last bit and Aunt Charlotte gave her a rare smile. “It’s true. This new Mrs. Kinkaid will make Donald a good wife and will be able to give him children.” She reached under the seat and brought out a red velvet pillow with gold silken tassels. “I suggest you rest, dear. We have almost an hour before we get to Eddelson Hall.”

  Rowena laid her head back, puzzling over her aunt’s behavior. She had never seen the stately Lady Summerset this engaging or forthright before, especially not with her, and Rowena wondered why her aunt had asked her to come today instead of Elaine. Had she genuinely been worried about her, or—as was often the case with her aunt Charlotte—did her aunt have some hidden motive?

  She must have dozed off, because the next time she opened her eyes they were parked in front of a grand mansion that had to be Eddelson Hall. Eddelson wasn’t nearly as large as Summerset, but what it lacked in size it made up for in charm. The two circular towers that flanked the front of the home were almost completely covered in ivy and there were so many mullioned windows at the front of the house that it looked as if the walls were made of glass rather than brick.

  The butler met them at the front door and took their card. Bidding them to wait, he took the card to where his mistress was apparently waiting in the sitting room. Rowena wanted to ask her aunt whether she found this kind of formality unbearably stupid, but she didn’t want to overstep and shatter the sudden warmth that had sprung up between them.

  The butler reappeared almost immediately and they followed him through exquisitely charming rooms, decorated and furnished in a French country style, which always appeared far more comfortable than it actually was.

  The butler announced them and Rowena found herself involved in a flurry of introductions. Besides Lady Billingsly, four other women were present—society matrons who apparently lived for tea at the Billingslys’ on Tuesdays. Rowena had always disliked this kind of superficial social chat and suddenly began to regret taking her aunt up on her invitation. Though in reality, it had been more of command than an invitation.

  “Miss Buxton!”

  Rowena turned in relief when she heard Sebastian call her name. “Lord Billingsly, how wonderful to see you again.”

  He took her outstretched hand and bent over it briefly. “How are your sister and Elaine?” he asked.

  “They are doing well, thank you for asking.”

  Lady Billingsly nodded at them approvingly. “Why don’t you young people go for a walk in the winter garden while we catch up on our gossip? It’s not raining, is it?” She looked around as if daring anyone to say it was raining. No one did.

  Sebastian held his arm out and with relief, Rowena took it. She had endured just about as much small talk as she could handle and felt that if one more pinched-mouthed matron asked how she and her sister were holding up, she would scream.

  Eddelson had a mellow quality that Summerset, i
n all its grandeur, would never achieve. They walked past a pair of open pocket doors that showed a rich, warm library inside with a crackling fire, shelves full of haphazardly placed books, and oversized pieces of leather furniture.

  Sebastian caught her gaze as they walked past it. He smiled. “My father spent his summers at his grandfather’s lodge in Scotland. I think he copied the library down to the volumes of books and the fireplace poker. It’s my favorite room in the house.”

  She smiled as they walked out the door and into one of the extensive gardens that surrounded the house. Rowena remembered the stolen glances he and Prudence had shared and had often wondered about Sebastian’s feelings for Prudence, and hers for him. Of course, when Prudence fled with the footman, all of her conjecture had come to nothing.

  While Sebastian still made the occasional call to Summerset, he was not the same lighthearted young man Rowena had met last autumn.

  “I miss her, you know,” Sebastian said.

  Startled, she glanced sideways at him. He nodded his head toward a gravel path that wound its way through a stand of fir trees. She followed his lead, wondering whether he had brought her to this quiet corner of the garden to confide in her. Maybe he needed to talk to someone.

  They rounded a corner of slender silver pines that were interspersed with granite obelisks. If he wanted to talk, he seemed in no hurry to begin and waited until they had reached a small frozen fountain before speaking again.

  “Do you hear from Prudence quite often, then?”

  Rowena’s heart gave a little pang. His voice held a note of loneliness that Rowena recognized. “Not very often.” Then she gave a harsh little laugh. “Not at all, actually, though Vic has finally heard news of her.”

  They came to a bench and both sat as if by accord. “She is still angry with you, I take it?”

  “I ruined everything when I brought her to Summerset as our lady’s maid. I never thought it would last for long, and I never could have imagined that she’d truly be treated as a servant . . . I don’t know what I believed, but I know it was all too real for Prudence and she was dreadfully unhappy.” Rowena didn’t tell him that she hadn’t been completely honest with Prudence and Victoria about her uncle letting their London home go, but then, she didn’t have to. Sebastian had been present when Prudence had discovered they had no home to return to and that she was trapped at Summerset.