She braided her hair and pinned it into a neat coronet. She shook her skirts free of dust and went down the worn oak steps. Con was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness. She passed through the hall, peering into tastefully furnished rooms. There was not a great deal of furniture, but what was there was sturdy and handsome, if a bit old-fashioned.
After a few wrong turns, she found the kitchens in an ell which had not been visible from the hall. The room was whitewashed and empty, the fire out in the enormous black stove. She lifted a blue-striped cloth on the sideboard and found a loaf of bread, already missing several slices. A drawer below it yielded a knife, and Laurette cut her own slice. It was delicious, Sadie’s familiar recipe. She didn’t realize how
much she missed the simple taste as she ate the exotic fare of Jane Street.
She was swallowing crust when she heard laughter. Hastily she brushed her hands of crumbs and plastered a smile on her face.
The little party entering by the kitchen door was merry and very wet. A handsome dark-skinned young man—Nico, if she remembered correctly—broke into a white smile.
“Look! The marquess and your cousin have arrived, just as I said, Miss Bea.”
Laurette found herself entangled in damp arms and squeals, not just from Beatrix but James as well. She drank in her daughter’s face, pink from the sunshine with a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
She tugged on a thick red-gold braid. “You have not been wearing a hat,” Laurette said, wanting to kick herself for the inanity.
James snorted. “You can’t swim in a hat, Aunt Laurette. And Bea’s becoming a capital swimmer, isn’t she, Nico? She’s almost as good as me.”
“As good as I. Still full of Conover pride, I see,” teased Laurette. “You have grown a foot since Christmas, James. And Bea—let me look at you.”
Obediently the child stepped back. She was as slender as a reed, a bit taller than James, her usually pale face rosy. She dropped a curtsey and grinned with a freedom that Laurette had not seen often.
“I’m so glad you’re here at last, Cousin Laurette. We’ve been having the most fun! There is the lake, and the caves, and Nico says the sheep are coming soon.”
“Sheep?”
“Ryeland sheep, Aunt Laurette! That’s R-Y-E-L-A-N-D. It’s a bit of a joke on the family name.
My
idea. I read about the breed and told Father.”
Laurette brushed his damp hair from his forehead. “Farmer James! I had no idea.”
James looked smug. “I am an old hand at managing our properties. Mama took me with her around Conover lands when I was but a baby. I daresay I know more about our properties than Father does,” he drawled.
“I daresay you’re right.” Con stood in the doorway. He had stripped down to his linen shirt and looked deliciously disheveled. “How do you do, James?”
There was no hugging now. James marched over to his father and held out his hand. “I do very well, sir. And you?”
Con shook the proffered hand. “I do very well now that we’re here. I almost thought we wouldn’t make it. That road is an abomination.”
“It washed out in the spring flooding. Mr. Carter says he will be around to talk to you about it when he gets back.”
James spoke like an adult. He
was
keen on property management, even at his tender age. Laurette watched the two of them, father and son, so alike yet so different. They were each wary of the other, like two dogs guarding their territory.
Beatrix stepped into the breach with another curtsey and a blush. “Thank you so much for inviting us to Stanbury Hill, my lord. We are having a splendid time, aren’t we, James?”
“Yes.” James shifted. “I am very wet. I believe I’ll go up and change.”
“An excellent idea,” said Sadie, who had avoided Laurette’s eye ever since she entered the kitchen with her charges. “Come, Bea. I’ll get you sorted.”
“And when you’re done,” Laurette said, “I want to talk to you.”
“I was afraid of that,” Sadie muttered.
“And so you should be,” Laurette muttered back.
Laurette was left alone with Con in the kitchen, Nico having the good sense to disappear to search for his brother and escape the tension. Con headed for the bread and cut a chunk.
“Who is Mr. Carter?” Someone else to witness her fall, unless she was very careful.
“My caretaker,” said Con. “Well, he’s much more than that. He’s my steward here and Yorkshire eyes and ears. A capable man. Ex-soldier. He’ll manage the farm operation now that he’s got the house to rights. He’s gone for the sheep.” He cut another piece and offered Laurette half. She shook her head and Con popped it whole into his mouth. When he was done, he leaned against the sideboard.
“You saw how he was. Polite but no more. As soon as I came into the kitchen he froze right up.”
They were no longer speaking of Mr. Carter. “You’ve only had a year with him, and most of that time he was away at school.”
“He dislikes me.”
“Con, he’s too young to understand what happened. Marianna never spoke against you, truly. She was as excited as a schoolgirl when your letters came and always shared them with James. I had a map—” She broke off, not certain her voice would work. “I had a map in the library at Vincent Lodge. When they came to visit, we marked your travels with little flags. We would read up on the countries.” He would be surprised at the wealth and depth of her knowledge, for all she hadn’t been at a proper school. It was never too late to learn, even when it came to the wisdom of her heart.
Con’s face softened. “I never wrote to you. I couldn’t bear to.”
“I know. I think that’s why Marianna brought your letters to me. She knew—” Laurette was not about to confess that news of Con controlled her life even when he was half a world away. “Your wife was really a most remarkable woman.”
“Evidently.” Con pushed his sleeves up. “I’m going to look at the outbuildings. Care to join me? As a friend,” he added, as if reminding himself of his promise to her.
“I need to speak to Sadie, and catch up with Beatrix.” In truth, Con’s sadness had seeped across the kitchen, overwhelming her. Something must be done about James, but she
had no idea what. A week wasn’t very long to affect such a profound change, but it was all she was willing to give.
Laurette set about lighting the stove and put a kettle on. Nadia and Aram would be grateful once their conveyance finally lurched up the drive. The homey kitchen was immaculate and well-organized, fitted with every convenience thanks to the capable Mr. Carter. For an absentee owner, Con had lucked out with his servants. She wondered what Qalhata was doing in her own house, then realized with a pang she would never see the Nubian woman again, or her new friends on Jane Street.
Sadie bustled into the kitchen in a fresh apron, her graying hair neatly bound. “Here, Miss Laurie. I’ll see to the children’s tea.”
“Where are they?”
“I told them to stay upstairs for a bit and have some quiet time. They are playing cards.”
“They’re getting on well?”
“Like brother and sister.” Sadie flushed at her inadvertent honesty. “They fight tooth and nail but then make up. Like you and the marquess used to do at first when you came to live with your great aunt.”
Aunt Henrietta had needed help, and had picked her impecunious nephew and his family to live with her and care for her in her old age. Laurette wondered if the old woman had ever been sorry, but, in the end she had left them the Lodge, more of a burden than a blessing—the house had been a shambles even then.
Laurette had half-forgotten the brief time Con had scorned her for being a girl, pulling her pigtails and teasing her, because he quickly found she was ready to share his adventures. She had followed him everywhere without hesitation, a shadow to the lonely boy he had been.
She sat down at the scrubbed pine table and waved her hand. “How long have you known about all this?”
“I know you’re angry, but it was for your own good!” Turning from her, Sadie went to the cupboard, hauling out cups and plates.
“The tea can wait, Sadie. How long?”
Sadie gave her a long-suffering look, but Laurette was not to be swayed. Reluctantly, the maid dropped to a chair opposite and fiddled with her work-roughened hands.
“You do remember it was my idea to write to the marquess with your troubles months ago.”
No wonder Con had been so accurate in sizing her new wardrobe. Laurette was stunned at the perfidy. “How could you?”
“We couldn’t go on as we were. You know it. Master Charlie would have seen us all in the poorhouse. Lord Conover assured me he wanted to make an honest woman of you at long last. The man loves you.”
Laurette snorted. Love was not blackmailing, trapping, unwrapping necessary secrets for all the world to see.
“You wouldn’t have anything to do with him,” Sadie continued. “All year you pushed him away. While I don’t exactly condone what he did—”
“
Condone!”
“He taught your brother a valuable lesson,” Sadie retorted stubbornly. “You know as well as I the boy was on the road to ruination. He’ll think twice before picking up a deck of cards and playing with money he doesn’t have. He turned you into a beggar.”
“You betrayed me.”
“Nonsense. You always were a headstrong girl. Never would do what you ought. When the marquess proposed last year and you turned him down, I wanted to bend you over my knee. But now instead of a well-deserved spanking, you’re going to be a marchioness.” Sadie wore a satisfied smile.
Laurette could not smile back. “That is where you are entirely wrong. I will never marry him.”
Sadie turned the color of the walls. “Don’t tell me you’ve refused him again!”
“I did. Not that he really asked this time, just assumed, after all his spiderlike designs, I’d stick in his web. I have no need of Con or his fortune. We’ll manage somehow. I dislike him immensely.”
“Rubbish! And what about Bea? Here’s your chance—”
“My chance to what?” Laurette asked, her voice a bitter whisper. “Tell her that I’ve lied to her her whole life? That she’s a bastard?”
“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap! Stop this now!”
The kettle whistled as Laurette sat, tears welling in her eyes. Sadie rose, lifted it from the ring and set it on a trivet. She continued to make up a tea tray despite the tears and sniffs of her own. It was her way to work through worry, so Laurette left her to it. She could not sit in this spotless white kitchen and pretend everything would be all right.
It would never be all right again.
Laurette got up and walked out the kitchen door, not really knowing where she was going. She needed to avoid Con until she got her raw emotions under control. Her head was whirling from the past hour’s revelations. How could she endure being stuck here with the scheming marquess, his surly son, her innocent daughter, and hopelessly romantic Sadie for seven long days?
And the sheep, who were arriving any day. Despite her misery, Laurette laughed out loud and walked back up the hill to sit and think and watch for Nadia and Aram. It would serve Sadie right to be supplanted in the kitchen by someone else.
Two enormous trunks had been unloaded, each filled with toys and amusements for Beatrix and James. Con detected the slightest thaw in his son, for who could resist Chinese fireworks or Wellington’s entire army of lead soldiers? Con had promised to reenact the Battle of Talavera, which re
mained unfortunately fresh in his mind. Although not officially attached to the army, Con had done his part for over two years before he was wounded. He had realized even then he took a deliberate risk to his life and courted danger, for in his youth he saw only the limits and bleakness of his marriage.
After his abbreviated honeymoon, he had stepped back into his home as a stranger. Unfamiliar faces and objects surrounded him. Footmen in proper livery raced about with the trunks and cases and crates that had followed them throughout Italy, multiplying at each stop like rectangular rabbits. The worn flagstone floor was now inlaid marble, the dark paneling painted white, a lacy-patterned pale blue paper on the wall. The effect was rather like walking into a snow fort in winter. He looked into the drawing room and saw a vast portrait of his wife hanging over the new mantel. This room, too, was pale and blue, just like his wife, who had been ill these past two weeks. She wanted to go home—she was very certain she was enceinte, she had said one morning cheerfully, before she rushed off to find a basin in their hotel suite. Con had stood uncomprehendingly still until relief washed over him. If Marianna was already carrying a child, his nights need no more be fraught with wine and fantasies of Laurette.
Con had never had much, hadn’t missed it. It was not the lack of money that troubled him, but the loss of his freedom. He’d have to beg his wife so he could pay for a pint at the pub in the village, if she allowed him to go. She made him feel like a callow schoolboy. Yes, she treated him with deference in public. If anything, she was far more vested in his being a marquess than he had ever been. In private she was perfectly if dismissively correct. It was clear who held the pursestrings. Who was in control. His marriage had been a business arrangement, the agreement between his uncle and his father-in-law an insidious and necessary insult to his pride. But his wife had achieved her objective—rising to the
peerage, mother to the future Marquess of Conover. He was the tool of her ambition, and much like a stud that had served his purpose, Con felt relegated to the pasture.
No, he was in the paddock, barbed wire fences all around.
It had taken years and miles of travel before he was at peace with his position. When it was past time to come home, Con had convinced himself he could rub along well enough with his wife if that was the only way to be part of his son’s life. But it was too late. Marianna had died before his ship docked and his son would always view him with suspicion. The boy’s heart would not be won over by trunkfuls of toys.
Nico and Tomas had helped the children haul their booty upstairs. Aram was inspecting the butler’s pantry and rearranging items he had deemed necessary to bring to the wilds of Yorkshire. Nadia and Sadie were squabbling cheerfully in the kitchen at they prepared dinner. He had no idea what Laurette was doing. Con swallowed the brandy that he had brought from London.