Chapter 1 #2
I frowned at the floral arrangement before me, making unnecessary adjustments to some of the blooms so that I wouldn’t have to meet my sister’s eye.
She was correct, of course, but I’d thought I’d done a better job of concealing my motivations.
Truthfully, I was a bit irked and disappointed that I’d not been able to show Alana and some of the others our newly renovated dower house yet.
But having been subjected to enough of Mrs. Birnam’s daggered criticisms, I was not about to invite her to direct it at my new home with which I was so pleased.
Bevington Park was, in actuality, my father-in-law’s estate.
And Bevington Hall, the manor house, was more than large enough for Lord Gage, my husband—his only son and heir—as well as me and our daughter.
It was more than large enough, in fact, for the six dozen guests that would be arriving by the end of the week.
We feared, however, it was not large enough for us to coexist peacefully for long.
Truth be told, before the events of the previous summer, I could not have imagined living in such close proximity to my father-in-law.
He’d not only held me in contempt, but he’d been harsh and demanding with his son.
However, a brush with death and the birth of his first grandchild had wrought a number of changes in him, and he and my husband had begun to heal their contentious relationship.
There was more mutual respect and understanding between them than ever, but Gage and I knew his father would never entirely abandon his manipulative nature.
So we’d decided it would be in all of our best interests not to be caught living in one another’s pockets.
Still, Bevington Park was Gage’s birthright.
He would inherit it upon his father’s death, and I knew he already felt a responsibility to it.
The future prosperity of the estate and all who relied upon it would, to a great extent, lie on his shoulders, so it behooved him to become familiar with the land, its workings, and its tenants while the current Lord Gage was still living.
Consequently, when Gage’s father had suggested we refurbish the dower house and make it our country home, after a brief deliberation, we’d agreed.
An estate’s dower house was normally utilized by the dowager—the current lord’s predecessor’s widow, often his mother—but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be used for another purpose.
Bevington Park’s dower house had sat empty for a number of years, but most of it remained in good condition, if outdated.
The cottage was situated in a wooded glade, perhaps a mile and a half’s distance from Bevington Hall itself, down a charming path.
There was also a broader lane that led to it, which had recently been improved upon so that carriages wouldn’t become stuck in the ruts.
I was proud of the alterations we’d made to the cottage, particularly my art studio, and I’d been excited to show my family and friends.
But not if that meant I must also invite Mrs. Birnam, as politeness would dictate.
Any tour would likely have to wait until the end of the week when the bulk of the guests arrived at Bevington Park, swelling the number of guests to over fifty.
Then our absence would not be so conspicuous.
In any case, for the duration of the house party, Gage and I, and our young daughter, had been forced to move back into the suite of rooms we’d formerly occupied at the hall.
Lord Gage was a widower, and as his daughter-in-law, the duties of hostess had fallen to me.
Duties I couldn’t perform properly from across the park.
While we’d only been here three days, I was already missing the comforts and solitude afforded to us at the dower house.
“A number of Lord Gage’s political friends and their wives will be arriving this evening,” I told Alana, striving to keep the nerves that fluttered in my stomach from showing. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance tomorrow for a tour.”
This was doubtful. Only two of the six men were currently married, and I would be expected to entertain their wives. A task that I suspected was going to be made even more difficult by Mrs. Birnam.
Alana reached up to touch my shoulder, stilling my fidgeting with the flowers. “They look lovely.” She offered me an encouraging smile before glancing about us. “Everything looks lovely.”
I dropped my arms, fussing instead with the fabric at the sides of my white skirt patterned with wavy blue dots.
I should have known better than to think I could fool my sister.
She’d been caring for me since our mother died when I was eight years old, and she was adept at reading my moods and idiosyncrasies.
“Do you think so?” I asked, unable to stop myself from seeking her reassurance and approval.
She grasped my hands, quietening them again before adjusting the gold broach at the center of my scalloped lace collar. “I do.”
I nodded, trusting she wasn’t lying. Alana didn’t do that. Not even to placate me.
I inhaled past the tightness in my chest. “Then I suppose it’s time we rejoined the Birnams and Lorna for tea.” I gasped. “Oh dear! Lorna. Have you left her alone with them all this time?”
Lorna was Gage’s cousin Alfie’s wife and hence the Viscountess of Tavistock, but her upbringing had also been rather unconventional.
She was the illegitimate child of a viscount, and her mother had raised her in an isolated cottage on Dartmoor.
I preferred to judge a person on their character and not the happenstances of their birth, but I was well aware that not everyone was so rational.
Society’s gossipmongers had certainly enjoyed chewing on this tidbit when Lorna and Alfie married, but had discarded it swiftly enough in favor of tastier morsels.
Two years had passed since their hasty wedding, and I’d been somewhat surprised that Mrs. Birnam was even aware of Lorna’s past. Apparently, she read the gossip rags.
She’d felt no qualms about displaying her censure of the viscountess.
“No, Lorna had already gone out to the gardens to check on her sons.” Based on Alana’s sly smile, I guessed this was meant to imply that Lorna had also been escaping the Birnams, as the nursemaids undoubtedly had all the children in hand.
Lorna’s elder boy, Rory—named in honor of Alfie’s deceased younger brother—was just eighteen months old, and her younger, Sherry, barely four months.
“When are the men due to return?” Alana asked, moving toward the window through which one could glimpse the stables beyond a small copse of trees.
“Soon, I suspect.”
All of the men had ventured out that morning for a spot of hunting, but I knew it was Malcolm, Alana’s oldest child, she was chiefly thinking about.
He was on summer holiday from school, having recently completed his first year away.
Though she tried to hide it, I knew Alana had missed him terribly and was struggling to adjust to the changes in her son.
Malcolm was growing up, in more ways than one, and this was the first time he’d been deemed mature enough to join the hunting party of men rather than remaining in the schoolroom and nursery.
I linked my arm with my sister’s, towing her toward the door. “Come. If I know anything about men, it’s that as soon as the refreshments are brought out, they’ll arrive at the door, having smelled them from halfway across the park.”
Alana smiled faintly at my jest. “Malcolm will. I vow he’s grown another two inches just in the fortnight since we collected him from school.”
“Soon he’ll be taller than you.”
“And you,” she retorted. We were almost identical in height.
I grinned, not being ruffled by this fact. Not when my firstborn had only recently begun toddling.
“You just wait,” my sister warned.
I patted her hand where it rested against my arm. “I know, dearest. I’m sure I shall get my comeuppance.”
Alana narrowed her eyes, recognizing I was appeasing her.
“Until then, you can enjoy my being chastised by Mrs. Birnam for abandoning her.”