Lord Greywell's Dilemma (12 page)

What Greywell was remembering was another carriage ride, after his first wedding, an affair so different from this one as to make this look a shabby occasion in comparison. Caroline had wanted a full society wedding, with all the trimmings, and he had obliged. Everything had been of the first elegance, with all the ton in attendance. They had been married in the spring, three and a half years ago, when the weather was warm with promise and flowers bloomed in hopeful profusion. They had left the festivities in this very carriage, but they had not sat silent as he and Elspeth did now.

Caroline had cuddled against him, chattering away happily about anything and everything that came to her mind. She hadn’t seen Ashfield but she was already planning changes she would make, telling him she would make their home the most sought-after of country residences. “Everyone will want to come and visit us,” she had promised. “We will give the most delightful house parties.”

“Let’s have a little time alone together first,” he had laughed, kissing the pert little nose, and then the full, provocative lips. Her mouth had trembled under his, eager and yet hesitant. He had been so careful, guiding her toward the consummation of their marriage. Her inexperience had been wondrous to behold, her willingness to learn a charge on his patience and care. She was only eighteen at the time, a woman protected and untried, but she had loved him, had wanted to please him. During that carriage ride they had progressed, slowly, inevitably, toward the bedchamber that night. Greywell was not aware that he uttered a low moan.

“Are you all right?” Elspeth asked.

It was the wrong voice, shattering his memories to leave the present in all its stark reality. “Of course,” he said, a little curtly. Though he reminded himself she had no way of knowing what she’d done, he could feel a slight resentment developing in him. This pious woman, in her somber gray gown, could never replace his beloved Caroline, who had been full of joy and light and tenderness. “I wish you would do something for me,” he said.

“Whatever I can,” she replied, pleasant, though she was a little alarmed by his forbidding expression.

“You may think that because Ashfield is still a house of mourning it’s necessary to dress in a subdued manner. I wish you will not. What we all need there is a little color and brightness, for the child’s sake. We have been too somber these last months, quite naturally, of course, but it’s time we changed that. Shop for a new wardrobe, if necessary. You’re aware of the quarterly allowance you’ll have at your disposal; if it proves insufficient you have only to speak to me—or write me when I’m in Vienna. I don’t want you to have to spend your own money.”

“The allowance seemed extraordinarily generous.” Elspeth wondered if it was the same as allotted his first wife, and if so, how she had managed to spend the half of it. “Most of my dresses are a little somber. Is there a decent modiste in Coventry?”

Caroline had done all her shopping in London. “I’m sure there must be. You can ask Emily Marden. She’s a neighbor, and she’s always well dressed. You might want to get a recommendation from her for a personal maid, too. Caroline’s maid returned to London.”

Elspeth was relieved to hear it. Nothing would have pleased her less than to deal with a woman who had been her predecessor’s advocate. She didn’t bother to tell Greywell that she felt perfectly capable of choosing her own maid. But by the time she got around to that task, he would probably already be gone, and there was no need to upset him unduly. “I shall certainly speak with Mrs. Marden.”

“Good. I’ve instructed Mrs. Green to prepare the Blue Bedchamber for you. It was my mother’s room, but you may find you need to do a little refurbishing when you have the time. That sort of expense will come from the household fund, which will be under your administration entirely while I’m abroad. Mrs. Green will ask your approval of certain expenditures, and I think you’ll have no reason to quibble with them. She’s been housekeeper at Ashfield for twenty years or so. I’ve always found her entirely trustworthy.”

His voice droned on, explaining arrangements at Ashfield, instructing her in the things she would need to know. But Elspeth had spent a hectic two days, and her exhaustion caught up with her as the carriage swayed gently along the toll road. Greywell discovered, midway through an exposition on estate management, that she had fallen asleep. She still sat almost upright in her corner of the carriage, her head slightly drooping on her chest, her hands folded calmly in her lap. Her new husband was irrationally annoyed. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember anyone who had fallen asleep when he was talking, and certainly not in the middle of the day.

They had intended to stop for refreshment in Brackley. Elspeth was still sound asleep when they reached the town. Greywell, a note of long-suffering in his voice, directed that a change of horses be made and a packet of bread, cold meats, and cheeses be sent out to them. He could have gotten out and stretched his legs, perhaps even had a glass of ale, but he staunchly refused to move with Elspeth soundly sleeping on the seat beside him. She would have been perfectly safe, of course, but he needed the small sacrifice to fuel his resentment. Elspeth was not Caroline; this wedding day was nothing like his previous one. Greywell was determined to feel sorry for himself.

When Elspeth finally awoke, an hour out of Brackley, she did not apologize for falling asleep, since she wasn’t aware she had fallen asleep when he was speaking. “I’m famished” were the first words she spoke.

Greywell had not opened the packet of food, though he was himself quite hungry, and had been for the last hour. With a weary elegance he produced the food wrapped in its mundane brown paper and set it on the seat opposite them. “We passed through Brackley while you were asleep.”

Something in his tone made her eye him warily. “You should have wakened me.”

“I was sure you needed your rest more than a meal just then. This way we’ll lose less time on the road.”

The cheese smelled delicious, and Elspeth reached across to help herself, but there was no knife to cut the bread or the cheese. “It’s rather like a picnic,” she said, breaking off a chunk of each with her fingers. “No one ever remembers to bring the cutlery on a picnic.”

Greywell considered this a criticism of his planning, even though she spoke cheerfully. “I’m not in the habit of dining in a carriage. The inn at Brackley has a remarkably fine private parlor, where I have stopped innumerable times on my way to and from London. My intention had been to eat there.”

“Oh, I know. Really, I don’t mind this at all. It was clever of you to think of bringing  something with us.”

Greywell considered this condescending and an obvious attempt to cajole him out of his bad mood. “It isn’t my preferred method of dining.”

Elspeth lost patience with him. “I can see that, Greywell, but you might as well make the best of it. I certainly intend to. There’s beef and lamb and something I can’t identify. Shall I make you a sort of sandwich?”

“Thank you, I’ll help myself.” He didn’t like it that she’d called him Greywell, after he’d gotten her to call him David. It set quite the wrong tone to their marriage. He was beginning to wish there were no marriage to have a tone to it. Finding himself glaring at her, he switched his attention to the food. Elspeth was a great deal more attractive when she was asleep, he decided, remembering how her face had softened and the long eyelashes had curved up from her cheeks. A stray curl had fallen down under her chin, bouncing gaily with the movement of the carriage. Awake, she looked prim once again, and her words refused to please him, no matter what she said.

Elspeth had begun to realize this and resolved to say nothing further until absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, in the short span of time she’d known him, she’d had no opportunity to observe him in a bad temper. Her father’s moods were no mystery to her, and she assumed that in time she would be able to accommodate herself to Greywell’s, but it would take time to learn them, and for the present she was determined to do nothing which would further annoy him. Then, too, she was a little annoyed with the fastidious way he was partaking of their picnic. One would think he’d never before been forced to eat anything with his fingers!

Their ride, in profound silence, seemed to last for an agonizingly long time. It was dark by the time they reached the turn-off to Daventry, and he turned to her to inquire politely, “Do you wish to break our journey here?”

“I’d just as soon head on to Ashfield, if that’s agreeable with you.”

“Perfectly agreeable.”

The coachman had stopped the carriage at dusk and climbed down to light the lanterns on either side of the vehicle. Their light was so feeble it did nothing to illuminate the surrounding countryside, though it served the purpose of making them visible to other drivers, Elspeth supposed. She had wanted to see what this new area looked like, but had no desire to spend the night at an inn with Greywell, where they would have to pass the time by conversing with one another. In the darkness of the carriage they could each wrap themselves in their private thoughts.

After a while Greywell announced they were passing through Rugby. “I went to school here as a child,” he added. “My mother felt Eton was too far away for a boy of my age.”

Elspeth murmured her acknowledgment of this fascinating tidbit about his past.

The years at Rugby had been much easier for him than for a lot of his contemporaries, he thought now, merely because he’d been so close to home. His parents had visited him regularly, bringing baskets of fruit and boxes of sweetmeats. Caroline had begged him to tell her tales from his schooldays each time they’d passed through Rugby, though at no other time. Apparently Elspeth wasn’t the least interested. Not that he was inclined to regale her with such anecdotes, anyhow.

They were close to Ashfield now. Elspeth could feel it in the way Greywell’s posture changed, by the way he gazed through the carriage window, looking for familiar landmarks, no doubt.

A journey’s end always engendered a certain impatience in her. She began to pull on her gloves, which she’d removed much earlier to eat and hadn’t bothered to replace because she’d held them in her muff. Her hat was crooked and the ribbons untied, her dress crumpled from the long nap when she hadn’t been paying attention. She did her best to rearrange herself, knowing it was altogether likely Greywell’s staff would be brought together to welcome her.

“We won’t be there for another twenty minutes,” he said.

“It will take me all of twenty minutes to put myself together,” she replied, making a face at him in the darkness.

He had held Caroline’s hand that last four miles, asking, “Are you nervous? Everyone is going to love you.” Caroline hadn’t made faces at him. Greywell had wonderful night vision.

The doors of the house were opened before the carriage came to a standstill. Elspeth had only time to discern that it was a three-story brick structure with stone corner quoins before she was led up the two shallow flights of stairs to the front door. As she had expected, the staff was assembled. She was introduced to the more senior members by her husband, and more briefly to the others by Mrs. Green, who maintained a civil demeanor though her curiosity about the new bride was perfectly obvious to Elspeth. Whether hostility lay beneath the curiosity the new mistress could not tell.

Most of the faces were carefully bland. The one exception was the nursery maid. She was a girl several years younger than Elspeth, and rather prettily plump. Her anxiety shone from large brown eyes and hands she kept firmly clasped over her apron even when she curtsied to Elspeth.

“How does Andrew go on?” Greywell asked her, speaking for almost the first time. No one had congratulated him; he had not expected they would. His own face was drawn. Entering Ashfield with Elspeth was a painful experience for him.

“About as usual, my lord,” she answered. “Bates is with him now.”

Elspeth was eager to meet the wet nurse. “I should like to see Andrew directly,” she told her husband.

“If you would just say a word to the staff first.”

Every eye was on her. Why hadn’t she thought to prepare something to say to them? First impressions were always of such importance. Elspeth forced herself to be calm, and smile at them. “Thank you for your kind welcome. I’m sure we will all work well together. Lord Greywell has sung your praises to me, and I look forward to getting to know each of you better. I shall need your assistance in familiarizing myself with Ashfield and in carrying on when Lord Greywell departs for Vienna. My first objective is to see the child grow in strength and health, a purpose with which I feel sure you are all in accord. With God’s grace we will see him toddling about this very hall, robust and happy, within the next year.”

She nodded her dismissal, accepted Greywell’s arm, and began to climb the Great Staircase, an elaborate mahogany edifice with carved panels on either side. The newel posts were topped with detailed wooden carvings of baskets of fruit, and the walls were hung with magnificent oil paintings, the quality of which she didn’t doubt.

Greywell did not like to compare Elspeth’s speech with the one Caroline had given. After all, Caroline had been only eighteen at the time, and somewhat intimidated by the assembled staff. She had stuttered a little, which had merely served to endear her to everyone. Elspeth had surprised him with her fluency; he had noted the light of alarm in her eyes before she turned to address them. But she had years of experience as mistress of a home not all that much smaller than Ashfield, and her ease had not been as captivating as Caroline’s winsome charm. The servants had awarded Caroline their undying devotion; he imagined they might grudgingly give Elspeth their respect. He would have liked to squeeze her hand where it rested on his arm, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. She didn’t need the reassurance Caroline had needed. Elspeth was altogether a different sort of woman: proud, self-contained, pious. There was no need to tell her she had done well; she would know it.

The nursery was on the top floor, and though it wasn’t quite as depressing as it had looked in Elspeth’s dream, it was hardly a cheery sanctuary, either. Elspeth was surprised at how small the room was, when she had counted three doors coming off the hall before reaching it. Surely there were larger, airier rooms in which the babe could sleep. The wet nurse had a bed opposite the cradle, to be immediately available, day and night. Greywell explained that the nursery maid slept next door.