Page 61 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)
As always with Richard, it came down to money.
The duke was all for a grandiose scheme on a hill to impress visitors, lined with marble pillars.
Richard was more inclined for a simple brick structure, on account of the cost of glass, and as for marble, it was not to be thought of.
No matter how many times the duke pointed out that he would be paying for it and the estate could easily bear the cost and it would be a gratifying celebration of the birth of the next heir, it made no difference.
Sophia was glad to creep away to bed and dream of balls and the swirl of silken gowns, of rooms filled with waving feathers and sparkling jewels, and everywhere music and charming young men eager to dance. And surely there would be one, just one, who would look at her and truly see her.
***
T he next morning, she awoke to steady snow, coating the gardens in white icing. By breakfast, the fall was reduced to a few stray flakes, but there was a flurry of activity amongst the men, anxiously discussing the roads, while most of the ladies had wisely decided to take breakfast in bed.
“Let us escape,” Lily whispered to Sophia. “The seamstress will not be able to get up from the village today, but there is much we can do. I thought we might look at the rest of your gowns and see what else might be reworked.”
Sophia could see no flaw in this enticing plan, so they left the men muttering about oxen and sweepers, and crept away to Sophia’s room.
She was still unused to an entire room all to herself, having shared with Mary all her life.
At first, she had confined her things to the accustomed half of the room, leaving ample space for Mary’s piles of books, but she had soon realised the luxury of taking up every inch of space herself, if she wanted it.
Not that she did. Oddly, the more space she had to fill, the less she wanted to clutter up every surface with abandoned bits and pieces.
Only a few small ornaments, symmetrically positioned, graced the mantelpiece, her hairbrushes sat in a neat arrangement on her dressing table, a single journal lay on the bedside table in case she should be wakeful at night and everything else was hidden away in drawers and cupboards.
In under an hour, Lily had selected seven gowns that could readily be converted to a more fashionable style.
Only two were ball gowns and one an evening gown, but Sophia could not deny that four new morning gowns would be very welcome, too.
Their two lady’s maids were summoned to give their advice, a pot of tea brought and all was going on in the most satisfactory manner when Spearman, the butler, came in.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace, Miss Merrington, but there’s a Lady Chloe Payne and Mr Simon Payne just arrived.”
Lily’s face registered bewilderment. “I do not know them. Sophia, do you? No? Are they perhaps acquaintances of the duke, Spearman?”
“Not that I’m aware, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps they are stranded by the snow… a carriage breakdown,” Sophia suggested.
“I don’t think so, madam,” the butler said. “They seem to think they’re expected… something to do with the plans for the orangery.”
“Then Mr Richard Merrington must have invited them,” Lily said.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Spearman said, brightening. “That will be it, and I dare say he forgot to mention it, what with the snow and all. It’s a pity he’s out with the oxen team just now. I’ll let Miss Hester know. She can arrange rooms and deal with them.”
“Oh, no, indeed, I must receive them myself,” Lily said at once. “As a noblewoman, Lady Chloe will expect it.”
The two visitors stood rather forlornly in the Marble Hall, their luggage in a puddly heap near the door, while an assortment of servants awaited instructions.
Mr Payne was gazing around the Marble Hall with its array of pillars reaching imperiously to the high ceiling, his expression of awe one that Sophia entirely understood.
She had never quite accustomed herself to the grandeur of Staineybank herself.
Lady Chloe, oddly, was engaged in watching Mr Payne.
They were a strange couple. Lady Chloe was tiny, a doll-like figure of around forty, while Mr Payne, perhaps ten years younger, was a large man in every sense, both tall and broad of chest, and as handsome a man as Sophia had ever seen.
No… that was not quite true, for there had been a man of ethereal beauty at her very first ball, but he had not even noticed her and she had never seen him again.
Nevertheless, he remained an ideal of manhood, but she suspected that Mr Simon Payne, once unwrapped from the many layers of his winter travelling garments, might come very close.
“Lady Chloe, welcome to Staineybank,” Lily said. “I am the Duchess of Brinshire.”
It was, perhaps, an unnecessary introduction, for the flurry of bows and curtsies from the assembled servants must have suggested her rank, but Lady Chloe turned to her in some surprise.
“Oh! Duchess! I had not expected…” Only then, rather belatedly, did she drop into her own curtsy.
“You are here to see Mr Richard Merrington, I understand?” Lily said brightly.
“Well… I am not sure…”
“It is about the orangery, is it not? Then that is his project.”
“Is it? I did not know that,” she said vaguely. Then, in a sharper tone, “Simon, do not wander away when her grace is speaking.”
“But it is a perfect cube,” he said, his face alight with inner fire. “And the pillars… Corinthian, and the frieze is so elegant. Do you not think?”
“Well, I am sure, but do please pay attention when her grace is addressing you.”
He turned puzzled eyes on her. “I am complimenting her house, Chloe. She cannot object to that, can she?”
Lady Chloe sighed, but Lily only laughed. “Actually, Mr Payne, I am very pleased that you admire Staineybank, but I find it oppressively grandiose myself.”
“Oh no,” he said solemnly. “It is beautiful. Campbell, you see. Wonderful architect.”
“I am sure he was,” Lily said diplomatically. “But if you are not here at Mr Richard Merrington’s behest, who was it who invited you?”
“Goodenough,” Mr Payne said. “Attorney. Brinchester.”
“Mr Goodenough!” Sophia cried. “But there is no such person!”
“I assure you there is,” Lady Chloe said robustly. “He wrote to us and then brought us here himself from London in the most commodious style. The carriage is still outside, awaiting our instructions.”
“I am afraid it is quite true,” Lily said. “Mrs Richard Merrington arrived here last year in precisely the same manner — a letter from a person calling himself Goodenough, who brought her here, whereupon he disappeared. There is no attorney in Brinchester by that name.”
Lady Chloe turned and almost ran across the Marble Hall, wrenched open the door before the footman could reach it and raced outside. The others followed more slowly, knowing what she would find.
The drive was empty, only the twin tracks in the snow betraying that a carriage had arrived and had now left, making its way down the drive and not to the Staineybank stables.
“Then it is true,” Lady Chloe said. “We have been duped. But why? Why would anyone play such a cruel trick on us?”
But no one had an answer to offer.