Chapter Four
When the Daltons’ ancient landau was waved past the porter’s lodge and Farrah caught her first sight of the duke’s beautifully maintained gardens, the vista literally took her breath away.
As their coachman drove his team up the long, weed-free gravel driveway, Farrah couldn’t help comparing the overgrown gardens at Dalton House to the vision of orderliness that opened up before her.
The progress of what few spring flowers struggled to survive at home was hampered by a tangle of weeds and prolonged neglect.
Here, daffodils waved their heads in a cheerful splash of colour against the backdrop of persistent drizzle.
Mama and Sophia had spent the entire time it took to drive to the estate along the winding country roads talking animatedly about how Sophia should go about attempting to impress the duke.
Farrah wanted to scream with frustration but knew it would be a waste of breath to point out how unrealistic their expectations actually were.
Sophia’s pedigree was entirely suitable, that much was undeniable, but the duke had earned the disapproval of fashionable matrons with daughters to marry off simply for avoiding the ton’s marriage mart.
Presumably he had retreated to the country in order to avoid Sophia and her ilk and would not take kindly to having her foisted upon him.
Farrah couldn’t contain a gasp of appreciation when their conveyance negotiated a bend in the driveway and the magnificent facade of the huge mansion came into view.
Even on a dull March afternoon it stood majestic guard over a large lake and extensive lawns, the bare branches of trees waving in the distance like sentinels.
‘I have never seen anything to equal it,’ she said.
‘The old duke was very attracted to me when I came out,’ Mama said, patting her hair self-consciously, barely glancing at their surroundings. ‘But my father had already accepted Dalton’s proposal on my behalf, so that was that.’
Farrah gaped at her mother, convinced that she must be suffering from a case of selective memory.
Mama was incredibly vain; a trait that she had actively encouraged in Sophia.
If England’s most eligible bachelor had been sniffing around Mama’s petticoats, then surely grandpapa would have actively encouraged the match rather than accepting an offer from a man who, in comparison, would have been considered decidedly second rate.
As the carriage came to a halt at the grand entrance portico, Farrah sensed that their arrival had not gone unobserved.
As Mama and Sophia alighted, her glance was drawn towards a full-length window at which a gentleman stood watching them.
A tall gentleman with thick dark curls that touched his collar and intense blue eyes.
For some reason she was unable to look away and almost stumbled as she stepped from the carriage.
The near disaster brought her to her senses.
She lifted her chin along with her skirts as she climbed steps that were guarded by elaborate pillars and stone gargoyles depicting rearing horses.
The front door was opened by a stately butler who loomed above them, watching their progress with an implacable expression.
Whimsically, Farrah reached out to pat the neck of one of the stone horses.
Her action did not go unobserved by the butler, and she was convinced that his lips twitched briefly.
Farrah swallowed as she entered the house, attempting to pretend that she was accustomed to such luxury.
The entrance vestibule, with its marble flooring, was the size of the drawing room at Dalton House, and considerably better kept.
She glanced at the magnificent artwork adorning the walls and admired the wide sweeping staircase that led to a gallery spanning three sides above their heads.
Before she had time to take anything else in, the butler opened ornate double doors leading to the drawing room and announced them.
The duchess, an elegant lady clad in green, stood with hands outstretched to greet Mama, who made a great deal of fuss over her dearest friend.
Farrah stood back and watched the display, relieved that the duchess could put up with being fawned upon with apparent equanimity.
Farrah supposed she must have become accustomed to it over the years and felt a moment’s sympathy for her.
The opulence surrounding the dowager duchess clearly came at a high price.
Two gentlemen stood back, watching the interaction.
The slightly taller one wore a natural air of authority, causing Farrah to suppose that he must be the duke.
He was the gentleman who had watched their arrival in the same concentrated manner that he now watched Mama’s performance.
He rubbed the side of his index finger across his lips at one point, as though attempting to hold in a smile.
Sophia would be discouraged by the fact that he had yet to glance in her direction.
So much for first impressions!
‘You remember my daughters, Agnes.’ Mama’s voice recalled Farrah’s attention. ‘Farrah and Sophia.’
Farrah made her curtsey to the duchess, repeating the gesture when the duke and his brother were introduced.
‘I hope you did not get too wet this morning,’ the duke said to her in a quiet aside while the tea things were brought in.
‘Absolutely soaked,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘I assume the same could be said for you.’
His casual laugh immediately put her at her ease. Initial impressions implied that he was not as high in the instep as she had feared would be the case. ‘An occupational hazard on an estate of this size at this time of the year.’
‘Then perhaps it would be prudent to wear a greatcoat,’ she remarked, recalling that the duke and his brother had been unsuitably attired against the cold wind and constant threat of rain.
The duke looked a little taken aback by her outspokenness. ‘You are probably in the right of it,’ he said, shrugging.
‘You are not accustomed to having strangers telling you how you ought to conduct yourself, I fancy, so I apologise for my lack of deference.’
‘It does make a refreshing change, I’ll grant you, but here on my own estate I feel entitled to do as I please.’
Farrah nodded. ‘Which you cannot in London – or anywhere else I suppose, because your every move and action is scrutinised and remarked upon. That must quickly become tiresome.’
‘One develops a thick skin.’
Conscious of other conversations having stalled and everyone in the room looking at them, Farrah refrained from making any response.
She was aware of Sophia glowering at her from her seat beside their mother, presumably because the duke had not chosen to occupy the conveniently vacant chair on her other side.
If she had opened her eyes and looked anywhere other than at the duke, then she would have observed Lord Ezra smiling at her with open admiration.
Even so, Farrah knew that the attentions of a duke’s brother were not what she had come here in the expectation of attracting.
The conversation turned to generalities as they took tea, and Farrah used the opportunity to covertly assess the two gentlemen.
Both sported dark, curling locks and appeared unpretentious.
She had not expected such high-born gentlemen to be so down to earth.
Perhaps it was because they were comfortable in their own residence.
The duke’s piercing blue eyes displayed intelligence, and she already knew from their brief conversation that he possessed a lively wit and a readiness to find humour in every situation.
Farrah also sensed a closeness between the brothers that had never existed between her and Sophia, mainly because their characters were so diametrically opposed.
Sophia took little interest in anything other than her personal aspirations.
Encouraged by their mother, those aspirations centred upon her appearance and her determination to marry exceedingly well.
Farrah had observed little affection between her parents as she grew up.
Mama gave the impression of lasting disappointment and Farrah wondered sometimes if she was attempting to make up for those disappointments by promoting Sophia’s interests, intending to live vicariously through her success.
‘Well now,’ the duchess said, once the tea things had been removed and the servants had withdrawn. ‘Tell us how my sons can be of service to you, Ruth.’
‘Oh, your grace,’ Mama replied, addressing the duke as she produced a lace handkerchief from her reticule and used it to dab at dry eyes.
‘We are at our wits’ end. Indeed we are.
’ Sophia nodded dutifully in agreement. ‘We left the ton in full swing because the attention Sophia received got too much for her. She was swamped with demands for her time to such an extent that it almost made her ill.’
Sophia gave a convincing little cough.
Mortified, Farrah wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole, but she was no coward, so she straightened her shoulders and gazed stoically ahead without actually seeing anything – other than a glimpse of the duke in the periphery of her vision making no attempt to quell a derisive snort.
‘We came to the country for fresh air and a little respite, expecting to find Dalton in residence. That is where he told us he would be when he left London after he’d seen Sophia make her curtsey, so imagine our astonishment when we arrived to find that he had been nowhere near the place.
’ Mama threw up her hands. ‘I am absolutely sure that he must have been set upon by brigands and is lying dead in a ditch somewhere.’
Farrah chanced a glance at the duke. It was the first she had heard of her mother’s gloomy conviction and could sense that the duke was not taken in by her theatrical display either.
‘How did Dalton get to Hampshire?’ he asked into the silence that greeted Mama’s prediction.