Page 27 of The Secret Word (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #10)

When she said that to Chris, he smiled and said, “I expect he shall cut us off after he finds out about our inheritance, and if not then, after I tell him about our plans for the school. Meanwhile, I shall keep my word. I’m sorry if that does not please you.”

Clem sighed. “It pleases me that you are so reliable, Chris. I am just peeved that we have to wait to see the house. I do hope it is suitable for a school!”

“It must be,” Chris said. “The most recent tenant was a school for girls. It is in the folder of records Lord Crosby gave me.”

That made Clem even more anxious to view the property. However, she busied herself with ordering further furnishings for the townhouse and meeting with the Satterthwaite and Thurgood ladies.

At last, the day came for their excursion to Maidencraig Frampton and their estate. Chris had hired a chaise with a post rider to take them to the manor of Maidenstone Court and back to London, so there was neither room nor need for Martha or any of the other servants to come with them.

Three hours proved to be a generous estimate, even with the brief stop halfway to change the horses. They passed through Maidencraig Frampton and stopped at the bailiff’s house, just before the iron gates to the carriage drive that led to the Court.

Chris had written letting the man know the probable time of their visit, and he must have been watching for them, for he opened his front door to greet them as they walked up the path between lush beds of flowers.

He was a short, wiry man in a comfortable coat and moleskins, and with a loosely-tied kerchief at his neck.

Next to him, Chris, who had dressed more casually than usual, looked the picture of sartorial elegance.

“Mr. and Mrs. Satterthwaite, I presume,” the man said. “I’m Wilson.”

He stepped out of the way and waved them into a delightful little entry hall.

“Mr. Wilson, I’m Chris Satterthwaite and this lovely woman is, indeed, my wife.” Chris and Wilson shook hands, and Wilson bowed to Clem with a smile that seemed comfortable on his face, as if he smiled often.

“I am very pleased you have come into your own, Mr. Satterthwaite,” he said. “I have done my best, but a property only truly thrives when it is loved by its owner.”

My! That was something of a scold, and they were only just in the door.

“My wife and I discovered four days ago that we own Maidenstone Court and the surrounding land,” Chris explained.

“I had a commitment in Town, but we are very excited to see the house, and anything else you have time to show us. As I said in my letter, it will be a short visit today, just so that we can form an impression and begin to make some decisions.”

Wilson frowned. “If you are considering sale…” He shook his head as if reminding himself it was none of his affair or opinion and then declared, “It is a good property. You should find a buyer.”

“At this stage, our hope is that it will be suitable as our main home, but we have not yet seen it.”

Wilson quirked a one-sided smile that acknowledged Chris’s gentle nudge.

“Right. I’d better show you around then.

Mrs. Satterthwaite, would you like a cup of tea first?

I can tell you that there will be one for you up at the house.

I told Mrs. Patterson, the housekeeper, to have sandwiches and the like ready for you.

I know you must have left London early.”

“Then let us wait until we arrive at the house, Mr. Wilson,” Clem said. “Is it far? Could we send the chaise on and walk?”

With a brief pause to peer at her feet, which were clad in sensible country shoes, Wilson acknowledged that it was five minutes or perhaps a bit more by the path through the woods, so he fetched his cap from a peg in the front hall and showed them out.

Chris went for a word with the post rider, and as the chaise drove off, Wilson led them around the side of the house on a flagstone path.

It was, in fact, a darling cottage, with white-plastered walls, small casement windows, and a thatched roof.

The garden rioted with color and produce on all sides.

Wilson opened a gate into the Court’s park, but Clem could see around the corner of the house into an equally lush back garden, with a row of utility sheds along the side of a neatly shingled courtyard, and vegetable gardens all around.

If Wilson cared for the estate as well as he cared for his cottage, the place had been in good hands.

Walking at a brisk pace, they covered the distance in no more than five minutes.

For most of the distance, the Court was hidden by trees.

Clem’s first glimpse was of the rooftops and chimneys over the top of a series of garden hedges and walls, and it was only toward the end of the walk that they came through a gate to see the house before them.

It slept in the sunlight—a long house in yellow and orange brick, three stories tall, with mullioned windows, crow-stepped gables, and tall chimneys that lifted high above the tiled roof.

“This is the east aspect,” Wilson said. “The carriage drive leads in a big semi-circle to the main entrance on the west, but we’ll go in through the garden doors.

” He stopped under the shade of a tree and took off his cap, which he turned around and around in his hands.

Clem thought he was giving them time to take in the splendor of the house, but Chris must have noticed something she didn’t.

“Is there a problem, Wilson?”

Wilson grimaced. “You know it has been a school, sir. Right?” When I went through after they moved out—not all of their changes were authorized, sir, and there’s damage. Fixable, but I don’t want Mrs. Satterthwaite to expect… the house is not what it should be, sir, and that’s a fact.”

“Got that, Mrs. Satterthwaite?” Chris said. “You can have all the fun of decorating, my love. Lead on, Wilson.”

The place was shabby, but Clem could see how wonderful it must have been—and would be again, with some repairs and a great deal of plaster, paint, polish, and other redecoration.

Furnishing, too, though when she said that aloud, Wilson mentioned that much of the good furniture had been banished to the stable loft when the school moved in.

“They left all their furniture,” Wilson said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Cheap beds and cabinets in the bedchambers, and kitchen tables in the dining room.”

Chris and Clem exchanged delighted glances and proceeded to explore the house from attics to cellars.

It was, perforce, a quick tour. They would have to come back. But they had seen enough to know the plan was not just feasible but already half-accomplished!

*

Clem was excited about the school. She had never thought a life of leisure and self-indulgence would be a life worth living, but had also not thought beyond a husband and family, preferably somewhere in the country.

Her happiest memories were of her early childhood, when her mother was still alive and they lived on the outskirts of a village within an easy ride of Father’s office in Sheffield.

Ma had taught at the local dame school, and Clem had loved going to school with her, and having other children with whom to learn and play.

To work in harness with Chris creating opportunities for young boys like those she’d seen sweeping street corners or going up chimneys? She could not imagine anything more satisfying.

She and Chris spent hours at a time discussing the project and making plans. Wilson had been told about the school, though somewhat gingerly, given his disgust at the condition the previous tenant had left the place in.

After asking a lot of questions and making many suggestions, he had unearthed a floor plan that was somewhat out of date. It was good enough to form a basis for the new plan Clem was drawing to figure out classrooms, recreation areas, staff accommodation and bedrooms for the boys.

They had given up on the idea of the dower house, as it was small and cramped, and needed a major renovation, but they were setting aside one wing of the house for themselves.

With a new kitchen built on to one side of the basement floor, it would provide completely separate accommodations from the main house.

Wilson had found them some builders who were doing the repairs and alterations, and Clem thoroughly enjoyed making up panels for each room with samples of fabric, paint, and wallpaper. She had more time than Chris, since he was working long hours on the three days a week he worked for her father.

Both the earls, Crosby and Halton, had been scandalized that Chris proposed to keep working for a living, even though he now had land and—as it turned out—investments to give him an adequate income for a modest lifestyle.

“But Chris,” Lady Halton had said, somewhat plaintively. “Gentlemen do not work, dear.”

“It seems to me, my lady, that his lordship my cousin works extremely hard—at his Parliamentary duties and running his estates,” Chris had pointed out.

“True, by Gum,” said the earl, much struck by the argument.

“I am learning the enterprises that will be my father-in-law’s legacy to my son,” Chris explained. “It is only proper that I be able to protect and guide my child.”

“Well, yes,” the countess conceded, “but Chris, dear, do you have to let the man pay you?”

The earl changed sides again. “That’s true, too. Chris, a gentleman works for his estate or for his family’s future, but he is not paid for it. Just tell Wright you refuse his salary, and all shall be well.”

Chris shook his head. “No, my lord. I am earning the salary, and I will take it. After all, what difference will it make to Society? They are not to know whether I am receiving a salary or not. I am certainly not going to tell them.”

The countess brightened. “That is true,” she said.

“I can let one or two people know, as a confidence, that you are being trained by your father-in-law so you can act as proxy for your son when he inherits. No one needs to know that you are taking a salary.” She rubbed her hands together, and her smile lit up the room.

“Oh, Chris, what fun it will be when your son is on the Marriage Market. Excellent bloodlines on his father’s side and all that lovely money. ”

Chris thought of pointing out that Clem might have only daughters, but the countess was lost in a blissful dream. Perhaps she would have forgotten before the as-yet-unborn, and possibly-not-yet-conceived, son was twenty-one. And if not, Chris had time to come up with some defenses for the poor lad.

That was just one conversation of many about how Chris should adjust to meet the expectations of a bunch of people he didn’t know and didn’t care to know.

People who thought he should be like the lazy self-indulgent dilettantes he had watched from the owner’s balcony in Fortune’s Fool. Not a chance.

To do them credit, though, the Satterthwaites, the Thurgoods, and Wright had closed rank over Grandfather’s ridiculous claims. When his accomplice took a case of breach of promise before the courts, all three gave witness that Chris had been courting Clem the entire time Grandfather claimed he’d been making promises to the other lady’s father, and between them, they were able to account for Chris’s time and cast doubt on the lies from the other side.

The case was dismissed. Grandfather disappeared.

Whether he was still in England or not, Chris neither knew nor cared.