It was not a cheerful thought to realize that her family wasn’t really her family and that the future she thought she would have—marriage to a suitable young man, running her own home somewhere close to Ro and Vic in Belgravia or Mayfair—simply wasn’t an option. And Lord Billingsly, that wasn’t an option either. Her mother must have known that. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t she kept Prudence more separate instead of allowing her to think she was one of
them
? She must have known this time would come.
Then a thought hit her so hard, she drew in a quick breath.
She did know it would come. That’s why she had left her so much money
.
For a woman of Alice Tate’s means, acquiring money like that would have taken a lifetime. Where had she gotten it? No matter what things her mother had kept hidden from her as she grew up, Prudence was sure that thievery was not one of them. She had gotten the money from somewhere, enough money for her daughter to buy herself almost any kind of reasonable home she wanted. Enough money to act as a buffer against living on the street. She would have to earn her own living, of course, but Prudence had been brought up skilled in a number of things and she could probably earn enough money from music lessons alone.
Sadness washed over her like a fine Cornwall mist. Even if the Buxton girls did make it back home, which Prudence was beginning to doubt, life wouldn’t be the same and she needed to try to figure something out. Because being a lady’s maid at a great estate was not an option for her—no matter how much loyalty and love she felt for Rowena and Victoria. She had the means to change her life, and she suddenly longed to do so. Maybe it was time she quit putting off the inevitable. But inside she shivered, her fear of being out in the world all alone—for the first time in her life—wrapping itself around her like poison ivy.
She jumped when Andrew started the car. She’d been so deep in thought that she hadn’t even heard the crank.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he said, climbing in next to her. “It was just the scours, but my dad refuses to use the modern way to get rid of it and instead insists on old wives’ methods. They are generally a lot riskier and smellier.” He laughed.
“That’s all right.” She smiled. “How did you learn so much about animals?”
“The local vet always let me watch and I sneaked over to his clinic whenever I had the chance. I think he would have taken me into his practice if he didn’t have his own son to put through veterinary school.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, and Prudence relaxed, enjoying how comfortable he made her feel. “So why do you want to be both an animal doctor and a farmer? It seems like one would take up enough time,” she said.
“And then some,” he agreed. “But I love research as well, especially agricultural. I read a book a few years ago called
Agriculture, Science, and the Myth of Production
and it changed the way I looked at food production. My family was unwilling to try anything new that might make farming more efficient. I thought I could dabble in that while I worked as a vet.” He bit his lips as he looked out the front window. “I know, pipe dreams.”
“No, it’s not,” she assured him. “I’ve actually read some of Murcray’s book. It’s brilliant. Or what I read of it was.”
He turned to look at her, startled, and almost veered off the road as a wheel got caught in a rut. He fought for several seconds before pulling the vehicle back up onto the road. “You what?”
“Did you think I couldn’t read?
Sir Philip
kept a variety of books on hand, and Murcray was a contemporary of his.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ve never even met a man who read that book, let alone a pretty girl.”
Prudence couldn’t help but smile at his use of the word “pretty,” and his cheeks reddened when he realized what he’d said. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, we missed tea. We can have an early supper.”
“That would be fine,” she assured him. He glanced over at her and she noticed how nice his smile was. She imagined what her future would be like with this young man. It had to be better than being a lady’s maid. Then she thought of the woman in the doorway and shuddered. No. It didn’t have to be like that. She had some money. Surely that was enough to start a future with, even if it did mean she had to face that future alone. But still the image lingered.
* * *
The Yuletide had burst onto Summerset like fireworks at a jubilee. Boughs of velvet-laced holly wrapped around each of the thirty oak trees that lined the drive, and each of the black iron lampposts in the front of the house had a festive topknot of red ribbons and silver bells. London may have dressed itself up for the holidays in celebratory attire, but nothing could compare to the sheer opulence with which Summerset adorned herself.
Rowena stood at the window at the top of the hall, watching Elaine and Victoria walk arm in arm through the formal rose gardens. Rowena had expected Victoria to be more distraught and volatile as the holidays approached, but watching her now, giggling with her cousin, Rowena saw that even if Victoria didn’t know it herself, she had stepped into life here at Summerset as easily as if she had been born to it.
As had she, Rowena realized in surprise. The kind of life Rowena and Victoria lived here, though very different from their city lifestyle, was almost as comfortable as slipping into an old dressing gown. But how long would the feeling last? How long before she and her sister would begin to chafe under such restrictions? The lounging around all day was abominable, as was the inexplicably strict division between the Buxtons and those who actually ran the household—the servants. But still . . . the history, the stories, the grandeur, and the elegance were intoxicating. And while she knew, as did her father and his contemporaries, that this way of life was dying out, must die out, she had to admit that she was suddenly saddened by the thought of its passing now that she’d had the opportunity to fully experience it.
As she stepped back from the hall window, her eyes caught those of her banished grandfather. Like Victoria, she barely remembered the old man who spent most of his time upstairs in the grandest stateroom. Just those rare occasions when the children would march, led by Colin, followed by her and Elaine, with baby Victoria carried by the nanny in the background, to give old Grandpapa a kiss good night. She wondered why they bothered at all, considering the mixed feelings she sensed in the adults during those moments.
The old earl had ruled the house with his mighty temper and the iron grip he had of everything that happened at Summerset. It must have been difficult, she thought, to watch old age encroach in such a way that left his physical abilities impaired but his mental acuity intact. To watch his control slip away and placed into the hands of someone he would always think of as inferior.
Then she heard a noise that drove all other thoughts out of her head. The sound of an engine, coming not from the road below but from somewhere out in the gray skies. She unlatched the window and pushed the leaded glass open, allowing a blast of wintry air to sweep the hallway clean of all mustiness. She poked her head out, craning her neck. There he was, coming up over the ridge. Jon didn’t come every night, just often enough to let her know he was thinking about her, and the sound of the engine never failed to make her smile.
The plane soared closer and she clasped her hands to her chest as her heart soared with it. Below, the girls had stopped walking, and, shading their eyes against the thin, pale sunshine, they watched as the plane made a leisurely loop around the castle before making its way west once again.
More than anything Rowena wished she were sitting with Jon, following the sun to wherever it should lead them. She watched the aeroplane until her eyes could track it no longer and then she turned away, closing the window behind her.
Her thoughts suddenly shifted to Prudence. She still couldn’t think of how to tell her the London house had been sold and that she and Victoria would be remaining at Summerset until they made other arrangements.
If
they made other arrangements. A lump rose in her throat. She would completely understand if Prudence didn’t want to stay on, and perhaps they could look into other situations . . . just until she and Victoria made some kind of decision. She would tell her, of course, but maybe she would wait until all the festivities were over. Yuletide without their father was hard enough. She couldn’t imagine what Vic would do if Prudence decided to leave as well.
* * *
Victoria sat at the top of a ladder, watching the antics of the others with the sort of superiority that came from being four feet taller than the rest of them. The arrival of Yuletide brought with it an ever-revolving list of guests all bent on making Rowena and Victoria forget that this would be their first Christmas without their father. It was all incredibly draining, and Victoria believed she would be much better off if they had just left her alone to make merry in her own way. She’d never been to Summerset for Christmas and knew she would have a good time if everyone would just stop coddling her and treat her like a grown woman.
Nanny Iris’s cottage had also undergone a wonderful transformation, though of course not on this scale. Victoria had visited several times in the past month, and even though she knew there would be no lack of family to help the old woman usher in Christmas morning, she truly wished she could be one of them.
Right now, all Victoria wanted to do was sneak off to her secret room to study her office course and go through her
Botanist Quarterly Review,
which she discovered actually had advertisements for jobs and fellowships in the back matter. Some of them included opportunities to study certain types of flora and fauna in remote locations. She had typed up all sorts of pretend responses to these advertisements, wondering whether she ever would have the nerve to actually send one. Not that she had the qualifications anyway. She frowned and shoved that out of her mind. Where there was a will there was a way.
The room itself had received a kind of restoration since that first night when she had slipped in with her typewriter. She had done more cleaning, of course, so the musty smell was almost gone. What remained was merely a reminder of the past and it pleased her. She had plundered the other rooms for pillows, throws, screens, and decorations so that bric-a-brac erupted from every possible flat surface in a kind of haphazard gaiety that made her smile. African masks now shared the mantel along with ornate Oriental fans and small silver picture frames filled with ancestors long dead.
She wondered what Kit would think of it now.
She hung another ornament on the sixteen-foot tree that stood at the end of the Great Hall. Pretending not to, she studied Kit, who was talking to Aunt Charlotte and Sebastian’s mother, the formidable Lady Billingsly. Kit was dressed formally in a dark, tailored waistcoat and jacket that fit his wide shoulders perfectly. He stood straight, a drink in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back in a perfect gentleman’s pose. Victoria knew it was all an act.
She knew it because whenever she caught him glancing her way, he would give her an audacious wink that made her blush. They hadn’t spoken since the night when he had frightened her in her secret room, even though she’d gone there every night since he’d returned, half hoping he would show up.
Across the room, Rowena stood gazing out the window, barely noticing the festivities around her. Victoria noted that Rowena had become more reserved than ever, but it was more as though she was waiting for something to happen. But that was a lot like Ro, always waiting for something to happen rather than making it happen. She wondered whether it had anything to do with that flyboy she’d gone to tea with. The whole house was buzzing with the strange aeroplanes that had visited several times in the past few days. Elaine had finally wormed part of the story from her and declared it a lovely tale, but warned that her parents wouldn’t feel the same way.
Victoria thought about confronting Rowena, but since she had her own secrets, she left her sister alone. She wished her father were here. He’d know what to do.
Hurt rose within her again and she fumbled with a glass figurine. It slipped from her fingers and went hurtling down, shattering on the marble floor.
For a moment no one moved and then Aunt Charlotte spoke up. “I do hope that wasn’t one of the Waterford crystal ornaments, my dear.”
Victoria smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, Aunt Charlotte.”
Her aunt sighed. “Never mind. That’s what happens when you do the decorating yourself.”
“It’s all a part of the experience, Lady Summerset,” Kit put in.
In reality the servants had already done most of the decorating and guests were allowed to add the trimmings, if they so desired.
A maid arrived in seconds to sweep up the mess. In moments she disappeared as noiselessly as she’d appeared. Victoria wondered what her name was. She sighed. It was strange to be living among an army of strangers.
“Allow me to assist you me, Miss Buxton.” Kit climbed up the ladder Victoria was perched on and she nervously grabbed the seat to steady herself. She noticed his eyes glittering as he got nearer.
He was ridiculously close to her and slipped one hand around her waist. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”
She swallowed. Kit had the athletic body of someone who played on the cricket fields all through school and now rode, hunted, and played golf with the best of them. He handed her another ornament from the box she had balanced on her lap. “Go ahead.”
Swallowing again, she leaned out to hang the ornament on the tree and his arm tightened. She shivered and he grinned at her as if knowing exactly what she was feeling. She had a strong urge to rap him on top of the head with her knuckles.
She heard the front door open and looked down the hall to see Cairns admitting more guests. The footmen were dispatched to take care of the newcomer’s luggage while the guests were announced to the room by Cairns.
“Lady Summerset, may I present the Dowager Lucille, and her granddaughters, Lady Isabella and Lady Gertrude.”