Chapter Twenty
Annalise found Lord Beaufort’s staff much of the same nature as her husband—businesslike, but still able to handle the unexpected.
“Just like his lordship,” the Beaufort House housekeeper said with a slight Irish lilt to her words.
Annalise knew enough about her beloved Navan to know he had employed more Irish than many living in the great houses of Mayfair.
“Ups and marries without a word of his plans to anyone, not even his valet. Does Lord Duncan know? Not that I mean my remarks in a mean manner, my lady.”
The housekeeper directed a half dozen maids to rearrange the room to meet Annalise’s request for a small desk to be added to the sitting room of the mistress’s suite, along with presenting the bedchamber with fresh linens.
“I would imagine, as his lordship supposedly had no plans to marry,” Annalise said with a smile, “the idea of refreshening the mistress’s suite had not crossed his mind.”
The housekeeper, Mrs. Mayo, smiled widely. “We are all pleased, my lady. Just unexpected is all.”
“As to whether Lord Duncan is aware of our marriage, Lord Graham assisted in the arrangements,” Annalise confided, while knowing whatever she told the housekeeper would be common knowledge among the staff within the next hour, “and, of course, there is the matter of Lord Marksman being my brother.”
Mrs. Mayo froze in place. “Then you are the missing sister.”
Annalise could not disguise her chuckle.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” Quickly, another realization took root, and a bit of panic arrived.
“Does all of London know of me?” She did not like that idea, even a little.
Moreover, she would not want Mr. Stark or Mrs. Sable to know where to discover her, though she was determined not to hide, but rather to practice caution, as Beaufort had instructed.
“I would not say all of London, but assuredly many read something of the trial of Mr. Booth, which was already scheduled, and later of Mr. Yates, as well as the man who pretended to be a French marquis.”
Annalise swallowed the words my uncle. Instead, she asked, “What was the disposition of the trials?”
“I kept the papers that arrived in Lord Beaufort’s absence.
His lordship prefers to cull several of the London papers to know what has transpired in his absence.
Naturally, with his service to Ireland in the Parliament and his role in the Home Office, his lordship must be aware of what various groups think.
You might read them if you have a mind to do so. ”
Annalise said softly. “It is likely best if I hold some ideas of what has occurred in our absence. I would not wish someone to surprise me or Lord Beaufort. I could write to him about what I have discovered.”
“Booth was hanged quite brutally in the midst of the uproar, though, as I said he was already in jail before what happened at the Oakley Arms. The other one hanged was the man named Moran,” the woman said with a frown.
“John Yates received only a sentence of seven years of transportation for his part. Most think that was not enough punishment for Yates. Then there was that business with Moran’s daughter and his niece.
The niece turned out to be… I apologize, my lady, I have spoken from turn.
I never meant to sound gossipy or bring harm down upon your head. ”
“No offense taken,” Annalise assured. “Obviously, Jacob Moran’s promises, like his word, held no honor.
He was never my family, though, since the age of five, I was told his lies.
” Annalise did not wish her life to be the fodder of gossip, but she would have the truth be a part of the conversation.
She suspected she would be often called upon to repeat her story until something more scandalous came about.
“I was permitted very little freedom in Moran’s household.
I often performed the duties of a maid of all works. ”
“How terrible for you,” the woman said in sympathetic tones. “I am grateful that our Lord Beaufort had something to do with your rescue, and now you are his wife.”
“At least I was not starved or beaten,” she said, though Annalise now realized the manner in which her uncle treated her and spoke to her had inflicted more damage than she would care to admit aloud.
“At least, that is something, I suppose,” Mrs. Mayo said in compassion.
“What about my cousin? Caroline Moran? Obviously, we were never truly cousins. I was brought in to live with Jacob Moran, who claimed to be my mother’s half brother.
My mother had died of a contagion, and there was no one else to care for me.
Moran wanted a companion for his young daughter Caroline, after his wife and son were tragically killed. Has Caroline also known the gallows?”
Annalise knew she should have made it her business to know the fate of her uncle and cousin, but she had wished simply to walk into a new life, one she had been denied by those who had pretended to be her family.
“The young woman was thought to have been simply following her father’s instructions,” Mrs. Mayo explained. “She was to be transported.”
“I am pleased Caroline knew some sort of justice, for she did shoot my brother and attempted to kill me,” Annalise explained.
“Though it would seem to me that attempted murder should know a harsher punishment, but, I suppose, the fact she was a female meant those prosecuting her believed she had no mind of her own. They probably thought her actions came at her father’s instructions. ”
“Men often think a woman has no mind for such stratagems,” Mrs. Mayo observed.
Annalise swallowed a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I am now Lord Beaufort’s wife. I wish no more gossip affecting our marriage. I have promised his lordship I would make him proud.”
Mrs. Mayo nodded her approval. “You shall, my lady. I hold no doubts.”
“I would like to send a message around to Madame Emmeline. I shall require several new gowns to wear about the house. Do you suppose such could be arranged? I left much of what my brother purchased for me at Dutton Hall.”
Thankfully, Mrs. Mayo did not question why Annalise chose not to reclaim the ones at her brother’s house. Annalise felt the longer Alexander and Theodora were not aware that she was alone in London, the better for all of them.
“You write the note, mistress, and I shall have it delivered.”
Annalise smiled. “In addition to writing to Lord Beaufort to assure him of my safe arrival, I must write to Lord Duncan at his home in Derbyshire, but I do not know his directions.”
“Mr. Cross will have the necessary information, my lady.”
“Excellent. I shall be relying heavily upon you, ma’am.
I pray you shall not find me troublesome.
While in Ireland at the Klare Fields manor house, Lord Beaufort depended upon me to initiate repairs to his grandmother’s house.
Though he knows Beaufort House is superior to the Klare Manor house, he does not wish his London home to know the same type of decay so perhaps you and I might make a thorough inventory of what might require immediate attention and what we should put on a list to watch.
Our doing so was one of the charges he placed in my hands before I departed Cork City.
If I am honest, viewing his beloved grandmother in reduced circumstances shook his lordship’s view of his responsibilities—not only to those who depend upon him in Ireland, but also in England.
He plans to know that both the Irish earldom and the English barony flourish for those upon those estates, but also for the children we hope to know. ”
“Your estimation appears quite reasonable, my lady. I shall be proud to assist you.”
It did not take Beaufort long to realize that his people blamed him for Annalise’s departure.
In his egotistical way, he had not understood how many upon the estate his wife’s gentle nature had touched.
He could view their pity for him in their eyes when he called upon the various worksites located both on and off the estate, as well as the valley surrounding Klare Fields.
He recognized their truth in the subdued greetings he received in the village.
The word of his grandmother’s decline had spread quicker than he had expected.
Those that dared to speak to him expressed their grief for what he must endure.
Yet, despite their knowledge of what had occurred at the manor house, none asked of Annalise’s absence, though occasionally he knew the question was on the tip of their tongues.
Generally, a man only sent his wife away if she were known to have taken up with another man, but none who had ever known Lady Beaufort’s acquaintance would believe such drivel. His wife possessed a heart of pure gold, and Navan had been truly blessed to have claimed her.
Assuredly, he understood why few asked of his sweet Annalise.
Those who had initially dared to inquire of his missing countess had been met with a brusque reply from him, for the idea he had permitted her to leave haunted each minute of his days.
He constantly wondered if she was well and if her thoughts turned to him as often as his turned in her direction.
At Klare Manor, it was worse than when he was in the fields or the village.
The servants and those brought in each day for repairs provided him sidelong glances, their faces stiff with disapproval.
Men in Ireland simply did not send their wives away.
Only betraying one of God’s commandments was worthy of such an action.
No one who had ever encountered Lady Beaufort would consider her anything but virtuous.
The servants’ loyalty no longer rested with his grandmother, but rather with their new mistress, for Annalise had been the one who had employed them.
According to Mrs. Felix and the manor house’s cantankerous cook, Annalise was a paragon of uprightness and organization and generosity.