A Stranger at Castonbury (7 page)

Chapter Seven

‘D
o you think there will be handsome young men at this party, Mrs Moreno?’

Catalina wanted to smile at Lydia Westman’s shyly eager words. It was very hard to keep a stern governess demeanour in the face of the girl’s enthusiasm, but sternness had to be maintained. Catalina had learned that after weeks of being practically alone with the girl in the countryside before being summoned to this wedding. Lydia was a romantic young lady with a great fondness for horrid novels about ghosts and crumbling castles and lost loves, and she was rather eager to find out what it was like to fall in love herself. Catalina had not been with her very long at all, only a matter of weeks, but she had grown fond of the girl. And she had seen right away that her first task would be to make sure Lydia employed a bit of sense in who she chose to marry.

Unlike Catalina herself, who had thought nothing of throwing herself headlong into wild wartime romance—and paid the price with her heart, which was now locked safely away.

‘I am sure there will be,’ Catalina said, bracing herself as the carriage jounced over another rut in the road. Lydia didn’t seem to notice, as she had been buried in her latest volume of romantic poetry for several miles, leaving Catalina to her own thoughts. ‘It is a wedding, after all. I’m sure the bridegroom has many young relatives and friends.’

‘And a wedding in a great family!’ Lydia said with a sigh. ‘I can’t believe I have never met them before, even though the duchess was my mother’s cousin. My friend Miss Crompton told me the Montagues are said to be most peculiar. Do you suppose that means there is
madness
in the family? I have never met a real mad person before. It should be most interesting, don’t you think, Mrs Moreno?’

Catalina bit her lip to keep from laughing. ‘I am sure they are no more peculiar than any other ducal family. Such people are entitled to their eccentricities, I believe, especially here in England.’

‘Do you not have dukes in Spain, Mrs Moreno?’

‘Of course we do. But they are rather different.’ Catalina drew a volume of
Don Quixote
from her valise and handed it to Lydia. ‘Why do you not read that for a while? There are lots of mad people in that tale, and you can practise your Spanish a bit. You have been doing so well with it.’ Learning languages was one of the reasons Lydia’s guardian had hired a foreign companion for her, that and Mrs Burnes’s stellar recommendation.

Lydia frowned as she turned the book over in her hands. ‘It looks rather...long.’

‘We still have some time before we reach Castonbury.’

Lydia nodded and opened the volume, and as Catalina had expected she was soon lost in the don’s adventures with Sancho Panza. And Catalina was left alone again.

She gazed out of the carriage window as the scenery bounced past. It was so green and soft, so very different from the rolling brown hills and enclosed gardens of Spain.

But
different
was what she had sought when she had fled Spain. There was nothing for her there. Even if she had sought to reclaim her family’s place, her well-known anti-monarchical ideas would have made life in Spain uncomfortable. And she had little money. When the chance had come to travel to England as nurse to an English general’s sickly wife, it had seemed like an opportunity. A chance to begin life again after all that had happened.

Even though it meant beginning in England, Jamie’s homeland. Yet she had never imagined her new position, as governess and companion to a pretty debutante, would take her to his actual home. She had only got the job thanks to Mrs Burnes’s glowing reference and had known little about the task at first. She and Lydia had been staying in the countryside, away from Town gossip.

Castonbury.
She remembered how he had spoken of it, his family’s home, and it hadn’t sounded like it could be a real place. It had sounded like a whole world in itself, a green land of lakes and follies and hidden bowers. Catalina had loved his tales of it, because her own home was gone and she had never really felt like she belonged there anyway. She didn’t belong anywhere, except for those few moments in Jamie’s arms when she hadn’t been able to imagine being anywhere else.

But that had been an illusion in the end, a dream she had conjured up all on her own. The only reality in life was to be alone. Twice widowed, she had learned that well, and she was content with it. She had learned to put Jamie away, hidden deep in her heart. To forget about what had been—and what might have been, if he had come back and they had been able to work things out between them. If everything had been as she dreamed.

Never had she thought she would go to his home and see his family. When Lydia’s guardian had asked her to go with the girl for this wedding, her first instinct had been to refuse, to quit her position and find a new one where she would never have to see this place. Never be so starkly reminded of Jamie, and how her dreams had been shattered by his work and then by his death.

Catalina looked across the carriage at Lydia. The girl had her head bent over her book, the daylight playing over the red-gold curls that peeked from under her chip straw bonnet. Catalina
liked
Lydia. In truth, she had become quite fond of her in the short time they had been together, and she sensed that Lydia needed her. The girl had been motherless for a long time, and in her one Season weathering the storm of Society life hadn’t been easy for her. Catalina couldn’t just leave her.

Even if it did mean going to Castonbury.

It is only for a few days
,
Catalina told herself. Just a few days in a house that she would surely find was only a house, a place of stone and brick where no trace of Jamie remained. She would be quiet and unobtrusive, as she always was, and the family would take no notice of her.

Then they would go back to London and it would be over.

As if she sensed Catalina watching her, Lydia glanced up and smiled. But it wasn’t her usual sunny smile. It seemed strangely tentative.

‘Is something wrong,
pequeña
?’ Catalina asked.

Lydia shook her head. ‘No, of course not. What could be wrong? I just...’

‘Just what?’

‘I just wonder—will they like me? The Montagues?’ Lydia sounded so young and unsure.

‘Of course they will like you,’ Catalina said. ‘They are your family.’

‘I know, but they don’t really
feel
like my family. I hardly know them at all. I mean, I met the duchess once when I was a child, though I scarcely remember her, and Lady Kate came to call when she had her Season, but that’s all. I’m not sure why they even invited me to this wedding.’

‘Perhaps because they want to know you better?’ Catalina said soothingly. ‘I am sure there is nothing to fear. You need only enjoy yourself for a few days and get to know your relatives. You are sure to like them, and they can’t help but like you.’

Lydia bit her lip. ‘Do you think so?’

‘I am sure of it.’ Catalina gave her a smile. ‘And I am sure there will be handsome young men there, just as you hoped.’

Lydia laughed. ‘Oh, I do hope so! If I can only be brave enough to talk to them.’

‘You need have no fear of that.
They
will talk to
you
.’ Catalina tapped the book in Lydia’s hands. ‘Now, tell me what you think of the don. Have you any Spanish words you want to go over?’

They talked about the story until the carriage slowed down to sway around a bend in the road. Catalina looked out the window and saw they were rolling through a pair of elaborately wrought iron gates surmounted by a family crest.

Castonbury.
They were here at last.

The ornate iron gates, surmounted by the family crest and with a substantial stone lodge nearby, stood open to greet guests. Vast gardens lay beyond in a rolling vista of beautiful views, with twin lakes in the distance connected by an arched bridge and with white marble follies on hilltops. It was all just as Jamie had said it was.

Catalina swallowed hard as they drew closer to the house. It looked as if it had been just there on the land for ever, a graceful, classical sweep of a house, pale and perfect and somehow as substantial as a mountain. It proclaimed that it belonged there, that its family belonged there. It spoke of tradition and duty and devotion.

And Catalina could see so clearly now that she could
never
have belonged there as the Montagues did. Even if Jamie had lived and brought her here as his marchioness, it would not have been hers.

‘Mrs Moreno?’ Lydia asked, her voice soft with concern. ‘Are you quite well? You look so strange all of a sudden.’

Catalina turned away from the window and smiled at Lydia. ‘I am perfectly fine. I think I’ve just been in the carriage too long and need some fresh air. Isn’t the house lovely?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Lydia turned eagerly to the view, her eyes shining as she took in the prospect down the sweep of the drive. ‘I have heard about Castonbury for ages, and it is just as I imagined it. It looks as if a king should live there.’

A king.
A memory suddenly flashed through Catalina’s mind, of Jamie walking with her beside a Spanish river, the sunlight gleaming on his dark hair and turning his skin to pure, molten gold. In that moment when everything seemed to go still around them, she had been sure he looked like a god come to earth.

The carriage drew to a halt, and Catalina was pulled out of her memories and into the present moment. She wasn’t here to remember, she was here to work, to get through these few days and get on with her life again. She straightened the ribbons of her bonnet and smoothed down the collar of her grey pelisse.

A footman hurried to open the carriage door and lower the steps. Catalina stepped down onto the gravel drive behind Lydia, and had to grab the girl’s arm before she could go dashing off to look at some horses in a nearby paddock. Lydia had never had the chance to learn to really ride and yet was fascinated by horses.

‘We must greet our hostess and find our rooms first, Lydia, don’t forget,’ Catalina said. ‘There will be time for exploring later.’

Lydia pouted a bit, but she obediently followed Catalina up the wide stone steps and through the pillared portico into the front doors. The soaring hall was so dark and gloomy that for a moment Catalina couldn’t see anything at all. She felt like she was surrounded by shadows, by the sweet smell of flowers and beeswax polish pressing in on her.

She rubbed her gloved hand over her eyes and looked up to see a staircase winding into the upper recesses of the house. Marble pillars lined the space, soaring up to a painted ceiling and more galleries above. Paintings in heavy gilt frames were hung on the panelled wall along its length, an array of Elizabethan ruffs and Cavalier plumes mixed with powdered wigs and satin gowns. And one young man standing under a tree in the Castonbury Park, his hat held casually in his hand as the breeze tousled his dark hair and he smiled out at the viewer.

Jamie.
It was Jamie, younger and more carefree than when she had known him, but just as handsome. Just as wondrously alive, before Spain had altered his soul.

Her throat tightened, and she turned away from the glow of those blue-grey eyes. Perhaps being here at Castonbury would be harder than she had feared.

‘Miss Westman?’ a woman asked. Catalina turned to see a lady hurrying towards them. ‘I am Mrs Stratton, housekeeper at Castonbury. Welcome to the estate.’

‘Thank you,’ Lydia said, and Catalina was proud of her calm poise. ‘It is most lovely here.’

‘Miss Seagrove was very sorry not to be here to greet you herself, but she and the other ladies went into Buxton for the day. I will have some tea sent to your room, and everyone should be here for dinner this evening. If you would care to follow me.’ Mrs Stratton turned to smile at Catalina. ‘And you are Mrs Moreno, yes?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Catalina answered. ‘I am also very pleased to be here.’

‘I have put your room right across from Miss Westman,’ Mrs Stratton said. ‘I hope that will be comfortable for you both?’

Catalina had half expected to be sent off to the servants’ quarters where it would be next to impossible to keep an eye on Lydia. She was quite pleasantly surprised. ‘Yes, of course. Most comfortable.’

‘You both must be tired from your journey. I will show you to your rooms directly.’ Mrs Stratton led them up the staircase, the keys at her belt jangling lightly. ‘The rest of the guests will arrive tomorrow.’

Catalina looked away from Jamie as they passed his portrait, but it was almost as if he watched her walk past. As if he was with her here in his house.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on Lydia and not the strangeness of being in Jamie’s home. For once the girl was perfectly silent, staring around her with wide eyes as they turned down a corridor lined with more paintings, more carved furniture, more Chinese vases filled with bright flowers and classical statues set in their niches. They passed several closed doors and a maid hurrying past with a tray in her hands until they came to the end of the corridor.

‘I hope you will like it here,’ Mrs Stratton said as she opened one of the doors. ‘It is quietest at this end of the guest wing.’

Lydia’s room was lovely, a charming space with a white-draped bed and modern French furniture grouped around a tiled fireplace. A maid was already laying out her things on the tulle-covered dressing table. The windows looked out on the terraced gardens behind the house, rolling down to the twin lakes joined by a bridge.

‘It’s beautiful.’ Lydia sighed. She leaned against the windowsill to peer outside, still wide-eyed at the beauty of the place.

‘Let me show you to your room, Mrs Moreno,’ Mrs Stratton said. ‘Sally can help Miss Westman while you settle in.’

‘Thank you,’ Catalina said. She followed the housekeeper to the room across the corridor, suddenly weary. The journey had been a long one, and now being in this house weighed on her heavily. She rubbed her eyes and stepped into the chamber across the corridor.

It was smaller than Lydia’s and looked out onto a smaller side garden, but it was just as comfortably furnished with a dark wood bed and tables and chairs upholstered with blue velvet. A cushioned seat was built into the window, a perfect spot for curling up to read or nap.