Chapter Fourteen
A bare half an hour later, the carriage bearing Verity and an increasingly excitable Bessie turned off the main road to Oxford and headed into much deeper countryside, a countryside awash with greens of every hue.
High hedges framed the narrow, potholed road, enormous trees cast looming shadows, stark and strong in the bright summer sunshine, and their branches muttered indecipherable secrets in the slight breeze.
Everything seemed brighter and clearer than London had, but without the fierce glare of the hot European countryside.
Verity realized she was approaching a different world to the one she was familiar with in the gaudy, vibrant cities of Europe and the crowded streets of London.
A world of verdant greenery, fields of gently rippling standing crops, and of countless animals grazing behind the thick hedges, glimpsed every time they passed a rickety gate.
Ten minutes of jolting, but enjoyable, progress brought them to where the most impressive entranceway she’d ever seen shouted the start of Luxborough Park.
Beneath what seemed worthy of nothing less than a Roman triumphal arch, ornate metal gates stood open in welcome.
Beyond them, a long, woodland-edged drive rose away from the high road, seemingly heading into the far distance with the intention of holding their destination close and hidden.
To either side of the gates, tall, octagonal gatehouses topped with ogee roofs stood sentinel.
She had the distinct impression that they were leaning threateningly towards her like the trees, daring her not to breach their guard.
An imposing sight. If this was the gatehouse, whatever would the house be like?
She found out soon enough. Eventually, the wide, graveled and pothole-free drive left the woods behind to curve across what looked like hundreds of acres of rolling open parkland.
Far off, browsing in the shade of yet more woodland, a herd of sun-dappled deer seemed tiny.
Verity, caution thrown to the wind, leaned forward to peer out of the window at the awe-inspiring vista as it spread out before her, her heart beating to the same rhythm as the sweaty, trotting horses.
Horses that must surely be tired after such a long journey.
And then she caught sight of their destination.
Luxborough House occupied the center of this sweeping, open landscape as though it had stood there for centuries and would do so for many more, an immovable rock against the tide of time.
It stood four square and sturdy, yet exuded an undeniable elegance.
Whoever had commanded this house to be built had possessed more than just good taste.
Foresight, perhaps, and a grand idea that he’d caused to become reality.
Towers rose in pinnacles, reaching towards the arc of the sky, their ogee roofs perfectly echoing those on the gatehouses and giving the whole place an almost fairy-xrtale appearance.
For a brief moment the thought that all of what was happening to her was just a vivid dream arose, only to be dismissed. No, this was real enough. Not a dream, but the reality of another world she was now going to be part of. A world into which she feared she would not fit.
The carriage bowled along the drive until it reached another set of gates, smaller this time but also standing open, which led onto the vast circular driveway that lay at the front of the house.
To the left stood what might be service buildings and stables, themselves only a little less splendid than the house, and ahead, a vastly ornate loggia looming out of the face of the building marked the main entrance, itself bigger than any accommodation Verity had ever inhabited.
Steps led up to huge doors flanked by elegant pillars, and above the whole thing rose two further stories to battlements decorated with aggressive, pointed spires.
As though whoever designed this house hadn’t been quite certain they didn’t have to keep undesirables out.
The carriage rolled to a halt, the gravel crunching under the wheels.
She was here.
Casting a quick, sideways glance at Bessie, Verity swallowed down her nerves. She would have to brazen this out with all the artifice Papa had instilled in her.
The doors in the loggia swung open and a bevy of servants hurried to attend their arrival.
Someone opened the coach door and let down the steps, and someone else held out a gloved hand to her.
A liveried footman, bewigged and attentive.
After a moment’s wary hesitation, Verity took the offered hand and stepped down onto the gravel.
The footman who’d offered her his hand was strikingly handsome, and she couldn’t help but notice how he filled out his livery to perfection.
Of course, she’d come across footmen many times in her travels, and Aunt Josephine had possessed them too.
Most footmen were chosen for their looks and height, and this one, as he executed a perfect bow to her, was no exception.
No wealthy homeowner wanted their guests being greeted by short and unattractive young men, and this one was both tall and handsome.
He released her hand and stood back, his expression bland and giving nothing away.
The realization that no one here might know who she was dawned, and color rose to her cheeks.
What was she supposed to do? Introduce herself?
This was followed by the awful possibility that they wouldn’t believe her when she did so.
After all, they must know that Lord Dunster was not the marrying kind.
The butler, another handsome man, this time with iron-gray hair that indicated he must at least be in his late forties, came to her rescue.
He made her a deep bow. “Lady Dunster, I presume. Welcome to Luxborough. His Lordship sent word a few days since of his intention to marry, but we had not thought to be blessed by your presence so soon. I must apologize in advance if the house is not quite to your taste. Given more warning, we could have prepared everything to your liking more efficaciously.”
So Jonathan had warned his country house servants of his marriage plans. How thoughtful of him. Possibly. Although perhaps he hadn’t thought they would be meeting their new countess so soon.
The butler put a hand to his own chest. “Allow me to introduce myself and your servants to you. Lucas is my name. Mrs. Burke is your housekeeper. Mrs. Lovell your head cook.” He went on, naming the servants where they stood in line, one or two of the younger ones a little flustered as though they’d been summoned in haste when the carriage was seen approaching, but the names were meaningless to Verity.
All she could think of was the fact that he’d called them all her servants.
She, a young lady who’d never had anyone other than the nanny at Grandmama’s Dower House, now had a house brimming with staff.
All of whom merged with no difficulty into a blur of unrecognizable faces.
She caught Lucas glancing surreptitiously at the carriage. Was he looking for his master? Perhaps she ought to say something.
She cleared her throat and concentrated on him as the one person whose name she could remember.
“Lord Dunster has not accompanied me, I’m afraid, Lucas, but I’m certain I will find no fault in the house.
” She tried a smile in what she hoped was a friendly fashion.
A mere week at Aunt Josephine’s had not been sufficient to accustom her to dealing with servants, especially not upper servants.
“I’m sure I will be most happy here,” she added, wondering if she was lying.
The whole house, beautiful and impressive as it was, looked far too large to be welcoming and cozy.
She already felt out of place and clumsy and she wasn’t even inside the front doors yet, as if everything she was doing might be wrong.
If only she were back with Papa in their small, safe lodgings.
They seemed very far away. Her stomach did a convulsive flip and she sensed tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
Tears for the life she’d never have again.
Despite all its difficulties and problems, it suddenly took on the mantle of safety and normality.
Lucas did not appear to have noticed the threat of tears, or if he had, he was tactfully ignoring them. “If you would be so gracious as to step this way, my lady,” he said, and she preceded him up the steps and into the loggia.
If it had been open all the way through once, it was not now. On the far side, doors gave onto what looked like an enormous courtyard, but this was not where they were going. Instead, the butler guided her, as though he were a shepherd herding a refractory sheep, into a vast entrance hall.
Without a doubt, the inside of the house was even more splendid than the outside.
Whoever had chosen the contents must have had bottomless pockets.
It made the house in Cavendish Square look sparse and shabby by comparison, and Aunt Josephine’s house like a humble hovel.
Although perhaps she was exaggerating that comparison a bit due to the awe the place was inspiring in her.
This was like a palace. Like Versailles, which she had seen as a child and vaguely remembered.
Like somewhere a queen should live, not a humble young woman such as herself.
Followed by Bessie, who to do her credit did not look at all overawed, she crossed the marble tiles, the clacking of hers and Bessie’s boots loud in the silence, to where a pair of wide staircases, one on either side of the hall, rose to meet each other on the floor above.
A shadowy galleried landing surrounded the empty space, and an ornate, highly decorated ceiling hung over everything, light allowed in through a vast glass dome.