Lord Greywell's Dilemma (15 page)

Elspeth glanced down at the mustard-colored dress she wore.

“Tell Lord Greywell I’ll join him in ten minutes. Where have you put Mrs. Waltham?”

“In the North Drawing Room, milady.”

With a nod she hurried off to the Blue Bedchamber, where a maid had already ironed and hung out several of her dresses. She found the girl talking with Bates, who sat hemming a handkerchief beside the sleeping baby’s cradle. Wonderful, she thought, now I can get dressed in front of both of them. Elspeth was beginning to wonder if her idea of keeping Andrew in her room was such a good one after all.

The maid assumed her assistance would be needed in Elspeth’s changing, and her mistress did not disillusion her. Without the girl’s help it would have taken her a great deal longer to present herself in the drawing room, but the baby woke just as she was leaving the room and she had to force herself not to go back and pick him up. She was sure the smug look Bates wore was meant for her.

The North Drawing Room was the one with the beautiful tapestries and a minimum of ornate furniture. The fireplace surround, it was true, was anything but plain, with its stucco embellishments of twisted columns, chubby cherubs, and a profusion of floral designs, but there was a spaciousness to the room which absorbed these details into something very elegant. When Elspeth entered the room she found Greywell seated opposite an absurdly dressed woman in her fifties with sharp brown eyes and a sagging face. The name Waltham had rung some bell with her when Selsey announced her, but it was only now that she remembered Greywell had said this woman knew of her.

Elspeth came forward with a welcoming smile, but the old woman frowned at her, saying curtly, “That’s not Elizabeth.”

“Elspeth,” Greywell corrected.

“Elspeth, Elizabeth, it doesn’t matter,” Abigail insisted. “This is not the woman I know. For God’s sake, Greywell, you’ve gone and married the wrong woman!”

Her two companions stared at her until Greywell hastily recollected himself and said gallantly, “This is certainly the woman I intended to marry, Abigail. She’s the woman Uncle Hampden wrote me about. If there was some confusion, I fear it must have been on your part.”

“I am never confused. We were discussing Elizabeth Parker quite clearly. I’ve known the woman all her life, and this is not she!”

“Very true,” Elspeth admitted, accepting the chair Greywell held for her. “You must be Mrs. Waltham. I’ve very pleased to meet you. Greywell has told me you’re a close neighbor of ours.”

The woman snorted her indignation. “And where do you come from?”

“Near Aylesbury. My father’s home is called Lyndhurst.”

“Never heard of it. Who’s your father?”

“Sir Edward Parkstone.”

“Never heard of him either.”

Elspeth looked to Greywell for a little encouragement, but he remained withdrawn, a brooding look on his face. To Mrs. Waltham she said, “Perhaps one day you’ll meet him. I’m expecting him to visit at Christmastime.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Abigail muttered. “If you were the right Elizabeth, I’d already know your home and your father.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it’s a great disappointment to you. I’ve come to see if I can’t induce a little more strength in Lord Greywell’s son, you know. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”

Abigail regarded her with the sharp brown eyes. “What makes you think you can do that?”

“I have a certain amount of experience with the children in my neighborhood. It has been rather a project of mine to see that they have enlightened care.”

“Enlightened,” Abigail scoffed. “The old methods are always the best methods.”

“I’m afraid I can’t completely agree with you there.” Elspeth looked to Greywell once again for some support, but he did no more than give her a perfunctory smile. What the devil had gotten into him? Elspeth hoped he didn’t intend to act this enigmatically whenever a guest arrived to meet her.

“Some of the old wives’ tales,” she told Abigail, “are injurious to infants. The bad has been passed along with the good.”

“And you think you can tell the difference?” Abigail demanded.

Elspeth refused to be intimidated by her companion’s outrageous behavior. “I hope so. I’ve been instructed by an excellent doctor and midwife, back at Lyndhurst. Of course, everything depends on God’s will,” she added virtuously.

“Now you remind me of Elizabeth,” Abigail chortled. “That was the one thing I was going to warn you about, Greywell, but I decided better of it. Elizabeth is a very devout woman.”

Greywell smiled sweetly on the two ladies. “That is a coincidence. Imagine there being two such virtuous women in England, and my being recommended to both of them. I can’t think how that came to happen when I’m such an unworthy fellow myself.”

The light mockery in his voice made Elspeth bristle. “I don’t know that I would consider anyone who collected snuffboxes by the dozen ‘unworthy,’ but it does denote a certain frivolity which I was surprised to learn of in you, Greywell. There are several of them which I consider unacceptable left lying about. Andrew is, of course, too young to be affected as yet, but there is the morality of the maids and footmen to be considered.”

At first Greywell thought she was teasing him, but, as that did not appear to be a part of her nature, he reluctantly came to the conclusion she was perfectly serious. Abigail’s bright eyes had swung from Elspeth to Greywell, eager for his reply, sheer delight emanating from her at the possibility of being witness to their first (she presumed) married quarrel. After all, they’d only been married a day.

“I’m sure the servants’ morality can withstand the sight of a few artistic snuffboxes,” he replied, seemingly indifferent. Greywell had no intention of arguing with his new wife in front of anyone.

“Just the same,” Elspeth replied, when you are gone I shall put away the indecent ones until you return, and then I hope you will keep those somewhere where no innocent eye could fall on them.”

He would have liked to nip this sort of prudery in the bud, but Abigail was waiting for just such a scene, and he refused to give it to her. Fortunately, Selsey appeared to announce another visitor just as a footman brought in the tea tray. In the ensuing commotion the subject was dropped. But not forgotten—by either of them.

The vicar, Mr. Clevedon, was followed by several other neighbors, including Emily Marden, the young matron Greywell had suggested might guide Elspeth in acquiring a suitable wardrobe. She was accompanied by her husband, and was enormously enceinte, which didn’t give Elspeth a proper opportunity to decide whether or not she agreed with Mrs. Marden’s style of dress.

The procession continued throughout the morning, concluding with Sir Markham Treyford, his wife, Julia, and their twenty-six-year-old son, Francis. Elspeth was amused by the highly unlikely combination of a florid country squire, a tight-faced, gaunt woman, and a willowy, dreamy young man, but when she attempted to convey her good humor to Greywell with an arch look, he pretended not to see it. For that piece of effrontery, she flirted a little with the son.

Not that Elspeth would have called it a flirtation, but Greywell, watching her earnest attention to the young man, certainly did. Lord, was there no end to his new wife’s ability to put him out of countenance?

When their visitors had at last departed, and before another onslaught for the afternoon could begin, Elspeth bundled herself in the blue cape and hurried up to her chamber. Andrew was awake, but once again tightly wrapped in a blanket in his cradle, with Bates rocking cozily in a chair beside him.

“I’m going to take him outside for just five minutes,” Elspeth explained, bundling him in yet another blanket. “He needs an opportunity to fill his lungs with some rich country air.”

“But it’s freezing out of doors,” Bates protested.

“No, it’s warmed since this morning. He’ll be perfectly comfortable, I promise you. I’d like to see a little color in his cheeks.”

Bates muttered something about frozen lungs, congestion, and runny noses, but not so loud that her comments need be considered as an address to her new mistress. She sat with her hands folded firmly in her lap, as though to prove she had nothing to do with the dangerous expedition Lady Greywell proposed.

Elspeth never stopped talking to the child, which was another thing Bates objected to. The new mistress had some very strange notions, if one of them was that a child of less than four months could understand a solitary word she spoke. The poor lamb, in Bates’ opinion, was not going to enjoy the cold air one bit, either, as her ladyship assured him he would. The purpose of having a nice warm fire in each of the rooms at this time of year was that it was
cold
if one didn’t.

Outside the air was crisp and snow crunched under Elspeth’s boots. Almost as much for her sake as for the child’s, she welcomed the opportunity to be away from Greywell and his house and his household staff. Talk about tradition! Everything in the place was rife with it, and here he’d told her that wouldn’t be the least problem. All their patterns were established, their rituals and superstitions firmly in place—Bates, Mrs. Green, Selsey, all of them.

Elspeth knew they didn’t want someone else taking Caroline’s place, and she didn’t blame them, but she missed the kind of affectionate respect in which she’d been held at Lyndhurst. There the servants had mostly known her since she was a child; they knew she would be demanding but fair, that they could come to her with their problems, that she was concerned with their illnesses. Here she doubted anyone would ever give her a chance to be more than a stranger.

Elspeth heard a carriage on the drive, denoting yet more visitors. Her five minutes were up; she must take the baby directly back to the nursery and freshen herself up for more company. Somehow things weren’t working out exactly as she’d expected. She braced her shoulders and marched back into the house to meet yet another of Greywell’s curious neighbors.

Chapter Eight

“Andrew does seem improved since you came,” Greywell admitted one evening when he was sitting with Elspeth in the Saloon. They had spent an hour there together each evening since their arrival six days before. Aside from their meals together, and the times when people called, it was the only time they had spent together. Neither of them regretted the shortness of this exposure.

“Yes, I think he is. He’s eating better and not spitting up as much. His color is much healthier and he’s been more active, according to Bates. She’d like to resent me, but she’s devoted to the child and she can see the improvement, too.” Elspeth tried to suppress a yawn. Her days had been full and exhausting—taking care of the child, acquainting herself with Ashfield, greeting visitors, going over routines with the housekeeper and several other members of the staff. Tonight she really should spend more time with Greywell, since he was leaving for Vienna in the morning, but her nights were always disrupted by Andrew’s cries and murmurs; she was bone-weary. “Was there anything you especially wanted me to know before you leave?”

“I think we’ve gone over everything at one time or another.” Greywell was aware that most of their conversation had consisted of his passing along information (which Elspeth considered strictures) and her long-suffering acceptance of his instructions. Surely there was no more martyred expression than the one she wore when he merely pointed out some way in which she could better adjust to the routine of this household.

There was the instance of the dairy maids, a totally unnecessary interference. It had been the practice at Ashfield for literally centuries for the dairy maids to milk the cows, but Elspeth had insisted they had quite enough to do with emptying and cleaning the milkpails and, of course, supplying the milk, cream, and butter to the household. She had insisted the cowkeeper could quite as easily take over this share of the burden, since he was, after all, in charge of the cows and had to be there anyhow. Elspeth had said, “What in the name of heaven is the use of his standing there and watching those poor girls work their fingers to the bone? At Lyndhurst we did it differently, and there was a fair division of labor.” Greywell hadn’t wished to hear how they did things at Lyndhurst. All she was managing to do was cause disruption among his staff.

Elspeth was a little surprised now to find he’d exhausted himself on subjects regarding the sanctity of Ashfield procedures. She’d begun to think there was no end to the things he intended to make sure she adhered to. “Well, in that case,” she said, stifling another yawn, “I think I’ll go to bed now. Of course I’ll join you for breakfast in the morning and see you off.”

It would have been easiest just to let her go, but Greywell was suddenly determined to make one last effort to instill a little caution and respect in her for his home and his inheritance. “Before you do,” he said, lifting one elegant hand in a gesture of restraint, “I want to thank you for your efforts on behalf of Andrew. If you will just concentrate on his development, everything else will flow along smoothly as it always has. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with making changes at Ashfield. I’m sure Andrew will absorb a great deal of your time. To add any further burden to that fatiguing one would be excessive. You will need some time to your own devices, and I hope you will take it. Let Mrs. Green handle household matters and enjoy yourself as you can.”

“Oh, I shall enjoy myself. Don’t fret about
me.”
Elspeth’s tone held just a hint of mockery. “If I find myself with time on my hands, after I’ve read the latest book or ridden my mare, I shall see what I can do for the vicar. And of course I will wish to go shopping for a new wardrobe. Mrs. Marden said there are two quite acceptable shops in Coventry. How long do you expect to be gone?”

“It’s impossible to say. Rest assured it won’t be any longer than necessary. If an emergency should arise, send a private messenger. I very much doubt negotiations will be completed by Christmas, so I hope your father will visit as he promised.” Greywell watched as she covered her third yawn. “Off to bed with you, my dear. You’re always up early with Andrew. We’ll say our goodbyes in the morning.”