Chapter 1 An Unexpected Arrival #2
“I imagine he did not grumble so much when you drew the duke’s eye,” Sophia said slyly.
“Oh, but he did! He was horrified, and I think he would have forbidden the match if Mama and my godmother had not pointed out all the advantages. And now Cordelia and Amabel have made very good matches, and John has his colours, in a far better regiment than he might have expected, and Henry is a midshipman. There is a living for Charles or Thomas, too, if they want to go into the church. The duke has been so kind to us… to all of us,” she added wistfully.
Sophia said nothing, for she found Lily’s story heartbreaking.
To be forced to marry a man old enough to be one’s grandfather!
Lily had been eighteen to the duke’s sixty-eight, and no matter how kind he had been and still was, for he was clearly fond of his young wife, it was indubitably a dreadfully unequal match.
As for the advantages, those all accrued to others — Lily’s brothers and sisters, and not to Lily herself, beyond the comfort of wealth and high standing in society.
But Lily never railed at her situation, except to say now and then that the grandeur and size of Staineybank felt oppressive to her. After her only child had died at the age of six, she had planned to leave it altogether and return to Cheshire, where her family lived, but here she still was.
Now she smiled, running slender fingers over the skirts of the ballgown. “This is a beautiful silk. It will make up afresh very well, you will see. We can look through the journals today, and talk to the seamstress tomorrow.”
The two spent a delightful afternoon in the duchess’s private sitting room, with journals lying open on every available surface, sipping tea and discussing fashions, for it was a subject of inexhaustible interest to both of them.
Dinner that evening was dominated as so often these days by discussion of the proposed orangery.
It was intended as a wedding gift to Rowena, who had admired the Duke of Camberley’s orangery at Marshfields, but at the present rate of progress the bride would be a matron with three or four children before it was finished.
Not a stone had yet been laid, and the exact location had not even been determined.
As always with Richard, it came down to money.
The duke was all for a grandiose scheme on a hill to impress visitors, lined with marble pillars.
Richard was more inclined for a simple brick structure, on account of the cost of glass, and as for marble, it was not to be thought of.
No matter how many times the duke pointed out that he would be paying for it and the estate could easily bear the cost and it would be a gratifying celebration of the birth of the next heir, it made no difference.
Sophia was glad to creep away to bed and dream of balls and the swirl of silken gowns, of rooms filled with waving feathers and sparkling jewels, and everywhere music and charming young men eager to dance. And surely there would be one, just one, who would look at her and truly see her.
***
The next morning, she awoke to steady snow, coating the gardens in white icing. By breakfast, the fall was reduced to a few stray flakes, but there was a flurry of activity amongst the men, anxiously discussing the roads, while most of the ladies had wisely decided to take breakfast in bed.
“Let us escape,” Lily whispered to Sophia. “The seamstress will not be able to get up from the village today, but there is much we can do. I thought we might look at the rest of your gowns and see what else might be reworked.”
Sophia could see no flaw in this enticing plan, so they left the men muttering about oxen and sweepers, and crept away to Sophia’s room.
She was still unused to an entire room all to herself, having shared with Maria all her life.
At first, she had confined her things to the accustomed half of the room, leaving ample space for Maria’s piles of books, but she had soon realised the luxury of taking up every inch of space herself, if she wanted it.
Not that she did. Oddly, the more space she had to fill, the less she wanted to clutter up every surface with abandoned bits and pieces.
Only a few small ornaments, symmetrically positioned, graced the mantelpiece, her hairbrushes sat in a neat arrangement on her dressing table, a single journal lay on the bedside table in case she should be wakeful at night and everything else was hidden away in drawers and cupboards.
In under an hour, Lily had selected seven gowns that could readily be converted to a more fashionable style.
Only two were ball gowns and one an evening gown, but Sophia could not deny that four new morning gowns would be very welcome, too.
Their two lady’s maids were summoned to give their advice, a pot of tea brought and all was going on in the most satisfactory manner when Froggett, the butler, came in.
“Beg pardon, your grace, Miss Merrington, but there’s a Lady Juliet Payne and Mr Simon Payne just arrived.”
Lily’s face registered bewilderment. “I do not know them. Sophia, do you? No? Are they perhaps acquaintances of the duke, Froggett?”
“Not that I’m aware, your grace.”
“Perhaps they are stranded by the snow… a carriage breakdown,” Sophia suggested.
“I don’t think so, madam,” the butler said. “They seem to think they’re expected… something to do with the plans for the orangery.”
“Then Richard must have invited them,” Lily said.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Froggett said, brightening. “That will be it, and I dare say he forgot to mention it, what with the snow and all. It’s a pity he’s out with the oxen team just now. I’ll let Miss Hester know. She can arrange rooms and deal with them.”
“Oh, no, indeed, I must receive them myself,” Lily said at once. “As a noblewoman, Lady Juliet will expect it.”
The two visitors stood rather forlornly in the Marble Hall, their luggage in a puddly heap near the door, while an assortment of servants awaited instructions.
Mr Payne was gazing around the Marble Hall with its array of pillars reaching imperiously to the high ceiling, his expression of awe one that Sophia entirely understood.
She had never quite accustomed herself to the grandeur of Staineybank herself.
Lady Juliet, oddly, was engaged in watching Mr Payne.
They were a strange couple. Lady Juliet was tiny, a doll-like figure of around forty, while Mr Payne, perhaps ten years younger, was a large man in every sense, both tall and broad of chest, and as handsome a man as Sophia had ever seen.
No… that was not quite true, for there had been a man of ethereal beauty at her very first ball, but he had not even noticed her and she had never seen him again.
Nevertheless, he remained an ideal of manhood, but she suspected that Mr Simon Payne, once unwrapped from the many layers of his winter travelling garments, might come very close.
“Lady Juliet, welcome to Staineybank,” Lily said. “I am the Duchess of Brinshire.”
It was, perhaps, an unnecessary introduction, for the flurry of bows and curtsies from the assembled servants must have suggested her rank, but Lady Juliet turned to her in some surprise.
“Oh! Duchess! I had not expected…” Only then, rather belatedly, did she drop into her own curtsy.
“You are here to see Mr Richard Merrington, I understand?” Lily said brightly.
“Well… I am not sure…”
“It is about the orangery, is it not? Then that is his project.”
“Is it? I did not know that,” she said vaguely. Then, in a sharper tone, “Simon, do not wander away when her grace is speaking.”
“But it is a perfect cube,” he said, his face alight with inner fire. “And the pillars… Corinthian, and the frieze is so elegant. Do you not think?”
“Well, I am sure, but do please pay attention when her grace is addressing you.”
He turned puzzled eyes on her. “I am complimenting her house, Juliet. She cannot object to that, can she?”
Lady Juliet sighed, but Lily only laughed. “Actually, Mr Payne, I am very pleased that you admire Staineybank, but I find it oppressively grandiose myself.”
“Oh no,” he said solemnly. “It is beautiful. Campbell, you see. Wonderful architect.”
“I am sure he was,” Lily said diplomatically. “But if you are not here at Mr Richard Merrington’s behest, who was it who invited you?”
“Goodenough,” Mr Payne said. “Attorney. Brinchester.”
“Mr Goodenough!” Sophia cried. “But there is no such person!”
“I assure you there is,” Lady Juliet said robustly. “He wrote to us and then brought us here himself from London in the most commodious style. The carriage is still outside, awaiting our instructions.”
“I am afraid it is quite true,” Lily said. “Mrs Richard Merrington arrived here last year in precisely the same manner — a letter from a person calling himself Goodenough, who brought her here, whereupon he disappeared. There is no attorney in Brinchester by that name.”
Lady Juliet turned and almost ran across the Marble Hall, wrenched open the door before the footman could reach it and raced outside. The others followed more slowly, knowing what she would find.
The drive was empty, only the twin tracks in the snow betraying that a carriage had arrived and had now left, making its way down the drive and not to the Staineybank stables.
“Then it is true,” Lady Juliet said. “We have been duped. But why? Why would anyone play such a cruel trick on us?”
But no one had an answer to offer.