Ashton Park (48 page)

“What? You’re not!” She stopped walking. “You’re not, Ben!”

“The Lancashire-York Air Service. With service to Cumbria, Durham, and Northumberland.”

“You’re not joking!”

“No, my love. We’ll handle Wales and up to Glasgow and Edinburgh. And Cheshire. The Midlands and South and the occasional hop to France will be the other lads’ job. Your father’s already given us the land. A field that’s lain fallow for thirty years. This was all meant to be a Christmas Eve announcement, so you really will have to keep it to yourself or I’ll get thrown in the Tower.”

“So how far—how far is the field from the manor?”

“About three miles.”

“Is that all?” She seized him in her arms and kissed him with the sort of ferocity he remembered from their midnight romances in the stables. “Oh, I love you! How wonderful that will be! Where will we live?”

“In the village by Ashton Park. Or your father says we can build on a corner of the estate. It’s really up to you and Libby and Christelle.”

“Oh, a corner of the estate. Near the sea. With our own ash trees. Please, please!” She kissed him again, almost knocking him down.

Ben laughed. “Who can argue with you? I’m sure your father will give you any corner of the estate your heart desires.”

“I want some figgy pudding too! And a cup of good cheer!”

“That I can take care of. Let’s get you out of the storm, my apple-cheeked beauty.”

March 1922

“So good to see you, Sir William. Now we both shake with the left hand.”

“We do, my lord. Not a bad thing. Welcome to Ashton Park.”

“Thank you. We have not been here since Victoria’s wedding to Captain Whitecross, I believe.”

Lady Elizabeth had her brightest smile for Lady Scarborough as they stood together on the steps of the manor, Tavy holding the doors open for them. “I’d love to have you join me for a fresh pot of tea in the parlor, my lady. We can leave the men to their conversation and meet up with them again at dinner.”

“I’d like that.” Lady Scarborough, tall and blond like her daughter Caroline, turned to her husband. “Now don’t exhaust yourself, my dear. I’m sure Sir William can offer you a room for a nap if you feel faint.”

“Of course—” Sir William began.

Lord Scarborough had lost weight but none of his height or commanding presence. “I feel like an absolute rocket. There’s too much to talk about to sleep through our visit. I shall see you at dinner, Madeleine.”

Sir William took his guest to the private study with its chessboard and books and newspapers. Lord Scarborough settled himself in a chair, leaning his walking stick against its leather side, and took a pipe from his pocket.

“Do you mind if I smoke, Sir William?”

“Not at all, my lord.”

“I must congratulate you on your work with Ireland. The treaty was passed by their Parliament in January and now they have their Irish Free State. An end to the bloodshed.”

“I hope so. The vote was close, only sixty-four in favor, fifty-seven opposed. There have been armed clashes between pro-treaty and anti-treaty forces.”

“I expect that will peter out with the June elections once the pro-treaty Irish win a majority.”

“That is what I pray for, my lord.”

“Please—let’s dispense with the formalities in private.” Lord Scarborough stuffed tobacco into his pipe’s bowl, the stem in his teeth. “After all, we almost killed one another. That should afford us some sort of intimacy in our relationship.” He struck a match and lit the pipe, puffing rapidly to get the tobacco burning. “Though I would have preferred it happen through marriage.”

Sir William sat down opposite him. “How is Caroline—how is she feeling, Francis?”

Lord Scarborough blew smoke into the room. “Very well, thank you. Charles is a year old now and growing by leaps and bounds. The photographs are impressive. Of course Madeleine is just back and has wonderful stories to tell me about the boy. I thank God he looks more like his mother than he does that blackguard Buchanan. What did you do about him, by the way? Did you sack him?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea where he is now?”

“None at all.”

Lord Scarborough puffed. “A great deal seems to be going on here at Ashton Park, William. Lorries passed us going in and out of your estate when we drove up—the ones going out had loads of dirt and the ones coming in were filled with bricks and lumber.”

“The boys are setting up a new air service a few miles from Ashton Park.”

“Is that the aerodrome I spotted from the main road?”

“It is. They’ve left the other in the hands of three of the lads Kipp flew with during the war. This one will serve Yorkshire and Lancashire and on into Scotland and Wales. They’ve made the decision to take my offer and put up homes on the estate rather than buy in the village. Elizabeth and I are overjoyed naturally. The houses should be up by next year.”

Lord Scarborough took the pipe from his mouth. “So this flying business has been going well for them, I take it?”

“I and a few others have received handsome returns on our investments.”

“Royal Mail contracts?”

“They get some of those. A great deal of it is packages from various business firms or legal documents. And passengers. Men will pay a good fee for traveling rapidly from London to Birmingham or Liverpool to York. So they have a number of two-seaters at the London field now and are starting with two up here. SPAD S.XXs. Not all brand-new but they run well. The boys operate flying schools as well.”

“You continue to invest, I presume?”

“I do. And others. Such as Michael Woodhaven III in New York, the father of Libby’s American husband.”

Lord Scarborough set his pipe, still curling smoke, on a table and ran his hand through his beard. “This may be something I should like to get into, William. Yes, I believe I might. Tell me, how is Kipp?”

“He’s well, thank you, Francis. His wife and he had their first child in March. He’s a month old now and doing very well. A boy.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I hold nothing against him, William. Or against Edward. That is water under the bridge. Neither of them had anything to do with Caroline’s disgrace. Will we see them at dinner?”

“Kipp, yes. All of them are living here in the manor until their houses are built. But Robbie is in Palestine, as you know. And Edward is still in Canada.”

Lord Scarborough shook his head. “No, no, William. Water under the bridge, I say again. Bring Edward home. He has nothing to fear from me. I am sorry he broke off the engagement but he did nothing to harm Caroline. Bring him back to Ashton Park.” He looked at Sir William’s gloved hand. “I had heard of this. No one knows what it’s about. They think your hand is scarred from some accident. I know the truth. You wear it because of the duel, don’t you?”

“Partly.”

“Then off with it, William. We ought never have fought once I knew Buchanan was to blame, but fight we did and it was honorable. You carry no guilt. Please remove it for my sake, sir.”

Sir William half-smiled. “Thank you. I cannot.”

“Why is that?”

“It is not just about you and me.”

Lord Scarborough studied Sir William’s face. “But still this matter has to do with the duel.”

Sir William nodded. “It does, Francis. I will say that much.”

“When I was not yet sure if I would die or live, you told me your God would forgive much.”

“I believe that, yes.”

“Is it not true in your case? Or does the forgiveness you spoke of have well-established boundaries with high walls?”

Sir William did not respond, only returning Lord Scarborough’s gaze.

The pipe was lifted again, tapped against the table so that ash fell out, refilled, lit, and was soon pouring a fragrant smoke into the room that reminded Sir William of cherrywood burning.

“Never mind, sir. We all have our secrets.” Lord Scarborough drew on his pipe quietly for a few minutes, staring up at the white ribbons that made their way to the ornate ceiling. “So. No word at all on Buchanan’s whereabouts?”

“I knew nothing about the duel until it was over, Elizabeth.”

“Neither did I.”

Lady Scarborough brought her cup to her lips and then withdrew it. “I really thought it
was
a target-shooting accident. Once he had recovered from the bout with pneumonia following the amputation he told me the truth. You must understand, my dear, he blames himself for the whole thing. He knew your son had not done our daughter any wrong, yet he thought it would be dishonorable to back out of the engagement at the Strunk. Oh.” She set down the cup in its saucer, almost spilling it, and threw her head back. “He has the most complicated views on this idea of honor. Francis would have been most at home at the court of King Arthur. However, with his willingness to fight at the drop of a gauntlet, I doubt he would have lived long enough to enjoy the Middle Ages.”

“But you say he is well past it all then, Madeleine?”

Lady Scarborough looked out the window and watched Harrison walk past with Todd Turpin. “With your family, yes—he feels honor was satisfied that morning. I see no ill will residing in him. But with Buchanan—well, that is something else again.”

“You don’t—” Lady Elizabeth started and stopped. “Buchanan was let go immediately, you know.”

“If Francis were to query you concerning his whereabouts, would you be able to reply?”

“Not at all. We have no idea where he is. We refused to give him references to another house after what he had done to your daughter.”

Lady Scarborough’s eyes glistened as she smiled, lifting her teacup again. “Thank you. Though I must say the boy is lovely. Lovely.”

Lady Elizabeth smiled in return. “How often God grants us beauty out of our tragedies.”

“If He did not, how could any of us remain standing from one day to the next?” She drank her tea. “I fear my husband will go after Buchanan, Elizabeth.”

“No. He is not thinking that, is he?”

“Oh, he doesn’t say it in so many words. But he’s acting exactly the way he was before he went off on this duel idea with Sir William. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but now I see the same pattern asserting itself—the gestures, the expressions on his face, the phrases he employs over and over again, the pacing. The word
honor
coming up in his conversation countless times. The darkness in his eyes when he sits alone in his chair by the fire. What should I do?”

Lady Elizabeth leaned forward, the fingers of both hands laced together. “Will he not talk to you about it if you ask him directly?”

“I tried. Once.” A tear moved along the line of her cheek. “I’m sure he’s making inquiries everywhere. Unless this Buchanan has taken a boat to the Orient, Francis will certainly find him. Then we will go through this all over again. I don’t know how to stop him. I pray but he is not a man of faith and my prayers bounce off the armor of his heart. Is it possible… do you think…I wonder if your husband could get through somehow… before there was another—”

“My dear Madeleine. Your daughter and our son could have married and made us family. I will ask William. Of course I will ask. He will want to help.” She reached over and took Lady Scarborough’s hand. “For all we know, William may have picked up on your husband’s mood on his own and is considering what is the best step of action to take. You remain committed to an overnight stay, I hope? I may have something to tell you in the morning.”

“Ah.” Lady Scarborough clasped both her hands around Lady Elizabeth’s. “That gives me a touch of hope.”

Kipp ran his hands through Christelle’s thick hair and kissed her with so much strength and ardor she began to laugh and pushed him back.

“What has gotten into you, husband?” she teased. “You’re a father yet you act as you did when you first romanced me in France.”

“You’re even more beautiful now. Look at the color in your face and eyes. You’re irresistible.”

“Yes? Am I? Most women need months to look themselves again after a birth.”

“You don’t look yourself. You look twice yourself, three times.”

“Oh, you crazy man, come kiss me again then.” She opened her arms. “Our angel is still napping.”