Chapter Thirty
Angus’s return to Westland House later that afternoon found him far more relaxed than on his morning departure.
As he entered through the main door, the unfamiliar tinkle of feminine laughter drifting down the hall made him pause.
As if to dismiss the sound, he shook his head slightly and began towards the stairs.
Yet, before his foot landed on the first tread, he swung back around and wandered in the direction of the cheerful noise.
Rounding the corner, he nearly collided with two of his footmen, muttering to themselves as they struggled with a cumbersome chaise lounge.
“Beg your pardon, my lord… your ladyship wishes for this to be removed to the attics,” one stammered.
“I see,” Angus murmured, surveying the rest of the chaos behind them.
Dark, heavy, outdated furniture littered the hallway.
It had been years since he’d entered the green room, always finding it gloomy and depressing, and now he realised why.
“Well, I hope you both had a good luncheon, you’ll need the energy. Carry on.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
Picking his way further down the hall, another peal of delighted laughter accompanied the whoosh of heavy fabric, and he peered around the door just in time to see a set of full-length drapes tumble to the ground.
“Bravo,” Sylvie whooped, waving her hand daintily in front of her nose against a faint cloud of dust before succumbing to a tiny sneeze. “Excuse me,” she giggled, then clapped her hands joyfully. “Golly, what a difference that makes. How charming the room looks now that we have light?”
Unnoticed, Angus stood quietly, marvelling at the sight.
Had he ever actually heard Mrs Robins laugh in the seven years she’d been here, or seen the household so animated?
A little maid, scurrying about happily with a dustpan and brush, suddenly stopped and dipped a curtsey.
“Milord,” she murmured nervously, prompting Mrs Robins’ face to immediately revert to its usual composed expression.
Sylvie, however, broke into the most radiant of smiles and hurried towards him, grasping one of his hands.
“Husband, come look,” she said, tugging at his arm excitedly.
“How lovely this room will be. So full of light now those heavy drapes are gone, and look, look…” She pulled him further in.
“We have had such an adventure in the attics this morning, have we not, Mrs Robins? Have you ever seen a more delightful little settee, and these gorgeous chairs? So many treasures hidden up there… and over here is where I shall write. I found the most exquisite escritoire, the light is just perfect, and I can delight in the garden while I work. Oh, tell me you are not displeased? Please tell me you approve?”
He allowed a shadow of a smile. “I approve.”
Clapping her hands with a squeak of delight, she laughed, “See, Mrs Robins? I told you his lordship would adore it. And look at these drapes we found, are they not just divine? Watered silk in the most delicate green with this beautiful embroidery. I doubt I could have found anything so perfect in all of London. There are enough for all the windows, with some to spare. And if you’ll allow, I thought to have these two seats reupholstered in it. ”
“If it pleases you,” Angus said, unwilling to disrupt the happy atmosphere.
“Yes… yes, it will. Come, sit. Shall we try the placement of the chairs? Perhaps more space between them? Shall I send for some tea?”
“I… um…” he mumbled.
“Oh! Shall we have a supper tray in here this evening? Mrs Robins, do you think the drapes will be hung by then?”
“They will need altering, my lady.”
“Yes, yes, of course, silly me. And we still have to decide on which rug… “
“Right,” said Angus, seizing his opportunity for escape. “I shall leave you to it, I have some correspondence to…” His words were cut short as he sidestepped to allow two footmen, awkwardly carrying a large, heavy painting covered in a dust sheet, through the door.
“Oh, splendid,” Sylvie enthused. “Well done, John. If you could just put it over here… yes, against the wall. Perfect.” Hurrying back to Angus, she squeezed his hand in excitement. “I was going to surprise you, but… now that you are here, come, come.”
Goodness only knew what else she had managed to unearth in the attic, but as she seemed so excited and desperate for his approval, he let her lead him back into the room.
Dust covered her dress, cobwebs tangled in her hair — she must have spent hours rummaging through generations of discarded furniture and possessions.
Yet, with a sudden stab of guilt, he knew she had done it not only to please herself but also him.
In less than a day, she had managed to transform this gloomy room into one of simplistic elegance.
For decades, it had sat unused, uninviting, and now it was as cheerful and welcoming as his little wife.
How could he deny her a few more moments of his time?
“Are you ready?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes shining with love, hope and excitement.
He gave a small nod.
She beamed back at him, then turned to the footman. “Thank you, John, you may remove the cover now.”
Squeezing his hand again, she held her breath in anticipation as she watched the sheet slide off, revealing the painting. Time seemed to halt. Silence settled over the room except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath her.
“Is it not splendid?” she enthused. “I nearly did a double-take, thinking it was…”
Angus froze. His eyes narrowed. His lips tightened against his teeth. Sylvie’s words floated around him, drowning against the pounding in his ears.
“Image of you… I thought it was you… and such an adorable child…”
Words were still fluttering from her lips, but he couldn’t comprehend anything other than the sight before him…
A smiling man holding a laughing child. His heart hammered, vision blurred as memories and emotions collided.
His hand flexed instinctively, fingers straight and ridged, and he flicked his wrist, ridding himself of her soft touch.
“Oh… oh Angus… I thought you would… such a beautiful… displeased? Sylvie’s voice trembled, faltering, a hint of panic. “Likeness… father… Angus. Angus, whatever is the matter?”
He shook his head violently, inhaling sharply through his nostrils. “Get rid of it. Burn it. Now!” he spat venomously, storming from the room.
Sylvie blinked, utterly stunned. Her hands flew to her cheeks as a solitary tear ran unbidden down her face. “What… what in heaven’s name have I done?” she whispered, sinking into a chair.
“I… I’ll have it removed at once, my lady,” Mrs Robins said gently, waving the remaining staff from the room.
“Um, yes, do that,” murmured Sylvie, brushing the unwanted tear from her cheek. “But, Mrs Robins, please have it placed back in the attic.”
“Yes, my lady, but his lordship…”
“Yes, yes, set on fire. You can tell him it was burnt if you must, but please, just have it put out of harm’s way.
At least until I understand why he had such a reaction.
Grief can be a very troubling emotion, Mrs Robins, and I would hate for his lordship to regret destroying such a beautiful record of his father’s love. ”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Do you know? Know why his lordship might have reacted so? Did you know the late Marquess?”
“No, my lady. I have only ever been in the service of the current Marquess, his lordship.”
“Are there any others here who served the late Marquess?”
“Not to my knowledge, my lady. Not in this house.”
Sylvie exhaled, troubled. “A storm in a teacup, I expect… he was likely just surprised, tis all. I think we shall resume tomorrow. I fear such exertion from today’s adventures has left me rather weary.”
“Of course, my lady,” said Mrs Robins, discreetly removing herself.
Sylvie sat awhile with her worries before finally summoning the energy to rise. Not finding Angus in his study, she gently knocked on the door of his bedchamber, then entered, ignoring the absence of a reply.
“Milady,” Eddie the valet said, glancing up in surprise.
Suspiciously eyeing him, Sylvie stepped further inside. “Why… what are you doing?”
“I’m packing for his lordship, milady. Umm, I’m to follow him to Hampstead.”
“Hampstead?”
“Southerby Manor, milady.”
“Yes, right… of course. Umm… for how long?”
“Just four days, milady. At this stage, anyway.”
“I see… um, Eddie?”
“Yes, milady?”
“Um, actually, never mind. I am sorry to have interrupted you. I will just, umm, carry on,” she said, waving toward the connecting room, hurrying away before her curiosity betrayed her.
Five minutes later, Sylvie turned from her pacing as the door to her bedchamber opened.
“Oh, Betsy, quick, I need you to do something for me,” she whispered, rattling off instructions with a sense of urgency.
Upon her return sometime later, Betsy imparted all she had gleaned from Eddie, leaving Sylvie staring into space for several long beats. “Well… obviously, he was not fond of his father… but why?”
“Eddie doesn’t know. Something to do with when his mother died, but his lordship never speaks of it.”
“Oh,” Sylvie breathed, “I wonder….”
A sharp knock at the door made them both turn. A young maid dipped a curtsey. “Your ladyship, Lady Mason is awaiting you in the drawing room.”
Rolling her eyes at Betsy, Sylvie muttered, “Love her as I do, my mother seems to have an uncanny knack for sensing drama.”
“Mm,” mused Betsy thoughtfully. “And, dare I say… an uncanny memory for old gossip?”
Sylvie nodded slowly, her mind already racing. “Indeed, indeed, Betsy. Well done, you,” she said, striding from the room, determination in every step.
* * *
“Is that so? Well, I never,” gasped Lady Mason, eyes wide. “Whatever could have brought on such a… a passionate reaction. Lord Westland is normally so composed, so… stoic.”
“I don’t know, Mama,” Sylvie admitted in despair. “I was hoping you could shed some light, recall some details? Did you know Charles Westland?”
“No… no I… oh, but I believe your father was well acquainted, yes, yes. Come this evening, my dear, and talk to Papa.”