I cautiously made my way in. Light poured through windows facing the front and side of the estate. Tall mirrors lined the wall of the pink- and white-trimmed room, reflecting the light and brightening the entire area. An empty fireplace topped by an exquisitely ornate molding took up the center of the wall and promised heat on the cold nights when this room was filled with music and laughter. An alcove, twin to the one in my room, beckoned from the far corner.
“It’s perfect.”
“It is usually a favorite with the younger ladies.”
The glamour of the room dimmed. How cliché I was, to love a ballroom best. “Yes, I am sure it is.” I strode back through the door. “Is there anything else to be seen?”
“The house boasts over one hundred rooms, with a long gallery on the floor above us. There are also the grounds. If you are not too fatigued, they are worth beholding.”
The excitement I should have felt at the prospect of seeing more failed to arise. I shook my head. “I am a little tired. I think I shall rest for dinner.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
I trudged back to my room, wishing for all the world I was home.
I spent the next hours with my head against the window, watching the estate grounds until a maid entered and assisted dressing me for dinner. When I entered the antechamber, where Mrs. Duval had informed me everyone would assemble, the conversation halted.
“Ah, there you are, Margaret,” my father said with a smile.
“Am I late? I apologize if I am.”
“Not at all, my dear,” Lady Williams said.
Lord Williams held his arm out to me. “Miss Brinton?”
I hesitated, then placed my hand lightly on his arm and allowed him to lead me toward the dining room.
“I hope you enjoyed the tour of the house?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Very much.”
“And the grounds?”
“I haven’t yet ventured outside.” Lord Williams didn’t comment, so I filled the silence by explaining, “Your housekeeper suggested I should, but I found myself a little fatigued.”
“Of course.”
His comment was polite yet dismissive.
“Miss Brinton,” Lady Williams asked as we took our seats. “I understand you are quite musical.”
A little warily, I replied, “I enjoy music very much, your ladyship.”
“I am glad to hear it. This house always feels more full when there is music in it. Will you play for us after dinner?”
It was the last thing I wished to do. I should be at home, tending Alice, planning a marriage with no danger of affection, no danger of being hurt, and looking forward to a life of solitude. “I should be delighted.”
Lord Williams raised his brows but said nothing.
When we entered the music room an hour later, Lady Williams indicated a small table next to the piano. “We keep all our music there.”
Thanking her, I trooped to the table and shuffled through the papers, passing over most of the songs I had in my own collection. When I came across the one Lord Williams had asked me to play, though, I paused. What was it about this song in particular that appealed to both him and Mr. Northam? My body warmed at the memory of Lord Williams’s hand on my back, at his whisper about my performance at the Hickmores’. I glanced up to find his gaze on me, but he turned casually and said something to his mother. I turned the sheet over and continued my perusal.
In the end I discovered a dozen or so pieces that were unfamiliar. I removed a few and studied them with interest, then set them aside to work on when I found some time to myself. Retrieving a sonata I had memorized, I laid the sheets out on the piano before me, not trusting myself to play from memory on an unfamiliar instrument while an audience looked on. Even with the music I made two mistakes, but Lady Williams was gracious in her praise.
Lord Williams, however, said nothing. His comments certainly weren’t required. But anything would have been better than his detached silence.
It was obvious he had no wish for me to be here.
I should never have thrust my father and, inadvertently, myself upon him. And while I certainly didn’t expect him to be as attentive as he’d been before, I hadn’t expected this coldness.
It was for the best, but it still stung.
Lady Williams requested another song, but I couldn’t. “I’m afraid I am more tired than I thought. Would you be offended if I retired early?”
“Of course not, my dear,” she replied.
My father rose quickly to his feet. “You are not ill, are you, Margaret?”
“No. Just weary from the day.” I slid from the room and leaned against the wall outside the door.
“I hope she is not becoming ill,” I heard Lady Williams say.
“She has had a long day, mother,” Lord Williams replied, his tone dismissive.
I slunk to my room and fell onto my bed.
Twenty-Five
The next morning I paused at the top of the staircase and peeked over the railing. Nothing moved except the morning light slowly brightening the hall below. I straightened myself and walked elegantly down the stairs in case a servant walked by.
The entry demanded reverence, so I kept my pace slow and my footsteps quiet against the tile. When I finally escaped the house, shutting the front door securely behind me, I inhaled a deep breath of relief.
The river moved in a constant hurry. There was nothing peaceful about it, no sounds of quiet lapping, no stillness to reflect the trees and clouds. Instead, the current tugged at the branch of a nearby tree, unsuccessfully straining to tear it free.
I sat on a bench and tossed stones into the water until the sun broke above the trees and lit my face. At least its warmth felt familiar. I leaned back and tilted my face upward. With my eyes closed, I could almost imagine I was home.
There was no path near the river, but I walked its bank anyway, taking care to step on the grass and avoid the mud. My explorations took me around the back of the house, where I found a garden in the courtyard created by the towering walls of the house’s two wings. A stone path ran down the middle of the garden, stretching into the shadowed courtyard and ending at a door. Little shrubs, half a dozen inches high, created rectangular walls around flowerbeds lining either side of the path, and ivy climbed a short distance up the sides of the house, forming arches over the windows.
It was so much more formal than our own garden, the one Lord Williams had been so opposed to. He must have been mocking me that morning we’d walked together. I strolled the paths, missing the naturalness of my own place. When the church bell struck the hour, I returned to the front of the house and let myself in, startling a footman in the entry.
During breakfast I took the opportunity to assess my father’s health. He appeared rested and eager to spend the day in the library, confirming that my accompanying him to Lord Williams’s had been unnecessary. And, based on Lord Williams’s taciturn responses, unwanted.
As the meal ended, Lady Williams said, “You are most welcome to join me this morning, Miss Brinton. I believe one of our neighbors is planning to call.”
Feeling rather obliged, I agreed.
She led me into one of the parlors, and within a few minutes, a woman near her age with high, arched brows, white hair, and a commanding presence entered. Lady Williams smiled. “Miss Brinton, allow me to introduce my friend Mrs. Hargreaves. Mrs. Hargreaves, Miss Brinton will be staying with us a few days.”