by Wilma Counts
Caitlyn, however, was determined to see this thing through—for Trevor’s sake. Had he not taken over that race for her? She could do this much for him.
By the second day of the visit, Caitlyn was aware of the “protection” that others were according her. When the whole family gathered, Trevor never left her side. If the ladies met separately, Melanie or Aunt Gertrude always maneuvered to place themselves as buffers between Caitlyn and her mother-in-law and the mother-in-law’s favorite daughter-in-law.
A few days after the arrival of the Atherton visitors, the castle began to fill with other guests. These were largely members of the ton—leaders of society and important members of political and financial circles. The women seemed to take their cue from the countess, according Caitlyn cool, grudging admission to their circle.
One afternoon as the gentlemen were off on a shooting expedition, the ladies met for tea in the drawing room. Caitlyn felt Miranda gaze at her in a calculated manner. When Caitlyn caught her eye, Miranda looked away with a haughty shrug.
“Such a shame,” Miranda said to the room at large, “that La Contessa Oliveira could not come to the Harvest Festival.”
“I did invite her,” the countess assured her audience. “She was such a dear in making Trevor comfortable in her homeland, I felt it incumbent upon his family to return the favor.”
Caitlyn knew very well this bit of dialogue was designed for her. She tried not to let it hurt or irritate her. But it did both. She glanced at Aunt Gertrude, who rolled her eyes in disgust.
It was Melanie who responded. “Oh, I imagine Colonel de Lessup is managing to make her welcome enough without our help. After all, it was Trevor who persuaded the rather shy Anthony de Lessup that Dolores was truly interested in him.”
This brought an immediate buzz of response in the room. Melanie leaned over to say quietly to Caitlyn, “That is absolutely true, in case you wondered. Theo told me.”
Caitlyn was pleased by this information—and grateful to Melanie for diverting the spite intended by Miranda and Lydia.
“Trust our Melanie,” Aunt Gertrude murmured approvingly as the general conversation turned to other topics.
Caitlyn, Melanie, and Aunt Gertrude continued to spend a good deal of time with the children. They took Ashley and Elizabeth on walks in the elaborate gardens. They played hide-and-seek and other childhood games with the girls. Occasionally their fathers joined in the fun.
Although neither the countess nor Miranda was especially fond of children, both seemed to try to be tolerant. They tended to be effusive in singing the praises of “darling Elizabeth,” hugging Melanie’s child and readily holding her hand on walks. It infuriated Caitlyn, Aunt Gertrude—and Melanie—to see grown women thus exclude an innocent child. Caitlyn tried to compensate by showering more affection on Ashley, but she knew Ashley sensed her grandmother’s antipathy.
After two days of this subtle exclusion, Aunt Gertrude had had enough. “I am going to speak to Lydia. This is ridiculous—and hurtful.”
“Do you really think you should?” Caitlyn questioned.
“Someone should! And the men rarely have opportunity to see such despicable behavior.”
Sometime later, Caitlyn saw Aunt Gertrude in another section of the garden in earnest conversation with the countess. Lydia sported two bright spots of color and raised her voice, though Caitlyn could not distinguish her words. Soon, the countess cast a malevolent look in Caitlyn’s direction and stalked back to the house with an angry flounce.
“Oh, dear,” Caitlyn murmured to herself.
A furious Aunt Gertrude immediately sought Caitlyn to say, “That woman drives me mad. It is hard to believe she was related to the man I loved.”
“What happened?”
“You cannot want to hear her exact words.”
“The gist of them, then.”
“She says her husband and Marcus may be willing to accept a cuckoo in the nest, but she and Miranda and Gerald never will.”
Saddened but not surprised by this comment, Caitlyn felt tears stinging her eyes. “She simply refuses to believe. And frankly, I am not at all sure the earl and Marcus truly believe Ashley is Trevor’s child. I think they accept her because they know Trevor wants them to do so.”
Aunt Gertrude patted her hand. “At least Trevor believes it—and that is what is truly important.”
“Yes. Trevor believes it. But I think it hurts him—as it hurts me—for our daughter to suffer any degree of rejection. And what happens when Ashley is grown? Will her own grandmother continue to view her as an interloper? The ton is likely to take its cue from a socially prominent countess. Will Lydia and Miranda spoil my daughter’s chances in life?”
“You must not fret about it, dear. In truth, the ton will not care. Many an elevated matron in society has borne children who were not fathered by her husband.”
“Not in my family. Nor yours. And, apparently, not in Trevor’s. I hate that such a label is so unfairly attached to Ashley—and to me. I hate it!” She clutched her fists helplessly in her lap.
Aunt Gertrude put her arm around Caitlyn and held her close. The older woman’s voice had tears in it as she said, “I know, dear, I know. Perhaps in time . . .”
“Perhaps.” But Caitlyn did not believe time would influence the cold heart of the countess.
She did not want to burden Trevor with her worries, but these days it was not easy to keep anything from him. He had become extraordinarily sensitive to even the slightest changes in her mood. That night, he lay in bed watching as she brushed her hair thoroughly and began to pin it up.
“No. Leave it loose,” he said. “I like to see it down.” He gazed at her, the beginnings of desire clear in his eyes. She looked away. Immediately, he rose on one elbow. “What is the matter, Caitlyn? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Come here.” He scooted over and threw back the covers to welcome her. When she was firmly ensconced in his arms, he put his lips against her temple. “Tell me. Let us have no secrets between us.”
“Oh, Trevor, I did not want to burden you.”
His response was a tender growl. “Out with it, wife.”
And so she told him—everything, including her thoughts about the attitudes of the earl and Marcus. He was quiet for such a long time that she feared his reaction. She twisted slightly to look at him, the light from a bedside lamp revealing his grim expression. He tightened his embrace, and there was a certain sadness in his voice.
“My mother is one of the most arrogant, unfeeling females who ever existed. And Miranda is of the same ilk. What’s more, she—the countess—was likely guilty at one time of what she suspects of you—and of me.”
“Oh, Trevor—no!”
“I do not know that for a certainty—and I do not want to know—but I am sure my father knows—or suspects it.”
“How sad for him.”
Pulling back, Trevor stared at her. “Caitlyn, you are a wonder! Instead of anger at her, your first reaction is sympathy for him.”
She did not know what to say.
He drew her closer again. “You are right about how Father and Marcus feel. They have said nothing to me, but I believe they are both willing to take their cue from me. And neither of them would knowingly hurt a child. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“And Gerald?”
“The heir apparent is as arrogant and pigheaded as our mother. And as shallow. Sometimes I truly believe he has room to let upstairs, for he must be hit over the head before an idea sinks in.”
“I suppose there are a good many people like that in the world.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Perhaps they will all come around eventually,” she said, but even she knew she did not sound very convincing.
When he did not respond for a long period, she wondered if he had fallen asleep.
“Caitlyn?”
“Hmm?”
“Would you rather we left? We can r
eturn to Atherton tomorrow, if you wish. I will not have you hurt.”
She felt a delicious warmth at these words. Actually, he offered precisely what she wanted to do—go home to Atherton with her own little family.
“No. I—we—cannot do that, Trev. Your father would be very hurt. He wants this time with his children around him. And . . . and I am sure he deserves this much. I can endure. And Ashley is too young to comprehend.”
“Oh, God, Caitlyn, I love you.” The words seemed wrenched out of him. “You are so good and kind and true—”
She thought her heart would explode with its fullness. She stopped his words with a fierce kiss.
“And I love you,” she said, “but I never dared hope—”
It was his turn to stop her words as she had his. “I don’t deserve you, Caitlyn, my love.”
She took his face in her hands and held his gaze. “Love is not to be ‘deserved.’ It just is. It is a gift from heaven, and one we have only to accept.”
“Oh, I do accept.” The pledge in his eyes was a reflection of that in her own. “I accept with humility and gratitude.” He kissed her deeply.
“And with just a touch of passion?” she teased.
“And with an everlasting reserve of passion,” he said—and proceeded to spend much of the night establishing the truth of that assertion.
Sometime during the night, Caitlyn and Trevor had agreed that they would return to Atherton soon after the grand ball that was to be the climax of the Harvest Festival. Three more days, Caitlyn told herself. Meanwhile, she set out to enjoy as much of the company as she found congenial and to spend time with Melanie, whom she had come to love dearly. Melanie and Andrew would stay at Timberly until the Congress was truly convened in Vienna to deal with Bonaparte’s now defunct empire.
Caitlyn appeared at the ball in an ivory gown of shimmering silk. The dress was designed on classical Greek lines, and her hair was arranged in a classical style as well. She also wore the diamonds and emeralds Trevor had given her in London. She knew the two of them made a striking pair this night. In his dark, stylish evening wear, he quite took her breath away.
Melanie had taken her on a tour of the castle when they arrived, so she was not surprised by either the size or decor of the great hall, which soared upward two stories and contained armor and armaments, some dating back to the Middle Ages. An enormous fireplace dominated one long wall of the spectacular room.
On the walls at either end were hung tapestries that must have been especially commissioned for this room. One depicted a scene from the Battle of Agincourt, in which a Jeffries ancestor had distinguished himself. The other showed a highly stylized and symbolic hunting scene, complete with unicorn.
Light from two massive chandeliers of brass and crystal, with dozens of candles each, bounced off the pieces of armor. Chairs and settees arranged strategically around the room seemed dwarfed by the scale of the room itself. The focal point of Timberly’s great hall was the fireplace on one wall—or, rather, the painting that hung over it.
The work—of such dimensions that the figures in it were life-sized—was a portrait of the current earl and his family, made when the older children were young adolescents, the twins six or seven, and Melanie four or five years of age. They were an incredibly handsome family, Caitlyn thought. She noticed that the countess—still a strikingly lovely woman—tonight wore a gown that, though modern in style, had obviously been designed with the gown in the portrait in mind.
In the portrait, the earl and his four sons were all dressed in formal wear, while the child Melanie was attired in a beautiful dress of royal blue trimmed in silver. The artist had captured handily her golden curls and sparkling eyes, and the sense of closeness between the twins and their little sister.
“What a beautiful family,” Caitlyn said softly to Trevor.
“I suppose we were,” he agreed, “but you see how the family was divided even then. Notice that Father is off to the side slightly—above it all, aloof. Gerald and the countess were quite a team even then.”
“And you three younger ones seem to have made a pact against the world.
He laughed. “Well, against the rest of the family, anyway. Though we quite liked Marcus—see how he sort of hovers protectively there?”
“And did he? Protect you, I mean?”
“Always.”
Caitlyn looked around the crowded room. “Have you seen Melanie?”
“Not yet. Andrew is here, though. Melanie is always late. I guess some things never change.”
The Earl of Wyndham and his countess, along with Gerald and Miranda, were holding court, as it were, in front of the fireplace, beneath that spectacular portrait. The room was abuzz with dozens of conversations, and musicians played softly in the background. In a few moments the dancing would begin.
Then quite suddenly it began to grow quiet in the room. The silence swept in a wave from the entrance. Even the musicians faltered and stopped as a path was cleared between the group at the fireplace and the vision at the door.
Caitlyn drew a long, deep breath.
“Good God!” Trevor murmured in wonder.
There stood Melanie arrayed in a grown-up version of the royal blue dress that the child Melanie wore in the portrait. In each hand she held the hand of a modern duplicate of the little girl with golden curls and sparkling eyes. Ashley and Elizabeth were wearing identical replicas of the gown the girl child wore in the portrait.
A wide smile broke across Trevor’s face, and soon he was laughing aloud. “Trust Melanie to make her statement in a most dramatic way.”
Still gripping a child’s hand in each of hers, Melanie strode the path that had been spontaneously cleared for her toward the stunned tableau at the fireplace. Just as she reached it, Andrew and Marcus joined her.
“Come, my darling,” Trevor whispered with a touch of irony. “We must not be left out of this family picture. Melanie needs our support.”
They arrived in time to hear the countess hiss at Melanie, “Have you completely lost possession of your senses?”
But the earl was smiling broadly. Despite his precarious health and sallow color, his voice was strong as he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my granddaughters—Ashley and Elizabeth.” He patted each child on the head, then laughed. “Or is it Elizabeth and Ashley? You know, my twins were ten years old before I could tell them apart.”
With that, the guests let out a collectively held breath and the room erupted in murmurs of wonder and approval. Someone motioned the musicians to resume playing. Caitlyn heard snatches of conversation.
“Exactly like that portrait.”
“Darling children.”
“Which one is which?”
And “Lydia will never be able to deny that child now.”
Ashley, seeing her father, said, “Auntie Mel told me and ’Liz’beth we could come to the ball. It was to be a s‘prise. Are you s’prised, Papa?”
Trevor bent to swing her into his arms. “Yes, poppet, I am ’s’prised.’ ” He kissed her cheek. “You may have one dance and then it’s off to bed with you.”
“Both of them,” Melanie said.
Ashley put a small hand on his cheek to turn his face to hers. “May we each have one of those lemon tarts Cook was making, too?”
Trevor’s response was a laugh that was at once carefree and loving. The musicians swung into a waltz, and Trevor and Andrew charmed everyone in the room by taking the floor with their small daughters.
Alfred, Lord Wyndham, then asked Caitlyn to dance, and Marcus joined them with his sister. Soon, others caught the spirit of the dancing pairs already on the floor. Caitlyn and her father-in-law moved closer to Trevor and Ashley.
“How about we trade partners, son?” the earl asked.
Then Caitlyn was in Trevor’s arms, and as the two of them watched fondly, the earl lifted Ashley into his arms and whirled her around the floor.
“My father knows how to make a statement, too,” Tr
evor said, pride overcoming a catch in his voice.
Epilogue
September, 1817
Trevor settled at his desk to deal with a modest pile of correspondence that had arrived with the midmorning post. As was his custom, he saved the best till last. Thus, it was some time before he actually read the letter from his brother Marcus.
Marcus was now the Earl of Wyndham. Trevor thought with sadness of his father who had died only weeks before Napoleon escaped from Elba. At least he was spared the terror that event posed for England, Trevor thought. But he also missed knowing his newest grandchildren by only a few weeks.
Trevor’s heart filled as he thought of his family—Caitlyn, Ashley, and the twins, Terrence and Jason. He smiled at the memory of the surprise Jason had been. The midwife had warned them that she suspected there might be two babies, but Caitlyn had dismissed the idea and so he had as well. Later, he thought his wife had dissembled a trifle in that—to spare him the worry she sensed in him.
He remembered the sheer joy he and Caitlyn had shared with her pregnancy. If anything, she had seemed even more beautiful to him then. There had been a special glow or aura about her. And now she had it again, though it was early yet. They were both hoping for another girl this time.
Ashley had initially greeted the advent of baby brothers with special glee. She had warm, living dolls to play with! However, as the babies became pesky little brothers who refused to cooperate at her miniature tea table, she was less enchanted with them. Still, she tended to “mother” them—with a protective attitude that clearly imitated their mama.
He picked up the letter again. Seeing the earl’s coat of arms on the seal in connection with Marcus still caught him by surprise. Though it was not an especially welcomed idea, the entire family had fully expected Gerald to hold the title for several decades. Such was not to be. Within a matter of months, Gerald, too, was dead of a virulent fever, leaving no direct issue. Miranda’s tenure had been blessedly short, considering her grandiose plans for changing both Timberly and Wyndham House in London.