Page 7 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)
The blue of the sky was April-pale, the sunshine was April-thin, but it was still glorious to be outside.
The sharp wind was chilly, blowing small clouds like sheep before it; their shadows ran over the grass below, like the ghost of the flock.
Kitty was warmly bundled up, but relishing the cold tang of fresh air after so long shut indoors.
New leaves were beginning to show their green tips on the trees, and in unclaimed corners wild daffodils bent and jerked in the breeze, catching the eye and inviting a smile.
The winds of the past week had dried out the ground enough for work to begin on the new walled garden.
The men had dug the foundations and stacks of bricks had been delivered.
There wasn’t much to see yet, but she liked to go and inspect progress every day if she could.
When it was done, it would be one thing she could point to that she had achieved, one change for the better than she had made to Ashmore Castle.
Her mother-in-law had no interest in gardens, and had raised no objection – indeed, she had barely listened when the plan was mooted.
Inside the house, Kitty had no authority.
She was mistress only nominally. Her mother-in-law hung on to power with a fierce grip and Kitty was too timid to fight.
She reflected, as she walked along the path through the old walled garden, past orderly ranks of cabbages and Brussels sprouts, that as girls in school they had all dreamed of marriage, the magic gateway out of the confines of childhood into the freedom of Real Life.
In retrospect, she saw that her debut Season had been the most freedom she had ever known – parties and outings and dances and new clothes and new acquaintances.
Marriage had shut it all down. There had been a few months of adjustment, of creeping around in terror of her mother-in-law, constantly afraid of doing the wrong thing, and then pregnancy: confinement to the house, needlework, and inaction.
And though Lady Stainton was now absent, which allowed Kitty to breathe more easily, she did not dare do any of the things she wanted to improve the house, because the dragon would return, and there would be retribution.
And the fairy tale of marrying her adored and handsome prince had also faded: now she was pregnant, Giles never visited her bedroom, and he was so busy she hardly saw him.
He breakfasted early, before the rest of the house was up, rarely appeared at luncheon, and often escaped to his business-room or the library after dinner.
Even when they were together, he treated her with polite distance, as if she were .
. . well, not a servant, certainly, but perhaps as he might treat an expert brought in to perform a particular job.
She was engaged in making an heir for the estate – a skilled task, of course, deserving respect, but not one that required warmth from the master.
Still, he had told her he would be in to luncheon today, and that was something to look forward to.
He was always more talkative during the day than in the evening.
Her heart lifted in anticipation of seeing him, conversing with him, having him look at her, listen to her.
She had been mentally compiling a list of things to say, so that there should be no awkward silences that might prompt him to leave.
A flow of interesting talk would keep him at the table as long as possible.
She passed through the gate into the area that would be the new garden, and was immediately met by Peason, the head gardener, who took off his hat, and made a hovering sort of gesture with his hand as though he wanted to take her elbow.
‘Mind your step, my lady. There’s all sorts lying about.
Can’t have you tripping. Just step along this way, my lady – that’s right.
We should have a bench brought through for you,’ he added in self-reproach, his pale blue eyes in his weatherbeaten face concerned.
‘I’m quite all right, thank you,’ she said.
In fact, she was so large with child, she must look as though she might tip over at any moment.
In addition she was uncomfortable in almost any position.
Her ankles were swollen, none of her shoes fitted, and she frequently suffered from indigestion – though that might be because the food at the Castle was so terrible.
But she always felt better out here; and Peason’s attentiveness soothed her.
He had liked her from the moment she had first shown an interest in the grounds, and the more plans she came up with, the more he approved of her.
It was refreshing to be so right in someone’s eyes.
‘Not much progress to show you, my lady,’ Peason said, lurking within grabbing distance as she picked her way along. ‘Just a few rows of bricks. But we’ll get on faster now, as long as the weather holds.’
‘And will it?’
Peason looked up at the sky. His grey hair was cut short all over, which left his ears very exposed. They were slightly pointed, which somehow made him look much younger than what she supposed to be his years. ‘Seems that way, my lady – though April likes to spring surprises.’
The fitful wind rattled at them, and Kitty said, ‘Please do put your hat on. I should hate you to catch a cold.’
He smiled at her, and said, ‘Thank you, my lady. But I never get colds. Working outside all the time chases ’em away.’ Still, he did put the hat back on, and they fell into a familiar symposium of what would be planted and where, when the walls were finished.
‘I thought of having the asparagus bed here , my lady,’ Peason said, sketching an oblong across the landscape with a finger. ‘See, where I’ve lifted the turf.’
‘Asparagus!’ she exclaimed eagerly.
‘Won’t give a crop this year or next,’ he warned, ‘but it’s worth doing.
Once it gets going, you’ll have all the grass you want.
I thought I might as well make a start on it now, get it dug and dunged and the crowns in.
There, where the bed’ll go, is far enough from the walls that it won’t get trampled by the workmen. ’
‘What a good idea. Is there anything else you can get in? It seems a shame to waste a whole year while waiting for the walls and paths to be finished.’
His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. ‘Well, my lady, I was thinking of getting in some peas – it’s not too late for ’em.
And spinach grows quick. We can dig out a few more beds in the middle here while we’re at it.
They won’t need a permanent spot, like the ’sparagus, so it doesn’t matter where we put ’em this year.
Now, I was thinking, regarding the permanent shape, my lady, if you’ll indulge me . . .’
He dragged from his pocket a grubby and much-folded piece of paper, on which he had drawn various squares and oblongs, and over which he and Kitty had pored long and often, with equal enjoyment.
They walked about the field that would be a kitchen garden in satisfying discussion.
In the background the quiet sounds of industry witnessed the wall inching higher, and above them rooks circled noisily, like fragments of burned paper blown on the breeze.
Indoors, Kitty had made the Peacock Room her preferred sitting-room.
It was not as large or as grand as some, but it was a pretty shape, and it got the sun in the mornings.
It was called Peacock not for the colour but because the plasterwork of the ceiling featured a large peacock in an oval cartouche.
It was beautifully done, but the plaster was stained from years of smoke, and the decorative cornice was chipped.
The wallpaper – once green, now mostly brown – was rubbed all around at hip height, and worn right through in places.
The curtains at the window had rotted in the sunshine and were threadbare on the south-facing side.
And the Turkish carpet – red and brown with blue lozenges – was so worn and, she feared, dirty, you could hardly see the pattern.
Everywhere in the house was shabby in the same way, to a greater or lesser degree.
When she first married, Kitty had thought her money would be used to make it all fine, but Lady Stainton had made it clear that even to notice shabbiness marked one out as a parvenue .
As to ‘making a home’ for Giles, she had once mistakenly suggested it, and Lady Stainton had said coldly that in their stratum of society, it was for the earl to make a home for his wife, not vice versa.
Later Kitty had overheard Linda, to whom Lady Stainton must have repeated the story, referring to her witheringly as ‘the jam heiress’.
On her return from her walk, she settled herself beside the fire to warm her feet, and picked up some sewing.
Faintly in the background she could hear Uncle Sebastian playing the piano in the small drawing-room just along the corridor.
She was smocking a baby dress for her coming infant, white with blue forget-me-nots and pink rosebuds – an ambitious project, so she had to concentrate.
The gentle music, the warmth of the fire, and the weariness of pregnancy all worked on her and her needle moved more and more slowly and finally stopped.
Something cold jabbing her hand jerked her awake. The lurchers, Tiger and Isaac, with their strange yellow wolf-eyes, were smiling and swinging their tails in greeting. She looked up gladly, knowing that if they were here, Giles would appear at any moment.
And there he was, in the doorway. Her heart swelled at the sight of him – to her, the most handsome man in the world, the person she loved most intensely and painfully.
Just to see him was heaven. And to have time with him, to have his attention .
. . Luncheon with Giles! She could ask no greater treat.