Amanda Scott (4 page)

Lord Michael glanced at Anne, and she was surprised to see indecision in his gaze. Then he said, “Her ladyship will meet him at dinner. That is soon enough.”

Anne had been looking around during their exchange, and was glad to see that the house had been better cared for than the gardens. The lofty entrance hall was large and well-appointed with enormous twin fireplaces facing each other from either end, but the hall was not by any means the most imposing feature of Upminster Priory, as she discovered when Lord Michael took her through the pedimented doorway opposite the front door.

A soaring toplit oval staircase with cantilevered stairs and an intricately designed wrought-iron balustrade filled the center of the main block of the great house. Even with the darkening skies outside, light from the domed skylight overhead filled the stairwell. At the gallery landing, Lord Michael paused and said matter-of-factly, “The library, dining room, and yellow drawing room are found on the first floor. The state apartments are arranged in a circle around the stairwell on this level, and are thought to be very fine. This part of the house was used to be frequently open to the public, but I have put a stop to that practice for the present.”

“I am persuaded that while the family is in mourning, sir—and with a reduced staff—you chose the wisest course.”

“Yes, perhaps, though those were not my sole reasons. We pass through the state drawing room,” he said, nodding to the left. “The family apartments are beyond in the southwest wing.”

“I collect, sir, that this building was not the original priory but was built more recently.”

“Yes, the land and its buildings were awarded to an ancestor of mine by Henry VIII at the time of the Dissolution, but the original priory was run down and of no particular beauty, so he razed it to build a more modern house, which has been much augmented over the years. My grandfather, the fourth duke, added the southwest wing less than thirty years ago. You will find the rooms there quite comfortable.”

She wondered suddenly if she would share his bedchamber. Her parents occupied separate rooms, but she realized that many married persons did share a bedchamber, even in noble houses. The image was an unnerving one, as was the one that followed swiftly after it. He would soon want to claim his rights as her husband. That awareness had not escaped her altogether before now, but had, in fact, imposed itself upon her mind at much the oddest moments since the news of her impending nuptials had been broken to her. Before meeting him, she had wondered if he would be a kind man. She had even, more than once, allowed herself the luxury of hoping he might prove to be a gentle lover. Now, thinking of that moment to come, that odd but increasingly familiar little tremor stirred again.

He said, “Is something amiss?”

“No, sir,” she said, turning hastily to accompany him. They passed into the state drawing room, the walls of which were lined with white tabbinet. Curtains and upholstery were blue velvet, and the furniture was constructed of dark, highly polished cherry. A faint scent of damask roses lingered in the air, and Anne noted a potpourri jar on the hearth, but despite the fact that the fire was burning, she saw that the lid had not been removed from the jar and assumed that was done only when the house was to be opened to the public.

Gesturing toward the portrait that took pride of place between two, tall windows, Lord Michael said abruptly, “That is my mother, by Sir Joshua Reynolds.”

Anne nodded. “She was very pretty. At least”—she looked at him in some confusion—“I know the sixth duchess died only a month or so before the duke did, but your mother—”

“—is also deceased,” he said. “She died of influenza when I was a child.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. That jib door yonder by the fireplace leads to service stairs. The house abounds in staircases, but most of them are for the servants’ use, and since those are rather steep and frequently ill lit, you will do better to use the main ones in each wing, or the central stair.”

“I collect that the house is very large,” Anne said.

“Large enough, certainly larger than my own house at Egremont,” he said, “but I daresay there are larger houses in England. Chatsworth is larger, certainly.”

Anne nodded. She had never seen Derbyshire’s most celebrated stately home, but so famous was it that she imagined it must be one of the largest in the world, not just in England. “The Priory is much larger than Rendlesham, too,” she said.

“You will become accustomed to it,” he said.

They passed into a corridor lined with windows on both sides, and Anne saw that it connected the main block with a more modern wing. The rooms looked over the river and were backed by a continuation of the connecting corridor, which became a sort of long gallery overlooking flower gardens, lawns, and part of what appeared to be the stables, set against darkening parkland and a hillside sharply rising into black clouds pierced by jagged lightning flashes. Even inside the corridor, the air felt muggy and filled with the electrical tension of the impending storm.

“My rooms are here,” Lord Michael said, indicating a pair of ornately carved doors. “My bedchamber is the first, then my dressing room. Your dressing room and bedchamber lie just beyond. Your dressing room connects with mine.”

Repressing a sigh of relief that they would not share a bedchamber, Anne said quickly, “And the children’s rooms, sir? Where are they located?”

“On the next floor.”

“And the schoolroom?” she persisted. “I collect, since His Grace is at home now, that he does not go to school.”

“Dukes of Upminster are traditionally educated at home,” Lord Michael said, adding sardonically, “Only their brothers are sent away to school. That tradition may soon change, however. The Mr. Appleby Bagshaw mentioned was His Grace’s latest tutor.”

“Latest?”

“Latest.”

“I see.”

“Here you are.” He opened the door to a bedchamber decorated in varying tones of gold and dark crimson.

“Good gracious,” Anne exclaimed, staring in undisguised dismay at the heavy, ornate tapestries covering the walls. These were augmented by gold-and-scarlet striped curtains and bed curtains, a garish red, purple, and yellow Turkey carpet, and richly upholstered and gilded furniture, all certainly elaborate enough for royalty. She looked into the adjoining dressing room, and found it much the same. “How … how sumptuous!”

“Do you think so? I never liked it much, but Agnes was fond of bright colors, I suppose, since it was her bedchamber. It has certainly been redone since my mother occupied it, for I remember her surrounded by pastels and flowery fabrics. That image is so clear in my mind, in fact, that when I recall it, I can even smell her perfume. Like lilacs,” he added, looking around as if he were seeing the room differently now. He collected himself at once, however, and turned back to her, saying in his customary firm way, “The bell is there by the bed if you wish to ring for someone to assist you. I believe the second coach will arrive soon, but if it does not, you need not worry about your appearance. Just tidy yourself as best you can. We rarely stand on ceremony these days.” A moment later he was gone.

Anne soon realized she could see the triple-arched bridge from her windows. She could also see ever-darkening clouds from the north, moving closer, their approach announced by more frequent rolls and crashes of thunder. The sun no longer peeped over the western hills, and she knew it would not be long before its last lingering red glow would be gone. She wished the storm would break soon, then scolded herself, knowing that Maisie would not thank her for hoping the rain would come before the second carriage reached the Priory.

Wasting no time, she set Juliette on the bed and rang for a maidservant to assist with her ablutions. The kitten’s plaintive mew reminded her that she was not the only one requiring assistance.

The chambermaid who responded to the bell proved to be an extremely pretty young girl, wide-eyed and nervous. She wore a simple blue frock with a white cambric apron and a mobcap from which a few light brown curls had escaped. Bobbing a curtsy, she said, “I be Frannie, m’lady. Mr. Bagshaw—That is, Mrs. Burdekin said I were to help you till your own woman arrives.”

“Thank you, Frannie. Send for hot water, if you please. I see that the towels are fresh ones—”

“Oh, yes, m’lady. Oh, I beg your pardon! I oughtn’t to be interrupting your ladyship, but Mrs. Burdekin wouldn’t never allow musty towels to be set out. Why, she’d have a fit, she would, and if she didn’t, surely Mr. Bagshaw would. Just hot water, ma’am? Nothing else?”

“On the contrary,” Anne said, recognizing a tendency to chatter that would no doubt annoy Frannie’s superiors more than any lack of fresh towels. She smiled in her friendly way and, picking up the kitten, said, “This is Juliette, Frannie. She is a trifle nervous of these new surroundings, but you may pet her if you like.”

Frannie put out a hand only to snatch it back. “That’s a black cat,” she said. “They be pernicious bad luck, m’lady.”

Patiently Anne said, “Juliette has white hairs on her chin, Frannie. See there.” She scratched the kitten’s chin, and it raised its head, beginning to purr.

“Oh, she’s precious,” Frannie said, succumbing. “Such a sweet face she has.”

“Juliette is not accustomed to being very much out of doors,” Anne explained. “She will require a box of torn paper and a private space of her own, perhaps a screened corner in my dressing room.”

Frannie understood at once, and said, “There be a powder closet, ma’am, that won’t be much used, unless you be wishful to have your hair powdered sometimes.”

“No, that will suit Juliette excellently well.”

Frannie hurried to attend to these details, and Anne put the kitten down again and, as soon as her hot water arrived, began to wash her face and hands. The outside light was nearly gone, and when Frannie, having attended to the kitten’s requirements—including the provision of a bowl of tidbits to tempt Juliette’s appetite—suggested that she ought to draw the curtains and light several branches of candles, Anne agreed at once.

“And light the fires here and in the next room as well, Frannie,” she said. “My woman will be chilled through when she arrives, but I know she will want to begin unpacking at once. I just hope she is not so foolish as to begin doing so before she has had her dinner.”

“I’ll tell her, ma’am. I’m to help her in any way I can.”

Thanking her, Anne noted by the clock on the mantel that it was nearly seven. Realizing that Lord Michael’s allotted hour was all but gone, she said, “You may direct me to the dining room now, if you will be so kind, Frannie.”

“Yes, my lady, and then shall I come back here to look after Juliette whilst you dine?”

“That will not be necessary,” Anne told her. “She will be quite safe here so long as the door is kept firmly shut. She mustn’t be allowed to wander about, however, until she has grown more accustomed to her new surroundings.”

Frannie looked disappointed but Anne was sure that neither the housekeeper nor the stately butler would be pleased to have the maid’s services usurped on behalf of a small black cat.

As they passed Lord Michael’s dressing room, Anne heard the murmur of his voice and wondered if the young duke had returned. The rooms seemed to be fairly soundproof, for she could hear only enough to be certain it was Lord Michael’s deep voice she heard. She could not discern his words.

Frannie, noting her glance, said, “Did you wish to speak with his lordship, ma’am?”

“Oh, no,” Anne said, startled by the notion of interrupting him, even if he were speaking only with his valet. Since it had not occurred to her that she might interrupt him, the thought that, as his wife, she could do so struck her forcibly. Clearly there were things associated with the married state that would take some getting used to.

She smiled at Frannie in what she hoped was a confident manner and said, “Since he is apparently occupied, I daresay there will be time for you to help me get my bearings before I must go downstairs. I have seen the state drawing room, but you can show me the other state apartments, Frannie.”

Wax candles burned in all the rooms she entered, and fires crackled in hooded fireplaces behind sturdy fenders in most of them. When she and Frannie descended the spiral stairs, the skylight overhead was dark, but candles in wall sconces and candelabra below on side tables in the hall lighted their way.

Bagshaw met them at the entrance to the dining room, bowing in his stately way, and saying, “You will wish to await the gentlemen in the drawing room, madam. This way, if you please. Frances, you may return to your duties.”

Anne thanked Frannie and obediently followed the butler to a doorway leading from the rear of the stair hall into a spacious room with yellow-striped wallpaper and white moldings, which was clearly much used by the family. At the moment, it smelled of candle wax, furniture polish, and damp dog. A large retriever, curled on the hearth rug, lifted its head to look solemnly at her but took no exception to her entrance, merely thumping its tail a time or two before lowering its head again to its paws.

“Do you require anything further, madam?” Bagshaw asked.

Before she could assure him that she did not, another voice spoke. “Thought we were dining at seven, Bagshaw. Where the devil’s Michael? Ought to be here to present me to his bride, by Jove? Dashed uncivil of him to leave us to present ourselves.”

Turning her head, Anne beheld a plump, fashionably dressed gentleman with thick, graying hair and side whiskers, who boasted some fifty years in his dish. He held a slim cane but did not seem to require its use, for he held it out with a distinct flair as he made his bow, saying, “Ashby St. Ledgers, at your service, ma’am. Pray, don’t refuse to acknowledge me, for it ain’t my fault my dashed, unfeeling nephew has left us to ourselves.”

Anne stepped forward at once, extending her hand in a friendly way. “Of course I will not do any such uncivil thing, sir. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I am afraid Lord Michael has been a trifle delayed.”

“Trying to lay down the law again to Andrew, most likely,” Lord Ashby said, frowning slightly. “Hope the lad don’t put him too much out of curl. That would not suit me just now, I can tell you, but we can’t do much to prevent it, can we?” When she glanced at the lingering butler, he added, “Oh, don’t mind Bagshaw. Ain’t nothing about the family he don’t know.”