Edenbrooke (25 page)

I thought of my first impression of Philip at the inn. “I know what you mean. I encountered that arrogance when I first met him.”

Lady Caroline smiled. “Insufferable!”

“Yes, he was,” I agreed with a laugh.

“But he’s not like that anymore, is he?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t thought of it before, but Philip’s arrogance was a distant memory for me.

“That’s what I meant when I said it was a joy to see him happy again,” Lady Caroline said. “It is as if we have our Philip back—the Philip we all love, the Philip we have all missed these past few years. And having him back has made the whole family happy in a way we haven’t been since my dear husband died.” She stopped cutting and turned to me. Putting a gentle hand on my arm, she said, with utter sincerity, “We all feel so indebted to you, my dear.”

I was so surprised that I snipped off a large white rose too close to its head. Feeling like I had just beheaded something, I shoved my shears into my basket. “You think this change in him is because of me?” I asked in disbelief.

“Why, I know it is.”

She continued cutting roses as if our conversation was at an end. I watched her in suspense, wanting her to convince me that she was right even though I knew she was wrong. My heart had not yet succumbed to my will. It wanted to hope, even though hope was futile and foolish. I tried to bite back the words, but finally, in a moment of weakness, I blurted, “How do you know?”

Her lips twitched as if she were fighting back a smile. It reminded me of an expression I had seen on Philip’s face more than once. She put her shears in her basket and gestured to a bench set in the shade of a tree. Sitting beside her, I wondered if this was the most foolish thing I had done yet.

“Did you know that Philip was running away the night you two met?”

I nodded, remembering what Betsy had told me.

Lady Caroline sighed. “I’m afraid I am partly to blame for that. Philip had returned from Town a few weeks before. He can’t stand staying in London for the whole season. I thought it was an accomplishment that I had gotten him there for any part of it. Well, I didn’t send him word that you and your sister were going to visit. I left the girls with my son and his wife and came here myself, to warn Philip and prepare for your visit.

“He had reacted poorly in the past, you see, when young ladies came to visit, and I thought surprising him with it might be the way to go. But I was wrong. He assumed it was another case of ambitious young ladies after his wealth or his title, and he couldn’t bear another visit like that. There have been so many, you know. He left that night without a word to me.”

She looked closely at me, as if trying to convince me of something by the force of her gaze. “But then he met you at the inn, and he came back.” Her smile warmed her eyes. “He came back, my dear, that very night, late in the night. And when he came into the drawing room and saw you . . .” She breathed deeply, shaking her head a little as if in wonder. “He lit up, Marianne, just like he used to do.” She rested her hand on mine and squeezed it. “I had my Philip back.”

I watched in surprise as her eyes filled with tears. But when she smiled, I realized they were tears born of joy.

“Forgive me if I have been too personal,” she said, gracefully wiping a tear from her cheek. “But after losing my dear husband, and my son Charles, it felt like more than I could bear to lose Philip too.”

Dismay filled me. She was giving me too much credit for whatever change she had seen recently in Philip. I was certain I was not responsible, for it was in direct opposition to what I had heard from Philip with my own ears. He didn’t want me here. Something else must have made him happy. It certainly wasn’t me.

I wanted to tell her how mistaken she was, but I couldn’t. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said, attempting to smile. “I feel like I understand your family a little better now.”

She looked at me in her keen way. “I hoped it would help you understand Philip a little better.”

“Yes, that too,” I said to placate her, and then I quickly excused myself. Her hope was too painful to witness. If she thought that my relationship with Philip had sparked the change in him that had made her so happy, then she would be very disappointed when I left Edenbrooke next week.

Halfway to the house, my steps faltered, then stopped. A gentleman was walking toward me across the lawn, coming from the direction of the woods. Mr. Kellet. I thought of turning and running in the other direction, but he called out to me.

“You’re not thinking of running away from me, are you, cousin?”

Why would he not stop calling me that? I stood my ground and frowned, refusing to let him think I was afraid of him. “No, I am not. I am only going to take a turn around the lawn. You are welcome, of course, to join me.”

He smiled as if that had been his plan all along and he had just manipulated me into doing what he wanted. Which was probably true. He seemed to delight in vexing me. We began to walk—me quickly, and he with a strolling gait that made me want to yank his walking cane out of his hand and break it over his head. He
would
try to prolong my suffering.

“How is the old bird?” he asked, referring, I gathered, to my grandmother.

I gave him a haughty look. “Still in good health, I believe.”

He sighed and looked up at the sky. “Will she never die?”

I shot him an angry look, ready to berate him, but he laughed and said, “You are so easily taken in, cousin. You should do something about that.”

I hated thinking that he had the upper hand. And I was through with politeness. “Stop calling me cousin. Why are you here?”

“Visiting my dear cousin, of course.”

I stopped and turned to him. “No. I mean why are you here, in Kent? Did you follow me?”

He laughed. “You flatter yourself.” He stopped and leaned on his walking cane. “But I did receive some interesting news. Evidently your grandmother has decided my scandalous behavior has shamed her long enough, and she has cut me out of her will.”

“Oh?”

His eyes narrowed. “And I thought to myself—who would she name her heir if not me? Not that old maid, Amelia.” He pointed his walking cane at me. “You.”

I decided to meet his challenge head on. “You are right. But the inheritance is conditional. She can still cut me off without a penny, just as she did to you.”

“Conditional on what?”

“That is none of your concern,
cousin.
”

He laughed lightly and raised an eyebrow. “Touché!” He studied me for a moment with narrowed eyes as if debating a course of action. I watched with a sense of misgiving as a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, this has been very enlightening. But now I have somewhere else to be.” He bowed casually and turned away to saunter toward the road. Several leaves clung to the back of his coat, and one was even sticking out of the top of his boot.

Good riddance,
I thought. But I couldn’t help wondering why he would come all the way here to ask those few questions. And what had he been doing in the woods? A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was Cecily, walking from the direction of the woods. She was brushing off her skirt, and, as I watched, she pulled a leaf out of her hair.

I stared at her, feeling sick. This was the kind of conduct she had learned in London? This was considered acceptable behavior for an elegant young lady? I turned away, disgusted at the sight of her disheveled hair and happy smile.

When I reached my room, I wrote two letters. The first was quick and to the point.

Dear Grandmother,

I have had the misfortune of seeing Mr. Kellet in the area. I have also lost James, the coachman you hired. Also, I know that you arranged for this visit and made everyone lie to me about being invited here. If you didn’t want me, you should have just told me so instead of letting me impose on someone else. And I am not impressed with elegant ladies at all. I think I would prefer to milk cows for the rest of my days.

Sincerely,

Marianne

I meant exactly what I wrote. I had no desire to become like Cecily. And if that was what was required to earn a fortune, then I would simply not earn that fortune. I was not destitute, after all. My father was well enough off, and I would have an inheritance from him. But I would not waste any more of my time trying to become someone I was not.

After I finished my letter to Grandmother, I saw Mr. Whittles’s book of poems in the drawer and thought of another letter I had been meaning to write for some time. The second letter took more thought, but when I finally finished with it, I was pleased with the result. There was so much waste in hoping for something that could never be yours, I decided. It was better to seize happiness where it was available. I addressed the letter to Mr. Whittles.

Chapter 22

The next morning Mr. Beaufort called on me again. As soon as he entered the drawing room, he addressed Lady Caroline.

“Is there some place I might speak with Miss Daventry in private?”

Oh, no.

Lady Caroline said something about needing to speak with the housekeeper and shut the door behind her as she left.

I was not ready for this conversation. It had happened too quickly, and I had given no thought as to how I might respond.

I gestured toward the settee. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Only if it pleases you,” he said with a smile.

I sat on the settee and folded my hands in my lap, wondering what to say to him.

Evidently he did not need my contribution, though. He sat next to me and said, “Miss Daventry, I have not been able to stop thinking of you since the moment I laid eyes on you. You have captured my heart, and I cannot restrain myself from declaring that I love you!” He grasped my hand and knelt before me. “I have little in the ways of the world to offer you, but what I can offer you is my undying affection, my esteem, and my relentless adoration of you. Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

I wondered how I had ever thought him handsome. His eyes seemed like shallow pools—nothing like the depth I always saw in Philip’s eyes. Of course, I was not choosing between Mr. Beaufort and Philip, because Philip had not offered for me. But I was choosing for myself, and even if nobody else wanted me, I did not want to spend the rest of my life looking into those dull, shallow eyes.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I cannot accept you.”

Mr. Beaufort’s smile dropped, and his eyes flashed with something like anger. I leaned away from him, surprised by the sudden turn in his emotion. But he abruptly returned to smiling, and said, “Perhaps you need time to consider my offer.” He took my hand and pressed his lips to it. “I will be happy to call on you again.”

He left before I could tell him not to bother. I was sure I would not be changing my mind. I would rather grow into an old spinster than marry a man I did not love, now that I knew what it meant to love.

I walked across the room and stood in front of my mother’s painting. Had Lady Caroline been right about my mother? Had she felt like Lady Caroline had everything my mother wanted? If so, I understood perfectly why the friendship had ended. I think I would hate Cecily forever if she had everything I wanted—Edenbrooke and Meg and Philip. Especially Philip. I touched the frame and leaned toward the painting, wishing fiercely for my own mother.

“My dear, are you unwell?”

I lifted my head. It was Mrs. Clumpett, with her perpetual smile. Even now, with her forehead creased with worry, her mouth still turned up.

“No, I am well,” I said. “Only a little . . . homesick.”

She nodded. “I can well understand that feeling. Mr. Clumpett and I have missed our own home. The birds around here are just not the same. And the library is so disorganized.”

I smiled. “You’re right.”

“In fact, now that I think of it, I believe it’s time for us to go home. Oh, wait, I forgot.” She glanced at me quickly, then looked away. “We will have to stay a little while longer.” She sighed. “Unless . . . tell me, do you think
you
might be leaving any time soon?”

I thought of my letter to my father. “Perhaps,” I said. “I hope so, but it’s hard to know.”

She nodded, and for once she didn’t look like she was smiling. Was her decision somehow tied up in my plans? Why would that be so? Was this one more person who didn’t want me here?

“Let me know when you have your plans settled,” she said. “I do miss our birds.”

It was such a little thing to say—“I do miss our birds”—but it touched me deeply. It reminded me of everything I missed about my own home, and the happiness I had once felt there.

Time in Philip’s absence did terrible things. Clocks slowed, the sun stood still in the sky, even the nights stretched longer than normal. I felt as if entire months had passed since the ball, though it had only been four days. I went about my normal activities. I ate food and I slept and I spent my days in the company of the other women. But through it all I felt as if an important part of me was absent. Perhaps it was my heart.

Cecily and I had hardly spoken since I had stormed out of her room the day after the ball. She and Louisa were as thick as thieves. They were always going off on walks together and whispering to each other. I did not attempt to join them. Instead, I focused on my new project.

Rather than trying to fulfill my grandmother’s assignment, I spent my free time painting scenes of Edenbrooke. Five days after Philip left, I had half a dozen paintings of some of my favorite views of the estate. I wanted to record as much as I could of this place, which, for a time, had been the closest thing to paradise I could have imagined on earth. I mourned the thought of leaving this place forever. When Cecily married Philip, I would not come back here. I knew it. My mother never came back, and now I understood why.

I was sketching the view from my bedroom window when Cecily came into my room.