by Sarita Leone
“The door weighs more than you do.”
The visitor stood on the threshold with a smile on her face. It occurred to her that the unexpected guest awaited an invitation, so Vivian swept a hand, motioning her inside.
“Please, come in. It is a lovely surprise to see you.”
“Am I intruding?” Amy stood just inside the doorway, glancing around with a blush creeping up her neck. “I really am being so rude and presumptuous to appear here this way. Really, should I go?”
Vivian tugged her friend inside and closed the door with a thump. It latched, shutting the world outside and making it near impossible for her guest to dash back out.
“Certainly not. It is so nice to see you—and such a diversion. It has been so dreadfully quiet; I love it that you have come to visit.” She put her arm through the other’s and walked into the sitting room. “You have come to visit, haven’t you?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Vivian motioned to the chair opposite hers. Just as they entered, a fresh wave of sunlight infused the space. With the fire crackling in the grate, the room was warm, cozy and cheerful. They sat.
“Not only do I not mind, I am very happy to see you. Would you like some tea?”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble on my account.”
Amy’s gaze swept the room.
The cottage was comfortable and by far the nicest home she’d ever had, but Vivian was conscious of the fact that to someone like the woman seated across from her, this must seem very humble.
“It is no trouble at all. I was going to make myself a pot of ginger and chamomile tea anyhow. It settles my tummy like nothing else can.” When her visitor put a hand over her own stomach, she asked, “And how are you doing with your digestive delicacy? Any better?”
“I do wish I could say it is gone but…it comes. And it goes. And…” A helpless shrug. “It is nasty, feeling so unsettled all the time.”
She quite agreed, it was frightfully nasty wondering whether one’s stomach would flip or flop without warning. She was at the point where it happened less often, but the memory hadn’t faded.
“I will make the big Brown Betty. I have some calming almond biscuits, as well.”
Amy removed her pelisse and gloves and laid them across the back of the chair.
“I would like that. I hope I am not intruding, but Vivian I do need to confide in someone.”
The earnest tone tugged her heartstrings. They had all wondered what troubled Amy and now, it seemed, she was going to find out. With a prayer for enough wisdom to be of assistance, she nodded.
“We shall visit. And confide. I promise, Amy, to do whatever I can to make you smile again. Why, I very much miss your sunny disposition—and hate seeing you so glum.”
“It shows?”
“Oh, you sweet thing. How could it not? You’ve gone from the cheeriest person we know to someone who carries a weight on her shoulders. It’s time to share the weight. You will feel better when you do.”
“Yes, I think I will. That is why I came to see you. I truly need to unburden myself. That is, if you are willing to listen.”
Vivian’s heart swelled. She had not been part of life on the estate for very long, yet she was chosen as a confidante. It was one of the highest honors of her lifetime, to be thought of so well.
“I am. But not until we have a pot and biscuits between us. Relax, my dear. I shall be right back.”
Chapter 20
Keeping the peace on an estate was typically a simple affair. The Lord of the manor dictated what rules he believed should be kept on his property, then hired men to ensure those who worked for him adhered to those guidelines. Very clean, with no gray area. Those few who did not toe the line were dismissed. Those who behaved accordingly stayed on and were afforded the means to properly care for themselves as well as their families. The system had been working for generations and would continue to work the same way for generations to come. It was a way of life. And, it was one that worked for everyone involved.
Once beyond the borders of an estate, however, things changed. Lawless behavior often created chaos, a reason so many carriages of footmen accompanied the lords and ladies of the realm. Seeking justice and retribution were hit and miss prospects. Mostly, crimes went unpunished. The wicked preyed on the moneyed and were rewarded when they went on their way without repercussions.
Oliver and Will had been to Town yet again to see the solicitor. The aged gentleman worked with the local law enforcement to discover where the two men who escaped had gone, but there was no success in the matter. The man with the broken leg was recovering in the stable boy’s cabin. He had given the other two up and once his situation had been uncovered, Oliver offered the man employment. When his leg healed, he would work for his dinner rather than steal for it. And he would be able to care for his family. To that end, it had been arranged that the kitchen would deliver food to the thief’s family so they did not starve while the man was laid low.
Willowbrook Manor and its owners lifted those around them. They would never be one of the wealthy set who oppressed others in order to rise higher in the world. It was not Gregory tradition to do so, and Oliver prayed it would never become so.
He and Will rode home in near silence. There was little to say on the matter.
And there was a point where a man had to admit defeat, whatever the situation. It was clear that those who nearly killed Nick were long gone. Their families, impoverished and frightened, swore they knew not of the pair’s whereabouts. They, too, had been fed, beneficiaries of the Gregory generosity.
The chapter was closed. Thankfully, Nick looked as if he were going to survive the ordeal. So at least that was something to be glad about.
Other than that, they needed to take greater precautions. During the Season, when women wore expensive finery and precious heirloom jewels, the carriages they rode were more inclined to attract thieves. From this point on, he would not allow a carriage to convey anyone without an escort carriage of footmen. Having anyone hurt was not going to happen again.
Will finally broke the silence. “I am glad it finally stopped raining. And the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds. That is a good sign, I think.”
“Yes, it is. We all hate gloomy days. There are enough of them during the winter months that we need not bear them during these warm days.”
Their horses’ hooves beat a steady cadence against the firmly packed road. They were nearly where the carriage had been come upon. No trace remained, but everyone knew the spot where the incident had taken place.
Oliver shook his head. “It seems wrong that some may cause bodily harm to others, yet earn no punishment for the misdeed. I know there are many things that are not especially fair or good. Still, it does not make the truth any less difficult to fathom.”
He was not with unrealistic goals or lofty ideals. He had seen the seamy side of life. Hell, he had been part of it, even. But that did not make him unaffected to injustice when he saw it. And when it impacted a member of his family it burned a hole in his gut.
“I believe people get what they deserve. Look, we may not see justice done for Nick and Lucie, but that does not mean it will not be served. It may not be in the manner to which we are accustomed, or in a way that makes us comfortable, but I do believe that eventually the two unrepentant, cowardly thieves will get their due.”
Will reached down and smoothed a hand over his mount’s glossy mane. The horse was his favorite, a big bay purchased last Season. It was the horse that caused Oliver and Vivian to argue—heatedly—and admit that neither felt the other a suitable match, despite what their mothers wished for them.
He had to acquiesce. Will’s logic was indisputable. Even in personal relationships, people got what they deserved. Look at how he and Vivian had not made a good match at all, yet Will and Vivian…well, they deserved each other. They were so mutually suitable and made each other so blissful that it explained why he and she were like oil and wat
er.
“Yes, you are probably right. I am just not dealing well with having to break the news that no one seems confident the two scoundrels will ever be brought up on charges for what they did. My sister is going to be upset.”
“How can you be sure? She may not give a fig about those men. Why, having her husband alive is probably all she cares about.”
They turned in at the entrance to the manor. Two uniformed men stood sentry and bowed when they passed.
He still hadn’t told Will the true nature of Old Dorinda’s confession. The time had never come, not even when he emerged from the manse on Bond Street. By then, it was just beginning to rain and they had to rush back to the townhouse before becoming drenched. Little time for conversation since, which was fine with Oliver. He did not know what to make of the old potion maker’s statement. He knew very little about women’s affairs of the body as even less about the workings of their hearts. And to discuss such a private matter—even with Will—seemed too much.
“I hope that is the case. I hate to see her upset. And, since I have been the subject of her unhappiness in the past, I have no wish to disappoint Lucie again. Ever.”
****
The scene in the parlor was a pleasant one. Lord and Lady Gregory sat beside the hearth, tea cups in hands and smiles on their wrinkled faces. They never looked happier than when surrounded by those they loved.
Nick lay propped on a chaise, his bad leg atop a mound of pillows and a blanket covering him nearly from chest to toes. Lucie sat beside him, in a chair near his head. It was clear she shielded him. From what, Oliver wasn’t sure, but he saw the protective set to her chin and recognized it.
“Well, isn’t this the ideal afternoon tea party?” Oliver went to kiss his mother’s cheek. Her skin was still soft and she smelled of roses. He touched his lips to her face, then straightened and turned to his father. “You all sound so cheerful, it does a man’s heart good to hear the laughter.”
Lord Gregory waved a pipe in one hand. It was, per doctor’s orders, unlit.
“It does do a man’s heart good. Now, if I could just get Fairweather to agree that a pipe is just as beneficial, I might be the happiest man this side of London.” He scowled at the unlit meerschaum. It was a family heirloom, but if Father did not loosen his grip on the old carved piece it might not survive for future generations.
Oliver did not care whether the pipe survived or not. He did not partake in any activity that might be habit-forming. Pipe smoking, if Father were to be believed, was definitely a habit-forming endeavor.
Let the pipe be crushed like so much powder, he thought.
Mother put down her cup on the cherry wood table beside her chair. She furrowed her brow and waved a hand toward her husband.
“Be content with renewed health. Nothing else, not even that silly old pipe, can be so imperative you would put your well-being in jeopardy.” She turned and gave an impatient shake of her head. “Really, your father can be difficult when he chooses to be. That pipe…”
“We all have that talent, I’m afraid.” He stood beside the fire and looked around. His parents. Nick and Lucie, so wrapped up in their own merrymaking they hadn’t noticed anyone else. Miranda, her nose in a book, sat on the window seat. It was odd she did not attempt to catch his eye, but it was also a relief. No need to feel like a small gray mouse beneath the stare of a hungry cat, which was often the case when they were together.
Will followed him in and had given his best to everyone in a general sort of way. Now, he stood in the center of the room, a puzzled look pulling his features tight.
Oliver realized what the man searched for. Or, more precisely, who he hoped to see. “Where is Vivian, Mother?”
Lady Gregory looked between Oliver and Will. “I have no idea. She has not been here all day. I admit, I am somewhat worried. A woman in her condition… well, perhaps she is just resting.”
His mother turned to face Will. “Won’t you please persuade her to take a maid? Or a cook? Really, it would put my mind at rest if I knew she wasn’t carrying the household burdens. She is a relation, you know, so there is nothing amiss with a small staff. Please, talk with her about it.”
Will was in a tight spot, caught between servant and family. “I will speak with her, I promise.” Oliver caught his gaze. “But first, I must find her. If you will all excuse me.”
“I will go with you.” He kissed his mother’s cheek, waved to Miranda who still hadn’t looked up at him and said to the lovebirds in the corner, “It is good to see you two up and about. We shall visit later, if you are up to it.”
“No guarantees.” Nick held Lucie’s hand, and traced a languid thumb across the smooth skin in a way that was so intimate Oliver looked away. “We might be forced to, ah, retire early. It is, as one would guess, a strain to remain in such a position.”
Lucie’s giggle warmed his heart. She and Nick married out of duty but loved purely for the wonder and beauty of it. Theirs was a blessed union, and he was immensely grateful it hadn’t been cut short.
“Well, then we will visit when we are able. It is very good to see you looking well.” He winked at Lucie. “Do not tire the man out, little sister. He needs his rest, you know.”
“Oliver!” She arranged her lovely features into a scandalized expression but could not hold it for long. Covering her mouth with her free hand, she laughed.
True music to everyone’s ears, to hear Lucie so giddy.
Chapter 21
On the terrace, Oliver turned to Will. “Amy is not inside, either. Wherever can they be? Do you think they are together?”
Will raked his fingers through his hair. It was the first time since Vivian came to Willowbrook Manor that she hadn’t presented herself in the sitting room for an afternoon with the other women. When they had other plans, or were away from the manor, of course was different, but this was a perfectly average day and as such should have found her in the room with the rest of the family.
“I hardly know. This is the first time she has not been inside of an afternoon. Even when she felt so dastardly, just two or three weeks past, she managed to get herself together to spend sitting room time. It is unsettling that she is not in there.”
Oliver’s gut clenched. The highway robbery was still fresh in his mind.
“And Amy. It is not like her to miss the opportunity to socialize.” She loved spinning small gossipy tales, sharing news of Town, comparing dance steps and embroidery stitches too much with the other women to miss the chance to do so. Something was amiss—he felt it.
“Where would they be?” Will glanced around the wide space before them, but there was no sign of either woman. “The rose garden?”
“It is as good a place as any to search. I found Amy there not long ago. Perhaps she is painting again.”
“But Vivian does not paint.” Will turned and put a hand on the latch on the door they had just passed through. “But she does enjoy speaking with the Abigail who does most of the minor needlework here. Perhaps she is with her, in that bright sewing room on the third floor.”
“You look there, and I will dash over to the rose gardens. We will find them. Ask the maid if she has any idea where they might be.” Oliver took two steps away from the manor, heading toward the stone steps on the distant side of the terrace. He stopped, turned, and smiled, hoping to ease his friend’s concern. “Sometimes I believe the maids know more about us than we know about ourselves.”
“Spot on, that.” Will opened, then closed the door. Oliver had only gone one more step when Will asked, “By the way, we still haven’t discussed what you learned—or didn’t learn—about Bridget. Remember, the maid whose predilection for Bond Street left my clothing stinky and my wife wondering where I had acquired eau de spirits?”
His smile was bigger and reached his eyes now that Will had lightened the mood. It was like him to say something jokingly at a time when levity was most needed. The man had a clever streak so wide that had he been a peer he undoubtedly wou
ld have made headlines in The Daily Gazette.
He did not wish to lie, but he did not wish to divulge the entirety of what he’d learned from Old Dorinda, so Oliver took a middle stance.
“It was as we thought. Bridget went to the potioness for something to deal with…ah, to take care of a female ailment. Nothing new learned from the visit, I’m afraid.”
“Well, at least we didn’t get soaked by the libations served there. But it does not get us any closer to unraveling the mystery of why the maid has gone, does it? Although…”
Will snapped his fingers.
“Although what?”
“Well, if she is in trouble, of the female sort, it does make sense that she might go away.” He did not hide the fact that it saddened him to think of the girl in such a plight. “It is unfortunate, but it does happen, Oliver.”
Yes, he knew that. Even in the highest points of society, things happened. People were, after all, people. And human desire…sometimes it brought the most well-meaning individual to shame.
But Will did not know the truth. Bridget was less likely to be in that sort of predicament than nearly anyone. If a woman needed to procure something to make a baby, it was very unlikely she was already with child. No, it had to be something else.
Nonetheless, he nodded. “You are probably right. That is it, she has left for a personal female reason. Now, I’m going to check the rose gardens. Hopefully I will find the women there.”
“And I will go look in the upstairs sewing room. I know I shouldn’t fret so, but Vivian is carrying my child, and even if she weren’t, I would worry about her.” He sighed, and added, “I suppose this is what it means to be in love.”
“I suppose it is.”
Oliver walked away, feeling something in his own heart he had never felt before. Amy was not his wife, and she certainly did not carry his child, but he was very concerned about her well-being. Her going missing when he had hoped to spend some time near her, and hear her sweet laugh, tore a hole in the heart he’d believed immune to any woman’s influence.