Chapter Three #3
Louisa laughed. ‘I am a duke’s daughter, a duke’s sister.
My dear William might just have been a banker, but everyone was sure there could be nothing amiss with my manners.
I usually have no lack of summer invitations, but I do admit the quantity has gone up precipitously since you came to visit.
Even the Mrs Astor at Beechwood has asked us to tea.
She is a far tougher nut to crack than Queen Victoria. ’
She studied a honey-coloured stone house thoughtfully as they passed, its multitude of windows glittering like diamonds. ‘It would be easier if I had my own cottage here. One is never sure with renting, and a hotel is out of the question. I should so like to issue my own invitations!’
And that would no doubt be possible with a wealthy niece-in-law behind her, Benedict thought. His aunt loved him, yes, but she also had many reasons to help him now. Their whole family counted on his success on the marriage market.
But, even with his grim duty hovering around every corner, Benedict had to admit it was a lovely day and he intended to enjoy it.
He’d sometimes gone to the seaside at Margate with his nanny as a child, and had treasured those days of escape.
Yet those rocky beaches had been rather grey and small compared to this vista: the rolling dunes leading to sparkling lapis water; the dramatic crash of the waves; the hidden coves; it was beautiful.
He thought of a few shops he’d managed to slip out to visit alone while his aunt had been occupied with calls and letters: real shops, places to buy cheese, fish and bread, as well as bookshops.
The people were families who lived in the town all year round, shopkeepers and fishermen, wary but friendly, open to answer his questions when he showed interest. He wished he could get to know them better, hear their tales of the sea, the real gossip of the town.
But that seemed as impossible as flying to the moon.
Louisa had teas, tennis parties and dances all lined up to fill the days now.
And ladies to meet. He couldn’t forget that.
‘Oh, look, there is Mrs Van der Lan and her daughters!’ Louisa said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘And Miss Livingston. Aren’t they pretty? The Van der Lan father is in steel, I believe.’
Benedict nodded at the cluster of ladies as they drove past. One of them attempted a wobbling curtsy, and nearly toppled over. ‘Very pretty.’
‘I knew you would find American girls so much more stylish and vivacious! I was shocked when I was last in London and saw the latest crop of debutantes. So pale and quiet! And their frocks so out of date. An American girl will be so much more fun for you.’ She reached over and squeezed his arm.
‘You could do with some fun, my dear. You’re young! You should enjoy things more.’
He smiled down at her. He knew she cared deep down, and not just about the fortunes of the family, but about him and his happiness. He would do his duty, of course, and he didn’t want her to see how grim the prospect was.
He noticed a pair of gates they drove past, elaborate wrought-iron topped with gilded Celtic crosses—very unusual. ‘What is that place? They could give Windsor Castle some lessons on gates and walls.’
Louisa tilted her head under her flowered hat to study the roof peeking up from the trees.
‘Ah, I see the scaffolding is all down for the grand reveal! Shore’s Edge, the new cottage being built by Connor and May O’Neill—the self-made Irish millionaire who married a Knickerbocker aristocrat.
You remember, we accepted an invitation to their housewarming ball?
The party is sure to be a great success, especially with a duke in attendance. ’
She gestured towards the gatehouse, a brick-faced pale stone that was as grand as any family home. ‘It’s quite fine, isn’t it? They say the design is based on the Grand Trianon. And to think of May Van der Berg’s grandmother’s old house on Spring Street! What a difference.’
He remembered Aunt Louisa had said the millionaire also had a sister. He studied the new, elegant, shining gates and gatehouse and thought of Rollston, everything crumbling away, everyone looking to him to fix it.
A lady suddenly emerged from the top of one of the paths that led to the sea cliffs and darted across the pavement.
She wore a stylish blue walking dress, but her hair was coming unpinned beneath a crookedly placed straw hat.
She walked with an easy, long-legged stride, and it reminded him of… something…someone.
He remembered watching Jane hurry into her house all those years before.
He remembered how she’d walked—not just the quick rush of her steps, but the feeling she’d left behind.
She moved with a kind of effortless grace, not dramatic, not trying to be noticed, but impossible not to watch.
There was such a quiet confidence in it, moving towards something beautiful that only she could see.
Then the lady slipped through the gates and was lost to view, the memory broken like a bubble on the air.
‘You are quite right, Aunt Louisa,’ he murmured. ‘American girls are different.’