The Folly at Falconbridge Hall (9 page)

“You are the Honorable Vanessa Eliza Ashley, are you not?”

“My mother’s name was Eliza.”

“Yes, I know.”

He knew almost everything about her. She knew nothing of him or his family, beyond what he just told her. He was a stranger, albeit an attractive one. She needed to learn more about him, and wanted to ask him about Clara, but it didn’t seem fitting to do it now.

In the nursery, they found Blythe rearranging the furniture in her dollhouse. She jumped up as they entered the room.

“Blythe.” Julian pushed Vanessa gently forward. “I have asked Miss Ashley to marry me. And she has consented.”

Blythe’s eyes grew large, and her mouth dropped open. Doubt was quickly replaced with joy, and she rushed to hug first her father and then Vanessa. “Is it true?” she asked in a hushed voice, as if to say it aloud would prove it wrong.

“Yes, child, it is.” Julian bent to kiss her cheek. He glanced at Vanessa, his eyes warm with satisfaction.

Once he realized what he had done, how long would he be happy with his decision? It was one thing to care for your child, another to sacrifice your life to her. But wasn’t she doing the same?
No.
The answer came swiftly, and she knew her feelings for him were stronger than she had thus admitted to herself. Acknowledging it only filled her with trepidation.

“We must announce it to the staff,” Julian said, sending another bolt of panic through her. “Perhaps a celebratory glass of sherry before lunch,” he added, gazing into her eyes, and no doubt seeing the stupefaction there. Sherry before lunch seemed a little excessive, but she wasn’t about to refuse it.

At Julian’s instruction, Johnson gathered the staff together in the ballroom. A glass of wine was offered to every member, both indoors and out, including Jim, the seventeen-year-old stable boy, the gardeners, the account manager, Davison, and Bartlet, the gamekeeper. Vanessa saw no one refuse. She drank hers gratefully and unbecomingly fast. She was tempted to have another but resisted, afraid her face would flame bright red.

Feeling a little better after the sherry, Vanessa stood beside Julian before the assembled group. Mrs. Royce’s eyes narrowed and other staff members’ mouths were agape as Julian explained that she was to be their new mistress.

She lifted her chin and managed a few words, promising to be a fair-minded mistress who would give due consideration to their needs. “I know everyone here is competent,” she added, “and I put great trust in those in charge.” She turned to nod at Mrs. Royce and Johnson. Had Mrs. Royce’s sharp expression mellowed a fraction?

Vanessa walked with Julian along the line, greeting each member of the staff in turn. When she came to Lovel, he grinned and winked. Insufferable man! Vanessa glanced at Julian to see if he had noticed, but he was deep in conversation with Johnson. She moved to the next person. It wouldn’t do for Lovel to note her distaste; it would be hard enough for her to manage this household without him thinking she disliked him. She didn’t feel an aversion to anyone without a very good reason, and she couldn’t understand why he provoked such a reaction with little effort on his part. He showed little respect for his employers it was true, but it wasn’t that. Might she be unfair? She resolved to keep an open mind where he was concerned. She had to admire his deft handling of horses.

Dorcas smiled, a little teary-eyed, and the other maids’ congratulations showed how romantic they thought it all was. Johnson squeezed her hand so tightly she felt sure she heard the bones crack. There were a few others who were subdued and no doubt needed time to make up their minds about her, but their respect for their master was evident, and as this was his wish, the atmosphere remained cheerful, helped along by Julian’s request that they all have another glass of wine and a piece of Cook’s fruit cake. It might have been the wine, or the fact that she’d met no strong opposition, but Vanessa’s fears eased a little. After all, Blythe’s happiness mattered most.

*****

Julian and Vanessa walked through the gardens. It was early evening and cooler now with summer but a memory. He shrugged off his coat and placed it around her shoulders. “We must marry quickly and without ceremony. I hope you don’t mind. I know women like an extravagant occasion with all the trimmings.”

“Not I. I’ve never wished for a big wedding.” She smiled. “And who would I invite?”

“I should invite your uncle.”

She thought of that imperious man, watching her, judging her. “Oh no. Please don’t. He’ll feel he has to attend, and I’d hate that.”

Julian turned to glance at her. “It could be to your advantage, make things go more smoothly for you. Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite,” she said in a firm tone. Having her uncle there would make her even more nervous.

“I shall have to send word to him, though.”

She bit her lip. “If etiquette requires it.”

“So there’s no one?”

She shook her head. “My aunt in Taunton is elderly. She wouldn’t wish to make the journey.”

“I’ll invite two of my friends, Hewson Watmore and Lord Forster and their wives. You have yet to meet my colleagues accompanying me on the next exploration.”

The wedding proved to be challenging already. But what was to follow worried her most. She hated the thought of disappointing Julian, especially in the bedroom.

“I thought the Registry Office the following Friday,” he said, studying her intently. “I can obtain a special license.”

She pulled his coat over her chest, it smelled of his scent, male overlaid with a woody fragrance. “What on earth will I wear?” she asked aloud, expecting him to say any old thing would do.

“Of course. I’d forgotten. It will have to be shop bought, but tomorrow you must purchase a dress.” He turned back to walk on. “You’ll need a full trousseau of course. And you shall have one.”

His offer surprised and delighted her.

He led her up the steps of the folly. Vanessa couldn’t help remembering the night she heard Lovel making love here to some woman. She’d never worked out who that woman was, perhaps a girl from the village. They sat together on the chaise longue, watching a swan leaving ripples in its wake as it paddled smoothly towards the small island. It was peaceful, but she still felt tense, aware of his nearness.

He searched her eyes. “You are happy to marry me? I know it’s for Blythe’s sake.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think it wise.” She couldn’t tell him that, although Blythe was her central concern, she had her own selfish reasons for marrying him, and it wasn’t to improve her position in the world. Foolishly, she was immensely attracted to him, and it made being close like this extremely difficult. She sighed. Dare she hope that love would enter into the bargain they’d made?

“I want you to be happy too. Vanessa….” He paused and looked away over the water. “I am a man who needs little from a spouse. My profession is extremely important to me and takes a lot of my time. Do you think that will worry you?”

She swallowed the bitterness of disappointment. “No, Julian.”

“You appear to be quite self-contained,” he said with relief.

No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t at all. She yearned for him to take her in his arms and kiss her.
Now. Passionately
. Instead, he merely stood and offered her his arm to assist her down the steps. “It grows late, and it’s been a long day. You must be tired.”

“Yes, a little,” Vanessa confessed. It was entirely reasonable he wanted a mother for Blythe. She would never demand too much from him, well aware of his precise scientific nature. Such a man seldom made an ardent lover. He was undoubtedly a good man. What woman wouldn’t wish for such a husband? If he proved to be preoccupied and often away, although it wasn’t what she wished for, she wouldn’t allow it to bother her. It was in her nature to find contentment in simple things. And, of course, there was Blythe. She drew a surprised breath. Blythe was to be her daughter, and God willing, later on there would be more children. A dream she had thought would never come true. If only he had kissed her, as if he really wished to.

Later in her room, she became determined not to lapse into romantic dreams of love. This was more of a business arrangement. It was not a love match. Julian had made that perfectly clear. Surprised at the depth of her disappointment, she couldn’t resist envisaging how his lips would feel pressed to hers in a passionate kiss, and a moan escaped at the needy ache that resulted.

*****

Mrs. Royce took Vanessa on a tour of the house. There were so many rooms she hadn’t seen, all shuttered up with the curtains drawn, that her head felt befogged by the time they approached the long gallery linking the east and west wings. Like the rest of the house, this richly paneled room was shadowy, the row of long mullioned windows covered with heavy drapes.

The housekeeper paused in front of Clara’s painting and gave the elaborate frame a flick with the cloth she had tucked at her waist. “This is Lady Falconbridge.”

Vanessa could see a little of Blythe in the shape of her eyes and brow. Not wishing to admit to having already seen it, she said, “Lady Falconbridge was very beautiful.”

Mrs. Royce folded her arms. “Beauty is as beauty does.”

Vanessa suspected Mrs. Royce had no truck with beauty. Neatness, modesty, and cleanliness were far more important to the housekeeper. She had certainly settled on the perfect profession to suit her nature. Clara seemed an extravagant creature, and no doubt, that was part of her charm, but to Mrs. Royce, extravagance of any kind was immoral. The artist, though, had been a master with a brush. Curious, Vanessa leant closer, trying to make out the artist’s signature in the gloom.

“Shall we continue?” The housekeeper sounded irritated. “We have yet to discuss the linens.”

It was an unusually ardent response for Mrs. Royce to make. She was quite able to purvey the full force of her feelings with one small gesture. “I think we can leave the linens for today, Mrs. Royce.”

The housekeeper flushed as if fearing she’d sounded too abrupt. “I’m sorry, Miss Ashley. I didn’t wish to speak out of turn. It’s just that his lordship suffered so when Lady Falconbridge left him. When she died, I didn’t expect him ever to recover. I’m so pleased that now.…”

Surprised by the change in the usually formal woman, Vanessa said, “Please don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Royce. I think that will be all for now. Blythe is waiting.”

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Royce said in her usual brisk tone. “You go right along, Miss Ashley.”

Vanessa hurried away. Clara had broken Julian’s heart. Her heart sank, knowing how impossible it would be for her to compete with such a woman.

She made her way to the schoolroom wing. Blythe bounded to her feet at the sight of her.

“Can we ride your bicycle before lunch, Miss Ashley?”

“I don’t see why not.” Julian had been right, for a transformation was taking place before her eyes. Vanessa felt a swift stab of protectiveness towards the child. She could only hope this would last through the difficult months ahead when Blythe would sorely miss her father.

*****

Accompanied by Mary, who was to be her new lady’s maid, Vanessa traveled in the carriage to Harrods in Brompton Road, Kensington, where Julian had an account. His instructions were to buy a full trousseau: underwear, footwear, nightwear, and several suitable outfits that would take her into society after they were wed, when he intended to introduce her to his friends and associates. “Hats and things,” he’d said, waving a hand vaguely while expressing the wish to see her well dressed.

With Mary gasping at her side, Vanessa rode the new escalator to the top, where they were offered a little brandy to recover from the shock. Vanessa firmly refused the spirit, and Mary glumly followed her into the ladies department.

Faced with rack upon rack of lovely gowns, Vanessa faltered. Although given carte blanche to buy what she liked, after growing up with barely a penny to spend on herself, she found herself uncomfortable with the notion. She determined to buy only what she would need in the near future. The saleslady who attended her, once made aware of Julian’s account, pulled out dress after dress to hold before her. Vanessa’s head began to swim.

“Lady Falconbridge loved clothes,” Mary said at her elbow. “She had them made by a French couturier. And the famous
Madam
Colombin, in the Rue de la Tour-d’Auvergne made her hats.” The maid looked wistful. “Her French maid, Josephine, received some wonderful hand-me-downs.”

“And you shall have mine, Mary, although they will not be quite as grand.”

“Thank you, Miss Ashley.”

“Her clothes must have been lovely.” Vanessa discarded the simple wool dress with a row of bead embroidery at the neck she was considering and moved along the rack, to discover a pale-yellow mousseline de soie ballgown. It was quite frivolous and terribly expensive. Quite the loveliest evening gown she’d ever seen. Silk roses with darker green leaves decorated the bodice, and the front panel was of delicate lace. A small elegant train spoke of her status as a young matron. “I believe I shall have this,” she said surprised at her boldness.

“Oh it’s quite lovely, Miss Ashley.” Mary brightened no doubt at the prospect of better hand-me-downs.

“Certainly, Miss Ashley.” The saleslady removed it from the rack, holding the delicate material carefully in her arms. “If you’ll just step into the fitting room, it may need to be altered.”

They arrived home with the carriage piled with parcels. Johnson instructed a servant to take them to her room while she went to fetch Blythe.

“Sit down, Blythe. I have lots to show you,” Vanessa said when the child followed her in.

Vanessa laid out the dainty ivory gown adorned with French knots, embroidered in featherstitch, light and silky in her hands. “This is my wedding dress.”

Blythe curled up in the chair and giggled. “You mustn’t show Father before the wedding; it’s bad luck.”

“Heavens, no. I’ll wear my mother’s pearls for something old.”

“What about something new, something borrowed, and something blue, and a silver shilling in your shoe?” Blythe chanted.

“I’ll pin a blue ribbon inside my hem,” Vanessa said. “I shall have to think about the rest.”

“Your dress is new. You may borrow my butterfly pin father gave me,” Blythe said. “It is both blue and borrowed.”

“Why, thank you, Blythe.” Touched, she squeezed the young girl’s hand. “I shall be most honored to wear it.”

Vanessa shook out another gown. “I couldn’t resist this.” It was a high-collared, full-sleeved dress in the conventional style, but the pattern of oranges and leaves in clusters, woven into a black background of Spitalfields silk, was most unusual and striking. A dress like this gave her confidence. She could see herself entertaining and paying calls with aplomb in such a dress.

“It goes with your hair,” Blythe said.

“And a sable-colored wool cloak trimmed with bands of astrakhan and black chenille embroidery for when the weather grows cold. I think it’s very smart.”

“Very smart,” Blythe echoed.

“Do you like this?” The dress featured a ladybird-in-flight design in red floss silk. “Ladybirds are lucky. If one alights on your hand, you will soon receive new gloves.”

“Bugs,” Blythe said with satisfaction. “Father will like it. I shall look for ladybirds in the garden.”

Blythe put on a black hat and pulled the net veil over her face. She pranced before the mirror while Vanessa tried on the frivolous one laden with tulle, flowers, and feathers, tying the ribbon bow to one side under her chin. It complemented her wedding dress perfectly.

Blythe opened more boxes, throwing tissue paper about. She pulled out two pairs of shoes, a buttoned black patent-leather shoes and a pair of cream glacé kid.