The Diabolical Baron (17 page)

“Surely it is unusual for two great houses to be so
close?” she asked.

“It is,” he confirmed. “Neither house lies in the center of the park. In the past, the two families were close
allies in many ways, but that has changed in this gen
eration. The late Earl of Wargrave was very unsocial, and conservative as well. He made it obvious he didn’t
approve of many of my innovations. He even consid
ered this house too modern to be in good taste. Person
ally I believe he was envious; Wargrave Park is an old
rabbit warren. It’s empty now but for a skeleton staff.”

“How old is this house?” said Jessica, curiosity
bringing her out of her self-imposed silence.

“It was built just a hundred years ago on the site of
an older house that burned. My great-great-grandfather
was widely assumed to have set fire to the place be
cause he was tired of its draftiness. Nicholas
Hawksmoor designed this building, and it is consid
ered his masterpiece.”

Wildehaven was indeed magnificent. The lofty ceil
ings were superbly carved in the Italianate style, and
each room boasted at least one lovely marble fireplace.
The proportions were flawless and it had been fur
nished with love as well as taste.

Caroline found the portrait gallery of particular in
terest. As Jason gave a brief summary of his ancestors,
she kept comparing him with the pictures. He caught
one of her sidelong glances and smiled in genuine
amusement. “You are quite right; the family look is
very pronounced.”

“I had thought your eyebrows unique, my lord, but
I see I was wrong,” she murmured.

If there was one thing that distinguished the family, it was frowning
brows. Rupert Kincaid, the sixth baron, appeared fu
rious about the War of Roses. Rupert II, his great-
grandson, seemed equally displeased with the cost of
entertaining Queen Elizabeth on one of her pro
gresses. Another baron, apparently at the time of the
Civil War, left a scowl for his descendants. Either the
family was permanently angry or Jessica was right: Jason wasn’t really condemning her personally.

“I believe the brows go back to this reprobate
here, Sir Ralph Kincaid. He was granted the original
manor, apparently for his services in promoting Henry II’s various affairs. Ralph the Panderer he’s called by
the family. He is said to have introduced Henry to the Fair Rosamund.”

Caroline and Jessica viewed the small dark portrait with interest. “It certainly makes history come alive,”
Jessica said admiringly. “Was Ralph really such a
scoundrel?”

“With that face, what else could he be?”

Caroline compared Ralph’s visage to Jason’s. “But
he looks just like you.”

“I rest my case.”

That produced peals of laughter from both women.
Caroline was beginning to appreciate the sense of
humor lurking beneath the sardonic Radford eye. The
aspects of him coming to light in his home made the
future seem more plausible.

Her speculations on his character vanished at the sight of the large room behind the portrait gallery.
“Good heavens!” she said. “I thought this sort of thing
belonged only in Scottish castles.”

It was a genuine weapons room, with swords set in arcs on the walls,
crossed pikes, morning stars and halberds, cases of
firearms from the age of muzzle-loaders on, and suits of armor standing about.

Jason glanced around the assorted instru
ments of mayhem. “The previous Wildehaven
was
a castle. These weapons survived the fire, and my honored ancestor decided to house them in splendor. It is
used now as a gun room and for fencing
practice.”

The house contained one other surprise, but it was
one of omission. They had reached the end of the
house tour, and Caroline knew her comments were ex
pected. “My lord . .. Jason, Wildehaven is the most splendid house I have ever seen. It has clearly been
cherished and loved. But. ..” She hesitated, then went resolutely forward, “there is something missing.”

“Oh?” Amazing how quickly the brows could turn threatening.

“There is no music room. Nowhere have I seen a pi
anoforte, nor any other instrument.”

The brows remained drawn together, but now they appeared thoughtful rather than dangerous. “You are
quite right. It is a sad lack but we have never been a
very musical family. My mother’s pianoforte was
given to the vicar’s daughters after she died. No one
really missed it, so it was never replaced. I will be
happy to buy you whatever instrument you wish. Just
write down the name of the manufacturer and the
kind you prefer. I am sorry my house has failed you.”

“Oh, no, I meant no criticism,” Caroline said hastily.
She was a little startled by Jason’s quick cooperation. She was not in the habit of asking for things because her wishes had seldom been considered of account.

Jason had not finished thinking. “It will take several
weeks to get a suitable instrument here. If you like, I
can arrange for you to practice at Wargrave Park. The
late countess was very musical and had a fine pi
anoforte. We can go over now and I’ll introduce you to
Somers, the butler. He’ll be happy to accommodate
you.”

Caroline turned a dazzling smile on Jason. “That
will be wonderful! You are so kind.”

Her intended looked startled. It was the first time
she had directed any warmth or enthusiasm at him.
He decided he liked it.

Chapter 8

Richard Davenport’s first view of his ancestral home
produced neither respect nor a sense of homecoming; his predominant emotion was amusement.

Josiah Chelmsford had stopped the chaise at the
gates of Wargrave Park and invited the captain to step
out and look at his inheritance. Richard was glad to
comply. The long journey in cramped quarters had
been hard on his injured leg, and it felt good to stretch
out.

They had stopped the night before near Witney
rather than do the trip in one day, and as they neared
their destination he felt some qualms about what he
would find. He had not expected the eccentric building clearly visible in the early afternoon light.

As one side of his mouth quirked up humorously, he said, “It appears to have been designed by a committee
over a period of five hundred years.”

“You’re right,” Chelmsford replied, also amused. 
“The oldest part of
the house is thirteenth-century. Since no
Davenport was willing to tear the place down, your ancestors just kept adding on.”

The result was certainly unique. The central part of
the sprawling building was Elizabethan, with hand
some mullioned windows and twisted brick chimneys.

A medieval great hall stretched
back to the left while the right wing was of fairly recent
construction. Someone had been unable to resist the
lure of towers; from this distance it was impossible to
tell if they were genuinely old or more recently applied
follies. What appeared to be a small Greek temple
lurked in the woods to the right.

Wargrave Park’s saving grace was that it was en
tirely built of local materials. The gray-golden warmth
of Cotswold stone created unity out of architectural
disparity. The house appeared to have grown out of the
underlying hillside. While it did not inspire awe, it had an undeniable charm.

Returning to the chaise, they soon drew up before
the main doors. As Richard studied the asymmetrical facade, he wondered again why his father had turned
away from his past so completely. Although duels were
illegal under English law, the consequences were usu
ally forgotten quickly—a few months abroad might
have sufficed. What had driven Julius to leave forever when he was younger than Richard was now, no more
than twenty-one or twenty-two? He had asked Josiah
that yesterday, and received a shrug for an answer.

“I don’t know the whole story. There was a fearful scandal. Most of the details were hushed up,
and the rumors that came my way are too lurid to re
count. Your father killed his man in a fair fight, from
what I understand, but Barford had influential relatives
who got a murder charge against him. Julius came to
see me the night of the duel, saying your mother was in the carriage and they were leaving England forever. He
gave me authority to liquidate what assets he had and
directed me to send the money to a banker in Paris.”

The lawyer frowned.  “Your grandfa
ther was an overbearing man and Julius resented his attempted dominance. Perhaps he could only be free
away from England. But I find it interesting that he
raised you to feel you were English even though you
have spent so much of your life abroad.”

Richard nodded. “It was deliberate on their part. We
never lived in one place long enough for me to identify
with the country completely. When I was old
enough for serious education, we moved to Belfast so I
could go to a British school. Then I was packed off to
Oxford. But neither of my parents would set foot in
England, even when it would have been more conve
nient in travel terms. I guess I’ll never know the whole
story of why they left.”

“From what you say, they were very happy in the life they chose. Few people are so lucky.”

Looking at Wargrave Park, Richard tried to imagine
his father a boy, but without success. Like most children, he had seen his parents as an immutable law of
nature, ever wise and adult. With maturity he realized
their little family was unusual both for its contentment
and for its rootlessness. They had belonged to each
other, and to no one else.

What would it feel like to be
the owner of this estate with hundreds of people de
pendent on him? In the Army the objective was simple:
defeat the enemy when necessary and stay alive and as
comfortable as possible the rest of the time. Here the is
sues would be less clear-cut, the demands much more
complex.

The lawyer said, “Come in now and meet the staff.”

The next half-hour was spent meeting Somers, the impassively dignified butler, and Hain, the old earl’s
agent. Chelmsford introduced him as Captain Richard
Dalton, saying that he would be taking an inventory of the property and was to be treated with every courtesy
and given whatever information he required. Both of the old men stared at him solemnly and allowed they
were pleased to make his acquaintance. After a few
minutes of general conversation, Josiah said, “I have
some business matters to take up with Somers and Hain, but you can start exploring on your own. I’ll
catch up with you when I’ve finished.”

Richard nodded agreeably and left. After the door
closed behind him the lawyer gazed sternly at Somers
and Hain. Both had spent their lives with the Daven
port estates and were exactly the kind of family retain
ers Richard had wondered about. “If you have any
speculations about Captain Dalton, it would be well to keep them to yourselves. Do I make myself clear?”

Somers raised one eyebrow with the supercilious
look of a man who would never gossip with the lower
staff. Less discreet, Joseph Hain said, “We won’t say
anything. But unless my eyes are deceiving me, there
may be hope for Wargrave yet.”

“There may be—as long as he isn’t scared away. In
the meantime,. I am sure you will do your best to make Captain Dalton comfortable.”

His listeners nodded; a conspiracy of silence was
under way. 

* * * *

Richard enjoyed his explorations; the house followed
no particular plan but was full of interesting nooks and
crannies. There was indeed a medieval great hall, complete with an ox-roaster fireplace and a minstrel gallery
added at a later time. It looked like a fine place for
dancing and entertainment, if less conventional than a
modern ballroom. The furniture in most of the house
was shrouded in holland covers but the Elizabethan
section boasted magnificently carved wooden wainscoting and a hanging staircase. The small staff had
done a reasonable job of keeping order, though there
was a general air of musty disuse.