Martha Schroeder (23 page)

“There it is,” Sir Richard said.

“It is lovely.” Gideon refused to surrender to the surge of emotion that swept over him at his first glimpse of Southbridge Castle. It was mere apprehension, he told himself, akin to the surge of energy one felt just before a charge. It was not recognition, not hope.

“I trust that the groom arrived in time to warn Serena.” Sir Richard smiled. “They do not entertain much at Southbridge.”

“And did you tell them to kill the fatted calf for the prodigal, Sir Richard?” Gideon asked, his unease finding release in sarcasm.

“They always do that when I come,” his host responded. “I am the prodigal, you see.”

“Ah. And I am your protégé”, I assume.”

“I could not very well convey my belief that you are Francis in a message delivered by a groom, Gideon. I will tell the marquess and Serena this evening, with you in attendance. It seems only fair.”

Fair! Gideon thought. What in his life had ever been fair? Recently he had begun to remember more about the early days in the gypsy camp. It seemed to him that on first awakening, sick and confused, he had somehow expected to be taken home to find his family again. But in the days and weeks that followed, he had learned that nothing that happened to him had anything to do with fairness or goodness, but only with chance and what he could make of it.

“Shall we go on?” Sir Richard looked at his home with what Gideon thought was wary affection. “The coach will not be far behind us.”

“Let us wait for Amelia and Miss Forrester,” Gideon said, conscious of a cowardly desire to have Amelia by his side when he met the unknown people who might be his family.

The two men sat silent, looking down on the house below them, each lost in his thoughts. In a few moments Lady Amelia’s traveling coach approached and drew to a halt.

Sir Richard leaned down and smiled in at the two ladies within. “We waited for you. Serena is not used to guests, and having two of them young ladies will make it easier for her.”

“Oh, dear, Sir Richard, you should have said something. We did not mean to impose.” Amelia was mortified. It had never occurred to her that a country house at Christmas would be anything but filled with relatives, friends, and neighbors. As the Abbey always had been.

“Nonsense. It is good for the marquess and Serena to have guests. Otherwise they might simply ignore the day as they have grown to do over the years.” He clicked his tongue and urged his mount forward. “We’ll meet at the door. Come on, Gideon, let us lead the way.”

When the carriage reached the door, an elderly man in a butler’s livery was already out on the steps, directing several footmen to take the riders’ saddlebags into the house. He greeted Sir Richard with what appeared to be real affection.

By the time the carriage came to a stop in front of the massive oak door, a dark-haired woman dressed in black had come out to greet the visitors. Amelia had an immediate impression of both warmth and sadness in her eyes as Serena, Lady Mountjoy, greeted her. Sir Richard had explained that the heir to the Marquess of Southbridge was the Earl of Mountjoy. He himself refused to use the title that had belonged to his brother, and Serena continued to be the Countess of Mountjoy.

“Lady Amelia,” the countess said in a quiet, sweet voice, “I am so glad that you have come to share the season with us. We have a very quiet Christmas, which I am sure will suit you since your loss is so recent.”

“Thank you very much, my lady.” Amelia could not help staring a little as she tried to decide if the lady resembled Gideon in any way. Their coloring was the same, she decided, but Gideon’s vigor and strong personality were nowhere in evidence.

Lady Mountjoy ushered them all into the main hall of the castle. As they went in, Amelia could hear Gideon’s sudden intake of breath as he saw the double staircase that ascended from each side of the hall and met in an elaborately carved balcony that led into the hall above.

“The double stairway,” she whispered to him.

The look he gave her in return would have frozen a lesser woman. “Please do not do this, Amy,” he said. “Do not try to make this mad escapade real. Many homes have similar staircases.”

She bowed her shining head, and Gideon could have kicked himself. The only person in the world who truly cared about him, and he seemed unable to treat her as she deserved. Perhaps what he had endured as a child on the streets had hardened him to the point that he could not respond openly even to the one person he loved, the one person he was sure loved him.

Steeling himself, he turned to the woman Sir Richard thought was his mother and looked her in the eye. “Lady Mountjoy,” he said, bowing over her hand. “It is very kind of you to welcome me here on Sir Richard’s account.”

“Any friend of Richard’s is welcome at any time,” she said, smiling up at him. As he held her gaze, Gideon became aware of a puzzled look in her eyes. “We have not met before, have we, Captain?” she said, uncertainty in her voice.

“No, my lady. I do not believe so. I have never been in this neighborhood, and I understand you are seldom in London.” Gideon betrayed no emotion other than formal politeness.

“No, I never go there. In fact, it has been years since I have left Southbridge and Papa.” She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “I must have windmills in my head. Of course, we have not met.”

The guests were escorted to their chambers, down a rabbit warren of halls and corridors. Gideon tried not to think, not to ask himself if any of what he saw was familiar. He had felt a jolt when he had seen the countess. Was it just because Sir Richard had told him that she might be his mother, or did he remember her?

So many questions. He sighed. Jane and Amelia were shown into their rooms and disappeared. He felt a stab of loss. He was alone now. Sir Richard had vanished earlier, into a room on the first floor that might have been a library. He was going to greet the marquess. Gideon would meet him this evening, when they gathered in the drawing room before dinner.

At last the footman stopped and stood aside for Gideon to enter a room. He went in, saw his worn saddlebag deposited with care on the floor before a large bed. The bed hangings and curtains were of deep crimson velvet and a dark blue and crimson carpet lay on the shining floor. Everything was clean but worn-out and tired-looking. There was a sense that nothing had been changed in the room in many years, that not so much as a candlestick had been moved even an inch.

Later, as he made his way downstairs to the drawing room, Gideon noticed that the entire house seemed to have that same look of having been frozen at some point in time. He entered the drawing room to find Sir Richard there before him, together with Lady Mountjoy and a tall, spare older man who Gideon decided must be the marquess, Lord Southbridge, Sir Richard’s father. Gideon stood a little straighter as he walked slowly over to meet the man who might be his grandfather. He could feel himself stiffen and become cold and formal as he always did when he encountered people who might snub him. After all, if they knew anything about him, it would have to be the story everyone else knew, the story Sir Richard had believed until yesterday. He was never sure how people would welcome a jumped-up gypsy brat with ideas above his station.

The
marquess surprised him. There was a look of baffled hurt in his eyes as if life had dealt him more blows than he knew how to deal with. He greeted Gideon with gentle courtesy, the same courtesy he would have used to greet the Archbishop of Canterbury, Gideon was sure. Or the devil himself. Like the late Duke of Doncaster, the Marquess of Southbridge was a true gentleman.

After offering him a glass of Madeira, the marquess said, “My son tells me that you are a good man to have beside him in a battle. From Richard that is high praise indeed.”

“Sir Richard is the bravest man I know.” Gideon was surprised that he was able to say such a thing to someone he had only just met. But it was true, and the old man before him was the sort of person who valued the truth. Gideon was not sure how he knew that, but he did.

Sir Richard approached, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. “You found your way down without help, Gideon? I asked one of the footmen to go up and lead you back here.”

“Yes,” said the marquess, “you must have quite a bump of direction. We sometimes have to leave a trail of string, like Theseus in the labyrinth, so our guests can find their way around this old pile.” He spoke with obvious affection for his home.

Gideon smiled. “I have always had that knack.”

“Unusual, in this place,” Sir Richard said, looking down into his glass and refusing to meet Gideon’s eyes. “It has been rebuilt and added on to so many times that occasionally I am not sure I know where every room is.”

“It was partially burned during the Civil War,” the marquess said.

“The fourth marquess failed to turn his coat in time to avoid Cromwell’s troops,” Sir Richard noted. “The main hall was rebuilt during the Restoration. That’s when the staircase was added.”

“
Let’s play Cavaliers, Drake. You can be the general, and we will be your troops.”

“Yes, Drake. We will fight the Roundheads off and save the castle.”

Where had that picture come from? And who was Drake? Why did that name sound familiar? Those dirty, happy little boys forming into a ragged army behind the one they called Drake, the one who looked like—Gideon blinked and the picture was gone.

“Captain Falconer?” It was Lady Mountjoy’s voice, and her hand that lay on his sleeve. “Are you all right?”

He stared down at her for a moment, mesmerized by the concern in her voice. Resolutely he thrust the thought of those little boys aside. “Yes,” he said at last. “I am quite all right. This is truly excellent Madeira, my lady.”

She smiled at him and removed her hand. “Thank you. I had nothing whatever to do with acquiring it, so I feel perfectly at liberty to agree with you about its excellence.”

Before Gideon could think of a reply, Amelia and Jane entered the room. By the time they were introduced to the marquess, offered glasses of sherry or ratafia, asked about their comfort and the adequacy of the fire in their rooms, the butler entered and announced dinner.

Somehow Gideon found himself escorting Lady Mountjoy, while the marquess took Amelia’s arm. That left Sir Richard and Jane to bring up the rear.

“You are comfortable, Jane?” Sir Richard asked. “And not missing your friends and activities at home too much? I am afraid that we are somewhat neglectful of Christmas here.”

Jane looked around “Yes. I can see that you do not favor holly or bows or a kissing bough. Do you not have a yule log in that enormous fireplace in the hall?”

“I cannot recall. I am not often here at Christmas.”

“Well, now that you are, perhaps we can all help to make it a merrier one than you are used to.”

Sir Richard’s face grew serious. “If I am right in my deductions, Jane, this is going to be a far happier Christmas than anyone in this house has had for a good many years.”

Impulsively she took his hand. “You must not expect things to go as you might wish them to, Richard. Sometimes people do not react as you believe they will.”

He looked down at her. “You are warning me not to hope for too much. I will try not to, but it is hard when I have seen Serena bowed down by sorrow for so long.”

He stood behind her chair as Jane seated herself. “You care for her very much, do you not?” she asked.

“Of course. Serena is the sweetest person I have ever known.” Richard took his seat halfway down the enormous mahogany table, and footmen began to bring in the removes. Jane found that she was not very hungry after all.

Watching Jane toy with her food through two interminable courses, Amelia was struck by the strangeness of this dinner party. She looked at Gideon, who had been seated at his hostess’s right and was struggling not to stare at this woman who might be his mother. Amelia smiled at him encouragingly. Considering what he had been through in the past few days, he looked remarkably fit and handsome. He was carrying off what must be the most difficult hour of his life with great aplomb. And now that she saw him seated next to Lady Mountjoy, the resemblance between them was so obvious that she wondered if she was the only one who noticed it.

She turned her head to look at Sir Richard, and saw him staring with the same arrested look she was sure was on her face. Almost dreading what she might see, Amelia turned to look up to where the marquess was sitting, at the other end of the table. When she noticed the epergne, she breathed a little easier. Surely he could not see over the huge silver piece. But then, the marquess was tall, easily as tall as Sir Richard or Gideon. And yes, he was looking at Gideon with a frown. His hand was clenched on the stem of his wineglass.

As Amelia looked on, her heart in her throat, he turned to his son. “Who is he, Richard?” The old man’s voice was harsh with strain, and his eyes dark with some emotion Amelia could not read. “Who is Gideon Falconer?”

“Someone I thought you should meet, sir,” Richard responded evenly.

His father’s fork clashed to the plate. “I had not thought you would fall prey to this foolishness—seeing Francis in every face. I have grown used to it from Serena. I understand her need to hope. But you—! How could you, my boy?”

“Wait until you have all the facts before you judge me, sir.” Richard’s look was implacable. “I think you will understand.”

Lady Mountjoy rose, a signal for Amelia and Jane to do the same. “Do not dare to discuss this without us, Father,” she said, her voice sweet but somehow commanding. “I will not say what I think until you have joined us in the drawing room. I suggest you all hurry with your port.”

The marquess threw his napkin down on the table. “I think we will all need brandy this evening, Serena. And we will drink it in the drawing room with you ladies. And then, Richard,” he said, turning his icy gaze to his younger son, “I will expect a complete explanation from you.”

“What is there to explain, Father?” Serena said. The room stilled as she turned to Gideon with a smile that was like a sunrise. “Richard has brought Francis home to us.”