Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Laetitia said as the hackney arrived at Ely Hall later that evening. “The viscount and viscountess are … difficult people.”

I eyed the facade of the great house. It must have been extraordinarily grand once, but now it felt oppressive and vaguely neglected.

“Elizabethan,” murmured Laetitia as we descended from the carriage. “Note the E-shaped structure of the building in the monarch’s honour.”

We stood a moment under the vaulted loggia that marched the length of the building, and I stepped back, looking up at the multitude of towers and turrets reaching into the sky, each topped with a large silver cross that seemed to have lost its shine. There were hundreds of windows, and even in the last light of the day, it was easy to see that many needed their glass replacing, or new casements. It was a gothic nightmare of a place, and when I thought about Ash growing up here, my heart ached a bit.

When the huge front door was opened, we were greeted by a butler and ushered into an entrance hall that knocked the air out of my lungs.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Ash’s voice drifted over as I gawped at the ceiling and walls that surrounded the wide, Y-shaped staircase in front of us.

He came to stand beside me. “It’s called the Hell Staircase,” he said. “The ceiling was painted between 1697 and 1699, the walls around a century later.”

“It’s … extremely powerful,” I managed.

Ash laughed. “How diplomatic.”

What I wanted to say was that the murals that covered the walls and ceiling were like something from a bad dream. The entire ceiling was painted in startling fiery shades of orange and red, featuring the mouth to hell and the Grim Reaper clutching his sickle. There were paintings of bodies everywhere.

“What a lot of … writhing ,” I said weakly.

“I always say a house isn’t a home unless there are plenty of writhing bodies flinging themselves through the gate to hell,” Ash agreed cheerfully.

Tearing my eyes from the artwork, I took my first good look at Ash. He didn’t seem nervous or worried about us being here. He was buttoned up into an expensive-looking suit, pressed and polished and almost impossibly handsome, with his dark hair brushed back and tied in a black ribbon. My fingers itched to pull it undone.

“Why are you frowning at me?” Ash asked, glancing down and dusting some non-existent dirt from his sleeve.

“You look all wrong,” I said. “As though you’re wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“I’ll have you know that this suit is impeccably tailored,” Ash grumbled, clearly offended.

“No, you look beautiful ,” I said quickly, receiving a delighted grin in return, a flash of white that was a stark contrast to the funereal darkness of his suit. “Only, you don’t look … like you.”

“She thinks I’m beautiful,” Ash said to Laetitia, nudging her with his elbow.

“I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Laetitia sniffed.

“Frederick!” Another voice joined us, and a woman in a fussily trimmed black dress appeared, sweeping down the staircase. “You didn’t tell us our guests had arrived.” She continued down towards us, and I noticed the way she clung to the banister, how her steps weren’t entirely steady.

When she came to a stop in front of me, I saw the resemblance to her son in the elegant slash of her bone structure, the liquid darkness of her eyes – only hers were red-rimmed and slightly unfocused. She must have been lovely once, but now she looked pale and faded, neglected like the house.

“Lady Archer,” I said. “Thank you so much for inviting us into your home.”

“We’re delighted to welcome you, Lady Felicity,” she replied, taking my hand and holding it for a beat too long. Her fingers were cold as ice. “It has been a long time since we had guests. Laetitia.” She nodded in her direction, and it was clear that one curt word was all the greeting Laetitia was to expect.

“I was sorry to hear about your son,” I said gently.

“Thank you.” The words came out dully. “It’s been a terrible shock. The funeral takes place in a couple of days.” Her mouth stretched into a horrible impression of a smile. “Please, come through to the parlour for a drink.”

She drifted off towards a door to our left, and Ash tucked my hand through his arm.

“Laudanum,” he said grimly. “And it’s not because of Perry, though that hasn’t helped. She’s been using the stuff for years.”

“Oh!” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I squeezed the arm under my hand.

Ash exhaled, pushed his shoulders back. “I told you it would be awful,” he said, his tone holding a warning, and for the first time since we arrived I saw the tension he was trying to hide for my sake.

“I can handle it,” I insisted.

Inside a rather gloomy sitting room, Lady Archer was already pouring herself a drink from the well-stocked drinks trolley.

“We prefer to be informal,” she said, with all the brightness of a bouquet of badly made artificial flowers. “Can I get you something, Lady Felicity? A sherry, perhaps? I know Laetitia will have one.” Lady Archer flicked her glance over my would-be chaperone in a dismissive gesture. I remembered that Laetitia had said there was some distant family connection between them.

“That sounds lovely,” I replied. I wondered whether the “informality” Lady Archer mentioned was in reality due to a lack of staff.

“So you’re staying with Laetitia,” Lady Archer said, once we were all seated. Ash had not said a word yet, only sat silent and watchful near the fireplace.

Like the clothes he wore, everything about his posture seemed wrong – stiff and still, no spark of the half-wild creature I knew him to be, no sign of the laughing man who just this morning had sat in a boat with me, trying to keep the whole thing from tipping over as I had been so determined to learn how to punt for myself. (A quest in which I had largely succeeded and which only resulted in us getting slightly damp, despite Ash’s repeated resigned claims that a captain always went down with his ship.)

“Yes,” I said, sipping my drink and glancing at the woman beside me. “She’s been kind enough to play hostess. I’m enjoying my time in Cambridge.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been subjected to the company of Laetitia’s dreary intellectuals!” Lady Archer trilled. She leaned forward in her chair towards me, so far that I feared she would fall out.

I glanced at Laetitia, who watched Ash’s mother with a neutral expression. “I was fortunate to meet some of Miss Tiffins’ associates. I found their company stimulating,” I said.

“How remarkably tactful of you.” Lady Archer’s mean-spirited words were drenched in honey.

“Lady Felicity has a keen mind,” Laetitia said evenly. “Our gathering benefitted from her fresh perspective. It’s encouraging to see a generation of young women who would choose not to be limited by the bounds of tradition. It gives us hope that lasting change is truly taking place.”

I felt something glow bright in my chest, even as Lady Archer made an inelegant noise of derision.

“I hope you’re not corrupting our new friend with your radical ways, Laetitia.” The hearty words came from the doorway, and I turned to find Ash’s father entering the room. Lord Archer’s appearance absolutely matched the voice of the man I had overheard arguing with his son at the wedding. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ash, stockily built with sandy hair, a ruddy complexion, and a face that was softening around the jaw, giving him a dissolute look.

“I apologize for my lateness,” he said, once introductions had been made. “Estate business, you know.”

“Lady Felicity was just telling us about her encounter with Letty’s bluestocking brigade!” Lady Archer exclaimed, and the words were slightly slurred. She had already poured herself a second drink.

“I’ve been enjoying my time in the city,” I said. “Your son has been an excellent tour guide.”

Lord Archer’s smile widened so far that I could count all his teeth.

“I’m glad to hear that Frederick has been displaying his chivalrous side.” Lord Archer lowered himself into the seat beside his wife with a heavy sigh.

“I didn’t know I had a chivalrous side,” Ash said, looking into his glass of wine.

Lord Archer’s smile became fixed and he gave a laugh that held a jagged edge. “What a wicked sense of humour my son has. He is entertaining, is he not, Lady Felicity?”

I met Ash’s eyes. “I have certainly not known a moment of boredom since we met,” I said dryly.

“A pretty compliment.” Ash’s smile glinted in the light from the fire.

“A pretty compliment from a lovely young lady.” His father’s voice had taken on that false heartiness once more. “We were delighted to hear that our son was keeping such distinguished company. Tell me, Lady Felicity, how is your brother, the duke?”

“He’s well, I believe,” I said. “Some business has called him away from home at present.”

“Takes his responsibilities seriously,” Lord Archer said approvingly, shooting Ash a look.

“And his wife?” Lady Archer lowered her voice conspiratorially. “A curious choice for a duke. That match was all the gossip! I expect it must have been hard for you, Lady Felicity. Your brother making such a … surprising choice. When one thinks he could have married anyone .” Her eyes held mine, her interest avid.

“It has not been hard at all,” I said stiffly. “Her Grace is the perfect match for my brother in every respect. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

“Quite, quite,” Lord Archer said, his killing look now transferred to his wife. She seemed not to notice, burying her face in her drink. “A strong marriage – and a commitment to continue the family line, that’s what matters. Succession! That is the thing! The aristocracy is a dying breed; it’s important we keep the bloodlines pure .”

He regarded me approvingly. Such obvious, detached inspection made my skin itch. It was a sensation I would never get used to, knowing that Lord Archer saw me not as a person but a brood mare.

To my relief, the doors to the parlour opened, and the butler appeared. “Dinner is served,” he announced.

It was up to Ash to escort me through to the great, draughty Tudor hall where we would be eating. “Still think you can handle it?” he asked softly.

I thought of Ash growing up in this place with the two of them, a small, brave boy full of adventure. I thought about him now, tied to his parents and to this awful old house by a title he didn’t want.

“They don’t scare me,” I said firmly. I smiled up at him, hoping that he knew there was someone here on his side.

His eyes locked with mine, and his jaw tightened for a moment. I watched the tic of the muscles.

“Brave girl,” was all he said to me as we went in to dinner.