by Mary Balogh
Now he was feeling queasy about the whole thing. What if they did all come, with children and possibly grandchildren? He had no idea whatsoever how it would turn out if they did.
For the past few days, however, he had focused his mind and his efforts upon making sure that Maria would have someone familiar with her for a while. He had not made sure of any such thing, of course. Lady Estelle had insisted that she would need to discuss the matter with her brother before deciding, and she had looked as though she was ready to dismiss the invitation without much discussion at all. Watley had insisted that if they were willing to come to Everleigh, Maria must be consulted first.
Nothing was sure, except that next week he would be returning to Everleigh with his sister.
If the Lamarrs did come, of course, and even perhaps if they did not, their friendship could be very good for Maria in the future. Their connections with the ton could be a considerable asset to her next spring, when he would move heaven and earth to see to it that she was in London and taking her place in society at last. If they were there too, that was.
She was vividly beautiful, Justin thought, still gazing at the riverbank where Lady Estelle Lamarr had been sitting the first time he saw her. That mane of dark hair. Those slim, shapely legs. But he shook his head firmly to clear it, whistled for Captain, who came dashing obligingly toward him through the long grass and clover and buttercups, and rode onward across the bridge. Yes, she was a strikingly lovely woman, but he must remember that it was not for himself that he was inviting her to Everleigh. It was for his sister. It would be as well to remember that, not least because he had seen the thinly veiled revulsion with which she had looked at him on all three occasions when they had met. And if revulsion was too strong a word— though he was not sure it was— then she certainly regarded him with disfavor. Maria had probably told her a few things. Though not necessarily, for there was also the fact that he looked like a barbarian, an image he had cultivated deliberately once upon a time out of the sheer instinct for self-defense.
With some success, it would seem.
Five
Estelle went alone to call upon Maria. It would be easier that way, she had suggested, and Bertrand had agreed— quite eagerly, it had seemed to his twin— that Maria was more likely to relax and talk from the heart if he was not there too. He went off instead to do some fishing with a friend from the village after urging Estelle to please take the gig and one of the grooms with her. It was a good suggestion, she had agreed without actually promising to do it.
She walked to Prospect Hall, it being a perfect day for some exercise, warm but not hot, breezy but not windy. And with no sign of imminent rain, a miracle in itself. And she went unaccompanied. It was less than three miles from Elm Court, after all, and it would be tedious to have Olga or a groom trailing after her and making her feel self-conscious and guilty about making them walk too.
The summer was already well advanced, but the roses were still blooming as though it were the middle of June. Estelle could see them as she approached the house, covering trellises and trailing over bushes and filling beds, including the circular plot around the ornamental pond and in an arc behind the wrought iron seat overlooking it. Even if she had not been able to see the roses, however, their heady perfume would have given notice of their presence long before she turned through the gates and the gravel of the drive crunched beneath her feet. Maria, bent over one bush, clippers in hand, heard her and straightened up to smile a greeting.
“This is perfect timing,” she called. “I was about to stop for a rest. Come and sit with me. Melanie is inside writing to her family. She has always been very faithful to them. Her weekly letter is always at least three pages long, though I do not know what she finds to fill it. She is going to bring some lemonade when she is finished.”
She did not say where her brother was. There was no sign of him.
Maria had some color in her cheeks from her exertions. But there were dark smudges under her eyes, as Estelle remembered there had been during the final weeks of her mother’s illness and for the first month or so after her death. They suggested she was not sleeping well.
Estelle sat while her friend brushed off the clippers and put them away in a cloth bag with her gloves.
“The rose garden is like a piece of heaven, as always,” Estelle said. “You have a gift with plants that goes through to the marrow of your bones, Maria.”
Her friend pulled a face. “But when one is in heaven, one is supposed to remain there forever,” she said. “One is not supposed to be forced to leave it.”
It had been the wrong thing to say. “You are going home to Everleigh soon?” Estelle said.
“This is home,” Maria said, pulling the drawstrings to close the bag. “But yes. I will be leaving here within the next few days. I am glad to have the chance to say goodbye to you in person, Estelle. I will miss you. Dreadfully. And Lord Watley too. And Melanie.” She looked for a moment as if she might cry, but she blinked her eyes determinedly and smiled.
“Bertrand and I have been invited to go to Everleigh too,” Estelle said. “To spend a few weeks with you.”
Maria gazed at her in openmouthed surprise.
“We have not said yes,” Estelle told her. “Nor have we said no. We have discussed the invitation with each other but are agreed that the decision is not ours alone to make. We would be happy to give you our company at Everleigh Park for a while, but only if our going there would make you happy too.”
Maria was frowning now. “He called upon you with such an invitation without saying a word to me?” she asked.
“The Earl of Brandon is your guardian, Maria, and obviously takes his responsibility seriously,” Estelle said gently, though she still resented having been drawn into the apparent quarrel between brother and sister, about which she knew nothing and which was none of her business anyway. And where had he been for the past six years if indeed he took his duties seriously? “He must believe it is essential that you return to live at Everleigh Park rather than remain alone here when you are still a minor. However, he is fully aware that you do not want to go. And he knows you do not … like him. He fears you will be lonely and unhappy there without even Melanie for company. So he invited Bertrand and me to make the transition easier for you.” Oh, why should she feel obliged to explain the earl’s motives? That was for him to do.
“Easier!” Maria said with soft incredulity. “And what else did he say?”
Estelle sighed as her friend came to sit beside her on the wrought iron seat.
“About whatever is between you and him, do you mean?” she asked. “Nothing at all. We did not ask. And we do not wish to know or need to know. We have no desire to be caught in the middle of some old quarrel that does not concern us. But you concern us, Maria. I have grown very fond of you. You must go back to Everleigh Park, it seems. The Earl of Brandon has told Bertrand and me that, and you have told me. I will be sorry to lose you. You and Melanie. I will worry about you too because I know you are unhappy about having to go. But if Bertrand and I go, it will be solely for the purpose of giving you our company for a week or two until you feel settled and comfortable there again. Perhaps by then you will have employed a new companion. We will go only if it is what you wish, however.”
“His relatives are going to be there too,” Maria said.
“Oh?” Estelle said. “Well. Then you will have company even without us. That will surely be pleasant for you.”
“His aunt and uncle and cousins,” Maria explained. “His mother’s relatives.”
“Do you know them?” Estelle asked.
“No,” Maria said. “They never came to Everleigh after Papa married Mama. I believe he might have gone a time or two to visit them. I do not remember. But if he did, he never took Mama or me. Brandon— the present Brandon— used to go there for a month each summer. He never took me.” For a brief, unguarded moment there was something in her eyes that looked like wistfulness.
“The
y will surely love meeting you,” Estelle said.
“They hated Mama.” Maria’s fingers were pleating the muslin of her skirt and then smoothing out the slight creases they had made.
“How do you know that?” Estelle asked.
“Because she told me so,” Maria said. “They resented her and were jealous of her. I suppose they thought Papa should spend the rest of his life mourning his first wife.”
It could have happened that way, Estelle supposed. But it was all long ago. And Maria was not her mother. Surely they would not resent her too— especially if they had already agreed to go to Everleigh Park to meet her.
“Have you thought to suggest that Lord Brandon also invite some of your relatives?” Estelle asked. But oh dear, were there any? If there were, they had never come here. At least, they had not done so during the two years she and Bertrand had been back at Elm Court.
Maria made a few more pleats in her skirt. “They all hated Mama,” she said. “They would have nothing to do with her after she married Papa.”
Ah.
All sorts of questions crowded into Estelle’s mind, most of them about the late Countess of Brandon. But it was not her business to ask any of them. She was almost sorry now that she and Bertrand had not simply decided to decline the earl’s invitation without even consulting Maria. The atmosphere at Everleigh was not likely to be a happy one. They had had enough of family awkwardness and resentments in their own lives, she and Bertrand, before they had battled their way to the harmonious family relationships and tranquility they enjoyed now. She wanted the time and leisure to appreciate those things without taking on another family’s problems. However, they were committed now— depending upon Maria’s decision, anyway.
“Estelle.” Maria turned on the seat and took one of her hands in both her own. “I do beg your pardon. I try not to allow myself to be dragged down into gloom and depression. Sometimes it is difficult, but I had years of practice during the decline of Mama’s health. I learned that there is always something to smile about and make life worth living. Just having her alive and still with me and sometimes without pain was enough to buoy my spirits whenever I felt them drooping. And to come out here and tend the roses and cut some to set in a vase in her room, where she could see them and sometimes smile at them. To have friends. To find joy in little things. I am so glad you have come to see me and are my friend.”
Estelle smiled and squeezed her hand.
“But I am lonely here,” Maria told her. “I love it; it is home. I have Melanie and some friends. But I am lonely. I had no chance really to feel it while Mama was still alive, and I was too sad during much of the past year to find it irksome. But … Estelle, I want to live. I want to … dance. And … flirt. I am not sure that is the right word, for it sounds rather wicked. But I want to be young. I want to be courted. I want and want and want. Is that horridly selfish and trivial-minded of me? Melanie talks often of fortitude, and she shows it herself all the time, poor thing, because she has never had a chance herself to … to live. Her father is not very wealthy but he has a large family, mostly boys who need to be educated so they can find gainful employment. And now her mother is tired but still has a number of very young children. Oh dear, I am talking too much. But, Estelle, I would not mind so terribly much having to go back to Everleigh if I did not have to go with him and live there with him.”
She bit her lower lip and looked at Estelle in some dismay. She had indeed spoken more freely than she had ever done before. Estelle had thought she was happy here, as she and Bertrand were at Elm Court. But they had already lived the sort of life Maria craved, and still did whenever they chose to venture from home to participate in a family celebration or enjoy a few weeks of a London Season. They had chosen their present way of life because, at least for now, it was what suited them best.
“It will all happen for you,” she assured her friend. “And perhaps you can take comfort from the fact that your brother is determined that it will. You may not like him, Maria, but he does seem to have your best interests at heart.”
“I can never do anything less than hate him,” Maria said. “He broke Papa’s heart and therefore he broke Mama’s too. And mine. I can never forgive him.”
“Then you must find your own happiness,” Estelle said. “But not just to be free of him, Maria. Choose with care.” She laughed suddenly. “Listen to Aunt Estelle.”
Maria laughed too. “Come to Everleigh,” she said, patting Estelle’s hand before releasing it. “Viscount Watley too. I shall show you the house and park and the countryside around. They are all lovely, though really there ought to be a far stronger word. Magnificent, perhaps? I will introduce you to people I remember there, though I was very young when I last saw them— just fourteen. I daresay Brandon’s relatives will be polite to me even if not wildly affectionate. They could hardly not be polite, could they, when presumably he has invited them to come specifically to make my acquaintance? And I will not bear them a grudge. Old quarrels are foolish things when they are not one’s own. Besides, they will be extra company for you, and you for them. You and Lord Watley have such polished manners that you bring warmth to any company of which you are a part. I have watched you do it and try to emulate you. Please, please come. It is a wonderful idea, even if it was Brandon who suggested it. I suppose it would be foolish to believe that he must be evil to the very core, would it not?”
And now there could be no going back, Estelle thought. She would have to make the best of spending two weeks at Everleigh Park when she and her twin had looked forward so much to a quiet spell at home together. But at least she would have him with her for moral support. And at least they had committed themselves for only two weeks. It was not a great chunk out of their lives, was it, in the grand scheme of things? Not when a friend’s happiness was at stake.
“I shall have Bertrand write a formal acceptance to the Earl of Brandon’s invitation, then,” she said, and Maria leaned toward her and hugged her.
“Thank you,” she said. “You will not be sorry. I promise. I shall see to it that you have a wonderful time.”
Melanie Vane was coming from the direction of the house, a tray bearing three glasses of lemonade in her hands and a cushion tucked under her arm.
“I saw you through the sitting room window,” she called to Estelle when she was within earshot, “and hoped you would still be here after I had finished my letters. You must be thirsty. You walked?”
“I did,” Estelle said, taking the tray from her hands and setting it on the grass between her and Maria while Melanie dropped the cushion onto the lawn and sat on it, curling her legs beside her and tucking her skirt about them. “Did you say letters? Plural?”
“I address my weekly letter to the whole family,” Melanie explained. “But I always include a brief note to one of the little ones— a different one each time. It makes them feel special.”
Melanie was the eldest of eight children. At the age of eighteen she had made the decision to seek employment as a governess rather than marry the farmer who had offered for her. Maria had been her second pupil.
“Estelle and Viscount Watley are going to come to Everleigh Park to spend a few weeks with me,” Maria said as she handed around the glasses.
“That is very good to hear,” Melanie said. “Now I will feel far more at ease about going home instead of accompanying you. Did you know I was leaving, Lady Estelle? I have just been telling my family so. They will be very happy.”
“So you see,” Maria said, “I will have the company of friends and you will not have to worry about me.”
Although Justin was not in the habit of standing at windows to spy upon what was going on outside, he did happen to be at the library window when Lady Estelle Lamarr walked across the front lawn toward Maria and then sat on the seat by the pond. She was looking very fetching in rose pink with a straw bonnet far crisper and more fashionable than the pretty, floppy thing she had been wearing when he called at Elm Court.
; He had been hoping she and her brother would call, but it seemed she had come alone. He would wait for half an hour, the average time for a social visit. He sat down and opened the book in his hand, something by Miss Austen. He had been intending for some time to read one of her books. The library did not offer much else to attract his interest.
He looked out again twenty minutes later. Miss Vane had joined the other two, and Maria was handing around glasses of lemonade. He waited a few more minutes and then went out to the stables to fetch Captain, who had had a good run this morning but was always ready for more exercise. There was no sign of a strange horse or of a gig. She had walked here, then. Alone? He had not seen a maid when she arrived earlier. But she had been alone by the river more than a week ago. Perhaps she considered that she was beyond the age of needing a chaperon whenever she left the privacy of her own home and its grounds. But he was surprised Watley allowed it. It was not his business, however. She was not his business.
“Come, Cap,” he said. And he set off on foot, taking a circuitous route around the paddock, beside a copse of trees, across a lane that hardly qualified for the name, through a meadow, and over a stile to come out on the road out of the village a mere few hundred yards from Prospect Hall.
He had a fifteen-minute wait. Not an unpleasant one. He had learned during the years of his exile to enjoy the sights and sounds and smells of the English countryside and to be content with his own company when there was no other to be had. He had even learned that stilling his natural restlessness was beneficial to his overall well-being. There was much chatter both without and within to drown out the only sound that had anything important to say. Silence, that was. The ultimate irony.
He saw her coming before she saw him. But then, of course, she was not looking for him.