I must ask John who lives here.
She continued toward the lake when a woman came through the gate with a bundle of linens in her arms. The woman stopped, and her mouth fell open in surprise.
“Excuse me, miss, are you lost? This is Longley property. The road to town is in the opposite direction.”
“No, I’m out for a stroll. I’m Mrs. Montague, here to join my husband.”
“I beg your pardon. I was not aware Mr. John had brought his wife. I am Catherine, the dowager countess’s housekeeper.” She curtsied. “You are on the right path. There is a folly not too far away with a lovely view of the lake.”
She wasn’t sure what to do next. If the dowager was at home and receiving, perhaps it would be a good time to pay a call. “I understand the dowager countess has been unwell. Has her health improved at all?”
“Nay, it is the same. One never knows what to expect one day to the next. Thank you for asking.”
“Is she allowed visitors?”
The woman’s friendly chatter stopped, and her eyes narrowed. Gwen was confused. It was as if a curtain dropped, changing the mood of the conversation. “On her good days, she sees the vicar and the surgeon that took Mr. Will’s place.”
“Is today a good day? I haven’t met her yet.”
She seemed thoughtful, then made up her mind. “No, today is not. Perhaps when Mr. John is with you, a visit can be arranged.” She considered the stack of linens in her hand. “I must be off. Have a pleasant stroll.”
Gwen nodded as she wandered down the path.
Curiosity propelled her back to the gate. The wood seemed new. Older wood had a weathered, uneven look. She tugged at the latch, and to her surprise it opened, leading into a garden that must be beautiful in the spring. The cottage, made of sun-warmed stone, had tiny-paned windows and a thatched roof. It looked old, but well-cared for, and the front door had a knocker.
She hesitated. John would want to be present when she met his mother, but that certainly would not be today. The housekeeper had said the dowager was not receiving, but it wouldn’t hurt to inquire about her health.
I am family, after all. It is my Christian duty to make sure John’s mother has everything she requires.
She lifted the knocker, and the door was abruptly opened by an enormous man with a scowl on his face.
“How did you get in?”
Taken aback, Gwen brought out her spectacles and stared up at the giant. “I am Mrs. Montague, here to inquire about the dowager’s health. Please stand aside. I wish to enter and speak to her personal maid.”
“Who did you say you were?”
She straightened and wished she were taller. “I am Lady Gwendolyn Montague, the wife of Mr. John.”
A movement in the room behind the retainer drew her eyes. A slight woman in a tea gown of pale lavender hovered nearby.
“Who is there, Matthew?”
“Nobody, my lady.”
“But I hear a female voice.”
Something wasn’t right. Gwendolyn charged past the burly doorman and stopped in front of the woman. “Are you all right, madam?” She glanced back at the man. “Shall I call someone to assist you?”
The woman smiled, and it transformed her face. “Did you say you are Mrs. Montague? I am the Countess of Longley. Montague is a family name. How are we related?”
This was John’s mother? Gwen frowned. She did not appear to be ill, unless she had a hidden malady.
She curtsied. “I am your son John’s wife.” Thin fingers curled around her arm, and then abruptly let go. The woman leaned closer, as if trying to place Gwen, then turned away and drifted back into the large, sunny room.
Gwen followed and studied the décor. The room featured gold brocade furniture and tasteful tables. A painting of a calm lake was framed on one wall, and a bouquet of late-season flowers adorned a pie-shaped table.
The woman sat. Gwen did as well. They were peers, both daughters of earls. John was a younger son, but that didn’t alter her status.
“I am so happy to finally make your acquaintance. We missed you at the wedding, but I understand you’ve been ill. You are looking well, madam. Are you quite recovered then?”
She tilted her head, a confused look on her face. “Ill? I am not ill. Who told you I was ill?”
A shard of ice brushed the back of Gwen’s neck. John, the housekeeper, even Miranda had said the dowager was ill. At times, she thought sure her mother-in-law must be on her deathbed, and yet here she sat, well-dressed in a cheerful room, denying she was sick. What was going on?
Thinking hard, she decided to pretend to have misunderstood. “La, my hearing must be impaired. Indeed, you are the picture of health.”
The woman leaned forward and appeared to be looking at every feature on Gwen’s face. Unnerved, Gwen sat back in her chair.
“Who did you say you were again?”
“Your son John’s wife.”
The dowager moved back and folded her thin hands in her lap, lifting her fingers one by one, her eyes focused on the almost imperceptible movement. “John is in school. At Cambridge. Tell me again. Who are you?”
Gwen slowly rose and backed away toward the door. She’d seen the large man lock it when he strode off down the hall. Something wasn’t right. John hadn’t been in school in years. He’d spent his time in London as a gentleman and then in the army fighting Napoleon. Surely his own mother hadn’t forgotten.
The dowager also got up but didn’t follow her. Thank God. Gwen wasn’t sure what she would do if she did. Where was the burly man who opened the door? Why hadn’t he returned?
She reached back and tugged on the bellpull. A sound like chimes rang somewhere in the house.
“Please sit down. We haven’t had tea yet. I need to know who you are.” The dowager paused and tilted her head. “You’re not one of his women, are you?”
Gwen stood straighter, her shoulders stiff. Whoever she was talking about, it surely wasn’t John. And yet the vagueness of the question demanded a precise answer. “I am my own woman. I have an indulgent husband who allows me freedom to follow my own pursuits. That husband happens to be your second son, John Montague. He is well-liked in Yorkshire. I am proud to be his wife.”
As she fidgeted near the door, the large man hurried into the room, followed by an older woman who went immediately to the dowager. Slanting a glance toward Gwen, she focused on Lady Longley. “Come, my lady, it is long past time for your rest. Your guest has exhausted her half hour for morning calls. Take my hand, and I shall lead you to your bedchamber.”
“Will there be high tea today? His lordship may join us. He is fond of those little cakes Cook makes.”
“Yes. A lovely tea will be ready when you awaken.” The maid glanced at Gwen again and took the dowager’s arm. “Come now. You want to be sure you are rested and lovely when your husband arrives.”
Husband? Gwen’s breath caught, and just in time, she stifled a cough.
“Good day.” The dowager smiled at Gwen. “Give my regards to Lady Cowper. Tell her I am hoping to visit Almack’s soon, even if I have no daughters to present.”
She tittered as she exited the room, her arm in the tight clasp of her maid.
The man, who must be a guard of some kind, unlocked the door.
“Has she been like this long?” she asked.
He drew his brows together. “You should ask your husband these questions, my lady.”
“I shall.”
He bowed as she hurried outside and exited the garden. A lock clicked in the gate behind her. Oh Lord, what had she stumbled across? Was this why John had not wanted her to come to Longley?
Instead of going to the lake, she headed back toward the house. The light was nearly gone. She must hurry if she was going to chang
e before dinner.
John’s mother obviously suffered some malady of the brain. Compassion made Gwen pause. How could John keep her confined? How could Jeremy for that matter? Their own mother needed kindness and consideration, and company. With love and attention, she might recover some of her wits.
Perhaps we could bring her to Woodhaven.
She’d ask John. This was exactly the kind of challenge she loved. If she couldn’t stimulate her mind with artists and poets, she could do a good deed for a delicate woman who needed to be surrounded by a loving family.
She’d bring up the matter at dinner tonight.
Her steps sure, her back straight, she entered the house.
Chapter 29
“I cannot believe she came all this way to deliver a message.” John paced in front of his brother’s desk, his hands clasped behind his back. Sadie sat in the chair, her back rigid, her eyes following him.
“She said it was urgent, Mr. Montague. It could not wait until your return. I am surprised she allowed me to accompany her. You know how unconventional your bride can be.”
“I’m not blaming anyone. I’m saying it’s deuced inconvenient.” He turned and faced his wife’s maid. “Where the devil is she? I was told she was going to the lake to admire the view. She should have been back by now.”
His words were too loud, and he tried to breathe deeply to calm himself. Even though Gwen treated Sadie as a friend, the woman had absolutely no control in this matter. Gwen did as she liked.
I’m going to throttle her the minute I see her.
His thoughts visualized the path, the trees, the thickness of the undergrowth. If she’d gone that way, would he not have seen her on his return? Lord, she hadn’t gone off in the woods, chasing some poor bird or creature. If she left the path, she might be lost.
Sadie sat with her hands neatly folded in front of her, awaiting instructions.
“You may go, but please tell Lady Gwen I wish to see her in the library as soon as she returns.”
“Yes, sir.”
She hastened off, and John wanted to call her back, ask her more questions. The woman knew Gwen’s habits better than he did.
He poured a tot of brandy in a glass and downed it. The liquid burned its way down his gullet. He sat down in Jeremy’s chair and closed his eyes.
She had not come to harm. Gwen was sure-footed and intelligent. She would not have taken risks on an unfamiliar path, even if she’d been curious about something she passed.
His eyes flew open, and his body came upright.
The dower house.
He ran into the garden. Even though darkness was descending, he knew the way. He’d trod this path dozens of times while readying the cottage for Mama. When he reached the gate, he took out his key and opened it carefully. At this hour, Mother would be passing the time before dinner.
He pounded on the door. The guard opened it quickly, stepping back so John could enter. “Where is my mother?”
“She and her maid are reading in her sitting room.”
“Is anyone else with them?”
“No sir. But Mrs. Montague did come earlier. I tried to keep her out, but Lady Longley spied her and invited her in.”
He groaned. “How was Mother?”
“Quiet and docile, but vague. Do you wish me to announce you?”
“No. I shan’t stay. But inform her housekeeper I may return tomorrow.”
He made his way back to the main house. If Gwen wasn’t there, he’d continue searching, but he had a feeling she’d returned and was in her room, preparing her arguments about why she’d come here.
The dinner hour approached, and she’d have to face him then.
There will no longer be any secrets between us.
A sense of relief washed over him.
~ ~ ~
Gwen stood still while Sadie laced her corset and fastened a row of tiny buttons on the back of her mauve gown. A cheerful fire warmed the room, but the halls of Longley Manor were drafty and cool, and it was a long way to the dining room.
“You’re sure he is not cross with me.”
Sadie turned her and straightened a sleeve. “I cannot be sure. He seemed more concerned than angry. You were gone quite a while.”
“Did he raise his voice?”
“Aye, he did indeed.”
Gwen brought her fingers to her lips to nibble at a hangnail. “’Tis not a good sign. He only shouts when he is agitated.”
Sadie didn’t answer. How could she? Nobody reads another’s mind, and while Gwen allowed her personal maid freedom to speak, Sadie often kept upsetting things to herself.
Sadie’s fingers pressing errant curls back in place momentarily soothed her. When her hair was neat again, she found the looking glass, stuck out her tongue at her image, and turned to go.
“How do I look?”
Sadie smiled. “I’ve never seen you look better, milady. You have a bloom in your cheeks.”
Gwen sighed. Perhaps she was descended from a warrior woman who perked up at the thought of a fight, even a verbal one. A snort escaped as she imagined her proper mother in battle armor, clanking around the Culbertson town house, trying to lift a heavy sword, the purple feathers of her turban waving with her efforts.
She left Sadie to her duties and cautiously moved along the long hall. The manor was vast, and she recalled Miranda telling her about the dreadful décor in her private suite. She’d managed to redecorate those rooms immediately, but the house had so many rooms Miranda was sure she’d never use them all.
Finding the staircase, Gwen descended and made her way to the dining room. Delicious smells teased her growling stomach. She had missed tea and had not dined in several hours. Breakfast had not agreed with her, so she had only nibbled on toast.
John rose when she entered and seated her next to him. His expression was grim, and she waited to speak, sensing he was not pleased to see her.
“I’d ask you why you’re here, Gwen, but dinner is upon us.” He glanced at the footman who entered with a large tureen.
The soup course was served, and Gwen ate every bite, nodding when asked by a hovering footman if she cared for more. After the beef dish was cleared, John sat back in his chair, sipped his wine, and glared at her.
“It is not like you to remain silent through a meal, Gwen. I can only assume you are avoiding conversation.”
“I was attending to my dinner. As you can see, I was famished.”
“Are you going to tell me why you are here when I thought we had agreed you would stay at Woodhaven? Please say you did not think I had come here to meet a mistress.”
She listened to herself breathe, and feeling calmer, she considered his words. “I admit there was a time when I wondered if you were a man who had assignations. No longer. I now believe your estate business was to visit your poor mother. For some reason, you have hidden her feeble condition from me, and I want you to know I resent it. Do you think I am an unfeeling creature? You did not have to hide the nature of your mama’s ailment.”
He put down his glass and thinned his lips. “And what do you think that ailment is, my dear?”
“She has an affliction of the mind. It affects some people in their later years. I had an aunt who became very confused and lived mostly in the past. But it is not something to hide, John. We must bring her home to Woodhaven. She needs the warmth and love only a family can give her. Keeping her imprisoned—yes that’s the word—in the dower house is monstrous.”
“I see.”
“I cannot understand why Miranda has allowed this. She is kind to a fault.”
John’s eyes were cold and his expression unsettling. He did not respond but signaled for more wine as the dessert was placed in front of them. It looked unappetizing, or perhaps the atmosphe
re in the room had diminished her appetite.
She stared at John, refusing to back down on her position, wanting to see him smile or relent. He did neither. “I shall leave you to your port and take tea in the drawing room.”
He stood. “I shall join you.”
Gwen walked sedately to the next room, aware of John’s eyes on her. He was not himself. She did not know this cold-hearted man who followed her. In the months since they’d married, he had not once made an appearance.
She sat in front of the formal tea table and poured. John took a cup and sat a short distance away from her. She longed to feel his arms around her, to have her fears soothed, to be told all was well. But all was not well. Tension crackled in the room.
John sipped his tea and stood. His pacing told her he was working through a problem. When he sat, it was closer to her.
“You are correct. I came here to see Mother. But not to check on her well-being. Her staff is caring and compassionate. They see to her every need. You can disabuse yourself on the notion she needs family. She needs supervision, and she is getting it. Mother also has knowledge. She is an Addersley. I need to know more about the family that lived at Woodhaven Abbey and why they didn’t inherit. And I need to find the deed to the property. I believe it is here in Father’s papers.”
“Do you plan to ask your mother about the family? Will she be able to answer?”
He shrugged. “If she’s having a good day, yes. As you said, she lives in the past.”
“And you think this will provide a clue as to why bizarre things are happening to us?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But any information would be a start. Neither of us has figured out who might want to do us harm, but someone does, and I have to believe it is somehow tied to our estate.”
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