Edenbrooke (7 page)

After stewing for a few miles, I decided that I would not let that man ruin the rest of my journey. My twin sister and a marvelous time were awaiting me, and I wanted to forget about everything that had happened yesterday. So I took a deep breath, pushed aside my frustration, and watched the countryside roll by.

This carriage was much more comfortable than Grandmother’s, and I did not feel half as ill as I had yesterday. Betsy spent a good part of the ride guessing what Edenbrooke would look like and what the Wyndhams would be like. I smiled indulgently, listening with half an ear to her prattle. Her conversation rarely required a response.

I sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a quiet maid who knew her place and who did not bother me with her constant chatter. But I could not imagine dismissing Betsy. When my father had arranged for me to go to Bath, Grandmother had insisted I come with a maid. Betsy, the daughter of one of my father’s tenant farmers, was chosen. It had been a great comfort to me to have somebody from home, even if she was often aggravating.

We traveled through the afternoon, until Betsy ran out of conversation and my sore body protested against the bumps in the road. When we finally pulled off the road onto a long drive leading through woods, I sat forward, eager to see our final destination. But the trees kept us from seeing much of anything until we crested a small hill.

“Oh, stop, please!” I called to the coachman. I climbed out of the carriage and stood looking down on what I was sure was Edenbrooke.

The house was impressively large, stately, and perfectly symmetrical, built out of cream-colored stone and surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens. Giant trees dotted the expanse of grass, the green so brilliant in the sunlight that I had to squint to look at it. A river ran through the estate, behind the house, and I saw a beautifully arched stone bridge spanning the water. Farmland spread out beyond it like a peacock’s tail, with neat fences and hedges and productive fields stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Oh,” I heard Betsy sigh with pleasure, and then she was silent. For Betsy to be silenced by beauty meant a great deal, and I smiled in agreement. Edenbrooke appeared to be everything one would want in an estate.

“It is a beauty, to be sure,” the coachman said. “Best farmland in the county.”

I thought of my own home in Surrey. It was very modest by comparison, with only two floors and eighteen rooms. My father owned a few hundred acres of land, which was worked by tenant farmers, but his holding looked like child’s play in comparison to the grand estate of Edenbrooke. It surely took a competent hand to manage all of this. My estimation of my host rose considerably. Cecily had certainly chosen well for herself. What a privilege to be able to stay here for any length of time.

I climbed back inside the carriage, even more eager to arrive. As we rode down the hill and approached the house, I experienced a sense of coming home after being gone for a long time. It was a nonsensical feeling, for this elegant place bore no resemblance to my home. But still, I felt as if I already loved every blade of grass, every tree, every neat hedge and wild rose.

I shook my head in an effort to clear it. I was, no doubt, still suffering from shock due to the horrific events of last night. My mind was coming unhinged because of fatigue. I was only imagining this sense of homecoming—this urgency to be here at last.

The large front door opened as the coach pulled through the curving drive and came to a halt. A footman emerged from the house and opened the carriage door, offering a gloved hand to help me descend. I had no sooner touched ground than I heard a feminine voice greet me. I looked up, expecting to see Cecily’s golden hair and bright blue eyes. But the lady approaching me with outstretched hands could be no one but Lady Caroline. She was tall and slim. Her brown hair was lightly shadowed with gray, and her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at me.

“I should have invited you long ago,” she said. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve come. May I call you Marianne?”

“Y-yes, of course you may,” I stammered, surprised by her familiar air. But then, she and my mother had been close friends for much of their lives—almost like sisters. I felt, in her request, that she was inviting me not just into her home, but into her family. I found that I liked the idea very well.

“I have been so anxious about your safety since learning of your mishap last night. I could hardly believe it!” She put an arm around my shoulders and walked me toward the door. “A highwayman, in this area? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

So Philip had evidently written more in his letter than simply my expected time of arrival. This seemed the perfect opportunity to ask his identity, but it struck me that it would seem very strange to admit that I had dined alone with a man last night without even knowing who he was. I hesitated, afraid Lady Caroline might think less of me if she found out, and then I lost my opportunity, for we entered the house.

As soon as I stepped inside, I had to stop and stare. The entryway was three stories high, light and airy, with windows letting in slants of sunlight that fell on white marble floors. I tipped my head back to take in the paintings that stretched up to the high ceiling. A butler and a housekeeper stood at attention, and several footmen lined up before the grand staircase.

I gulped, feeling quite small and inexperienced in the midst of all this stately grandeur.

Lady Caroline led me upstairs to a bedchamber on the second floor. The room was decorated in blue, with a large bed, a writing desk by the window, and an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Through the window I could see a beautiful view of the river and the bridge that I had seen from the coach. The room was both elegant and comfortable, and I felt an immediate desire to call this place home.

I suddenly remembered who
did
plan on calling this place home. “I should have asked earlier,” I said, “but where might I find Cecily?”

“There was a masquerade ball that she and Louisa could not bear the thought of missing. My son William and his wife, Rachel, live in London, and the girls are staying with them. They’ll bring them here within the week.”

“Oh.” How awkward to be here a week before Cecily. “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Of course not. We are happy to have you.” She seemed sincere, but I still felt embarrassed by the circumstances. It would be so much more comfortable to have Cecily here with me. Then Lady Caroline added, “My sister and her husband are also staying here while they have some work done on their house. So you will not be the only guest.”

I relaxed a little at the news. After making sure the room was just as it should be, Lady Caroline suggested I rest from my journey and then invited me to join them in the drawing room before dinner, which would be in one hour.

Lady Caroline left the room, but I did not think I could rest if I wanted to. Betsy was unpacking my clothing and prattling on about how beautiful and grand everything was. I only gave her half my attention, the other half intent on seeing as much from my bedroom window as I could. The grounds looked so inviting, and I really only needed a half hour to change for dinner.

I quickly made up my mind. “I’m going to explore the gardens. I’ll return shortly,” I told Betsy as I rushed from the room. I heard her call after me, but I ignored her and hurried down the stairs. I did not have time to search for a door leading into the back of the estate, so I slipped quietly out the front door and walked around the side of the house. I was determined to see the river and that lovely bridge.

It was farther from the house than I had expected, but it was well worth the effort. The water ran clear over a rocky bed, and I saw a few fish swim by. I turned to the bridge, which was made of old stone with tall Grecian arches supporting the roof overhead. I sighed as I ran my hand over the stones. Even the bridges here were beautiful.

I looked back at the house, trying to gauge how long I had been gone. Probably ten minutes. Which meant I had another few minutes to explore. I crossed the bridge, my footsteps ringing on the stones. The land on the other side of the bridge was wilder, not as smooth or neatly manicured, which suited my tastes just fine.

Oh, how I had missed living in the country! I walked along the riverbank a short ways, but knew I had to turn back soon. I told myself I would have plenty of time—an entire summer—to explore and enjoy this paradise. For that was exactly what it seemed to me. After more than a year in a cobblestoned city, I felt like a bird that had just been released from a cage. To finally be free and in the country again!

In my rapture, I closed my eyes, tipped my head back, and twirled with my arms outstretched, wanting to take in everything, with every sense. It was so glorious! It was so divine! It was so . . . muddy!

My eyes flew open as my feet slipped out from beneath me. I cried out as I hit the ground, my momentum sending me rolling down the embankment. I landed with a splash in the cold water.

Chapter 7

When my head broke free of the water, I shrieked and coughed in a most inelegant fashion. I noticed with alarm that I was moving rapidly away from the house. Even though the water was not very deep, I struggled to find my footing on the rocky bed. Between the slick stones and the current, I failed at my attempt to stand up.

Seeing a large weeping willow up ahead with its branches trailing into the water, I locked my gaze on one branch that looked like it might be sturdier than the rest. When the current swept me within reach, I grabbed the branch and clung to it, kicking frantically until I could reach the bank.

I scrambled up the bank, rolled over, and sprawled on the grass for a moment as I caught my breath. When I stood up, I noticed that among the wet folds of my gown were patches of mud, blades of grass, and soggy leaves. I reached up and felt my hair, which seemed to be hanging in strange configurations, and picked a leaf out of it.

Oh, bother. Now I would have to find a way to look presentable before dinner, and I had probably already spent too much time away. I would have to hurry to make it back in time for dinner. And what if somebody saw me?

I pushed my hair out of my face and walked toward the bridge as quickly as my damp skirts and squelching boots would allow. Why, oh why, did I have to go exploring? And why did I twirl? This was precisely the sort of behavior my grandmother disapproved of. This was why she wanted me to change my ways. After all, what sort of heiress goes falling into rivers?

I had just reached the bridge when I heard the sound of a trotting horse coming from behind me. I whipped around and saw a man on horseback approaching. Not wanting my first impression here to be marred by someone seeing me all wet and muddy, I quickly slipped around the side of the bridge and crouched down, hiding myself in the tall grasses by the river.

I waited tensely as the hoofbeats sounded nearer. Whistling accompanied the sound. Curious, I looked up just as the horse reached the bridge. I was so shocked by what I saw that I reared back and promptly lost my balance. I waved my arms wildly as I tried to resist tipping backward. But my flailing did nothing to save me, and I shrieked as I fell, once again, into the river.

I resurfaced quickly and saw the horse splashing into the water and a hand reaching down toward me.

“Take my hand,” came the voice I least wanted to hear.

I refused to look up. “No, thank you.” I frantically tried to stand up.

“No, thank you?” the voice repeated, sounding surprised and amused.

I made my way to the other side of the bank, half-walking, half-swimming. I was much more successful at getting myself out of the water this time. No doubt the incentive was much greater. Scrambling up the bank, I said, “I am quite able—” I grunted as I tripped on my wet skirt and sprawled stomach-first in the mud. I got to my feet quickly. “Quite able, I assure you, sir, of walking on my own.”

I proved it by walking away from the river as quickly as I could. I heard the sound of the horse coming out of the water and following me. I kept my face turned away, intent on ignoring the man behind me and praying that he had not gotten a good look at my face.

There was the sound of moving leather as he dismounted, and then I felt him walking beside me.

“May I ask what you were doing hiding by the river, Marianne?”

Oh, bother. He
had
recognized me! I glanced up at him. Philip—if that was even his real name—looked even more handsome than he had last night. The sun glinted on his hair, and his eyes sparkled with amusement. And here I was, muddy, with leaves in my hair, and dripping wet. It was too much. No young woman should ever have to be subjected to this much embarrassment.

I lifted my chin, feigning dignity. “I was hiding so that I would not be seen wet and muddy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were wet and muddy? Before you fell in the river?”

I cleared my throat. “I fell in twice.”

He pressed his lips together and looked off in the distance, as if trying to regain his composure. When he looked at me again, his eyes were brimming with laughter. “And may I ask how you came to fall in the river the first time?”

My face burned as I realized how silly I had been, how childish and inelegant. Of course, he already knew those things about me from my actions at the inn last night. Singing that song! Laughing, and then crying! And now falling into a river! I had never been more aware of my faults than I was at that moment.

“I was, er, twirling,” I said.

His lips twitched. “I cannot imagine it. You must demonstrate for me.”

I glared at him. “I certainly will not. It was not meant for an audience. It was just something I did because . . .” I waved my hand around, at a complete loss for words.

Philip stopped, pulling his horse to a halt beside him, and I turned to face him. He was waiting for a real explanation, I could tell, and I sighed with defeat.

“I just thought it was so lovely,” I confessed in a quiet voice. “Everything.” I gestured to the view before us. “Rapturous, even. And I was so caught up in it, in how happy I was to be here, to have all of this beauty to look forward to, and so I . . . twirled. And lost my balance.” I held my head high and dared him with a look to laugh at me. “I suppose you think that’s humorous.”