Prelude for a Lord (31 page)

Alethea was confused, which her face must have revealed, for
Lady Ravenhurst reached out to touch the back of her hand with gentle fingers. “And now I am the one who is despondent. But I will explain, for I believe I understand your aunt and . . .” She searched Alethea’s face. “. . . I do not think anyone else will be able to tell you this confidence.”

“Confidence?”

“Your aunt is older than I, but our husbands were of an age. Mr. Garen was twenty years older than your aunt when he married her, and there were thirty years between myself and my husband. Raven does not remember his father.” Something in Lady Ravenhurst’s eyes made Alethea suspect that the marchioness believed that to be an advantage. “He came into the title when he was six years old.”

From Lady Ravenhurst’s tone, Alethea suspected she had not been in love with her husband, and Aunt Ebena had not been in love with Mr. Garen.

“Before my husband died, we would spend every season in town, just as Mr. and Mrs. Garen did. I did not know her well, but my husband was acquainted with Mr. Garen. There are not many in town now who remember that your aunt’s father, Lord Winterscomb, had not been very wealthy. However, he received a generous settlement upon your aunt’s marriage to Mr. Garen.”

The air solidified in Alethea’s lungs, and she could not breathe. She heard the hated rise and fall of her brother’s voice as he explained the betrothal arrangements he had made on her behalf. She remembered his vitriol and anger. She remembered the searing pain of him breaking the last two fingers of her left hand because she had defied him. The knuckles, healed for over a year now, began to throb.

Lady Ravenhurst was not looking at Alethea. “You must understand that in those times, it was not so unusual for a woman to be sold in marriage by her father. But it can be very damaging to a
woman’s heart to know she has had no authority over the direction of her own life.”

“Yes,” Alethea whispered. She rubbed the fingers of her left hand. “I understand. Margaret may have misunderstood my aunt, but women have so few choices that when able, we must not allow others to tyrannize us.”

“You must not think your aunt had an unhappy marriage. She greatly enjoyed the culture of the city—the concerts, private art exhibitions, museums, literary circles—and her husband enabled her to indulge her passions.”

“She still does.” Alethea understood, now, her aunt’s love for Bath and all the events she could attend there, where she could live within her means as opposed to London.

Lady Ravenhurst took a sip of her lukewarm tea and grimaced. She warmed her cup with more from the pot and did the same to Alethea’s. In a more cheerful voice, she said, “I fear we have wandered far afield from the original lesson to be taught to your young cousin. What shall you do, then?”

The discussion moved to the trials of being a parent, until Lady Morrish wandered into the drawing room.

“My lady, allow me to ring for a fresh pot of tea,” Lady Ravenhurst said.

Alethea rose. “I beg you will both excuse me, for I must speak to Margaret, and then I must call upon the rector’s wife.”

She found Margaret sulking near the Monk’s pond—or perhaps skulking was the better word, for she was avoiding the nursery maid who had been assigned to her. Lucy had cleaned Margaret’s face and removed the twig and any other gifts of nature from her hair, which was now somewhat tamed. She had put Margaret in a fresh dress, but the girl had run outside with only a light spencer against the cold. Her stubbornness had refused to allow her to return inside for a cloak, and her lips were beginning to turn blue.

Alethea pulled Margaret close to wrap them both in her cloak and directed their steps toward the small, walled garden on the other side of the house, with its narrow walks and stone benches along the perimeter. Margaret had not spoken but leveled her with a look not in the least bit subordinate. Alethea had not spoken either, and they passed under the archway into the sheltering arms of the garden. They sat upon a stone bench, and the stillness wrapped around them.

The garden would be beautiful in the spring, with flowers bordering the paths and the arches of trained pear trees in full blossom. In winter it was more bleak but still beautiful.

“I will not apologize to them,” Margaret said.

“What started the squabble this time?”

It involved some game of Robin Hood with roles that Margaret had objected to. “I don’t like it here. I want to return to Bath.”

“There will always be people we do not perfectly sympathize with. But we must learn to be amiable and polite.”

“One cannot be amiable with girls like that.”

Alethea thought of all she had learned about her aunt this morning and how, a year ago, the two of them would never have had the conversation they did in the drawing room. “When I first came to live with Aunt Ebena, we did not comprehend each other well. But I worked to understand her personality, and now I know for a certainty that she loves me and you very much.”

“How can I understand their personalities when they are so overbearing?”

“Sometimes we must simply be silent. Eventually, they may realize they are in the wrong and apologize.”

“That is what Mrs. Coon says,” Margaret said, referring to the rector’s wife. “She said that God would speak to our hearts and convict us to do what is right.”

Alethea was not so certain of that. Where had that God been when her brother had broken her fingers?

Margaret continued, “And I told her that God told me to give Maria a slap.”

Alethea tried not to smile. “That was very wrong,” she said.

“Mrs. Coon said that if we are not listening to God, he cannot speak to our hearts, which is why people are often disagreeable to each other.”

That simplistic observation sobered Alethea. Her family had been very disagreeable to her, but had she not been disagreeable to Aunt Ebena and Dommick? The thought that she had behaved like her father or brother was disturbing.

“You should try to understand Maria and Louisa better,” Alethea said. “Perhaps they have a reason for why they are so forceful in their opinions. And you yourself are not very pliant in your own ideas.”

Margaret grimaced. “Oh, very well.”

“Now.” Alethea stood, forcing Margaret to her feet also. “We shall go to your room, and I am going to ask you to do something courageous, involving great skill and strength.”

“What?” Margaret looked eager.

“You will spend the rest of the day in your room—”

“But, Alethea—”

“—reflecting on what I have told you, and thinking of ideas of how you may implement them.”

“Of understanding Maria and Louisa?”

“Yes. And then you will gather your might so that tomorrow you may apologize to them—”

Margaret groaned.

“—and even somewhat
mean
it.”

After depositing Margaret in her room with the nursery maid, Alethea turned her steps toward the rectory, feeling apprehensive.
Mrs. Coon was a kind, gentle woman, but her two daughters were absolute terrors. They had much more energy than Mrs. Coon could spare to them out of her full days.

Alethea was crossing the stretch of gravel in front of the abbey when she came in sight of Dommick, a shooting rifle over his shoulder and his gamekeeper walking beside him. Two dogs pranced about his feet, then raced to Alethea as they caught sight of her.

She knelt and gave them her hands to sniff and lick, and when she rose again, Dommick stood before her. He had given his gun to the gamekeeper, and he now offered her his arm. “Have you a moment to walk with me?”

“Of course.” Alethea was more than willing to interrupt her visit to the rectory.

The dogs followed the gamekeeper toward the house. Dommick led her through the grass around the lake. They entered the forest edging part of the lake, tramping deeper through the trees toward the far side.

They came upon a stream that emptied into the body of water and followed it back to where it flowed in several fingers of trickles. Reeds grew at the water’s edge, and a path beside it had been constructed of flat rocks pressed into the soil. Trees overshadowed the path, and the brown fingers of ferns curled alongside. There was a wildness to the place that appealed to her.

“May we stop here?”

“There is a bench farther upstream.”

They continued until they came upon a tiny gazebo of dark painted wood tucked under the trees and trailing vines. Moss covered the shingled roof, which protected the wooden seats and stone floor from the falling leaves and rain, although the benches were a little damp from the last storm. Alethea did not mind and promptly sat, drawing her cloak about her to protect from the chill in the shadows of the trees.

Dommick drew a letter from his coat pocket. “I have been pleasantly surprised by the result of my letter to Guido Manco. His father, who was also named Guido Manco, was in fact Count Sondrono’s secretary. He was the intermediary who sold Sondrono’s paintings to Lord Hazardfield’s father.”

“Does he know of the count’s living relations?”

“He has sent me the names of two of Sondrono’s brothers who lived in Italy, but Manco’s father left the country before Manco was born and he does not know more. I can inquire, but correspondence to the continent is slow.”

“This is not promising news.”

“That is not what was promising about his letter. Manco’s father kept meticulous records of each item he sold for the count, which included the names of the men who bought them. He also had records of where and how the count acquired the item.”

Alethea stared in disbelief. “He has a record of the violin, although it was sold so long ago?”

“He may. When he received my letter, he looked through his father’s records and found that his father sold three violins as well as other instruments.”

“So we can determine which of those violins is mine. We will know where the count obtained it and to whom it was sold.”

“The thief could be related to Sondrono, or to the man who commissioned the violin, if it was not the count, or to the man to whom the violin was sold.”

“You are thorough in your distrust. I would not have considered those suspected persons.”

Dommick gave a half smile, and this time Alethea’s breath caught for a different reason.

“Manco is employed by the Duchess of Meyrick, managing her private art collection. He writes that he is travelling to several of the duchess’s estates to inventory new acquisitions and will be passing
near this part of the country in a few days. Rather than waiting for my reply, he will call upon me to view the violin and compare it to his father’s records.”

“A few days and we may know all.” And soon after that, if Dommick could uncover the identity of the thief, she would return to Bath. She pushed aside the lowering thought. “Has anyone approached the music room to look at our forged violin?”

He shook his head. “Ord watches from the hidden gallery, and Raven, Ian, and I take our turns.”

“I have been doing as you asked and calling on your neighbors and speaking to the local shopkeepers. They all now know that I am a guest at Terralton Abbey and the owner of a particularly fine and mysterious violin.”

“I’m sure Clare was able to direct you to the ones most likely to spread news of your arrival all throughout the country.”

“Oh, yes. However, your mother is still ill from the effects of travelling from Bath, and so Clare has been reading to her. I have taken Lucy with me on my visits.” She hesitated, then confessed, “Several people have remarked on our similar features. I did not wish to deceive them, but I have no desire to cause gossip—the neighbors of Trittonstone Park knew of Lucy’s parentage from the moment of her birth, and my association with her was what they objected to. But here, people know nothing of her and she is Clare’s abigail. I have attempted to turn the conversation, but I am afraid many have guessed she is a baseborn relation of mine.”

“It cannot be helped. Clare will determine the tone of the gossip. She has but to bat her eyelashes and the neighbors quite spoil her.”

“You should show your support of Clare and Lucy. One of the reasons my neighbors disapproved of my friendship with Lucy was because my father had been vocal in his disapprobation.”

“Probably because it was an embarrassment to him.”

“Oh, no doubt.” She gave a harsh bark of laughter. “He did not appreciate his indiscretion being flung into his face. And I fully knew it. He could not know his blustering would make me fight harder to be close to her.”

“You must admit that your friendship is unusual.”

“It is part of the reason why I value it so highly. Lucy wants nothing from me, because like me, the men in her life have been nothing but disappointments.” The bitter words hung in the air between them. She immediately regretted saying so much. “I apologize, my comments were indiscreet.”

“I think I understand you better.” He looked abashed. “When I first met you in London, my words must have seemed an echo of your father’s treatment of you.”

She had never consciously connected the two events, but he was right, of course. “I assure you, I was childish and willful. But the violin has always been my favoured instrument. Its music touched me in ways the music of other instruments did not.”