No, she did not wish to visit in Yorkshire. Lucinda had not meant to be rude, but there it was. I am different here in England, Cecilia thought. I might make my hosts uncomfortable. As they traveled over good roads and under a cold but bright sky, Cecilia resolved to remain at Chase Hall only long enough to express her concerns to her pupil’s mother, and catch a mail coach south. It was too much to consider that the marquis would furnish her with a post chaise for the return trip.
Always observant of her students, especially the more promising ones, Cecilia had watched Lucy mope her way through the fall term. Her pupil, a budding artist, completed the required sketches and watercolors, but without enthusiasm. As she gave the matter serious consideration, Cecilia thought that the bloom left the rose with the letter from home in which Janet announced her engagement to Sir Lysander Polk of the Northumberland Polks, a dour collection of thin-lipped landowners—according to Lucinda, who already had an artist’s eye for caricature—who had somehow begotten a thoroughly charming son. Not only was Lysander charming; he was handsome in the extreme, and rich enough in the bargain to make Lord Falstoke, a careful parent, smile. Or so Lucy had declared, when she shared the letter with Cecilia.
The actualities were confirmed a short time later, when Lord and Lady Falstoke and the betrothed pair stopped at the Select Academy on their way to London’s modistes, cobblers, and milliners. On acquaintance with Sir Lysander, who did prove to be charming and handsome, Cecilia began to see the difficulty. She watched how Lady Janet hung on his every word, and found herself unable to tear herself from his side during the entire evening. Cecilia could not overlook the fact that the more Janet clung, the quieter Lucinda became.
Cecilia looked down at her sleeping charge. It is a most trying age, my dear, she thought. Hopefully a visit home would prove the antidote. At least Cecilia could lay the matter before Lady Falstoke, and get help from that quarter.
They arrived at Falstoke in the middle of the next afternoon, and the view, even in December, did not disappoint. Cecilia listened with a smile on her face as Lucy, more excited as the miles passed, pointed out favorite places. Her smile deepened as Lucy took hold of her arm and leaned forward.
“Oh, Miss Ambrose, just around this bend!”
She knew that Hugo Chase, Marquis of Falstoke, was a wealthy man, but the estate that met her eyes surprised her a little. Chase Hall was smaller than she would have imagined, but discreet, tasteful, and totally in harmony with the setting of trees, meadow, and stream. She could see a small lake in the near distance.
“Oh, Lucinda!” she exclaimed.
“I love coming home,” her pupil said softly.
They traveled the tree-lined lane to the circle drive and wide front steps, Lucy on the edge of the seat. When they came to a stop, Lucy remained where she was. “This is strange,” she murmured. “No one is here to meet us.” She frowned. “Usually the servants are lined up and Mama and Papa are standing on the steps.” She took Cecilia’s hand. “Can something be wrong?”
“Oh, surely not,” Cecilia replied. “We would have heard.” But we’ve been on the road, she added silently to herself. “Let us go inside.” She patted Lucy’s hand. “My dear, it is Christmastime and everyone is busy!” She saw the door open. “There, now. Uh, is that your butler? He is somewhat casual, is he not?”
Lucy looked up, her eyes even wider. “Something has happened! It is my uncle Trevor.”
The man came down the steps as Lucy came up, and caught her in his arms. Cecilia was relieved to see the smile on his face; surely that did not signal bad news. It was a nice smile, she decided, even if the man behind it was as casually dressed as an out of work road mender. She couldn’t really tell his age. She assumed that Lord Falstoke was in his middling forties. This uncle of Lucy’s had to be a younger brother. How curious then, for his hair was already gray. She smiled to herself. And had not seen a comb or brush yet that day, even though it was late afternoon.
He was a tall man who, despite his disheveled appearance, managed to look quite graceful, even as he hugged his niece, then kissed the top of her head. No, graceful was not the precise word, she decided. He is dignified. I doubt anyone ever argues with him. I know I would not.
She left the post chaise herself, content to stand on the lowest step quite unnoticed, as a young boy hurtled out of the open door and into his sister’s arms. The three of them—niece, nephew, and uncle—stood on the steps with their arms around one another. She came closer, feeling almost shy, and Lucy remembered her manners. “Miss Ambrose, I am sorry! Allow me . . . this is my uncle Trevor Chase, Papa’s only brother. Uncle, this is my teacher, Miss Cecilia Ambrose.”