And then, long before her mind had adjusted itself to the new facts of her existence, the carriage was traveling past a high park wall dotted with mosses and lichens and overhung with ivy, and turning to pass between massive stone gateposts onto a winding avenue lined with lime trees.
She could see rolling lawns dotted with oak and chestnut trees to either side. She even had a momentary glimpse of a group of grazing deer. Then the carriage rumbled over a bridge and she spotted rushing cascades passing below it. But even as she turned her head to get a better look, her attention was distracted.
The lime trees did not stretch beyond the bridge. Open and rolling lawns did nothing to obstruct the view of a mansion whose magnificence made the breath catch in Fleur’s throat.
The house had a long front, its low wings extending to either side of a high pedimented central section, its columns of exquisite fluted Corinthian design. A great central lantern and dome rose behind the pediment. The parapets were lined with stone statues, busts, vases, and urns.
A great marble fountain before the house played among clipped hedges and terraces of flowers and greenery.
She had thought Heron House, her own home—Matthew’s home—quite splendid. It would seem little more than a rustic cottage if set against this.
So much for her cozy manor and small, close-knit family group, Fleur thought, resting her head briefly against the cushions behind her as the carriage drew up before the marble horseshoe steps leading up to the main doors and the piano nobile, the main floor.
But it was the double doors below the steps that opened to admit her, the doors leading to the servants’ quarters. Mrs. Laycock, the housekeeper, would be pleased to receive Miss Hamilton in her private sitting room, a servant informed her with a half-bow before turning to lead the way.
Mrs. Laycock looked rather like a duchess herself, Fleur thought, her slim figure clad simply yet elegantly in black, her silver hair dressed smartly on top of her head. Only the bunch of keys at her waist proclaimed her status as a servant.
“Miss Hamilton?” she said, extending a hand to Fleur. “Welcome to Willoughby Hall. It must have been a long and tedious journey all the way from London. Mr. Houghton informed us that you would be arriving today. I am pleased that his grace has seen fit to employ a governess for Lady Pamela. It is time she had more stimulation for the mind and more activity than an elderly nurse can provide.”
Fleur set her hand in the housekeeper’s and received a firm handshake. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said. “I shall do my best to teach the child well.”
“It will not be easy,” Mrs. Laycock said, motioning Fleur to a chair. “May I pour you some tea, Miss Hamilton? I can see you are weary. You will have the duchess to contend with.”
Fleur looked her inquiry.
“Armitage, her grace’s personal maid, has confided to me that the duchess is not pleased with his grace’s sending a governess without even consulting her,” the housekeeper said, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Fleur.
“Oh, dear,” Fleur said.
“But you are not to worry,” Mrs. Laycock said. “It is the duke who is master here, and his grace has seen fit to look to the future of his daughter. Now, Miss Hamilton, tell me something about yourself. You and I will get along well together, I believe.”
PETER HOUGHTON, SORTING THROUGH THE DUKE of Ridgeway’s post and setting aside invitations that he thought his master might wish to accept, knew that the duke was in a bad mood as soon as he entered the house and even before he came into the study. There was a certain tone to his voice, even when one could not hear the exact words, that betrayed his mood.
And his grace was limping slightly, the secretary saw, getting to his feet as the duke entered the room and sinking back into his chair again when the latter waved an impatient hand. Normally his grace went to great pains not to limp.
“Anything of importance?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the pile of mail.
“An invitation to dine with his majesty,” Houghton said.
“Prinny? Make my excuses,” the duke said.
“It is a royal summons to dinner and cards,” the secretary said with a cough.
“Yes, I understand,” the duke said. “Make my excuses. Is there anything from my wife?”
“Nothing, your grace,” Houghton said, looking down at the pile.
“We will be leaving for Willoughby,” his grace said curtly. “Let me see. I have promised to accompany the Denningtons to the opera tomorrow evening in order to escort their niece. There is nothing else that cannot be canceled, is there? We will leave the day after tomorrow.”