Chapter Seven #3
They had almost reached the front steps of the house. The door had been opened, and a dignified-looking man dressed all in severe black made his way down the steps, followed by two liveried footmen. It was, Irene assumed, the butler.
He waited until the carriage pulled to a complete stop, then opened the door and bowed to the ladies inside. “Please allow me to welcome you to Radbourne Park, my ladies. I hope your journey was not too taxing.”
“No, indeed. We made it in excellent spirits,” Francesca assured him, taking his hand to step down from the carriage.
Irene and her mother followed Francesca. All three of them paused for a moment, looking up at the towering house. The butler allowed a brief smile of pride.
“The gatehouse was built by the first Earl of Radbourne,” he told them.
“Of course, there was an older home, a rather good specimen of the early Norman keep, but it has been unoccupied since the reign of King Henry VIII, when the first earl constructed his masterpiece. It was intended, you see, to rival Hampton Court itself, but sadly, Lord Radbourne died before anything more than this gatehouse was constructed. The second earl did not share his father’s architectural vision and simply added the other wings to the gatehouse. ”
“Is there anything in the towers?” Irene asked, looking up to the tops of the round corner structures.
“Only winding stairs, my lady, and of course a magnificent view of the countryside from the top, if one is willing to make the climb.”
“I should like to see it,” Irene said.
“You will have to find a companion younger than I, then,” her mother said. “I believe that I will be quite content to view the bottom floors.”
“There is much to see everywhere in the house, my lady,” the butler assured her. “My name is Horroughs. Please let me know if you need anything. Now, if you will allow me to show you into the house, the dowager countess and Lady Pencully are awaiting you.”
While the footmen unloaded the carriage, the three women followed the straight-backed butler into the house and through the large formal entry hall to a large, well-appointed drawing room. Three women sat in the room, and they turned as the party of travelers entered.
Irene saw at a glance that Lord Radbourne was not there.
Not that it mattered. It was actually a relief not to have to greet the man.
Although, of course, it was rather rude of him not to be there to greet them.
She wondered where he was and if he had meant to deliver a set-down to her by not being there when they arrived.
Not, of course, that it mattered, she repeated to herself.
“There you are!” boomed one of the occupants of the room, an older woman with iron-gray hair under a lace-trimmed black cap.
She was wearing a dark purple silk dress with old-fashioned wide skirts and a stiff bodice.
She was a woman of large proportions that matched her voice, and she pushed herself up off the sofa on which she sat and came forward with all the power and majesty of a grand ship in full sail.
She was, Irene assumed, Lady Odelia Pencully.
The woman who had been sitting beside Lady Odelia on the sofa was of a similar age, but the opposite of Lady Odelia in looks and style.
Her hair under her lacy black cap was snow-white and softly curled, and the black dress she wore was of a modern style, slim-lined and high-waisted, and trimmed with black lace.
She was thin almost to the point of frailness, and shorter than Lady Odelia, as well, though it was hard to tell her actual height, as she held herself in a hesitant, drooping manner.
Everything about the woman seemed wispy and insubstantial, from the soft white curls escaping their pins beneath her cap to the folds of silk and lace that draped her body.
A black fringed shawl was pulled around her shoulders, though one end slipped loose and trailed along behind her as she stood up, hesitated, then took a few steps forward, smiling tentatively.
“Hallo, Francesca,” Lady Odelia greeted Irene’s companion. “You look none the worse for your journey.” She half turned back to the fragile-looking woman behind her and said, “You see, Pansy, I told you they were not likely to come to harm. Not everyone is such a bad traveler as you are.”
“No, of course not, Odelia,” the other woman responded with a smile and a shy bob of her head.
Her voice was as slight as the rest of her, and though her smile was friendly and her eyes kind, there was a certain vagueness to her expression, as well, as though she were not quite connected to the others in the room.
Francesca introduced Irene and her mother to Lady Pencully, who in turn swept her hand toward her sister, the dowager Countess of Radbourne.
Lady Radbourne took Irene’s hand in hers. Her hands were light, like bones covered with skin, the knuckles knobby, and they were chilly despite the warmth of the room. “I am so pleased to meet you,” she said, smiling into Irene’s eyes. “We will be good friends, I am sure.”
“Thank you, Lady Radbourne. It is very kind of you to say so.” She was not certain why Lord Radbourne’s mother seemed so eager to be her friend.
She presumed it was simply the woman’s way and hoped that she had not been misled by her sister into thinking that Irene was there to accept her grandson’s proposal.
She shot a glance at Francesca, who gave a small shrug, but at that moment Irene’s attention was drawn to the third woman in the room, who had stood up and was walking toward them.
The woman was blond and pretty, with pale skin and large, round light blue eyes. Her figure was voluptuous, and though her white and black dress of half-mourning was high-necked and her breasts covered, their fullness was unmistakable, accented by the high waist, sashed just beneath them.
“How do you do?” she said, her eyes sweeping coolly across Francesca, then Irene and Lady Claire. “I am the Countess of Radbourne.”
“My son Cecil’s widow,” Pansy explained, sadness in her eyes. “He has been gone from us for a year now.”
“Welcome to Radbourne Park,” the younger Lady Radbourne went on coolly, ignoring Pansy and her words.
Irene studied the woman, intrigued. The widow of the late earl was quite a bit younger than Irene would have imagined.
She was older than Irene and Francesca, she thought, but not by too many years.
The countess did not seem especially friendly.
Her words were polite, but her attitude was distant and formal, and there was a certain glint in her eyes that she could not conceal.
Irene had the definite impression that she was not eager to meet the three of them.
In fact, if Irene had to guess, she would venture that the countess would have preferred that they were not there at all.
What Irene was not certain of was whether the woman’s dislike was aimed specifically at her and Francesca, or if she would dislike any woman who she thought wanted to become the new Countess of Radbourne.
But then, given the way she had ignored her harmless-seeming mother-in-law, Irene supposed it could be that the woman was simply unpleasant.
“No doubt you would like a bit of refreshment after your trip,” Lady Odelia said. “I’ll ring for tea.”
Then she marched over to the bell pull, not seeing, as Irene did, the hard glance that the younger countess shot at her back.
“Perhaps our guests would rather be shown to their rooms,” the younger Lady Radbourne said. “I am sure it has been a tiring trip.”
Odelia turned, a frown on her face. “They will want to say hello to Gideon.”
The countess sniffed. “As if he would have the good manners to greet his guests.”
Lady Odelia drew herself up, somehow attaining an even more formidable stature.
“I beg your pardon, Teresa,” she said in a voice as firm as iron.
“I am sure that my great-nephew has been unavoidably detained—in all likelihood by some estate matter, for I can see that the Park has been allowed to fall into a shocking state of disrepair the past few years.”
Lady Teresa shot a brief venomous glance at the older woman, but she clearly did not have the courage to stand up to Lady Odelia, for she said only, her voice taking on a bit of a whine, “My husband was not feeling well the last few months of his life. And I…well, I did the best I could, but I do not have a head for business, as some do.”
This last comment, Irene suspected, was another swipe at the new earl, who had amassed a fortune of his own even before he was restored to his family.
Irene knew that his business acumen was considered another of the many blots on his reputation.
A gentleman, after all, was above the mundane matters of money, and a lady even more so.
But frankly, as far as Irene was concerned, ignorance and incompetence on any matter were little cause for pride, and it was even more foolish when such ignorance caused one to lack for money.
She had lived for too long with too little money, thanks to her father’s extravagances, to find genteel poverty satisfying.
And the fact that, despite his circumstances, Gideon Bankes had managed to not only survive but to thrive, seemed more admirable than despicable.