Chapter Six #2
She had been disappointed when Owen chose to escort his mother inside rather than her.
She had also been alarmed at the possibility that Colonel Ware would then feel obliged to do the honors himself.
Thank heaven for Lady Stephanie, who had taken over her care and brought her up here along with Sarah and said again she hoped they would be friends.
Oh, Winifred so hoped they would. Lady Stephanie, she estimated, was a few years older than she.
Yet she was still unmarried. It would be interesting to discover the reason since her mother and the earl and countess had surely given her all the exposure to high society she could possibly need.
She was the daughter of an earl. She probably had a large dowry and was much sought after.
She had a round, pretty face, which was animated and glowing with good health. She was warm and friendly.
Winifred was always interested in young women who remained single, apparently by choice more than by lack of opportunity.
She wanted to know the reason why. She suspected that many such women were of strong, decisive character—such a rarity—and would not settle for less than perfection.
Perfection as they saw it, that was, not as society dictated.
The room that had been allotted Winifred was not in the nursery wing with the younger children, she had been pleased to discover, or to be shared with any of her siblings.
Sarah, very pleased not to be classified as one of the children, was in the room next to hers on one side while Mama and Papa were on the other side. Robbie was up here too, next to Sarah.
This was a lovely, spacious room, bright and cheerfully furnished and decorated in varying shades of yellow and spring green.
It had a view over rolling parkland to the east of the house and what looked like a walking alley in the middle distance with a straight line of trees on either side of it and possibly a summerhouse at the north end—she could not see the structure fully from here.
In the far distance was a line of hills.
She longed to get outside to explore. She had hoped Owen would offer to show her around later, both inside and out.
There must be so much to see. She hated to admit it, but she had been a little disappointed when he had not done so but instead had given his attention equally to her whole family, as his siblings were doing.
The Earl and Countess of Stratton had welcomed them warmly.
So had the dowager countess. Winifred believed Papa would thoroughly enjoy painting the dowager, though he sometimes actually preferred to tackle subjects who were not obviously beautiful.
The Dowager Countess of Stratton was, though she was an older lady, probably in her fifties.
She was also dignified and elegant and gracious in manner.
She had not frowned at the somewhat unruly behavior of the children out on the terrace.
Papa would no doubt see it as his job to bring out that graciousness—no, kindliness—in his portrait while not downplaying the beauty and dignity.
Winifred knew so well how his artist’s mind worked.
She had spent years listening to him and wishing she had some of his talent. Even one ounce. Alas, she had none.
She washed her hands and face in the small dressing room attached to her bedchamber and set her hair in its usual knot at the back of her head.
She was pleased to note that her bag had already been unpacked and everything neatly put away or, in the case of the toiletries, displayed on the washstand.
Was Owen pleased to see her? Her as an individual, that was, not just as a member of her father’s family.
He had told Stephanie about her. She still dreamed of working with him, for they shared a vision of the life they both wanted to live.
She had thought herself in love with him by the time she went home from London with Papa.
But that had been absurd and not at all typical of her.
At home, after all, she met all kinds of men at their various events.
With a few she had enjoyed a friendship.
But love? What exactly was love anyway? Romantic love, that was.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to define.
And how could one trust to only feelings anyway?
During the past month she had felt a yearning for Owen Ware.
But had it been any stronger than her yearning when she was in London to settle back into her old, familiar life at home with Mama and Papa and the family and the busy schedule of the arts center?
How could she yearn for both? Were they not mutually exclusive?
She was very glad of the tap on her door that interrupted her tumbling thoughts. Lady Stephanie had come to take her and Sarah down to the drawing room for tea. Apparently, Robbie was already down there, though not in the drawing room. He was walking Nelson outside.
“For the first few days you may feel as if you need a ball of string to help you find your way back to familiar territory,” Stephanie said as Winifred stepped out into the corridor to join her. “But you will soon grow accustomed to the house—four distinct wings and a courtyard in the middle.”
Winifred had guessed correctly about the courtyard, then.
Sarah was coming out of her room too. “What a gorgeous house this is,” she said. “Though I was afraid to venture out of my room lest I get lost and never be found. Thank you so much for coming to fetch us, Lady Stephanie.”
Winifred realized how parched and hungry she was. But were they really to be treated as honored guests in the drawing room rather than as a motley group somewhat in the nature of resident servants in a lesser room? She had not been sure before they came here.
Lady Stephanie laughed and offered an arm to Sarah. “Then hang on,” she said. “I promise to try not to get lost myself. If I do, at least we will have company.”
Sarah beamed happily.
—
After tea, a merry affair during which there was much talking, even from the younger children, and a great deal of eating, Nicholas escorted his mother back to the cottage.
She was expecting Matthew to be home soon after his day’s work was finished, if indeed he was not already there.
She protested her son’s accompanying her since the cottage was within the confines of the park and it was still full daylight, but Nicholas insisted.
“They are a delightful family, are they not?” she said when they were on their way.
“Noisy and what some might call unruly, but cheerful and polite too and respectful of one another. They are being well brought up. I really like Mrs. Cunningham. Mr. Cunningham too. He seems to be an easy-mannered, amiable man. It is such a relief. I was terrified he was going to be a flamboyant, temperamental artist, who would regard me as though I were a mere object to be examined from the inside out and then painted.”
Nicholas laughed and she joined in.
“Life is certainly not going to be dull here for the next few weeks,” he said. “Gareth and Bethan and Awen are ecstatic to have so many new friends.”
The three children belonged to the Earl and Countess of Stratton.
“I do like the eldest daughter,” his mother said as they turned onto the path to her cottage.
“Winifred. She is different from what I expected. There is no glamor there, is there? But she seems a very sensible young lady and endlessly patient with all those children. Is Owen really interested in her, Nicholas? In that way, I mean. Kitty seems to think so. Does he mean to marry her? Although my acquaintance with her has been very brief so far, it seems to me she might be just the sort of woman he needs.”
“I am not privy to his plans, Mama,” Nicholas said. “But they certainly became close friends in a very short time in London, and he seems pleased that she is here.”
“Then I will hope for a happy outcome, whatever it is,” she said.
“And Miss Haviland will be here tomorrow with General and Mrs. Haviland. A renowned beauty, from all I have heard. You must be longing to see her again. Will she suit you, Nicholas? I desperately want to see all my children settled happily, even while I try to keep myself and my hopes and opinions to myself. Without much success, I am afraid. Matthew laughs at me. Please ignore my questions.”
“It would really be too bad if I were to decide at this late date that she would not suit me,” Nicholas said.
“I asked Devlin and Gwyneth to invite the Havilands here, and it must be clear to them—as well as to everyone else—that I could have only one possible motive for doing so. Ah, I see Matthew has arrived home before you.”
He was standing by the hollyhocks beside the red front door, smiling at their approach.
“The guests have arrived, then?” he said.
“In a great burst of numbers and energy,” the dowager countess said. “I am exhausted, Matthew. You will like them. Have you had a tiring day?”
They were beaming at each other, engrossed just like a pair of young lovers. Nicholas said a quick goodbye and strode back toward the house.
Yes, Miss Cunningham would suit Owen, he decided, though his brother showed little sign of being either smitten or ready yet to settle down. He seemed to be enjoying life too much, both the unpaid work part of it and the social part.
Was she smitten with him? Nicholas rather hoped not. He did not want to see her hurt if she had pinned her expectations upon his brother’s coming up to scratch during the next couple of weeks.
He liked her.