“Yes, I expect she would be. Sarah has had little opportunity to be with other children.” Westcott looked at her for a long moment before his hand cupped her elbow. “It will take you some time to become familiar with the house. Allow me show you to your rooms.”
Flustered, Anne walked beside him, conscious of the warm fingers circling her arm, surprised at this unexpected thoughtfulness, and undecided as to what there was about this man to cause her normally ready tongue to fail.
“Thank you. It is a rather confusing residence.” There, a calm, natural response, and emboldened by the confidence in her voice, she voiced a question. “Has the family been here forever?”
“Several centuries. This is not the original house, of course, nor have the Blackwells always held a viscountcy. That honour was awarded to one of my predecessors late in Elizabeth’s reign. It was he who tore down the old castle and started building the house. Naturally, it has been expanded upon over the years.”
“Naturally,” Anne said, hiding her amazement at the lengthy answer. Another passageway, a short flight of stairs and finally, a corridor she recognized by the floral wall covering hung above the wainscoting.
Westcott halted in front of her door and released her. “Have one of the maids escort you until you become accustomed.”
Ah, the real Westcott was back. Braced by the return of his brusque manner, Anne threw out a question. “Where are the Fentons lodged?”
“For now, they have a room close to my housekeeper’s apartment.” He hesitated, then, “It won’t do for a permanent situation.”
Anne gazed at him with some curiosity. Did he actually look apologetic, or was it her imagination? Perhaps he believed her unaware of the difficulty of placing Maggie and Bill in an acceptable slot? Neither fish nor fowl, the Fentons, and heaven only knew what Maggie would have to say about their current accommodations.
Somewhat encouraged by this evidence of concern, Anne smiled at him. “No, Maggie would never stand for it and Bill would be uncomfortable. Have you a suggestion? They are very dear to me, as you must know by now.”
“Yes, I gathered they have stood somewhat as parents to you. I thought a cottage on the estate might be acceptable. Mr. Fenton has expressed interest in working for me and said Mrs. Fenton has some plan in mind.”
Anne huffed softly, relief flooding her. An excellent solution and one that would suit them all. She wanted them to be happy, but could not bear the thought of losing the two people who knew her.
“Maggie would,” Anne said with a little laugh. “That is kind of you. Thank you. I believe it will serve very well.”
Westcott gazed at her, seeming about to say something else, but the sound of children’s voices floated up the nearby stairwell and the moment was lost.
“Good. I will make the arrangements. You will want to take Danielle and Guy to meet Sarah directly after your meal. Don’t let them tire her.”
He walked away and Anne glowered at his back. A most annoying man, Westcott. One never knew which face he would wear but cold, stern, and militant were more the usual than the brief glimpses she’d had of humour and friendliness. And you are married to the man. Anne turned to greet the children with a heavy heart, unsure if she had the strength to face a lifetime of living with someone who did not even pretend to want her company.
~* * *~
“Lady Westcott. If I may have a few minutes of your time?”
Anne turned from her examination of the box of instruments she had discovered in the so-called music room to study the neatly dressed gentleman poised in the doorway. A youngish man, she thought, cloaked with an air of diffidence Anne was later to revise to quiet competence, with an unremarkable but pleasant aspect.
“I am Thomas Atkinson, my lady. Lord Westcott asked me to confer with you about the household.”
“I see. Then by all means let us do so,” she said evenly, swallowing a sharp reference to his lordship with what she felt to be admirable restraint. After the second meeting with him on her first day here, when he had given her some, although far from all, answers to her questions, Westcott had continued to play least in sight, leaving her without the slightest guidance in how to go on. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to show her the house, relying instead on Mrs. Lawson—and Sarah, Anne had to admit, remembering the previous afternoon, when she and Danielle had followed the girl on a delightful whirlwind tour. One that did not include the grand rooms of state she had traversed with the housekeeper. Instead, they had poked into odd little parlours crammed with the flotsam of many years. It was then she had noted the dusty collection of music and musical instruments in a box under the ancient harpsichord.
“You are Westcott’s secretary, Mr. Atkinson?” Anne looked around, spied a pair of chairs beside the window and moved toward them. The man had a batch of papers in his hand and she pointed toward a small table. “If you will bring over that table, please? We can hold this meeting here, I suppose?” As if he had any choice, poor man, and you should be ashamed of yourself. Just because you are annoyed with Westcott is no reason to be cross with his employee, who is only doing his job.
Chastened by her lack of grace, Anne smiled and was rewarded with a tentative smile in return. “Please, sit down.” She took a seat and waited while he arranged the table between them and sat as well. “Have you been at Westhorp long, Mr. Atkinson?”
“Four years, Madam.
“So long as that! You must have a great deal of patience to have stayed so long—in the countryside,” Anne added quickly. Dealing with Westcott did require patience, but perhaps he was less abrupt with his employees.
“I prefer the country, so Westhorp suits me very well,” Atkinson said gravely.
Under the measured tone and serious demeanor lurked an understanding of her real intent and Anne warmed to the young man. “Yes, it is nice here. I am looking forward to seeing more of the area.” She smiled. “Now, please, let’s get on with this, shall we?”
“Of course.” He aligned the papers with careful precision and laid a hand on the topmost. “It is fairly straightforward. Your household account has been arranged, as well as your personal quarterly allowance. Should either amount prove insufficient, we can make any adjustment necessary. Also, what falls under your authority is noted.” He looked up at her, a question in his eyes. “I believe you did raise several questions with Lord Westcott?”
“Yes,” Anne murmured, keeping her expression one of mild interest to mask her surprise. Westcott apparently had taken note of her concerns. She held out her hand. “May I?”
Anne skimmed through the neatly written items, swallowing a gasp at the amount Westcott seemed to feel a necessary allowance—how she would ever spend so much she had no idea. The household was another story, and that amount she felt unremarkable, although she would review the expenditures. There may be economies, but running an establishment of this size required a shocking number of servants and the wherewithal to support both them and the family.
“Do we really have a staff of twenty inside the house?” Anne asked, glancing at him, and then answered her own question before he could reply. “Of course we do. You would certainly know, since I suppose you are responsible for paying their wages.”
“Lord Westcott gives out the wages personally, my lady, but yes, I do keep the accounts.”
Anne raised her brows. The viscount was not a man to shirk his responsibilities, but he could delegate the chore, and she felt encouraged by this indication of regard for his employees. Or was it only she who was held at arm’s length? Putting aside the idea for further thought at another time, Anne folded the papers and dropped them onto her lap.
“It all appears quite straightforward. I don’t believe I have any questions right now, but there is one thing you may be able to help with. I want to start the search for a governess, as soon as possible,” she said, “and frankly, I have no idea how to go about it.”
“The usual method is to ask an employment agency to recommend severa
l applicants.” Atkinson hesitated, his manner growing less assured. “Since this is such an important post to fill, a personal recommendation is often advisable. You will not have met her yet, but it may be worthwhile consulting Lady Lynton. The St. Clair estate borders Westhorp, and they are close friends with the family.
Anne thought for a moment. “Miss Blackwell stayed with them recently, if I remember correctly.” She laughed softly, thinking of Sarah’s excited recount of her stay. “Yes, that does sound wise. Why not wait a few days before contacting the agency? In the meantime, I will write to Lady Lynton.” Feeling the discussion at an end, she stood and held out her hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Atkinson. If there isn’t anything else….” She made it not quite a question, eager to return to her musical treasures, and in any case, she had enough to think about already.
He rose and bowed over her hand. “My pleasure, my lady. Thank you for your time. Please ask if you have any questions or I can be of help in any way.”
“Thank you, Mr. Atkinson,” Anne said with equal solemnity. “I will be sure to do so. Good day, sir.”
He bowed again and walked away. A very earnest young man, she thought smiling. Although he is most probably older than you, Anne. “You just feel old at times,” she muttered crossly, and returned to the more pleasant task of rummaging through the trunk. Sheet music lay on top, from the previous century by the condition of it, and she gently picked up the musty folios and set them on the floor beside her. The edges crumbling at her touch, they were beyond saving. She gave a fleeting thought to her abandoned music library. It would not be surprising if the new residents had tossed it aside. A shame, if so, since any of her fellow musicians would have welcomed the collection, painstakingly gathered from around the world.
Oblivious to the dust accumulating on her hands and clothes, or the hard floor under her knees, Anne picked up an oddly shaped horn. An early bassoon? Uncertain, she laid it aside, eager to see what else might be hidden below. She drew out several flutes of various styles, none as nice as hers, a recorder, and finally, wrapped in a piece of leather, a stringed instrument—although the strings were broken and tangled.
“Oh my, a lute,” Anne breathed. She rocked back on her heels, closed the trunk, and rested the lute against the lid. “How long have you been hidden away in there?”
“Years and years from the looks of the thing.”
Startled, Anne twisted around to face the fashionably dressed young woman who stood nearby, a friendly smile on her piquant face.
“Most certainly, and in much better condition than the former owner deserves,” Anne managed with an aplomb that surprised her. Perhaps she was more acclimated to this new life than she’d imagined. She struggled to her feet, brushed ineffectually at the dust streaking her skirt, and smiled ruefully at her unexpected guest.
“I am sorry to greet you in such disarray. I cannot fathom why Martin did not announce you properly.”
“Oh, you mustn’t be annoyed with Martin. He is most distressed by my disregard for the formalities. I have been positively in a fever to meet you.” She stepped forward and held out her hand. “I am Juliette St. Clair, and you are Anne. Westcott told us that, at least. Welcome to Hampshire.”
Anne smiled and shook her hand. “I suspected as much, Lady Lynton. Sarah has been talking about her stay at Lynton Hall with great enthusiasm. She had a wonderful time.”
“Juliette, please. I much prefer it. Having two Lady Lyntons can be dreadfully confusing.” Not relinquishing her hold on Anne, she urged her to a chair and sat in the other. “Sarah is such a darling. We so enjoyed having her. But I want to hear about you. Westcott told us nothing,” she said with a charming little pout, laughter dancing in her eyes.
Disarmed by this guileless manner, Anne laughed. “He is rather taciturn at times.”
Juliette blinked and crowed with laughter. “Yes, one might describe him so!”
Enchanted by this merry girl, Anne’s smile widened into what she feared was a foolish grin, but by heaven, it felt good, this antidote to the tension and worry of the past few weeks.
Still smiling, Juliette patted Anne’s hand. “You have had a time of it, my dear, from what Westcott did tell us, and I want to hear everything, but it will have to wait. St. Clair will be along any moment. I am enceinte, you know, which is why we were not with Westcott in Portugal, and Devlin is such a worrier. You must come to Lynton for luncheon later this week. We will have a comfortable coze and you can meet my mama-in-law, who is a delightful lady.”
She paused, took a quick breath, and fisted her hands under her chin. “Do tell me why you were poking around that trunk and looked so pleased at it. Not because you found a secret stash of jewelry, I warrant.”
“Something better,” Anne said with a wry smile. “I’ve always wanted a lute.” She went to the trunk, picked it up and rubbed at the grime on the wood. “It may not look it, but this was—is, a fine instrument. It simply needs a little work.”
Juliette came to join her, a skeptical look on her face. “If you say so.” She giggled. “Moi, I’d as soon have the jewelry!”
“Philistine.” The deep voice held a wealth of good humour.
“I am not, you wretch. I am as appreciative of the arts as anyone,” Juliette said, turning to greet the tall, handsome gentleman walking into the room. Laughing, she clung to his arm and raised her face for his kiss.
This, Anne thought, appeared to be a habit with them, since he leaned down to press his lips to her cheek. Warmed by this overt display of affection, she smiled, and glanced at her own husband, standing just behind St. Clair, who this certainly must be. Westcott’s expression of benign patience was a surprise, and a point in his favor, revealing as it did an unexpected degree of regard for these friends. If only he liked you half as much! Resisting the urge to sigh, Anne felt her hand engulfed by St. Clair’s.
“Since it appears neither your husband nor my wife intend to do so, allow me to introduce myself. As you surely guessed, I am St. Clair. And you are Lady Westcott.”
He smiled down at her, the look in his eyes so warm and welcoming that Anne felt a lump rise in her throat. He, along with his charming wife, offered a friendship she badly needed, and her own smile was heartfelt. “Anne, please.”
“Welcome, Anne.” He released her and tucked Juliette’s arm under his. “We must be going, love. We will get better acquainted another time.”
“St. Clair is not always so rag-mannered,” Juliette said with a comical grimace, “but we should be on our way.” She held out her free hand to grasp Anne’s. “You will come to luncheon? On Friday?”
“I’d like that very much.” Anne gripped her hand warmly. “Friday, then.”
“Juliette.”
“Yes, yes.” Juliette gave St. Clair a reproachful look, her eyes bright with amusement, and allowed him to guide her toward the door. “Good-bye! Good luck with your treasure.”
“No need to see us out, Nick. I know the way. I will look for you as well on Friday. You can take a look at that mare—and give the ladies a chance to gossip.”
“Gossip! I don’t gossip, Devlin,” Juliette protested as they disappeared along the passageway.
“All women gossip.”
“Such slander! And men don’t?”
Anne heard Juliette’s trill of laughter and smiled. “They seem very happy together.”
“They are.”
There was an awkward moment of silence and Anne’s smile faded. She never knew what to say to him. Uncomfortable under his intent gaze, she lifted the lute, still dangling in one hand, and laid it across her forearms.
“Where did you find that?”
Westcott looked genuinely interested, and Anne felt some of her enthusiasm returning. “In this trunk, along with some of the most interesting instruments. I believe they have been in there for ages.” She looked a question at him. “Did you not know they were here? Some one of your ancestors had an interest in music, to have collected these.”
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Westcott came closer and picked up the horn, his expression such a mixture of astonished puzzlement she had to laugh. “It’s a bassoon—I think,” she said helpfully. “A very old bassoon.”
“Is it? And here I had thought it some kind of horn.”
He looked slyly at her, awaiting her reaction to this ridiculous statement, no doubt. The man knew very well it was a horn. Westcott was actually teasing her! Flushed with a not unpleasant feeling of horrified delight, Anne narrowed her eyes and said with mock sternness, “Of course it is a horn, albeit a rather unusual one, to be sure.”
“I won’t argue that,” he said with a laugh, and set the bassoon on the floor. “I had no idea all this was here. I haven’t been in this room for years.” He glanced at her, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I did tell you ours was not a musical family, I believe.”
“So you did,” Anne said widening her eyes. A broad smile lit his face and Anne felt her mouth curl in response. She stared at him and her heart fluttered wildly. Say something, anything! But every thought flew away under his intent gaze, and flustered, she bent her head, the sense of rapport fading into an uncomfortable silence.
“Is this your treasure?” he asked after a moment, tapping the lute cradled against her. “Are you sure you prefer this to jewelry?”
Surprised at the amused tone in his voice, Anne blinked and looked up. Had she heard him correctly? Westcott was joking with her? He was, she realized, seeing the humour that softened the hard lines of his face. Encouraged, Anne smiled.
“Indeed I do, sir, and will be happier still if you will allow me to have these instruments restored.”
An Inconvenient Wife Page 12