Chapter Twenty-Two
Rosecombe Park, Hertfordshire, October 1817
“T here it is, look! My heaven, I’ve never seen anything so large in my life!”
Etty turned to the window and caught her breath as the building came into view.
Rosecombe. The seat of the Duke of Whitcombe—and her sister’s home.
The last time Etty had laid eyes upon the building, she had been beset by jealousy and a determination to make Eleanor suffer for having gained what Etty had considered to be her right.
She clasped her hands together, palms slick, as a ball of guilt tightened deep in her stomach.
What if Papa had been wrong about Eleanor? He had assured Etty that her sister had forgiven her, but surely not even the kindest soul could forgive her for what she had done.
Andrew certainly couldn’t forgive her—he’d made his contempt plain. He’d…
No. Do not think of him.
“Mrs. Ward, are you well?”
A slim hand caught Etty’s, and she turned her attention to her companions—Frances leaning toward the window, vibrating with enthusiasm as she held Gabriel in her arms, and Loveday, apprehension in her expression, her eldest child staring out of the window, and the baby asleep in her lap.
Loveday squeezed her hand. “Mrs. Ward?”
Etty shook her head. “It’s Miss Howard now,” she said. “I’m sorry I deceived you.”
“You’ve nowt to be sorry for, ma’am.”
Loveday glanced toward the building, and Etty caught a flicker of fear in her eyes. She lowered her gaze to Loveday’s bandaged wrist.
“You’ll be safe here,” she said. “I promise.”
Loveday remained silent, while Frances pointed out the building to Gabriel.
“Big house!” he cried.
“It’s like a palace,” Frances said. “What do you think, Florrie?”
Loveday’s eldest nodded, then she resumed her attention on her mother. “You look tired, Ma. Shall I take baby Anna?”
Etty’s heart ached at the understanding in the little girl’s eyes. Florence was a child—younger than Frances—yet the concern for her mother in her expression spoke of a life lived, and horrors witnessed, that no child should ever have to endure.
Loveday nodded, and winced as she handed the baby over.
“Does your wrist still pain you?” Etty asked.
“It’s nothing, Miss Howard. I’ve had worse.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll ask my sister to send for a doctor.”
“The duchess?” Loveday asked. “Oh no—I can’t. What would the duke say if he found out?”
What would he say, indeed? Etty’s father had assured her that Eleanor would welcome her with open arms. But as for Eleanor’s husband, the man renowned for his impenetrable demeanor and cold heart…
Her gut twisted with fear. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. But Papa had insisted that the time had come to face the consequences of her sins and not spend the rest of her life running from them.
The carriage rolled to a halt, and Etty caught sight of two female figures standing at the foot of the steps leading to the main doors of the building. Then the carriage door opened and a footman appeared, offering his hand.
“Miss Howard.”
Trembling, Etty took the proffered hand and climbed out. She stumbled on the bottom step, and the footman caught her arm.
“Steady there, miss.”
Then he released her, and she found herself standing before her sister.
Etty recognized the woman standing beside her—the black-clad housekeeper with her iron-gray hair set in a severe style. But had it not been for the intense expression in her emerald eyes—which had always disconcerted Etty, for she had always believed her sister could penetrate her soul with a single look—Etty would not have recognized Eleanor.
Gone was the awkward, shy young woman, the misfit who had weathered the taunts of Etty and her friends with quiet distress. Eleanor had been transformed into a duchess—not the glittering diamond to whom Society looked for inspiration, but a genteel creature, understated and dignified. Her gown, a pale-green silk, was elegant in its simplicity, accentuating her soft curves.
Etty stared at the sister against whom she’d once relished the comparison in her favor, but who now outshone her in every aspect. With the goodness that radiated from her soul, and the sheer happiness of her countenance, Eleanor was a woman who had found peace and fulfilment.
Next to her sister, Etty was nothing more than the spiteful creature who had tried, and failed, to ruin the kindest soul to have walked upon the earth.
How she must hate me.
Eleanor stepped forward, and Etty fought to conquer her shame, moisture stinging her eyes as she braced herself for the recriminations.
But none came. Instead, a pair of soft arms drew her into an embrace.
“Welcome, sister.”
“Eleanor, please forgive—”
“Hush, Juliette,” Eleanor whispered. “Let us not pursue it. You are here, which is all that matters.”
“But what I did to you—”
“It’s forgotten.”
Etty let out a sob, and Eleanor kissed her cheek.
“Come now, sister,” she said, smiling. “It’s a day to be happy, is it not? For you’ve come home.”
“Home?”
Eleanor nodded. “Yes, Juliette. This is your home, for as long as you wish it.”
“B-but your…your husband—”
“Gives me free rein to direct the household as I see fit,” Eleanor interrupted. “Besides, he’s in London with his sister, and is therefore not here to plague us for the next few days at least. Now, where is my nephew?”
Etty turned toward the carriage. “You can come out, now, Frances.”
The girl stepped out, Gabriel in her arms, and approached. Eleanor extended her hand, and Frances stared at it.
“Welcome, Frances,” Eleanor said. “And this must be my nephew!”
Gabriel turned away and buried his head in Frances’s shoulder, and Eleanor withdrew her hand.
“Forgive him, Your Grace,” Frances said. “He’s shy of strangers.”
A stricken look crossed Frances’s expression as Eleanor’s smile slipped.
“I understand,” she said quietly. “I am not fond of strangers myself.”
Frances blushed. “He’s friendly enough when he gets to know you, Your Grace.”
Eleanor nodded. “My nephew is a fortunate young man to have such a champion in yourself, Frances.”
Gabriel stirred in Frances’s arms and turned to face Eleanor, a serious expression in his dark eyes.
“I hope we’ll become well acquainted, young sir,” she said. “Do you like gardens?”
The boy nodded.
“We have a lovely garden, just right for a young man to explore and to have all sorts of adventures in. And how about cake? I’ve never known a boy who does not like cake, especially fruitcake.”
A broad grin spread across his face.
“He loves fruitcake,” Etty said. “Frances here makes an excellent fruitcake.”
“You must all have a slice at tea,” Eleanor said. “Then perhaps, young man, you can tell me whether it’s as good as that which you’re used to.”
The boy grinned and reached out toward Eleanor. She took the boy’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, little man,” she said. “I’m your Aunt Eleanor.”
“Ant,” the boy said. “Ant. Ell.”
Eleanor let out a soft laugh. “Ant Ell it is, then!” She turned to Etty. “I should have invited you and Gabriel earlier. I never wanted us to be strangers. Please forgive me.”
“You’re the last person needing forgiveness,” Etty said, choking back a sob.
“Then let us never be strangers again,” Eleanor said. “I… Who’s this?”
Her eyes widened as the rest of the party climbed out of the carriage—Loveday first, followed by Florence holding baby Anna. Then she turned to the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Adams, I think we’ll be needing two more guest chambers prepared.”
“Oh, no, ma’am!” Loveday said. “Pardon me—I mean, Your Grace… We’re not guests. We’re…”
“If you’re friends of my sister, then you’re my guests,” Eleanor said.
“But Your Grace—” the housekeeper began, but Eleanor raised her hand.
“Mrs. Adams, these ladies will be tired from their journey. Miss…?” She glanced at Frances.
“Frannie Gadd, ma’am.”
“Very good. Miss Gadd, and…?” She looked toward Loveday, who dipped into a curtsey.
“Loveday Smith, ma’am—a-and my eldest, Florence, and baby Anna.”
Eleanor cast her gaze over Loveday and her children, and Etty flinched. Now her sister was a duchess, would she consider herself too grand for Loveday and her kind?
But Eleanor’s gaze settled on Loveday’s bandaged wrist. Her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, and she stiffened and glanced toward Etty, a flicker of pain in her eyes. Then she blinked, and the pain disappeared as she smiled brightly at Loveday.
“I am determined,” she said. “One chamber for Miss Gadd, and another for Mrs. Smith and her children—I think the blue room would do for Mrs. Smith, if you’d see to it, Mrs. Adams?”
“Of course, ma’am.” The housekeeper dipped her head. “I’ll send Tilly and Sarah to tend to them.”
Eleanor placed a hand on the housekeeper’s arm. “Thank you,” she said, smiling. Then she took Etty’s hand once more. “Mrs. Adams will show you to your chamber, then, when you’ve taken your rest, I hope you’ll join us for tea.”
“ Us? I-I thought you said your husband wasn’t at home,” Etty said.
“He’s not, never fear,” Eleanor said. “But it wouldn’t matter if he was. You’re my guest, and he must accept that. But I have another guest who is eager to see you again.”
“Who?”
Eleanor smiled, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “You’ll have to take tea with us to find out,” she said. “And you must bring Gabriel so he can give his expert opinion on my cook’s fruitcake.” She turned to Frances and Loveday. “You are welcome also. The drawing room has a wonderful view of the gardens.”
Loveday’s eyes widened, and she stepped back. “Oh, no, Your Grace, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You could,” Eleanor said, “but I shan’t impose on you if you’d rather take tea in your chamber.” Her gaze dropped to Loveday’s wrist once more. “You are quite safe here, Mrs. Smith—and free to do as you please.”
She offered her arm to Etty. “Come, sister,” she said. “Let us get you inside. We’ve been apart for two years, and I intend to make up for that.”
Etty took the proffered arm and let her sister lead her into the building.
On one count, her sister was wrong. The two of them hadn’t been apart for two years. They’d been apart for a lifetime— separated by their differences in character and the rules of Society that set women, even sisters, against each other.
But no more.
*
Etty stepped out of her bedchamber with Frances, who carried Gabriel in her arms. A clock struck four in the distance, followed by another, then another, until a chorus of chimes filled the air, before falling silent, leaving a faint echo that clung to the air before dissolving into the walls.
Etty descended the stairs, where a footman stood waiting.
“Miss Howard,” he said, bowing. “The duchess awaits you in the drawing room in the east wing. If you would follow me?”
He led the way along a hallway, his feet clicking against the polished stone floor. Etty followed, Frances beside her, the girl’s footsteps at a more hurried pace.
At length, he stopped outside a pair of doors. Voices came from the room within. Etty recognized her sister’s voice, accompanied by that of another woman, and a deep male voice.
Eleanor’s other guests.
Seeking comfort, Etty reached for Frances, her hand shaking. Her sister might have forgiven her, but the rest of their acquaintance was not likely to match Eleanor’s generosity, however na?vely Eleanor might believe others to be as kind as she.
The footman opened the door. “Miss Juliette Howard,” he called.
Etty flinched at the announcement, as if it proclaimed her guilt to the world. Summoning her courage, she entered the room.
Eleanor rose to her feet. “Sister! I trust you’re well rested.” She gestured to the woman sitting on the sofa. “You already know Lady Arabella, of course.”
Etty drew in a sharp breath as she recognized her sister’s guest.
Lady Arabella Ponsford. Her former friend—and the woman who had triumphed over Etty’s disgrace and secured an offer of marriage from the Duke of Dunton.
But the man with Arabella was not Dunton. Tall, muscular, with an unruly mop of dirty-blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and huge hands, he looked the very antithesis of the portly, lecherous duke. He was dressed in a tailored jacket of dark blue, with a waistcoat embroidered in formfitting silk breeches and polished boots. But he did not wear them well. He rose to his feet, moving with the awkwardness of a man in an environment he deemed hostile—as if he believed he did not belong there.
He reached for Arabella, and she rose too, revealing her rounded belly, and the two exchanged a smile before resuming their attention on Etty.
Arabella’s smile disappeared, and Etty took a step back.
Then the man approached Etty, hand outstretched.
“Lawrence Baxter, at your service, Miss Howard,” he said, and Etty found her hand swallowed up in what could only be described as a great paw, the skin roughened and calloused. A broad grin stretched his face, and his eyes twinkled with warmth and kindness.
With his country accent and ungentlemanly air, he was the very last man with whom the Arabella she knew would have associated. But Etty couldn’t help warming to his lack of pretension and the raw honesty that came with it.
From the corner of her eye she saw Arabella watching her, her brow furrowed into a frown. Then she resumed her attention on the giant.
“Mr. Baxter, a pleasure,” Etty said.
“You know my Bella, of course. She’s been wantin’ to see you ever so bad. She’s told me so much about you.”
“Oh, dear, forgive me. I—” Etty began, but Mr. Baxter interrupted her by throwing his head back and bellowing with laughter.
“Ha! You told me she’d not like it if I said you’d been talkin’ about her, didn’t you, Bella? Women are so funny sometimes. No, Miss Howard, my Bella’s only ever said good things about you. And I can see for myself she spoke the truth.”
Etty glanced at Arabella, whose cheeks had turned a shade of rose. “What did my friend say?” she asked.
“That you were the most beautiful creature in the whole of London,” Mr. Baxter said. “Now, seein’ as I think my Bella is the most glorious creature to walk this earth, I found it impossible to believe that any other woman could measure up to her. But I’ll grant that you’re a very pretty thing, and were you to grace London with your presence, you would indeed be declared the most beautiful.”
“Lawrence, I’m sure Juliette hasn’t come here to be flattered ,” Arabella said. “Nor has she come to listen to your nonsense. Talk sensibly, lest my friend think you a simpleton.”
Etty flinched at the sharpness in Arabella’s tone. “Lady Arabella,” she said, dipping her head. But before Arabella could reply, Frances entered, Gabriel in her arms.
Lady Arabella stared at the boy and drew in a sharp breath. She glanced from Etty to Gabriel, understanding and recognition filling her eyes, then her mouth settled into a firm line.
Etty braced herself for her former friend’s contempt as Arabella approached Etty’s son—the bastard son of the duke who’d offered Arabella his hand.
“Yes,” she said, at length. “I see the likeness.”
Etty swallowed her shame and awaited Arabella’s condemnation.
Then Arabella reached out and touched Gabriel’s cheek.
“What a beautiful child,” she said softly. “A credit to your mother. And let nobody tell you otherwise, young man.”
Gabriel stared at Arabella, then reached up and caught a curl of her glossy black hair in his fist. Etty caught her breath.
But Lady Arabella took Gabriel’s hand and smiled. “Sweet boy,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like to sit with me for tea, if your mama has no objection?”
She met Etty’s gaze, a plea in her eyes, and Etty understood the peace offering for what it was.
“You’d like that, Gabriel, wouldn’t you?” she said.
The boy nodded.
“Excellent!” Arabella said. “Eleanor tells me you like gardens, Gabriel. Did you know that my husband here is the finest gardener in the country?”
Etty’s heart warmed at the pride in her friend’s voice. It was not the selfish pride Arabella had once possessed in abundance—pride in her beauty, or her title. It was the pride in another, in the husband she so evidently loved.
Gabriel turned his wide-eyed expression toward Mr. Baxter.
“I’m sure he’d love to give you a tour of the gardens here, Gabriel,” Arabella continued. “He designed them himself. Perhaps he could show you after tea—then your mama and I can catch up on the past.” She glanced at Etty. “Or, perhaps, we can forget the past and reforge our friendship for the future.”
She took Etty’s hand, the tightening of her grip conveying more than any words.
“Yes,” Etty whispered. “I should like to reforge friendships—and to look to the future.”
“Excellent!” Arabella patted the couch next to her. “Come sit beside me, Juliette. Lawrence can make room.”
Etty glanced toward Frances, who stood beside the doors, discomfort in her eyes.
“Come and sit with me, Frances,” Eleanor said. “Then you can tell me what you think of my cook’s cake.”
The young girl hesitated, then took a seat, after which Eleanor began to serve the tea, issuing instructions to the footman, who sliced the cake.
Etty relaxed into her seat, relishing the air of friendship and informality. Eleanor and Frances laughed together while they discussed the merits of soaking fruit in wine before baking, and Arabella shared her cake with Gabriel, fussing over him while he sat on her knee as Mr. Baxter regaled the boy with tales of the finest wonders of the world—ancient palaces and exotic gardens that he had re-created in the grounds of Rosecombe.
For the first time, Etty was able to shed the facades she had striven to wear all her life. Her secrets now exposed, she no longer had need to deceive, and nor had she the need to atone for past sins. She was with friends, and family, who accepted her for who she was and what she had done.
Perhaps, at last, she was truly home.