by Diane Gaston
‘Yes,’ Penford said. ‘I imagine you are.’
‘I am not so eager to return,’ Genna corrected. ‘I have enjoyed my visit to our old home immensely.’ She looked over the sideboard where the food was displayed. ‘Oh, look, Lorene. Cook has made porridge! It has been ages and ages since I’ve tasted Cook’s porridge!
Becker, one of the footmen, attended the sideboard. Lorene made her selections, including porridge, and was seated next to Lord Penford at the small round breakfast table.
Becker waited upon Genna next, placing a ladle of oatmeal into a bowl for her. She added some cheeses, bread and jam.
‘Thank you, Becker.’ She smiled at him as he carried her plate to the table and seated her opposite her sister.
Penford sat as well although he did not look at either of them. ‘I trust you slept well.’
Lorene hesitated for a moment before answering, ‘Very well, sir.’
‘Fabulously well!’ added Genna. ‘Like being at home.’
Lorene shot her a disapproving look, before turning to Penford. ‘It was a kindness to put us in our old rooms.’
He glanced down at his newspaper. ‘The housekeeper’s decision, I am sure.’
Goodness! Could he be more sullen? ‘I hope you did not disapprove.’
He shot her a surprised look. ‘Why would I disapprove?’
She merely answered with a smile.
Why had he invited them if he seemed to take no pleasure in the visit? Unless his main purpose was to curry favour with Tinmore. If so, Genna was glad Tinmore had not accompanied them. Well, she was glad Tinmore had not accompanied them, no matter what Penford thought. Perhaps if Penford had been a more generous man, he might have left his cousins in the house to manage it in his absence. He might have come to their rescue instead of tossing them out of the only home they’d ever known and forcing Lorene to make that horrible marriage.
Lorene broke in. ‘The porridge is lovely. Just as I remembered it.’
Penford’s voice deepened. ‘I am glad it pleases you.’ He put down his paper and darted Lorene a glance. ‘I sent a man to Tinmore Hall early this morning. The roads are passable. You may order your coach at any time.’
He was in a hurry to be rid of them, no doubt.
‘Might we have the carriage in an hour?’ Lorene asked this so tentatively one would think she was asking for the moon instead of what Penford was eager to provide.
‘Certainly.’ Penford nodded towards Becker, who bowed in reply and left the room to accomplish the task.
Genna sighed and dipped her spoon into the porridge. She’d hoped to see Lord Rossdale one more time, but likely he was still galloping over the fields.
The rest of the breakfast transpired in near silence, except for the rattle of Lord Penford’s newspaper and the bits of conversation exchanged between Genna and Lorene. Genna used the time to think about the house. Her time away had seemed to erase it as her home. Leave the place to the dour Lord Penford. Her life here was gone for ever. More of its memories had been captured in her sketchbook, but she had no confidence that it would ever return to her possession. Likely she would not even see Rossdale again.
* * *
When it came time for them to leave, the servants gathered in the hall to bid them goodbye, just as they had done when Genna and her sisters first removed to Tinmore Hall. This time the tears did not fall freely, although many bid them farewell with a damp eye. Lorene shook their hands. Genna hugged each of them. Lord Penford stood to the side and Genna wondered if he felt impatient for them to depart.
When the coach pulled up to the front, Penford walked outside with them, without greatcoat, hat, or gloves. One of the coachmen helped Genna climb into the coach.
Lord Penford took Lorene’s hand to assist her.
Lorene turned to him, but lowered her lashes. ‘Thank you, sir, for inviting us and for putting us up for the night.’ She lifted her eyes to him.
For a moment Penford seemed to hold her in place. He finally spoke. ‘My pleasure.’ He’d never seemed to experience pleasure from their visit. ‘I shall remember your music.’
Lorene pulled away and climbed into the coach.
‘Safe journey,’ Penford said through the window.
As the coachman was mounting his seat, a horse’s hooves sounded near. A beautiful silver-grey steed appeared beside the coach.
Rossdale leaned down from his saddle to look inside the coach. ‘You are leaving already!’
Genna leaned out the window. ‘We must get back.’
‘Forgive me for not being here to say a proper goodbye.’ His horse danced restlessly beside them.
Genna spoke in a false tone. ‘I do not believe I shall forgive you.’ She smiled. ‘But thank you for allowing me to give you a tour of the house. It was most kind.’
He grinned. ‘It certainly was more than I ever thought it would be.’
The coach started to move.
‘Goodbye!’ Genna sat back, but turned to look out the back window as the coach pulled away.
Rossdale dismounted from his horse and stood with Penford watching the coach leave.
They watched until the coach travelled out of their sight.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lorene fretted on the road back to Tinmore Hall. ‘I wish we had not gone. He will have been frantic with worry when we did not return last night.’
Did she fear the effect of Tinmore’s worry on his health or that he would blame her for their absence?
‘He wanted us to go,’ Genna reminded her. ‘He ordered us to go.’
Lorene curled up in the corner of the carriage, making herself even smaller. ‘Still, we should not have gone.’
Genna tried to change the subject. ‘What did you think of our cousin, then? Lord Penford. Did you know he just inherited the title this summer?’
Lorene did not answer right away. ‘I did not know that,’ she finally said. ‘Perhaps that was why he was so sad.’
‘Sad?’ Genna had not considered that. Perhaps he had not been disagreeable and rude. Perhaps he’d still been grieving. His father would have died only a few months before. She felt a pang of guilt.
‘He’s taking care of the house,’ Genna said, trying to make amends, at least in her own mind. ‘Anna said he paid the servants their back wages.’
‘Did he?’ Lorene glanced back at her. ‘How very kind of him.’
Genna might have continued the conversation by asking what Lorene thought of Rossdale, but she didn’t. She felt Lorene really wished to be quiet. Instead Genna recounted their tour of the house, intending to fix in her memory the details of each room they’d visited. More vivid, though, were Rossdale’s reactions to those details. She’d enjoyed showing him the rooms more than she’d enjoyed visiting them.
Their carriage crossed over the bridge and the cupolas of Tinmore Hall came into view. The snow-covered lawn only set off the house more, its yellow stone gleaming gold in the morning sun. Genna’s spirits sank.
She hated the huge mausoleum. The house hadn’t seen a change in over fifty years. At least her mother had kept Summerfield House filled with the latest fashion in furnishings—at least until she ran off with her lover.
The carriage passed through the wrought-iron gate and drove up to the main entrance. Two footmen emerged from the house, ready to attend them. Moments later they were in the great hall, its mahogany wainscoting such a contrast to the light, airy plasterwork of Summerfield House.
Dixon, the butler, greeted Lorene. ‘It is good you are back, m’lady.’
‘How is Lord Tinmore?’ she asked.
‘His fever is worse, I fear, m’lady,’ he responded. ‘He spent a fitful night.’
Oh, dear. This would only increase Lorene’s guilt.
‘Did th
e doctor see him yesterday?’ Lorene handed one of the footmen her cloak and gloves.
Dixon nodded. ‘The doctor spent the night, caught in the storm as you were. He is here now.’
The doctor’s presence should give Lorene some comfort.
‘I must go to him.’ Lorene started for the stairway. ‘I ought to have been at his side last night.’
‘He would not have known it if you were,’ Dixon said.
Lorene halted and turned her head. ‘He was that ill?’
‘Insensible with fever, Wicky told us.’
‘That is good, Lorene,’ Genna broke in. ‘He cannot be angry at you if he does not know you were gone.’
Lorene swung around. ‘It is not good!’ she snapped. ‘He is ill.’
Genna felt her face grow hot. ‘I am so sorry. It was a thoughtless thing to say.’
‘And very unkind,’ Lorene added.
‘Yes,’ Genna admitted, filled with shame. ‘Very unkind. I am so sorry.’
Lorene turned her back on Genna and ran up the stairs.
Why could she not still her tongue at moments like these? She must admit she cared more about Lorene’s welfare than Tinmore’s health, but she did not precisely wish him to be seriously ill, did she?
She took a breath and glanced at Dixon. ‘Is Lord Tinmore so very ill?’
His expression was disapproving. ‘I gather so from Wicky’s report.’
Genna deserved his disdain. By day’s end the other servants would hear of her uncharitable comment and would call her an ungrateful wretch.
Which she was.
* * *
Over the next three days Genna hardly saw Lorene, who devoted all of her time to her husband’s care. Genna would have happily assisted in some way—for Lorene’s sake, not Tinmore’s—but no one required anything of her and anything she offered was refused. She kept to her room, mostly, and amused herself by drawing galloping horses with tall, long-coated riders. She could never quite capture that sense of fluid movement she’d seen that day when she’d gone to make a painting of Summerfield House.
She had just finished another attempt and was contemplating ripping it up when there was a knock at her door. Her maid, probably. ‘Come in,’ she called, placing the drawing face down on her table.
‘Genna—’ It was Lorene.
Genna turned and rose from her chair. ‘How is—?’ she began.
Lorene did not let her finish. ‘He is better. The fever broke during the night and now he is resting more comfortably.’
‘I am glad for you,’ Genna said.
Lorene waved her words away.
Genna walked over to her. ‘You look as if you need rest, too. Might you not lie down now?’
Lorene nodded. ‘I believe I will. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Thank you.’ Genna felt careful, as if talking to a stranger. ‘I am glad to know it.’
Lorene turned to leave, but a footman appeared in the corridor.
‘My lady, two gentlemen have called to enquire after his lordship’s health,’ he said. ‘Lord Rossdale and Lord Penford.’
Genna’s heart fluttered. She would be excited for any company, would she not? Of course, they had not come to call upon her.
Lorene put a hand to her hair. ‘Oh, dear. I am not presentable.’ She turned to Genna. ‘Would you entertain them until I can make myself fit for company?’
‘Certainly. Anything to help.’ Genna turned to the footman. ‘Where are they?’ There were so very many rooms in this house where visitors might be received.
‘I put them in the Mount Olympus room,’ he replied.
The room with the ceiling and walls covered with scenes from mythology, cavorting, nearly naked gods, all painted over a century before.
‘Very good,’ Lorene told him. ‘Have Cook prepare some tea and biscuits.’
‘Tea?’ Genna said. ‘Offer them wine. Claret or sherry or something.’
Lorene pursed her lips. ‘Very well. Some wine, then, as well as tea and biscuits.’
The footman bowed and rushed off.
Lorene glanced at Genna.
‘I can go down directly.’ Genna took off the apron she wore to cover her dress and hurried to wash the charcoal off her fingers. She dried her hands. ‘I’m off!’
* * *
Ross craned his neck and stared in wonder at the ceiling. It looked as if the mighty Zeus and all the lesser gods surrounding him might tumble down on to his head.
‘This is quite a room,’ he remarked. ‘I am reminded of our Grand Tour—the palaces of Rome and Venice. Remember the murals? On every ceiling it seemed.’
‘A man cannot think. The room fills the mind too much,’ Dell responded.
Ross grinned. ‘We did not do much thinking in those days, did we?’
Dell nodded, his face still grim. ‘None at all, I recall.’
Ross perused the ceiling and walls again. ‘In those days we would have been riveted by the naked ladies.’ He stopped in front of one such figure, a goddess who appeared as if she would step out from the wall and join them.
Dell paced. ‘Remind me again why we were compelled to come here?’
Ross had already explained. ‘You wanted to become acquainted with Lord Tinmore, so calling to enquire after his health is only polite, especially after his illness kept him away from your dinner.’
The door opened and both men turned. Ross smiled. It was Genna, the one person he’d hoped to see when he concocted this scheme to call at Tinmore Hall.
Genna strode over to them. ‘Rossdale. Penford. How good of you to call. My sister will be here in a few minutes. She has ordered refreshment for you, as well.’
Dell frowned. ‘Lord Tinmore is still ill, then?’
‘Lorene can better answer your questions.’ She gave Dell a cordial smile. ‘But, yes, Tinmore remains unwell.’
She gestured to the gilt stools cushioned in green damask that lined the walls of the room. ‘Do sit.’
The room was in sore need of a rearrangement of furniture more conducive to conversation, Ross thought. A style more in tune with the present.
‘Tell me, how is the weather?’ Genna asked politely. ‘I see our snow still covers the fields. Was it not terribly cold to ride this distance?’
‘Not so terribly cold.’ Ross kept his expression bland. ‘I suspect some people would consider walking this far even when it is cold outside.’ He darted a glance her way and saw she understood his joke.
‘We felt it our duty to enquire into Lord Tinmore’s health,’ Dell said solemnly.
‘How very good of you,’ she responded, her voice kind.
Ross gave her an approving look.
‘How were the roads?’ she asked.
Dell shrugged. ‘Slippery in places, but the horses kept their footing.’
‘I think they relished the exercise,’ Rossdale added. He’d relished it, as well.
She looked at a loss for what else to say. He fished around to find a topic and rescue her from having to make conversation.
She beat him to it. ‘Tell me, do you plan to stay at Summerfield House for Christmastide?’
‘At present that is our plan,’ Dell responded.
Genna looked surprised. ‘Do you not travel to visit your families?’
Dell averted his gaze and Rossdale answered. ‘We decided to avoid all that.’
He hoped his tone warned her not to ask more about that. Dell’s grief at the loss of his entire family was still raw. It was why Ross had elected to pass up a Christmas visit to his father at Kessington Hall. So he could be with his friend at such a time.
That and because he preferred his friend’s company to the politically advantageous guests his father always invited.
&n
bsp; ‘What are your plans?’ Ross asked her.
She sighed. ‘Lord Tinmore plans a house party. Several of his friends will come to stay.’ She did not seem to look forward to this. ‘Guests should arrive next week.’
‘No, they will not.’ Her sister entered the room. Genna and the gentlemen stood. ‘How do you do, sirs? It is kind of you to call.’
Dell’s voice turned raspy. ‘How—how fares Lord Tinmore?’
Lady Tinmore glanced up at him, then gazed away. ‘He is better. The fever broke, but he remains too weak to receive callers.’
‘We do understand,’ Dell said stiffly. ‘Please send our best wishes for his recovery.’
Lady Tinmore darted another glance at him. ‘I will. Thank you, sir.’
Dell seemed uncomfortable around these sisters. Not ready for even this relatively benign social call?
Genna turned to her sister. ‘What did you mean the guests will not arrive next week?’
Her sister replied, ‘Tinmore has asked that the house party be cancelled. His secretary is to write to the guests today.’
The refreshments arrived. Ross and Dell accepted glasses of wine and offers of biscuits.
Ross stepped away while Lady Tinmore poured for Dell. To his delight, Genna joined him.
He wanted a chance to speak to her. ‘Are you disappointed about the house party?’ he asked.
She laughed. ‘Not at all. I do not rub well with Lord Tinmore’s friends.’
Her sister heard her and snapped, ‘It is cancelled because Lord Tinmore needs the time to recover. He has been very sick, Genna.’
‘I know that, Lorene,’ Genna said softly.
Ross felt for her. No one liked being reprimanded in front of others.
He took a sip of his wine. ‘Tell me about this room, Lady Tinmore. It is quite unusual.’
‘It is called the Mount Olympus room,’ Lady Tinmore responded, sounding glad to change the subject. ‘Depicting the Greek gods. My husband said it was painted over one hundred years ago by the Italian muralist, Verrio. He painted a similar scene even more elaborate at Burghley House. And one at Chatsworth, as well. My husband prefers this one, though.’