Authors: Elizabeth Johns
“Welcome!” Mr. Bradley said jovially, and shook hands with Andrew.
“Thank you, Mr. Bradley. May I present to you Miss Lambert?”
“I'm very pleased to meet you. I did not have the pleasure of making your acquaintance at church.”
Gwen was thankful for Mr. Bradley’s pleasant manner and almost felt sorry for the man. He was clearly not the one who wore the breeches in his family.
“Thank you for having me, sir.”
“Oh, we enjoy showing everyone southern hospitality, as they say. You are very welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”
Unfortunately they were required to greet the rest of the family too. Gwen hoped they did not expect to shake hands.
She stood tall and prepared for the assault. She followed Lady Fairmont's lead and kept her hands to herself, performing a slight curtsy when presented to Mrs. and the Misses Bradley. They were too in awe of a real English lady to do anything but imitate her. Gwen made a note to watch Lydia more closely. Of course, Lady Fairmont was already married and was a grand lady.
She had felt the stares as they had made their way into the drawing room. She'd had the luxury of hiding her hair under a bonnet at church. Even though Josie had contrived to tame her mane, the humidity now caused her locks to have a mind of their own. She should be used to this, but hiding away for six years had allowed her to forget for the most part. She knew she looked well in black, and she had on an elegant silk of Lady Easton’s which was ornamented with silver around the bodice and skirt. She was wearing her mother’s pearls, and had felt confident when she had left her bedroom, but now she wanted to shrink behind the drapery.
“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?” Andrew said in her ear.
“No. Thank you.” She fingered her pearls doubtfully.
“Your hair is especially...glorious.” He looked at it admiringly.
“Pardon? Then why do they stare at me so?”
“They have never seen anything so beautiful, I imagine.”
She could not help but roll her eyes at him.
“There is no need to poke fun.”
“You might try to smile and act as though you adore me if you intend to convince Miss Bradley. She has been watching you like a hawk.”
Gwen struggled not to turn and glare at her.
Meanwhile, Andrew took her hand and kissed it lovingly with hungry eyes. She struggled not to blush.
“If you keep looking at me that way, people will have no doubt of your intentions.”
“That is the idea.” He smiled, not to be deterred. Insufferable man.
“I do not intend to be feasted upon in the garden!” she reprimanded.
“Where did you have in mind?” he asked innocently.
She was speechless.
“Please, tell me you can appreciate a jest? I was only attempting to flirt.”
“I am not practiced at flirtations,” she retaliated.
“Very well, I shall instruct you. You simply smile, say witty things and rap my arm with your fan.”
“Why on earth would I do such a thing?”
“It does look silly, I'll admit, but it is the way ladies converse in Society.”
Gwen looked about and saw what he said to be true.
“Very well.” She took her fan and smiled coquettishly.
He fought off the urge to laugh but his eyes twinkled. He nodded encouragement.
She boldly snapped her fan together against her hand and rapped his arm with gusto.
“Oh, Mr. Abbott! That was exhilarating. I do think I might enjoy this after all.”
“You are certainly a quick study,” he said, rubbing the welt he was certain was forming on his arm.
***
Dinner was announced, and Mr. Bradley asked Lord and Lady Fairmont to do the honours and lead the guests into dinner. Andrew took Miss Lambert's arm and led her into the dining room. But when it was time to be seated, Mrs. Bradley directed him to sit next to Miss Bradley. He had been too well-trained in politeness not to sit where he was told, but it was with great foreboding and reluctance that he did so. He could sense Gwen’s hesitation as he let go of her arm.
She looked like a goddess descended to Earth, resplendent in her gown. She outshone everyone in the room and it pained him to release her. He would spend his evening of torment watching her from the other end of the table whilst enduring the blatant advances of the Bradleys. He caught her look of scorn towards Miss Bradley and hoped he would be able to show Gwen she had nothing to be jealous about. He watched with relief as she was seated near Nathaniel. He would protect her, no doubt. Now could he protect himself and set Miss Bradley straight without offending her or Miss Lambert?
Whatever happened, he would not smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Abbott,” Miss Bradley said smoothly.
Her chair was already too close for comfort, and the first course had not been set out.
“Good evening, Miss Bradley,” he said civilly, but did not smile. Being curt and pompous was not his nature, but if it meant losing Gwen...he unconsciously glanced again to where she sat at the end of the table.
“How long does she intend to stay?” Miss Bradley cast her eyes towards Gwen.
“As long as I do.” He hoped that was true.
“And how long will that be?”
“I plan to sail in early spring. We've only ten rooms to finish, and that should be plenty of time.”
“I see.” She pouted. Lord help him through the dinner. “Well, then, I’ve still time to change your mind.”
Ignoring her he said, “Lord Easton, Elly's husband, has sent his trusted man to take over as steward, so there will be no need for my presence any longer. There probably is no need for me now, but I'd like to see the job finished, even though I am not the owner of River’s Bend,” he said pointedly, hoping that would convince her to cease her shameless attentions.
“That is a terrible shame.”
Miss Bradley scooted closer and batted her eyelashes. The soup tasted like refuse in Andrew’s mouth.
“I’m certain I can convince you to stay.”
He felt a foot creeping up his leg and her hand came to rest on his. He tried to pull it away but she held tight. He was afraid to look down the table. “Miss Bradley, this is hardly appropriate,” he tried to mutter quietly. “I would appreciate it if you would allow me to have my hand back. It is most difficult to cut one’s food single-handedly.”
“Oh, silly me. I had not realised I was holding your hand!”
She continued to drop things and bend towards him to retrieve them throughout several courses, brushing up against him at every opportunity. It was going to be the longest night of his life. He never thought he would wish himself back in the Army, but he had not been trained for this type of battle. Most females took hints—subtle or not—and maintained a modicum of self-respect.
***
How long would she be subjected to this? Gwen was thankful she was not having to sit near Miss Bradley and Andrew while they flirted at least. It would not have surprised her had she been placed directly across from the display. She was listening to the men discuss storms with one ear, while wishing she could toss wine in Miss Bradley’s smug face. She focused on appearing as if she was enjoying herself and trying not to run from the room. Her head was beginning to ache, and she was thinking Scotland might be the place for her after all.
“The servants are convinced that a big storm is coming,” Mr. Bradley remarked.
“And why do they think that?” Lord Fairmont asked.
“I suppose it comes from years of living near the coast. Some say the air feels different, and another says you can tell by the clouds.”
Gwen had noticed changes in both of those things earlier.
“I think they may be right. I felt the air grow more humid as I was sketching, and I noticed the clouds took on a strange pattern as well,” she remarked.
“We are subject to strong gales along the coast, or hurricanes as some call them,” Mr. Bradley informed the dinner party.
“We've never had a hurricane affect us in Sussex that I remember,” Lord Fairmont said, trying to recall.
“Perhaps Sussex is more protected being on the Channel, rather than the Atlantic Ocean, but I've read of some significant storms on other parts of the coast where the shore was rearranged,” Gwen added.
“I’m sure that is true. I've heard sailors say much the same,” he agreed.
“Will we be safe in the house?” Lady Fairmont asked from across the table, growing concerned.
“I believe so, but River’s Bend is closer to the main river. We are further up the inlet here,” Mr. Bradley said thoughtfully.
“How long until the storm hits?” Gwen wondered.
“It could be a day or two. These storms move slowly and there will be a lot of wind and rain.”
“That doesn't sound unbearable.” She could always finish the painting inside if necessary.
“The main worry is the flooding. The servants are working as we speak to shore up some of the fields that are prone to holding water. Thankfully, the harvest is past, but a flood will put us back for planting. We have already moved the horses and livestock to higher ground. I will advise Mr. Abbott to do the same, though I imagine Abe has it well in hand. After that, we wait for the storm to pass.”
“Hopefully it will change direction and do little more than rain.” Lord Fairmont spoke what they all wished.
Gwen heard very little of the rest of the conversation. She tried to ignore the insulting scene from the other end of the table, but she was only human. She needed to finish her painting and leave. As the talk of the storm grew, Mr. Abbott became involved in the conversation and decided it best to leave early and make certain Abe was taking precautions. Never had Gwen been so thankful for an impending storm.
She kept to herself in the carriage on the ride back to the plantation. No one pressed her to talk—there was no need. All of them had been witnesses to the despicable scene at the dinner table. Gwen could not particularly say that Mr. Abbott had reciprocated Miss Bradley’s blatant advances, but again, he had not discouraged them.
She said a civil goodnight and hurried up to her chamber. She would rise early on the morrow to work on the picture. Perhaps she would capture a gloriously unique sky from the storm—a storm fit to match her mood.
***
She felt a nudge and opened one eye.
“Miss Lambert, tis early morning. You asked me to wake ye if I didn't see ye. I think it's a bad idea though, miss.”
“Thank you, Cook,” Gwen said sleepily. “No need to worry. I plan to return before the storm hits.” She threw back her counterpane and went over to push the curtains aside. It was still dark. She dressed, and then hurried with her things outside. She intended to paint at the summer house on the other side of the creek. She could paint in her room, but she had always preferred to paint outdoors. It was more inspiring to be amongst Nature.
If there was to be a storm, she should be safe there. Rain and wind was all they had predicted. It was further up the property from the river anyway. She loaded her easel and canvas into the back of a cart and found one of the workers to drive her. It was not very far, but the easel was more than half her weight.
As she rode the short distance, she looked skyward and saw the clouds were thick, circular and moving in one direction. As the dawn began to break, she grew excited for capturing the storm’s effect on these unusual clouds. The air was sticky and there was a wind beginning to blow. It was an eerie feeling, but she hastened those thoughts aside with her excitement to paint. The summer house was a quaint cottage with a covered porch. That would be perfect from whence to view and attempt to capture Nature’s magnificence.
The worker helped her unload the easel and canvas and place them on the porch. Cook had sent a large hamper of food, fearing Gwen would get caught out by the weather and be obliged to wait. Gwen had thought it ridiculous, but did not argue. She was not even a mile from the manor house and there were servants’ cottages everywhere around. She could walk that far in the rain if necessary. She donned an apron and prepared to work. She prepped her canvas and made the outline for the house. She studied the sky and began mixing pigments to capture the unique cloud and colour formations the storm was causing.
The clouds grew angry and fierce as they swirled, and looked as if they were coming towards the Earth to engulf them. She had always enjoyed thunderstorms with brilliant lightning and strong smells—things she could not capture on canvas. Rain she was more than accustomed to, living in the wettest town in England. Deluge threatened in heavy dark clouds and sprinkles of rain began to fall. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, and she had seen a lot of rain clouds in Somerset.
She painted furiously and began to wonder when the cart would return for her as the winds began to howl and the rain poured in sheets. She carried her picture to safety inside and watched out of the window, hoping she had not been forgotten in all of the storm preparation. She should not have insisted on painting this morning, or at least not so far away. She could think of little else after that insulting episode at dinner last night. Now that her temper was subdued she began to worry.