Anna Jacobs (22 page)

“He was always burying his head in his books when he was a lad, too. I was surprised he bothered to marry at all. And what good are Latin and Greek to a landowner? I’ll tell you what good - none! Do you think Satherby would be in such good heart if my John had sat in the library reading old books and spouting Latin? No, it wouldn’t!” She spluttered to a halt and stared at him, sighing that he should look so healthy while her own sons were long dead.

When she spoke again, it was more moderately. “Well, your father’s dead now, and you seem to have more idea of your duty than he did, at least, so I’ll not say any more about it.”

“It isn’t duty,” he said simply, “but love of the land.”

This time the look she cast him was more friendly. “Well, young man, we’ll have to wait and see whether you can feel the same way about Satherby.” She remembered a further point of grievance and glowered at him abruptly. “But with a name like Crispin, you never can tell. What on earth got into your father to call you that?”

He couldn’t repress a quick smile. The old lady was just as rude as his father had always said, but Crispin rather liked her spirit. Most women of her age did little but sit and gossip, or hug their fires. She was still doing her duty, even though she was confined to a wheeled chair and twisted with arthritis. Besides, she was the grandmother of his darling, so he owed her a great deal of respect and tolerance, for Eleanor’s sake. “It was my mother’s choice of name, I believe. I dare say you’ll grow used to it.”

Feeling it would be better to change the subject, he gazed around him with appreciation. “This is a lovely room.”

The Dowager nodded, accepting this tribute as natural, rather than taking it for flattery. “M’father-in-law did it. It was all the vogue in his day. I haven’t cared to change it and hope you won’t, either. People should treasure their inheritance.”

“I wouldn’t think of changing it. That’s the most beautiful Chinese carpet I’ve ever seen. Their colours and designs are always so restful, don’t you think? And this is a superb example of lacquer work.” He moved over to a cabinet and began to stroke it with knowing fingers. “My own great-grandmother was rather taken by the Chinese vogue and I was able to preserve her belongings, though my aunt wished to throw them out when my mother died. I have them carefully stored in the attic at home. There’s a cabinet which is almost the twin of this one, but smaller. It would look well in that corner.”

The Dowager blinked. She had thought of training him to preserve Satherby and its treasures, but had never even considered the possibility that he might be able to add to them.

“I’d be very grateful if someone would spare the time to show me round the house, whenever it’s convenient,” Crispin continued, not looking at Eleanor. “I’ve heard a lot about it from my father. I believe that the remains of the old abbey are still standing?”

“Piles of old stones! Should have been cleared away years ago. Watch your step if you go there. It’s dangerous and you’re the only male left to the family now. How long are you staying here?”

Another of his neat bows. “I’m at your disposal for as long as you wish, Aunt Marguerite.”

“We’ll have to see, then.” She was slightly mollified by his remarks, but wasn’t going to show any softening of her attitude toward him until she had got to know him better. She rang the silver bell by her side and a footman answered. “Show Mr Herforth up to his room, if you please, Robert.”

She turned back to Crispin. “I’ve had them prepare the master’s suite for you.” That decision had cost her a wakeful night, but she’d come to the conclusion that she could do no less than give him the respect due to the heir, even though he wasn’t worthy. “It’s yours by right, after all. You can go for a walk in the gardens once you’ve unpacked.”

Eleanor watched him leave, then turned to her grandmother, eager to hear what she said about him.

“He can’t be more than five feet ten. Pity he’s so short. I prefer tall men!” declared her ladyship. “Still, he don’t dress like a man-milliner, I’ll give him that. And he looks you in the eye, as a gentleman should. I can’t abide fellows with shifty eyes. But there’s no hint of Graceover in him, none at all. I’m disappointed in that. Your grandfather would have been heartbroken to see the estate pass from the true line.”

“Yes, what a pity!” agreed Eleanor. “Why!” she smiled as if the idea had only just occurred to her. “I’m the only one left of the true line now, aren’t I?”

The Dowager treated her to a puzzled stare, as if she’d said something strange.

Satisfied that she’d planted a seed, Eleanor asked innocently, “What did you think of him, Bea?”

“He seemed pleasant enough. Good looking in a quiet way, I suppose.” She spoke only to fill the silence, but was surprised to receive a beaming smile from Eleanor.

“Well,” declared the Dowager, “the fellow talks sense, at any rate. Which is more than his father ever did.” For her, that was tantamount to an admission that Mr Herforth had made a favourable first impression upon her.

They continued to sit in state in the salon, awaiting their other guests. Beatrice tried to occupy herself with her embroidery, but the stitches went sadly awry. Eleanor chatted to her grandmother, encouraging the old lady to tell them about her youth, which usually put her in a good humour, but though her ladyship obliged automatically, it was plain that her heart wasn’t in her reminiscences today.

They had not long to wait for the next arrival. Beatrice’s heart lurched at the sound of wheels on the gravel, and she gripped her embroidery tightly. Was this him? She was both longing and dreading to see him again.

“Shall I go and peep through the window to see who it is, Grandmamma?” asked Eleanor, winking at Beatrice.

“Certainly not! A lady never peeps through windows! A lady maintains a calm decorum at all times.”

But it was to be seen that the Dowager’s own mouth was tense and her hand was fidgeting on the silver handle of her cane.

After a while, the door opened and the butler appeared. “Mr and Mrs. Smeathley, your Ladyship, and Mr Augustus Smeathley.”

The Dowager’s face briefly registered disappointment then became calm again.

The trio who entered were rather a surprise to everyone. All three were very tall and stately, with dark hair and pale complexions. They moved like a matched set of carriage horses. The two older Smeathleys showed a certain embonpoint and the darkness of their hair was touched with silver, but this in no way detracted from their massive dignity or from their startling resemblance to each other.

As for the son, he was not only tall, but handsome, though in a restrained sort of way. His face had the clearly-etched profile and alabaster complexion of a Greek statue, his dark hair curled immaculately across his brow and his movements were graceful and studied. He looked like a man who expected life to serve him with many favours and who had not yet been disappointed.

Beatrice’s heart sank at the sight of him.

Eleanor, on the other hand, brightened visibly as the full glory of Augustus Smeathley burst upon them. What a piece of luck! He was so handsome she could pretend to have fallen in love with him on sight, in spite of his advanced age. She waited for the trio to salute the Dowager, which they did with the air of imperial ambassadors greeting a minor king, and continued to observe them carefully as they were presented to Beatrice.

She noticed that Augustus Smeathley studied her aunt very shrewdly indeed as he took her hand. That man has come here to see if he can get a bargain for himself, she thought. He wouldn’t do for Bea, even if she didn’t love someone else. She studied his calculating expression again. She didn’t like him very much, however handsome he was. There was something oily about him.

As he turned from Beatrice and took Eleanor’s hand, however, she allowed her eyelids to flutter and gazed up at him with a dazed expression on her face, as if she were quite stunned by his magnificence. He bowed over her hand and for a few seconds the calculating expression showed itself again, to be quickly wiped away and replaced by a smile. “My dear Cousin Eleanor, how very delighted I am to meet you!” he said, in a caressing, mellifluous voice.

You, sir, are a calculating hypocrite, she thought to herself, as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. I shall have no qualms about deceiving you.

“Oh, I’m delighted to meet you too, Mr Smeathley,” she whispered shyly, making her voice soft and silly like that of Caroline Bunnington, who lived down the road and became quite idiotish at the mere sight of an eligible male. “I’ve heard so-o-o much about you!”

It was very hard to keep her face straight as she said this, but by dint of thinking of Crispin and imagining she was addressing him instead, she managed it.

Mr Smeathley patted her hand, which he still retained in his own. “And I’ve heard a lot about you, too, my dear Cousin Eleanor.”

The Dowager harrumphed loudly.

He at once relinquished the hand and turned to give Lady Marguerite his very best attention.

When he stole another glance sideways, Eleanor dimpled at him and was pleased to see him pause in mid-sentence for a moment, before continuing to speak to the Dowager. Heavens, would he never stop talking? And why was her grandmother looking so pleased, nodding so often? Not many people could have her smiling like that.

When at last the second set of visitors was dispatched to their rooms, Eleanor managed, by means of picturing the time when she would be married to Crispin, to maintain a dreamy expression on her face, which had both the Dowager and Beatrice staring at her and then exchanging puzzled glances.

“What do you think of ‘em, Bea?” asked her ladyship. “Good looking, ain’t he, young Smeathley?”

“I suppose so, Aunt Marguerite.”

“We’ll have to see what he’s like to get along with, though. First impressions aren’t everything, not where husbands are concerned. That voice will sound excellent in a church, but it might be hard to live with. He’s born to be a bishop, though, with that voice and face.”

“I’d just love to hear him preach!” sighed Eleanor.

The Dowager frowned at her and said pointedly. “Bea, you’d better make sure you sit next to him at dinner. Start getting to know him. His parents haven’t changed a bit. Always were full of their own importance, but they won’t give us much trouble as long as we feed ‘em well and supply ‘em with plenty of newspapers and journals. That side of Alfred’s family always was a little dull. Surprised they even managed to produce someone like this Augustus.”

The parents might be dull, but the son is a sharp customer and the way he was toad-eating Grandmamma made me feel quite nauseated! thought Eleanor. It’s going to be hard to pretend to be in love with him, especially with Crispin in the same house. And I’ll have to find a way to get Crispin alone and tell him what I’m doing.

Beatrice was staring down at her lap, wishing desperately that her coming ordeal were over. She kept thinking she heard carriage wheels on the gravel of the drive, then wondering whether it was disappointment or gladness she felt at the thought of seeing Justin Serle once more.

“Did you not hear what I said, Bea?” repeated the Dowager sharply.

Beatrice jumped. “What? Oh, yes, Aunt Marguerite. Sit next to Mr Smeathley at table.” She had taken a violent dislike to the man on first sight, for all his polished address, but dared not say so yet. His ordered curls and well-manicured white hands filled her with revulsion and besides, he had lingered over Eleanor’s hand, as if she were the one he had been brought there to meet. Perhaps he had other game in view?

But what she simply could not understand was why had Eleanor been looking so soulfully at him. Surely she couldn’t have been taken in by a stuffed shirt like him? But then, she had met so very few eligible gentlemen that anything was possible. They knew nothing of how susceptible she was to good-looking gentlemen.

Oh, heavens, this nightmare of a house party was growing worse by the minute!

* * * *

It wasn’t until just before the dressing gong rang that the third carriage arrived and by this time, the Dowager was twitching with annoyance and fatigue. “About time, too,” she grumbled as the sound of wheels and trotting horses came closer and closer.

When Justin Serle was shown into the Chinese Salon, Beatrice’s heart started to thud, in spite of her resolve to remain calm. He was as handsome as ever, and even after a journey, he managed to look supremely elegant. But his expression, when he looked at her, was inscrutable - or was she reading too much into it? What did he think of this visit? Why had he come? How was she to make him realize that it was Eleanor he was there to meet, not her?

He was bowing over her aunt’s hand. “I must apologize, your Ladyship, for coming in to greet you without changing my clothes, but your butler insisted on it, since you dine early.”

The Dowager took his hand and stared up at him. “You look like just your grandmother,” she said in a shaken voice. “I hadn’t expected that. Same hair. Same eyes. Elizabeth’s smile.”

It wasn’t often the Dowager allowed her vulnerability to show, and Beatrice’s heart went out to her. How terrible it must be to be the last survivor of your generation and to see all your friends and relatives die before you! Well, Aunt Marguerite should not have her dying wishes thwarted, if her niece could help it. Serle was still smiling down at the twisted figure in the wheeled chair. How genuine his smile was compared to Smeathley’s.

Beatrice didn’t realize that her own expression had become as dreamy as that of her niece when facing Augustus Smeathley, but Eleanor did not miss a single nuance. Fancy Bea feeling like Crispin and I do, she thought in awe. At her age! I hope Mr Serle feels the same way about her.

“I’m honoured that you think I resemble my grandmother, your Ladyship.” Justin’s voice was gentle. “I have no recollection of her, unfortunately, but her portrait hangs in our picture gallery and it’s always been one of my favourites. She looks as if she smiled a lot.”

“She did smile a lot. She did indeed.” The Dowager took a deep breath and recollected herself.