Page 11 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

T he first post brought nothing at all from London, although there was a letter from Cousin Elizabeth in response to Thea’s letter apologising for any inconvenience caused to her.

‘What does she say?’ Godmama enquired over breakfast as they all opened their correspondence.

Thea squinted at the closely written black words. It looked as though a particularly angry spider had fallen into the inkwell and then rushed across the page.

‘I am a hoyden, a disgrace and must be a source of great anguish to my parents,’ she deciphered. ‘I am doomed to be… Can it be skinned? Surely not. Oh, shunned , by decent society unless I cast myself penitently at the duck’s—sorry, Duke’s—feet. It goes on in much the same vein for both pages.’

She folded the sheets and tossed the letter down beside her plate. ‘And nothing for either of us from Mama and Papa. I do hope that doesn’t mean they are coming in person.’

‘There will be a letter by the second post, I have no doubt,’ Lady Holme said comfortably. ‘And, if your parents have decided to come in person, I cannot believe they will arrive before tomorrow evening at the latest. Do you have any plans for the morning?’

Spend it trying not to bite my nails , was the honest answer.

Thea couldn’t imagine being able to concentrate on reading anything, she had brought no embroidery with her and they were some distance from a town with shops to browse in.

‘The weather has still not broken,’ she said. ‘I will walk around the grounds, I think. I would like to see your new winter garden.’

‘Wrap up warmly, then. The wind has turned to the east, so Fenwick informs me. And you, Hal? What is causing that frown?’

He looked up from the letter he had been reading and grimaced.

‘Some legal questions to deal with in this one, and I have no doubt the others also contain decisions for me to make. I have come to the conclusion that owning land is akin to housekeeping—no sooner do you think that everything is set in order than out come all the spiders and the dust miraculously reappears.’

Papa had land agents and bailiffs and what always appeared to be a small army of retainers to manage his estates, but Thea supposed that for someone with less extensive and less prosperous lands a great deal had to be done personally.

She made suitably sympathetic noises and excused herself from the table, taking Cousin Elizabeth’s letter with her. It was bound for the small fire in her bedchamber because, somehow, she did not think that a reply would be either welcome or helpful.

Jennie found her stout half-boots, a warm pelisse, gloves and, when Thea rejected a bonnet, a soft Kashmir shawl from the garments that her godmother had pressed on her.

Suitably protected against the elements she made her way downstairs, catching a glimpse through an open door of Hal’s dark head bent over some papers on the desk in the late Lord Holme’s study.

It would have been a lie to say that dreams of him had not disturbed her sleep, but she had woken with the firm determination to put those warnings from Godmama out of her mind.

She was not going to fall in love, not with Mr Forrest and not with anyone else ineligible for a lady of her rank, she told herself, fixing dutiful thoughts in her mind.

Life was not one of those novels that anxious mamas kept from their daughters in case their minds were filled with dangerously romantic daydreams. Love was a fantasy.

One of the footmen hurried forward to open the front door for her and she stepped out into the chilly breeze.

The old summerhouse that Lady Holme had mentioned as the site of the new garden was around at the back and to the right, as she recalled, but she began by turning left so the wind was behind her.

Gardeners were raking up fallen leaves from the lawns, and a donkey, its hooves in strange little leather boots to protect the grass, was standing patiently in the shafts of the cart they were loading them into.

No doubt they would be taken around to the compost heaps behind the vegetable garden to be turned into leaf mould, she recalled from conversations with Ashford, their head gardener at Wiverbrook Hall, Papa’s principal country house.

Pleased with recalling this horticultural information, because when she married she would be expected to take an interest in the gardens and grounds of her various new homes, she responded to the men’s greetings and strolled on along the paved terrace that surrounded the house.

More men were replacing the flowers that had filled the ornamental urns on the balustrade with small evergreens and she stopped to ask what they were.

‘Portugal laurel and holly, my lady. And box and yew. We grow them as little plants like this for the urns, then next year they’ll be planted out to grow large in the shrubbery or wherever they’re needed,’ one man explained, pausing in his task of clipping a plant into a domed shape.

Thanking him, she wandered on, thinking that she had some interesting facts to talk about with Hal. It occurred to her that the day before she had found no need to think of topics of conversation, nor to worry when they fell silent.

But then she had not felt so self-conscious about him, she realised as she rounded the corner to the west front.

She supposed there must have been some attraction there, even if she was not aware of it, or she could just have shrugged Godmama’s words aside.

How mortifying, not to be aware of one’s deepest emotions and thoughts.

A window shot up in front of her, and a feather duster was thrust out and shaken vigorously. Thea sneezed, and a flushed and apologetic housemaid leaned out.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, my lady! Shall I send for Jennie? Have you dust in your eyes?’

‘It is quite all right,’ Thea assured the agitated girl, whose cap was slipping perilously over her forehead. ‘Accidents happen.’

She walked on more briskly, trying to think about nice safe matters like the household management of her future home and not the master of said household, whose face ought to be a complete blur and who was dangerously close to acquiring brown hair, grey eyes and a mouth that curved all too easily into a smile.

Glancing to her side as she passed another window, she found herself looking into the study at Hal, who had his head in his hands.

As she watched he lifted it, shook it and said something which, with the window closed, she could not hear.

It did not appear to be anything for the ears of a nicely brought-up young lady, so she grimaced in sympathy with whatever problem he was thwarted by and walked on.

It would not do to be seen staring at him.

As she reached the back of the house, the south front, she could see the roof of the summerhouse ahead of her behind a yew hedge.

That must be where the winter garden was.

Thea perched for a moment on the balustrade to enjoy the sun, which here was warm on her face, the wind baffled by the bulk of the house.

It was peaceful and the view out across the rose garden and towards the lawns to the ha-ha and the park was tranquil. Really, country life had much to commend it over London.

Then she heard the distant sound of horses and carriage wheels on the front drive and jumped to her feet. Mama and Papa? Already?

The things that she must say tumbled and jumbled in her head. She must be apologetic, yet strong…polite, but firm. She must negotiate—yes, that was the word. Diplomacy was essential. It had all seemed very straightforward yesterday…

Then, with a rattle, the sash of a ground-floor window shot up and a leg appeared over the sill, rapidly followed by the rest of Hal Forrest’s body. He looked around and strode towards her.

‘Thea. Is the summerhouse open?’

‘I have no idea. I was just going to have a look,’ she said and found herself being towed along the terrace, down the steps and towards the yew hedge. ‘What are you doing? I think Mama and Papa might have arrived.’

‘Running away,’ he said and, although there was the hint of a laugh in his voice, he looked serious.

‘ Is it Mama and Papa? His bark is worse than his bite, as they say, but my brothers always run away from him when he is angry.’ They were jogging towards a gate in the hedge now.

‘No, it is not your parents, it is Lord and Lady Chesford. I heard Fenwick announce them.’

‘The Chesfords? What on earth are they doing calling at this hour? And why are we running away from them?’

Hal closed the gate once they were inside, and Thea looked around at a rectangular garden with paths dividing it up into regular sections.

Much of the ground was bare—presumably for spring bulbs, but there were urns with evergreens, little groups of shrubs, small topiary trees and some charming statues.

‘I have no idea why they have called but I am…reluctant to meet them.’

‘Reluctant?’ Thea stared at him. Anyone less shy she could not imagine.

Hal shrugged. ‘I would prefer not have to encounter them.’

Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming and she recalled his unwillingness to call at Lord Brownlow’s mansion and his desire to avoid encountering anyone in the grounds.

Perhaps Hal really was uneasy with new acquaintances—although he had shown no sign of it when he was introduced to her. How very strange. But it was not her place to probe, and if he wanted to tell her about it, he would.

‘We should be safe here,’ she remarked, beginning to wander along the central path leading to the summerhouse. ‘Oh, dear, this has suffered over the years, hasn’t it? I can recall playing here when I was a little girl.’

The little house, no more than one room, had been designed as a cottage ornée , with windows in the pointed Gothic style with leaded panes, a thatched roof, a barley-twist chimneystack and a heavily studded oak door.