Authors: Bertrice Small
Deceived (11 page)
What would she do, I wonder, Cally thought, if I told her to go to the devil and called her bluff. But Cally knew what Aurora would do. She never in all their lives had made an idle threat or refused a reasonable dare. She will expose me. Expose our deceit even if it means we will all be ruined. She has a dowry and an income. I have nothing if I am not the Duchess of Farminster. I should have to go back to St. Timothy and live in the old Meredith plantation house with Mama for the rest of my life.
Alone. Thousands of miles from London.
She shuddered.
Alone. Thousands of miles from London.
She shuddered.
“Cally?”
“Oh, call my servants in, Aurora. You have won this round, but I will find a way to repay you for this betrayal, I promise you!”
“You will feel better when we have reached Hawkes Hill,” Aurora said soothingly. “You are exhausted with all your social life.”
“Oh, go to the devil!” Cally said sourly, “And get out!”
Their trip was not unpleasant. Cally sulked and hardly spoke to her, but the landscape outside their carriage while winter still was yet lovely. Their vehicle was comfortable and warm, and very well sprung. The horses were changed at midday when they stopped to refresh themselves at the prearranged inn. Their accommodations were clean and quite satisfactory. There were hot, tasty meals and warm featherbeds with down comforters. Hot water was brought at night to wash, and again in the morning.
When her stepsister's mood refused to lighten, Aurora asked the dowager's permission to ride in her coach with her. She was a far better companion, and very knowledgeable about the country through which they were traveling.
“The road we travel upon was originally built by the Romans,” the dowager informed Aurora. “Do you know about the Romans, girl?”
“A little bit, ma'am. They were an ancient peoples, warlike, considered a great civilization in their time. I did not know, however, that they built roads too.”
“All over England, girl!” She smiled at Aurora. “How is it you know about the Romans? I doubt that bubblehead of a sister of yours knows about Romans, or much of anything else either.”
“Cally was not particularly fond of her studies as George and I were, but she plays the pianoforte beautifully. Has she played for you? She can sing too, and paint,” Aurora defended Calandra.
“How did you convince her to come along so meekly?” the dowager demanded. “She's been sulking ever since we left London, but she came.”
Aurora laughed, pretending to make light of the matter. “Why, ma'am, I just told her if she didn't behave herself, the duke would divorce her, and then she wouldn't be a duchess anymore.”
“Hah!” the dowager barked a sharp laugh. “You certainly know the bubblehead's weak spot, don't you, girl? Aye, that was a good threat. Calandra likes being the Duchess of Farminster.” She looked sharply at Aurora. “I shall have to be careful choosing a husband for you, girl. If he is too weak, you will have no respect for him, and if he is too strong, you will kill each other. You present me with quite a challenge.”
“As my family knows, ma'am, I will marry only for love. Titles and wealth mean little to me. Nevertheless, I will appreciate your efforts in the matter. Perhaps together we shall be successful.” Her gloved hands were folded meekly in her lap, but Mary Rose Hawkesworth was not in the least fooled.
“Are you as stubborn as your sister, then, miss?” she asked.
“I will admit to being stubborn,” Aurora replied, “but you will find me far more reasonable than Cally, I think.”
The dowager chuckled, genuinely amused. It had been a very long time since she had been so taken with someone as she was with Aurora. Again she considered the pity of it that it hadn't been Aurora her dear grandson married instead of the foolish Calandra. Changing the subject, she said, “I believe I have the perfect wife for George, although I will certainly present him with several young ladies that I consider suitable marriage prospects. Still, I have my own personal favorite. I shall tell you about her if you do not tell your brother. He should make up his own mind, of course.”
“I promise, ma'am,” Aurora said.
“Her name is Elizabeth Bowen. She is the eldest daughter of Sir Ronald and Lady Elsie Bowen. Sir Ronald is a baronet with a small estate matching ours. He is the vicar at Farminster village church.”
“Would her family be willing to have their daughter move an ocean away from them, ma'am?” Aurora wondered. “You know that Valerian appointed George to remain in his position as St. Timothy's manager.”
“The Bowens will thank God if Betsy and George are taken with each other. Lady Elsie proved a fecund wife, but she has given her husband five daughters before their son was at last born. Five dowries, and the estate entailed upon the heir. Those poor girls don't have large portions, and cannot expect great marriages. A young man with an income such as your brother's will be considered a treasure.”
“How will he meet her, ma'am?”
“We shall have a ball at Hawkes Hill once we are settled in again. That should please your sister,” the dowager said. Then she yawned. “I am exhausted with all this traveling. I will certainly be glad to be sleeping in my own bed tonight.” She closed her eyes, and very shortly began to snore softly.
Aurora looked out the window of the coach as it rumbled along the road. The landscape was rolling. Here and there the symmetry of the land was broken by isolated hills. They had crossed a great number of brooks, streams, and small rivers along the way. The countryside was heavily wooded, stands of oak and elm and beech vying with orchards that come spring would blossom, and come late summer would give forth a bounteous crop of apples and pears. There were arable fields, their plow ruts frozen with winter's cold. By summer they would be golden with wheat. Herefordshire's greatest wealth was in the sheep and cattle now grazing on the late February hills. The cattle were bred for meat, which for the most part would end up in London. The sheep gave a good wool crop regularly that was woven in the area's many small water-powered mills into fine cloth and yarns.
Most of the farms and small towns they passed by had timber-framed houses with thatched roofs. The churches, even those in the little villages, were, however, constructed of stone, as were the castles and the great houses of nobility. Cally had complained that Hawkes Hill was a big old-fashioned stone house with a slate roof, and nothing to recommend it at all. The dowager, however, had told Aurora that the house dated back to Tudor times, and indeed had been constructed on the ruins of an earlier house that had burned.
The Hawkesworth family had been barons on the estate for longer than anyone could recall. The earldom had come into being when one of the ancestors had done a great favor for King Henry VII. This first Tudor king was noted for being tightfisted. Raising a man in rank was a cheap enough thanks for the king, especially when the man already possessed a large estate. The dukedom, of course, had come through Charles II.
Suddenly the coach began to slow itself, and when it had almost stopped it turned off the high road onto a narrower track. The vehicle bumped along, but the dowager continued to snore on contentedly. Aurora smiled, and drew the lap robe up a bit farther so the old lady would not catch a chill. They were obviously approaching Hawkes Hill Hall. The carriage finally came out of the trees, and Aurora could see the roadway stretching ahead of them across a greensward, and, beyond, upon a hill, was set the hall. It looked almost like a castle with its dark gray stone turrets and towers.
Aurora gently shook her companion. “Ma'am, I believe we are approaching home,” she said.
“Eh? What?” The old lady's eyes flew open, focused, and then she said, “Yes, that is Hawkes Hill. I hope you are going to be very happy here with us, Aurora. At least until you depart a bride.”
“Or return home to St. Timothy,” Aurora replied.
“Do not say such a thing,” the dowager scolded her. “I should consider myself a complete failure, and unable to face your dear mama, if I did not provide you with a good husband, child.”
As the travelers drew up to the house, they found servants waiting to welcome them and take the luggage down from the baggage carts. Calandra swept grandly by everyone, Sally and Moll in her wake, disappearing into the building. The duke ushered his grandmother and his guests inside.
“Welcome to Hawkes Hill,” he said to George and Aurora. “Grandmama, will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”
The dowager held her hands out to the fireplace, then said, “I think not, dear boy. It has been a long trip, and I think I should prefer a tray in my room. I know you understand.”
“Yer grace?” Moll had joined them. “Her grace says she'll take dinner in her room too; and she don't want to be disturbed neither, she says to tell you, sir.” The maidservant curtsied, flushing.
“Tell her grace that I acquiesce tonight, but tomorrow is another matter. Say it just like that, Moll,” the duke instructed the girl, his demeanor serious.
“Yes, yer grace.” Moll curtsied again, almost running from the drawing room where they were all standing.
“Impudent chit!” the dowager muttered. “And to send that poor child to deliver such a message. Valerian, you must do something!”
“I fully intend to, Grandmama.” He turned to George and Aurora.
“Dinner in the country is at seven,” he said. “Peters will show you to your rooms.” He bowed.
The dowager had gone on ahead of them. George and Aurora followed the butler back into the entry hall. Beyond the staircase they could see a large room, probably the old hall, Aurora thought. She was really looking forward to exploring this wonderful house.
It might have been yours,
a wicked little voice in her head reminded her. She pushed the thought away. She had made her choice, and she had to be content to live with it. It was, after all, what she had wanted.
Wasn't it?
It might have been yours,
a wicked little voice in her head reminded her. She pushed the thought away. She had made her choice, and she had to be content to live with it. It was, after all, what she had wanted.
Wasn't it?
“You and the old girl get on quite well,” George whispered as they mounted the broad staircase. “You were in her coach all but the first day. Cally is obviously still in a bad mood.”
“The dowager was far better company than our sister,” Aurora told him. “Besides, I like her. She is intelligent and has wit.”
“What are we to do about Cally?” George persisted.
“Cally is not our concern,” Aurora told her brother. “We helped to get her home, and now the rest is up to the duke. She is his wife. Besides, Lady Mary Rose has plans for you, George. She has lined up a bevy of eligibles from which you must pick a bride.” Aurora chuckled wickedly. “I cannot wait to meet the girl who will ensnare you with melting eyes and maidenly sighs.”
“And what about you, miss?” he demanded.
“First you, George,” Aurora laughed, giving him a gay wave as she entered the bedroom Peters indicated was hers. “I'll see you at dinner, brother dear!” And she blew him a kiss.
“Well, miss, and here you are at last,” Martha said. “ 'Tis a grand house this Hawkes Hill. Just look at this room. Isn't it lovely?”
Aurora looked around, and had to agree with her servant that it was a lovely room. The walls were covered in a creamy silk. The woodwork was painted pale green. The hardwood floors were covered with a rose and green Oriental carpet. The marble fireplace was flanked with a winged angel on either side. The cream and celadon striped draperies were of heavy silk, tied back with heavy gold roping. The mahogany bed had tall turned posts and an arched canopy of cream satin. The matching bed drapes were sprigged with rosebuds. There was a magnificent mahogany chest against one wall; a piecrust table before the windows flanked on either side by upholstered chairs; and by her bedside was the prettiest little side table Aurora had ever seen, atop which was a crystal candlestick with a beeswax candle and a small silver snuffer.
“And,” Martha said, sounding most pleased, “there's a separate dressing room for your clothing, miss, as well as a little room for me so I don't have to climb those stairs into the attic.”
“Then you think we'll be happy here?” Aurora teased her servant.
“We'd have been happier if you knows what,” Martha replied tartly. “Miss Calandra's rooms are at the far end of the hallway. She ain't hardly spoke to you since we left London.”
“She's still angry at me, I fear, for threatening her as I did,” Aurora said. “I far more enjoyed riding with the old dowager.” She sighed. “It is unusual for Cally to have such a prolonged attack of the sulks, but she'll come around in time. After all, I'm all she'll have unless she makes some friends among the local gentry.”
“They won't be tony enough for the likes of our duchess,” Martha decided. Then she said, “Would you like a bath, miss?”
Aurora nodded. “It is to be just George, Valerian, and me at the dinner table, but I think I should make an effort, don't you?”
Martha agreed. Going to the wall, she yanked on the bellpull. It was answered shortly by a housemaid. “My mistress needs a bath,” Martha said. “Would you be kind enough to have hot water brought?”
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