Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Mia stood in the corridor, her foot tapping impatiently. The house tour was to start in five minutes and still no one had arrived.
She frowned. Perhaps it was simply that no one was interested. She warmed to the idea. Perhaps they had no interest in Hedlund Hall. Even as she hoped it was true, she took offense on Hedlund’s behalf. Did no one think it worthy of a tour? She folded her arms across her chest. They did not know what they were missing.
She turned on her heel, washing her hands of the whole group. But then she heard voices echoing down the stairs. Devil take it! Why had she not left well enough alone and happily accepted no one coming? The fates were cruel mistresses.
Miss Newsome and her companion, Mrs. Ludlum, stepped into the corridor and smiled a greeting.
Mia lifted her chin in acknowledgment. “Good afternoon, ladies. I hope your chambers are to your liking.”
Miss Newsome nodded. “Oh, they are very fine, indeed.” She looked around the corridor. “We are excited about the house tour, are we not, Mrs. Ludlum?”
The older lady nodded vigorously.
Just then, the front doors opened, and a flood of people streamed inside. Mia’s stomach twisted until she saw Ben at the rear. He smiled at her, and she released the breath she’d been holding. Ben was here. She could do this.
While her focus had been on Ben and all his friends streaming into the house, Franny and Lady Charlotte joined the group, although Lady Grenville was absent.
Lady Charlotte moved over next to Mia. “I am to offer my mother’s regrets,” she whispered, and Mia leaned in to hear better. “She is suffering from a headache and cannot join us on the house tour.”
Mia offered what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Hopefully, she will be well enough to join us for dinner.”
Lady Charlotte nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
Mia cleared her throat. “It looks as if we are all here. If you’ll follow me, we’ll start in the dining room and Grand Hall.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but might it not be advisable for introductions to be made?” Lady Heatherton asked. “There are several ladies I have not had the pleasure of meeting yet.”
Mia fisted her hands at her side. Her mother would have sent her to the nursery for such a simple yet important breach of etiquette. She turned to look at the lady, expecting to find a condescending smirk or at least a look of derision on her face. But there was only mild curiosity.
She offered a silent look of appreciation. Not that the lady understood it as such.
Mia ran her hands down the front of her gown, the silky, smooth feel of the fabric calming her. Perhaps not everyone was as severe as her mother. “Oh, yes. I beg your pardon. I did not realize everyone was not acquainted. I should have done that first.”
“Do you wish me to take care of it?” Ben leaned over and whispered in her ear. “After all, most of them are my friends.”
Mia shook her head but smiled at him. “I believe I can handle it, but thank you for the offer,” she whispered back.
She started with Ben’s friends, as they all ranked higher than everyone but Lady Charlotte. She fell somewhere in the middle of the gentlemen, but Mia had not enough wits about her to remember exactly where. She was glad she’d written such things down on a paper in her bed chambers. She was grateful for this little excursion, if for no other reason than it had made her realize she could not rely upon her brain to recall such things as precedence. She would need to slip a piece of paper up her sleeve for dinner. If she could not rely on her brain for a simple tour, what would it do at dinner when she was truly nervous?
Once everyone had been introduced, Mia moved into the dining room and began the tour.
From the dining room, she pushed through the double doors, moist air coming up to meet her. “This was originally the terrace, but my grandfather converted it into an orangery when he took over the title from his father. He had traveled through the Mediterranean and the West Indies on his grand tour.” She fingered a large leaf. “He had many trees shipped here after he returned. We have oranges, lemons, and limes, but also figs, bananas, and pomegranates. There are also several varieties of palm trees.” They wandered along the paths through the lush green leaves.
“What did he do about the terrace?” Miss Bancroft asked.
Mia motioned outside, even though it was blurred from the rain running down the glass. “He extended it out beyond the orangery. Just outside those doors.”
People seemed interested in what she said, but for all she knew, it could all be feigned. It was not as if they had not seen orangeries before. Theirs was not the only one in England. Indeed, most estates of substance had them. But what else was she supposed to show them? Perhaps she should have let Mrs. Pierson lead this tour. She surely had more interesting things to say about Hedlund.
Mia frowned. But it was her home. And she loved it deeply. Indeed, there is no place she’d rather be. How could she not think of a single diverting story? She was certain everyone wondered what she saw in the place. They surely thought it was just a pile of bricks.
“The house was built on the ruins of an old Benedictine monastery that was destroyed in one of the many battles with the Scots. The north wall of the house is the only original stonework from that monastery.”
Mia was relieved to hear some murmurs of surprise and perhaps even interest?
“What year was the house built?” Mr. Bancroft asked as his eyes ran up the walls of the Grand Hall.
“My father’s family was given the land in 1543 as a reward for their service to Henry VIII in the Battle of Solway Moss.” She saw several brows raise but had no notion what it meant. Did they not approve of her ancestor’s participation in the war against James V of Scotland? There were many in Berwick who still thought of themselves as more Scottish than English. But did any of these people have such leanings?
“Did your family hold a title before the battle?” Lord Ponsonby asked. It was some of the first words she’d heard him speak since he arrived in Berwick-upon-Tweed.
“He was a baron before King Henry elevated him to an earl.” She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. Theirs was not a title dating back to the Doomsday Book or to King William I. But she didn’t know of one that did. Theirs was a respectable title that had some years behind it. Indeed, her father held a great deal of precedence because of it’s age.
Lord Ponsonby nodded, and she thought she heard him say, “Impressive,” but maybe that was just her ears hearing what she wanted to.
They moved up to the next floor, and she showed them the location of the library. It was the only public room on that floor. But everyone would have need of it when they planned out their theatricals and poetry readings. Neither activity held much excitement for Mia, but Franny had thought them both wonderful ideas. And as Mia had been fairly desperate for diversions, she’d agreed to more of Franny’s ideas than she likely should have.
The third floor, like the second, had very little public space to view, only the Long Gallery that housed all the family portraits and the art they had purchased over the years. It was what drew most visitors to seek a tour of Hedlund Hall. Her great-grandfather and grandfather had spent a considerable sum on art. There were even several marble statues that stood guard at each end of the hall. As a child, Mia had named the one in the east end Hephaestus and the west one Crius. It had been when her governess had focused her learning on Greek Mythology, not because the statues looked particularly like their namesakes. If she were to rename them today, she would call them something normal, like Roger or James.
In truth, Mia could have done without them. They’d scared her too many times in the dark of night. She’d like to say it was only when she was a child, but just last week she’d nearly dropped her candle when the light flickered across Crius’ face. She may have even cried out, but she was not ready to admit to that. Especially not to Ben. He would tease her mercilessly.
She stood quietly to the side and allowed everyone to take their time and look at the art for as long as they wished. There was one painting at the end of the corridor that seemed to catch Ben’s attention. It was one he’d never seen. She knew this because her father had only hung the painting there last month and Ben rarely came up to this floor anymore.
When she’d been confined to the nursery, Ben had come up often to visit with her. But it had been years since he’d ventured past the second floor.
She wandered over and stopped next to him. What did he think of the painting? She still got goosebumps when she looked at it. Which was odd. She’d never reacted in such a way to anything else she’d painted. But then, she’d painted nothing like it before. It was as if the night had guided her brush. Perhaps that’s the reason she reacted to it as she did. There was something magical about it.
“This is beautiful. When did your father buy it?” Ben stared at it, his voice low and quiet, as if he did not want to disrupt the feeling of the painting.
“He didn’t purchase it. It was a gift.”
He glanced over at her. “He knows the artist?”
“He does. Very well,” she smiled. Had Ben not looked down at the corner and seen her name? Although, in his defense, her signature blended well into the constellation in that part of the sky.
“Who is it? Have I heard of them?”
“You have. I believe you are even friends.”
Ben glanced over at her, his brows furrowed deeply. “I’m certain that can’t be. I would know if one of my friends painted like this.”
She chuckled. “It would appear you are wrong.”
He shook his head. “Tell me the name then, and I’ll tell you if I know him.”
Mia put her hand on Ben’s arm. “The signature is on the bottom left. It’s hard to see, but if you look closely…”
Ben leaned closer to the painting. Then closer still. He looked over his shoulder. “It almost looks like your name, Mia.”
She grinned. “Yes, it does.”
He shook his head. “I can’t decipher what it says.” He straightened. “Can you not just tell me?”
She swatted him on the arm. “You read it correctly, Ben,” her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. She didn’t want everyone in the hall to hear and know that she had painted the picture. It felt too personal. She’d asked her father to hang it in his office, where it would be private. But he’d dismissed the notion. ‘More than just my old eyes should see and admire this.’ It was not lost on her that he could proclaim himself old when it suited his purposes.
“You painted this?” Ben leaned in closer and stared at the signature.
Mia didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended by his disbelief. “I did.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “It’s magnificent. When did you become such a proficient?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m a proficient.” She shrugged his compliment off. “Whether or not you believe it, you don’t know everything about me, Benjamin Cavendish. What else am I supposed to do to divert myself when you are in Town for the Season? You are gone for months. I don’t simply sit here and pine for you, I’ll have you know.”
He straightened back up. “I never thought you did. I knew you painted. I just did not realize you did it so well.” He stared at her as if seeing her in a new light.
Did he like what he saw?
The old tugging in Mia’s chest ached. The longing for him to see her as more than his neighbor…more than his friend. But it could not be. She was not the proper match for him. She would simply push the longing down—just as she always did when it attempted to claw its way to the surface.