Dennis was relieved to think Mrs. Saunders would not be marrying Lord Wilmington after all, while Arelia had reason to hope that her newly discovered attraction for Mr. Pearce was reciprocated.
There was nothing unusual about Monday morning, nothing to forewarn Anne that this was a day that would totally change her life. She rose at the normal time, dressed in her sky blue muslin, and shared a fruitful morning of study with Belinda. At eleven o’clock, Tom and Dennis joined them for a French lesson. It too, went smoothly. Dennis was in better spirits and so was Arelia. Anne did not have to guess why. She had seen them arrive home together after church. Clearly, they had come to some understanding.
After luncheon, Anne sat alone in her room planning Belinda’s lessons for the remainder of the week. Since her windows faced the rear of the Castle, she was not privileged to see the emblazoned post-chaise-and-four that arrived and deposited a distinguished-looking man. Her first hint that a visitor was in the Castle came when Kimble knocked quietly at her door. Anne said, “Come,” and then rose in surprise when she saw who stood there. Kimble had never come to her door before, in fact she could not remember ever seeing him above the first floor.
She hurried therefore, certain that whatever brought Kimble to her must be of importance. “Yes, Kimble what is it?”
“You have a visitor, Miss Waverly. He has sent up his card.”
Anne lifted the delicate, gilt-edged card from the silver salver Kimble held in his hand.
“The Duke of Chadwicke!” she exclaimed. Suddenly suspicious, she said, “This is some sort of hoax, Kimble, isn’t it?”
“Certainly not, miss. The gentleman arrived only a few moments ago. You can see the coach in the drive if you disbelieve me.”
“But there must be some mistake. He cannot wish to see me.”
“I assure you, miss, he was quite specific. Asked for you by name. Said he understood you were employed here as governess to Mrs. Saunders’s daughter.”
Realizing that if Kimble was telling the truth, she was keeping a duke waiting, Anne hurriedly followed the butler down the stairs. In the great hall several footmen in crimson-and-white livery stood at attention near Lord Tenbury’s servants. She had no time to consider what this visitor might want with her before Kimble opened the doors of the salon and announced her.
“Miss Waverly, Your Grace.”
Anne took a few steps into the room as Kimble pulled the doors closed behind her. She found herself confronted by a thin, elderly gentleman dressed severely in black and white. He raised his quizzing glass and surveyed her critically from head to foot.
“How do you do, Your Grace,” she muttered as she curtsied deeply and then stood irresolutely.
“Well, come girl, come closer. I will not bite you, after all. Come and sit near me, so I may sit as well. I hate standing about. Awkward business, standing about.”
Anne moved to the chair he indicated and seated herself, while he continued, almost without drawing breath, “I daresay you are wondering who I am and why I am here. I know your grandfather, you see.” As he paused and sat near her, Anne had the unmistakable feeling he was as uncomfortable taking part in this interview as she was.
“Which grandfather?” Anne asked, when he seemed unlikely to enlighten her.
“Sir Giles—Giles Pentworth. Knew him as a boy, was a close friend till he went overseas. Our properties marched with one another. Still do actually; the boundaries have not changed in nearly two hundred years. It is on behalf of your grandfather that I am here, Miss Waverly.”
“I have never met my grandfather, Your Grace. He went out to India shortly after I was born. He never communicated with us.”
“I hesitate to disagree with a lady, but he did communicate! Told me he wrote to your father on more than one occasion, asking if there was anything he could do for you—the only child of his only child.”
“My father never told me.”
“Your grandfather may be far away, Miss Waverly, but I can tell you this—all these years he has kept track of you. That is where I come into his plan. Years ago, when he left, he asked me to keep an eye on you, and I have done so. I had an arrangement with your rector, Mr. Pomeroy, and in more recent years, Mr. Boone. Twice a year they would write to me, telling me how you went on. These letters I forwarded to your grandfather.”
“But why did he not write to me?”
“He had no wish to intrude. He and your father had never been on the best of terms, and when your father made it clear that he wished no assistance, Giles respected that decision. But now that your father is gone, God rest his soul, your grandfather wishes to settle some property on you, property that he intended for your mother.”
When he paused for breath, Anne could think of nothing to say. To imagine that her grandfather had gathered news of her all these years! And she had never known nor even suspected.
The duke continued, “You must understand, Miss Waverly, that Sir Giles is a nabob. Not six months after his father died, he took his inheritance and invested it in India—gems, spices, rare and costly fabrics. He cared not one jot for those who looked down their noses at him for daring to go into trade. He has amassed a fortune, and he wishes to share it with you.”
When he paused politely to allow her to respond, she felt foolish and thickheaded. “You must forgive me, Your Grace. This is all rather hard to take in. My father regretted that Sir Giles was in trade, and his comments led me to believe that grandfather barely subsisted. Now you are telling me that he is a wealthy man?”
“I am telling you that Sir Giles is an extremely wealthy man. Giles doted on your mother. She was his only child to survive infancy, and he had great plans for her. Since she was only nine-and-twenty when she died, her death was a severe blow. When he learned of your father’s death, Giles got the notion to make over to you, on your twenty-ninth birthday, those properties he intended for your mother. I have his solicitor waiting in another room. It lacks a week till your birthday, but it will take at least that long to sign and process all the papers transferring the various properties to you.”
“Exactly what properties do you speak of?”
“The ancestral home, which adjoins mine in Norfolk, will pass upon your grandfather’s death to his closest living male relative—your cousin three times removed. But to you, Sir Giles has already deeded Pentworth House and its revenues, situated on a two-thousand-acre estate in Lincolnshire. He has also made over to you his London house, in Charles Street, I believe. Nothing elaborate, but respectable. Giles was never fond of London, but his wife was often there for the Season before they left for the East. Both properties are free from mortgage and in excellent condition. The London residence is closed. Pentworth House has a skeleton staff and an excellent steward. I have given orders for it to be totally turned out and readied against your arrival, should you decide to visit there, or indeed go there to live.”
“Go there to live.” Anne repeated. Most of what he had just said was floating somewhere in the air over her head, refusing to sink in.
“It is your home now, if you wish it. You cannot continue as a governess now that you are a woman of independent means.”
Anne rose from her chair without speaking and walked to the windows facing the front of the Castle. A woman of independent means. Before she could even begin to assimilate the thought, the duke spoke again.
“There is one other item about which you must be informed. Your grandfather invested much of his capital in precious gems. These are safely deposited at Barclay’s in London. At their last appraisal their estimated worth was near one hundred thousand pounds. He wishes you to have these as well, either to set into jewelry or to preserve as an investment for your future.”
Anne turned from the windows to regard him with renewed consternation. “How can this be? Is he such a wealthy man?”
“He is, though few know it. He keeps to himself and, though he lives comfortably, is not particularly ostentatious. His heir, for instance, knows nothing of the existence
of these gems.”
“But why should he give me so much when he does not even know me?”
“He is nearly eighty years old, and you are his only close blood relation. To whom else should he give it?”
“I cannot imagine. I never dreamed … Could I write to him, to thank him?”
“Certainly. I can give you his direction. I know he would be delighted to correspond with you.”
“What will I ever do with such wealth?” she asked.
“Enjoy it, husband it well, use it for good if you can, and don’t be deceived into thinking only good can come of it. Great wealth can be a curse as well as a blessing. People who never noticed you before will fall over themselves to be gracious. Men who would not have given you a passing glance will pay compliments to your eyes and tell you your wit and intelligence are second to none. Wealth will attract fortune hunters as carrion attracts crows.”
Chapter 13
The Duke of Chadwicke allowed Anne very little time to assimilate his extraordinary news before he sent for the solicitor to join them. Mr. Murphy was short and slight. He walked with a hurried step and carried a document case that appeared too heavy for him.
After formal introductions were made, the duke continued, “Murphy has administered your grandfather’s estate for many years, Miss Waverly. If you take my advice, you will continue to employ him. He is intimately acquainted with the details of your property and highly qualified to advise you concerning it. He needs you to sign a few documents today. As your grandfather’s representative in this matter, I have reviewed them carefully, but we will explain each to you as we proceed.”
Nearly an hour later, the gentlemen formally took their leave. When Mr. Murphy had collected his various papers and fastidiously stowed them away, the duke bid Anne farewell, encouraging her to contact him if she had any further need of his services. The two men left the Castle together, climbed into the coach, and were soon on their way.
Anne stood at the windows of the salon and watched until the coach disappeared from sight. She thought for a moment how easy it would be to believe she had imagined the whole thing, for it had seemed as unreal as Tenbury’s kiss in the dark woodland pool. Yet when she looked down at the leather pouch in her hand, a pouch containing two hundred pounds in small notes and golden guineas, she knew it had really happened. She had never seen so much money at one time in her life. When she had objected to taking it, both gentlemen were adamant. They insisted she would need money for new clothes, for travel expenses.
Anne was still standing at the window when both Arelia and Lady Tenbury entered, demanding to be told how it was that Anne came to be acquainted with the Duke of Chadwicke.
“He is Tenbury’s uncle,” the countess offered, “but I have not seen him in years. He seldom leaves his estates in Norfolk.”
“I don’t know him,” Anne replied. “I never met him before today.”
“What did he want?” Arelia asked. “You sat so long with him we were nearly overcome with curiosity.”
“His Grace brought me wonderful news, something I never suspected. It seems he is a trusted friend of my maternal grandfather. He informed me that when I turn twenty-nine on the fifth of August, I will be in possession of an independence.” It was an outrageous understatement, but she could bring herself to say no more.
“How wonderful!” Lady Tenbury exclaimed. “What good fortune!”
“Indeed, my lady, I am most fortunate.”
“I am not so sure I agree,” Arelia said, half-teasing. “If you have an independence, you will leave us. I am not certain I care for that.”
“Leave you?”
“Well, you would hardly wish to continue as governess,” Arelia reasoned. “Did he tell you how much you would have?”
“It seems there is an estate, and a modest London residence, and some income as well.”
“That settles it, then,” Arelia said, a broad smile showing her pleasure at her friend’s wonderful news. “Your days as a governess are over. Belinda must have a holiday until I find a replacement for you. I am so happy for you, Anne!”
Another hour passed before Anne was able to escape her well wishers and go off on her own. It seemed no amount of time would be sufficient to take in all that had happened in the last few days. Her life was changing suddenly, radically, and she was not at all certain she wished it to. These last few months at Tenton Castle had been some of the fullest she had ever known. Although she had been content with her father, she had never had the opportunity to make friends her own age—friends like Jack, Dennis, and Arelia.
If she were to leave the Castle, she thought she would miss Arelia most. She had spent less time with her than with the others, yet their friendship was special. She had shared many of her private thoughts with Arelia, and Arelia had confided equally in her. She suspected it was a friendship such as sisters shared—a friendship she had never expected to have.
Anne spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room, finding that her head ached from all the information it was being forced to deal with, for the more she pondered it, the more unbelievable it seemed. Since she was looking forward to a quiet meal in her room and an evening of solitude, she was distressed when Lady Tenbury sent a message inviting her to join the family for dinner. Not certain what she should do, she went to find Dennis to seek his advice. She briefly explained her new-found wealth, once again making light of its size and extent.
“If there is a problem in all this, I don’t see it,” he replied. “Were you not just telling me a few weeks ago that you hated the thought of having no control of your life? Now you will have; you should be delighted.”
“Of course, I am pleased,” she responded, “but what should I do about Lady Tenbury’s invitation to dine with the family?”
“You should go.”
“But how can I? Yesterday the governess, today a guest at dinner. I would feel most uncomfortable.”
“Anne, you are not a servant here; you never were. You were a gentlewoman forced to earn her living, but a gentlewoman all the same. The position did not change who you are.”
“Perhaps not. But I feel as if it did. Arelia did not ask if I wanted to stop teaching, she simply assumed I would. She said Belinda could have a holiday until I was replaced. If I no longer have my post, then there is no reason for me to stay. I can see Arelia was right when she said I would leave. I must leave; there is no place for me here.”
When she looked at Dennis, she found him regarding her steadily, but he did not reply. “You agree with me, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes. I understand how you feel. You are caught in an awkward situation.”
“I can be uncaught simply enough. I have money; I have a home to go to. The duke said it has even been prepared for me. How do I hire a coach to carry me there, Dennis?”
“The Duck ‘N’ Drake in Winthrop hires post chaises. For a few pence I could send a village boy with a note.”
“Will you write the note for me? I would not know what to ask for.”
“How far do you plan to go?”
“To Lincolnshire.”
“When would you like to leave?”
“Tomorrow, as early as possible.”
“Anne, are you sure? Perhaps you should take more time to consider.”
“I am sure, Dennis, of only one thing—I no longer belong here. I will do my thinking elsewhere.”
Anne joined Arelia, Jack, and Lady Tenbury in the drawing room before dinner. She came at the last moment, hoping they would all be there before her.
All three looked up as she entered, and she decided to speak at once. She addressed Lady Tenbury, “I thank you for your kind invitation to dine with you, my lady, but I regret I must decline it. With your permission, I should like to leave tomorrow, and I must do all my packing tonight.” At Lady Tenbury’s pained expression, Anne added, “You have been most kind to me, all of you, but I need time alone to adjust to this change in my circumstances.”
Sh
e could think of nothing further to say. It was Jack who recognized her discomfort and rescued her from having to say more. “Of course, you do. We understand. But you must promise that when you have settled your affairs, you will come back to visit.”
She smiled at him but made no promise.
Noticing the omission, Arelia stepped closer and said, “You were always much more than an employee here. Go if you must, but know we shall all miss you.”
Very near tears by this point, Anne quickly excused herself and hurried to her room. There she carefully packed her belongings into trunks and cases. Near midnight, both mentally and physically exhausted, she crawled into bed and was soon asleep.
At nine the following morning, Dennis stopped at her room to inform her that the earliest the posting house could send a coach was eleven o’clock.
“Kimble says the footmen can carry your things down now, if you like.”
“Thank you, Dennis. They are ready.” By ten o’clock Anne’s belongings were stacked in the great hall. She had said good-bye to the children and to Arelia, Dennis, and Lady Tenbury. She was not anxious about the carriage ride ahead and had even allowed the cook to pack her a lunch, which she had every intention of eating. Attired in a modest russet traveling dress, she sat in the library with Jack, awaiting the arrival of the hired post chaise. They were not speaking of her reasons for leaving; they were reminiscing instead about all the things they had done together that summer.
Lord Tenbury was in a foul temper. He had been driving almost continuously for four days on a fruitless mission. He had traveled first to London, then to Norfolk in search of the Duke of Chadwicke, only to learn upon arriving at the duke’s residence that His Grace was away from home on a visit to Tenton Castle!
So Tenbury had journeyed back to Wiltshire. Just outside Winthrop, he was forced to collect his team to a trot as he came up behind a slow-moving post chaise. He waited impatiently for a straight stretch of road wide enough to pass, then swore irritably when he saw there was a vehicle approaching in the opposite direction.
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