Averting her eyes, the girl plucked nervously at her apron. “I’m not supposed to talk to you, Missus. No one is,” she mumbled, her voice so low Lettie had to strain to hear her words.
“Who said you can’t talk to me?” she asked, whispering to the girl.
Grace looked up and then glanced over her shoulder as if she fully expected to see someone standing behind her. “The master,” she answered fearfully.
What a cruel and unfeeling bastard her husband was. God alone knew what lies he had told the new help about the reasons for his wife’s confinement. “Well, you don’t have to talk to me, but can I whisper to you, Grace?” A sudden gleam of intelligence sparked in the girl’s eyes. “It will be our secret, I promise,” Lettie added.
Crossing her heart with her finger, she then spit into the palm of her hand as a way of sealing her oath, knowing she had impressed Grace by doing so. No doubt the child believed ladies of quality were incapable of spitting. Unless of course Grace didn’t think Lettie was a lady of quality. Now her small brow wrinkled as she wrestled with the prospect of disobeying the master of the house, to become an ally to its mistress. The choice was not an easy one, but finally she made it. Favoring Lettie with a shy smile, Grace bobbed her head one time and then busied herself pouring coffee. After handing Lettie the cup, Grace gave another small curtsey and left.
She returned again later with Lettie’s evening meal, and then a short while after that to remove the tray. Lettie was thankful that Phillip had not replaced the cook, at least not yet, because it meant Grace would be able to fill her stomach and eat decently. There was some comfort in that at least. Now, lying quietly in her bed, Lettie’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices. After her last visit, Grace had not closed the door to the room properly and it now stood ajar, wide enough for the sound of two distinct masculine voices to reach her.
A glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel said it was past the hour for a social call, but even if it were not, they never received visitors. Step-dragging her way to the open door, Lettie opened it a little farther and pursed her lips as she concentrated on the conversation drifting up from the foyer below. Neither voice was one she recognized. One was commanding, the tone that of a man who was used to being obeyed, while the other’s tone was the more subservient manner of a servant. Lettie could only surmise the latter belonged to one of the new staff Phillip had recently engaged, and it seemed he was being given a set of instructions.
“When do you expect Mr. Davenport to return?” the first man asked.
“Momentarily, sir,” the servant answered. “Would you care to wait?”
There was a clucking sound, a clear indication of the visitor’s frustration at not finding Phillip at home. Ordinarily he would have been here, but Lettie knew the demands of a new mistress were currently occupying his time.
“No, I will not wait,” the visitor said.
For the next few moments all Lettie could hear was the sound of the man’s heels striking the tiled floor. The visitor was leaving, and she waited for the familiar sound of the front door being opened. Then the man spoke again.
“Make sure this letter is placed directly into Mr. Davenport’s hands, do you understand?” He sounded annoyed at having to depend on an underling to complete his task. There could be no doubt it was of some importance.
“Of course, sir,” the other man murmured respectfully, “and what name shall I give my master?”
“Fletcher, John Fletcher. He will know it, but make sure he knows that although I am the one waiting for his reply, the request comes from Lady Isabel Howard. It would be in his best interest to make sure he answers without delay.”
There was no response from the manservant. Now she heard the door being opened, and Mr. Fletcher, whoever he might be, left. She did not shuffle her way back to her bed until the sound of fading footsteps assured her there would be no more surprises.
The unexpected physical tension that came with eavesdropping had created a dull ache which now spread through Lettie’s lower back. She barely noticed the pain however, as her mind was fixed on the conversation she had just heard. The name John Fletcher was unknown to her, but she could not say the same about the name Howard. Once before, a messenger had been sent by Lady Isabel Howard, and, for a while, Phillip had been filled with a secret excitement. Unfortunately it did not last, but Lettie had long ago ceased to be surprised by her husband’s mercurial nature.
Lying back and staring up at the faded canopy above her bed, she chewed on her lip. What possible connection could there be between Isabel Howard and Phillip? And why would a messenger demand a reply be forwarded to him, and not her ladyship? The entire episode reeked of secrets and lies, and made Lettie shake her head. She didn’t know what was happening but she could not shake the terrible feeling that somehow Catherine was involved. Her husband’s obsession with his beautiful young cousin was all consuming. Perhaps Lady Howard had given Catherine shelter? Lettie pulled her wrap tighter as a sudden chill swept through her, bringing with it a dreadful sense of foreboding. No, however Lady Howard was involved, Lettie had the ominous feeling no good would come of it.
Chapter 11
“Are you feeling any better?”
Catherine and Felicity walked arm in arm through what had, at one time, been a formal garden gracing the rolling grounds at the rear of Oakhaven. Any pretense of maintaining the original horticultural vision had been abandoned long ago, leaving the area a riotous tangle of overgrown greenery. Only the boxwood hedges remained recognizable, but even they had reverted back to a less formal growth pattern.
“Mmmm, yes, thank you,” Felicity replied.
At breakfast the smell of bacon and the sight of runny egg yolks had sent the expectant mother scurrying to the kitchen, the nearest place to find a sink in which to throw up.
“There, there lass,” Cook had said, handing her a wet cloth to wipe her face along with a glass of wine to rinse out her mouth. After she had spit the last taste of the acrid bile from her mouth, Felicity was grateful to take a seat at the large wooden table that dominated the room. The glass of wine was replaced with a warm concoction to help settle her stomach.
“It will all be forgotten when you hold the babe in your arms,” the big ruddy faced woman said. She gave Felicity an understanding smile before returning to her task of kneading bread.
Murmuring her thanks, Felicity couldn’t remember if she had ever heard Cook say so many words at one time, but she found a measure of contentment as she watched her rhythmically work the dough. She had just finished her drink when Catherine found her. The shawl she carried was draped around Felicity’s shoulders.
“You’re still looking a little peaky. Do you feel up for a walk?”
“Actually I feel much better,” Felicity said, nodding her thanks at Cook. “I think some air would do me good.”
The two women went out the back door, passing by the kitchen herb garden. Catherine stopped to pluck a few stems from a leafy green growth, handing it her friend with a smile.
“It’s mint,” she said as the distinctive fragrance filled the air. “It always helps me when I’m feeling out of sorts.”
“Am I supposed to eat it?” Felicity asked dubiously.
“Not unless you want to. I always find the smell is what pleases me the most.”
Felicity held the green sprigs to her nose and breathed in the crisp scent. With the morning sun warming their faces, and no particular destination in mind, the two women strolled around the grounds before reaching what was now the sadly neglected center of the once formal garden.
“Are you planning to restore this?” Catherine asked, waving her hand at the unkempt beds where a variety of native wild flowers jostled the few remaining formal inhabitants for growing room.
“I’m not sure restoration is the correct term, but I definitely would like to tidy it up a little,” Felici
ty told her. “I remember, as a little girl, seeing Liam’s mother take cuttings from here. She was particularly fond of roses as I recall.” She sighed sadly. “I don’t think anyone really knew how to take care of it without her guidance.”
“I must admit almost every aspect of Oakhaven could benefit from a woman’s touch,” Catherine said. Looping arms, they made their way to a wooden seat where they could sit and imagine the garden in all its floral magnificence once again. “I’m surprised this hasn’t rotted away,” Catherine commented, clearing a few leaves from the bench with a sweep of her hand.
“That’s because it’s fairly new. Recognizing my fondness for whiling away the time daydreaming, my husband made certain I could do so in comfort.” Felicity smiled at the notion. “There are at least a half dozen more benches scattered about the grounds.”
Catherine doubted scattering had anything to do with it. Knowing Liam’s attention to detail, she was confident each bench had been placed with precision in the landscape. It was simply another demonstration of his affection for his wife.
“You know Oakhaven is really Rian’s birthright,” Felicity said, looking at Catherine.
“I thought his father had disowned him, and the estate passed to Liam.”
“Yes, that’s true, but I think Liam would gladly return it. Especially now that circumstances have changed.”
“Circumstances? What circumstances?” Catherine was alarmed. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” Felicity reassured her. “It’s just that when Rian returned, well, he wasn’t…” She trailed off, not sure how to say what she wanted without offending the woman who was like her own flesh and blood.
“He wasn’t what? Married?”
Felicity nodded once and then turned her head as her cheeks burned a bright red.
“Oh, Felicity! I love Oakhaven, truly I do,” Catherine said, taking hold of her hands, “but this is not my home any more than it is Rian’s. We are guests here, welcome guests I hope, but nonetheless this is not where we belong. Oakhaven will always hold wonderful, warm memories for us, but it is not our home. It will always belong to you and Liam.”
“Thank you.” The words came out in a rush as Felicity tried her best to disguise her relief. “I just love it so and I thought—”
“Oh, you goose!” Catherine said. “That baby of yours must be giving you these silly, fanciful ideas. Now dry your eyes or else I will have to think up some ridiculous reason to explain your red nose to both our husbands.” Removing a handkerchief from her sleeve, Felicity did as she was told. “Now,” Catherine continued, “why don’t you tell me just how you are going to tidy up this wilderness.”
* * * *
Standing by the large French doors that opened out onto the terrace, Rian watched the two women as they strolled through the grounds. Their brightly colored dresses made him think of the exotic birds he had seen in the Caribbean. He sighed. Catherine was happy here, and she loved Felicity and Liam dearly. It was going to be hard to take her away from them, but his brother did not require his help to guide the fortunes of either this estate, or Pelham Manor, and Rian needed to be master of his own house. He smiled to himself as another truth dawned on him. Whether she would admit it or not, his wife also yearned to be mistress of her own home.
He’d received a missive from Matthew Turner telling him he was in possession of all the necessary documentation to transfer ownership of The Hall from Lord Edward Barclay to Rian Connor. All that was required was his signature on the legal paperwork. Matthew had raised a questioning eyebrow when Rian had asked him to draw up a will and word it so that, regardless of any heirs, should he precede his wife in death, Catherine could remain in her family home with sufficient funds to maintain the house for the remainder of her life. Of course she would also have a personal income, but Rian did not want her to use any of that money toward the upkeep of bricks-and-mortar.
Matthew went on to say that, true to his word, Edward had managed to rehire many of the former staff. They were only too happy to resume their duties. He read that they had been busy cleaning and preparing the house for Catherine’s return, but only the most essential rooms had been furnished. The rest of the house would remain empty as Rian had instructed, and would stay that way until Catherine could furnish it as she chose.
He had permitted himself a chuckle when he read that Old Ned would not be returning to his former position. He was enjoying retirement, living with his daughter and playing with his grandchildren. When Miss Catherine was home he would be most pleased to visit her, if she so desired, and offer his advice on restoring The Hall’s gardens. Rian had a feeling that Old Ned would be a frequent visitor whose opinion was going to be much sought after.
After rereading the letter from Matthew, Rian stared thoughtfully into the distance. He intended to make sure that former servants such as Old Ned received an appropriate stipend in appreciation for their years of service. Their loyalty to Catherine when things were at their bleakest deserved to be recognized. He would discuss it with her, and get a list of names.
“Have you told her yet?”
Rian turned away from the French doors as Liam came into the room, carrying an armful of large, dusty ledgers.
“No, not yet.” He knew what his brother was referring to, but wanting to change the subject, he pointed to the books Liam now put on the table. “What on earth have you got there?”
“Some ideas I want to discuss with Charles, but I want to be sure I have my facts and figures correct before I do. Now, stop trying to avoid the question. When do you intend to tell her?”
Turning back to the window, Rian looked once more for the two women, but they had resumed their walk and disappeared from view. “I suppose I had better do it sooner rather than later.”
Indicating the letter Rian was holding, Liam said, “Ah. I see you have received word from Matthew.”
“Yes, everything is ready. All that is needed is my signature.”
“Then why so glum, brother?”
“Catherine will hate to leave here. She and Felicity have become so close,” Rian told him.
“I know, and we are just as fond of her, but you know that no house can have two mistresses. Although, if I was a gambling man, I would wager our wives would be the first to make a success of it.”
“What about two masters?” Rian asked with a grin.
“That situation occurs more often than we let ourselves admit,” Liam observed. “Rian, you are my brother, and no matter what, Oakhaven is, and always will be, as much yours as it is mine.”
“Thank you, but you really must stop thinking like that. I want this to be your children’s inheritance, not mine.” He spoke sincerely and with no regret. “I’ll tell her tonight,” he said decisively.
“Might I suggest you do it at dinner? That way you won’t have to repeat yourself and everyone will know.”
“Everyone?”
“Emily and Charles are coming to visit for a few days.”
Something in the way Liam spoke made Rian frown. “Do I sense some misgivings concerning the arrival of your in-laws?”
“No!” Liam exclaimed. “Just the opposite. I couldn’t ask for a better mother-in-law than Emily.”
“Amen to that,” Rian agreed under his breath.
“And Charles is a font of untapped ideas regarding the joining of our two properties. You wouldn’t believe how wonderfully clearsighted he is when it comes to the future of agriculture, as well as our responsibilities as landowners.” He hesitated. “It’s just that…”
“What?”
“Sometimes I feel disloyal to Father, particularly when I feel like Charles is the parent I should have had. We should have had.” He looked at his brother. “I’m not making sense, am I?”
“Yes, you are, more than you know, and there’s no disloyalty in caring for your wife’s parents. Our
s have been gone a long time. Even before he died physically, Father left us both years ago, Liam. Perhaps if Mama had not died, things might have been different. For all of us.” Silence filled the space between the two men as each was snared by his own vision of a different future. It suddenly struck Rian that he and Catherine had both had to deal with fathers who’d changed radically with the loss of their wives. “Besides,” he continued with a grin, “you know the church really does frown on siblings being intimate with each other. If I were you, I’d thank my lucky stars Charles is Felicity’s father and not ours as well.” Liam’s laughter banished the dark mood. “Now tell me, what are you looking for in all these old books?”
Liam opened the first book and began turning pages. “Ways to improve our current cash flow for the estate,” he said.
“Financial problems, Liam? You know I have more than—”
“Rian, please!” Liam said. “I am not having any problems, financial or otherwise.” His expression became one of exasperated affection. “But if I were, I promise I would go to you first. No, all I am doing is searching for ways to increase our overall profit margin. Something to act as a buffer during the lean times.”
“You think hard times are coming?” Rian sat down opposite him.
“When all is said and done, we’re nothing but farmers. Our fortune is tied to the land, no matter who turns the dirt and plants the seed, and when you deal with Mother Nature on a daily basis, common sense dictates that there will be hard times.”
Rian nodded his head in agreement. “So, how can I help?”
“Here,” Liam said, pushing a dusty manual toward him. “Let me explain what I am looking for.”
For the next few hours Rian’s respect for his brother grew tenfold as Liam discussed his business plan for agricultural expansion that included the neighboring acres of Pelham Manor. By the time Liam had finished talking, Rian was mentally studying the feasibility of taking some of his brother’s ideas and putting them to work at The Hall. He was looking forward to having a home of his own.
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