The Paradise Will (4 page)

As the lumbering vehicle travelled the last half-mile from Dorchester, Alyssa waited for her first sight of Hawkscote for two years. The fine architecture of the house suddenly came into view and while the warm grey stone and mullioned windows of the hall had always appealed, on a spring day, nestling against a blue sky and a swathe of daffodils, it looked spectacular and more welcoming than ever after the long journey.

The carriage began to meander up the beech-lined drive that led to the house and the thought struck her forcibly that Tom would not be waiting to greet her this time. A plethora of memories flooded back and her eyes filled with tears. Hurriedly, she blinked them away but not before someone else had noticed.

‘Alyssa, what is wrong?’ asked Charles.

‘I was remembering Uncle Tom, but how stupid of me to cry now!’ she said, with a wavering smile.

‘Some distress is understandable when Hawkscote and your uncle are connected in your mind,’ he acknowledged. ‘However, I suspect you are emotional for another reason.’

Alyssa gave Charles a searching look. ‘Oh?’

‘You are suddenly apprehensive at what you have undertaken. I am not surprised you feel it keenly and if only you had listened to me….’ He paused, and added, ‘Well, you know my opinion.’

Letty was sitting opposite and Alyssa caught her wry, faintly disparaging expression in response to his observation.

‘You’re wrong, Charles: my thoughts were only of Tom,’ said Alyssa, firmly. ‘Pray do not let us argue over the will again.’

‘But I disapprove of it!’

‘So you have told me – almost every day since I returned from London. I agree it is an awkward business, but I have to comply if I want Hawkscote.’

‘I think it’s a wonderful adventure!’ said Letty, her eyes sparkling. ‘I have never left Oxfordshire before and yet, in the last few days, I have visited London,
travelled
by the mail and now I am in Dorset.’

‘I would hardly describe travelling in a malodorous mail coach, squeezed between a farmer’s wife with a crying baby and a parson who described the minutiae of every sermon he had given in the last year, as an
adventure
,’ said Charles, grimacing.

‘The parson was a dead bore, but the farmer’s wife and her baby were
delightful
,’ said Letty.

Alyssa laughed. ‘I thought they were, too. Mrs Farmer and I enjoyed a comfortable chat on the vagaries of cheese making. Apparently, it is common practice to bury the starter culture over winter. It is dug up the following spring and used again for making cheese—’

‘I had no idea the process was so interesting,’ interpolated Charles, peevishly. ‘Why didn’t you accept my offer to travel post, Alyssa? We would have been more comfortable.’

‘Because of the expense.’

‘I would have borne the cost.’

‘It was kind of you but I had no objection to travelling by mail,’ she replied, ‘and if you recall, I did not desire you to accompany us – that was your decision.’

‘A fine thing if I allowed you to travel on the London to Exeter Mail without my protection!’ remarked Charles, affronted.

‘Since there were no marauding highwaymen and we had only to contend with a garrulous farmer’s wife and a tedious parson, I rather think you had better stayed in London and not put yourself to the discomfort,’ said Alyssa, tartly. ‘The journey has made you ill-tempered, but it is your own fault; I advised you not to come.’

Charles returned her gaze for a long moment and, acknowledging the truth of this
obiter dictum
, nodded and smiled faintly. ‘I’ve been as moody as a bear, but it is only because I am anxious for you.’

‘Why are you worried about Lyssa?’ asked Letty, in surprise. ‘She is very
capable
and all the arrangements are in place for our stay.’

‘These dinner engagements concern me.’

‘I can deal with Sir Giles.’

‘My concern is not for your behaviour – it is for
his
!’ protested Charles, a pugnacious set to his jaw. ‘We know nothing about this man and yet you are to be alone with him. Good God, I cannot feel comfortable at the prospect!’

‘Do you expect he will try to ravish her?’ asked Letty, with feigned innocence.

‘Letty!’ admonished Alyssa, even though her eyes twinkled with laughter.

He shot Letty a reproving glance but admitted, ‘I would not put it so bluntly, but she will be vulnerable, and for all we know, Maxton is a hardened rake.’

‘That is nonsensical, Charles. His manner was brusque but his behaviour was that of a gentleman.’

‘Easy enough to appear so in a lawyer’s office,’ he retorted, ‘He may behave differently when you are alone with him.’

Letty, amused by Charles’s heightened colour, cried, ‘Oh, you are
jealous
! I declare it is famous – I always thought you too dul— I mean, reserved, for
jealousy
.’

‘My dear girl, you are being impudent—’ began Charles, indignantly.

Alyssa intervened. ‘Letty, do stop being a tease. Charles – your concern for my welfare is gratifying but misplaced; I can’t imagine Sir Giles will assault my virtue over the
soufflé au citron
. Ah, look – we have arrived and the servants are
waiting
.’

The carriage halted outside the main entrance. Alyssa was greeted warmly by Rowberry, the butler, and the housekeeper, Mrs Farnell, whom she knew well from her previous visits. After Alyssa had introduced Letty and Charles, they all moved into the house.

‘Very imposing,’ murmured Charles, looking with at his surroundings with interest.

The great hall was a testament to Hawkscote’s medieval origins. A huge
fireplace
dominated the room and a tapestry depicting Samson slaying the lion hung above it. Portraits and landscape scenes adorned the other walls, a fine oak
staircase
rose to the galleried landing and, to the right of the entrance door, the
afternoon
sun filtered through a stained glass oriel window.

‘It is a pleasure to see you again, miss,’ declared the housekeeper.

‘Thank you. Indeed, I am glad to be here at last. Is everything prepared?’

‘Exactly as your instructions,’ said Mrs Farnell, nodding, ‘you have your usual room and Miss Ravenhill is in the blue bedroom.’

‘Then could you see that our portmanteaux are carried up?’ said Alyssa,
smiling
as she unbuttoned her pelisse. ‘Mr Brook is staying at The Antelope in Dorchester for a few days while we settle in. He’ll return to London afterwards.’

‘Very good, miss. I’ll bring some tea and cake.’

Mrs Farnell hurried away and Letty said, ‘Would you mind if I went up to my room first?’

‘Not at all. Charles and I will be downstairs when you are ready to join us.’

As Letty followed Rowberry up the sweeping staircase, Charles accompanied Alyssa into the drawing-room where a low fire burned in the hearth; even though it was April, there was a chill in the south-easterly blowing inland from the coast.

Alyssa warmed her hands and, looking around the room, immediately felt at home. The room was decorated in an attractive pale green with heavy brocade curtains of a darker shade. An ornate plaster ceiling, a carved fire surround, a number of silk-covered chairs, two
chaises,
a large mahogany cabinet, a writing bureau and several occasional tables completed the décor and the windows looked south on to a terrace, then to the formal gardens beyond.

Charles strode to one window to admire the view. ‘I am impressed with what I have seen so far,’ he said. ‘What is the total acreage?’

‘Roughly five hundred.’

‘Excellent!’ he observed. ‘And no expense has been spared on furnishings – your uncle did not have to practise too many economies, it seems.’

‘No, I don’t believe he did,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you approve, Charles. I spent many happy hours here and, as you will see when I show you the rest of the house and gardens, the general ensured any improvements blended
sympathetically
with the original design.’

Charles picked up a bronze figure of a naked Hercules and studied it. ‘This is an inappropriate item to have on display,’ he remarked. ‘Decidedly crude and unsophisticated.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, do look around! Uncle Tom became an avid collector during his travels. The paintings, tapestries and
objets d’art
you see here and throughout the rest of the house speak of his eclectic tastes.’

Charles, inspecting an Egyptian scarab with disdain, said, ‘Wildly eccentric would be a more accurate description.’

‘Each item held an intrinsic charm for Uncle Tom, even if it was not valuable or fashionable,’ she said, taking a chair near the fire and trying to suppress her annoyance at his derisive tone.

‘Hmm … well, no doubt among these unappealing trifles there will be a few valuable pieces. I will engage to have it catalogued – then, you may keep anything of worth and dispose of the rest.’

Alyssa frowned. ‘But I do not wish to, Charles,’ she said, her voice losing some of its deliberate calm. ‘I have not yet fully acquired Hawkscote and have no
intention
of selling Uncle Tom’s collection for some time – if ever.’

‘Foolish sentiment,’ he said, drily. ‘Many items will be worthless and you would be well rid of them.’

‘All the same, I prefer to keep them for now. They remind me of my uncle and if that is being overly sentimental, then
mea culpa.’

‘As you wish. I was merely trying to be helpful,’ he said, with a wounded expression.

‘Come, Charles,’ she replied lightly, ‘we should not be arguing over trinkets.’

‘Then tell me more about the house,’ he said, sitting on one of the
chaises
.

‘There is mention in the Domesday Book of a manor on the site but the current estate dates from the late fourteenth century when the Great Hall was built. There are three more reception rooms downstairs, as well as the King’s chamber and the diningroom. Upstairs there is a large library, two bedrooms referred to as state rooms, although,’ she commented, with a little laugh, ‘I don’t think royalty ever visited, and several other bedrooms. The servants’ quarters are in the east wing. Oh, and I almost forgot – there is a secret passage, too!’

‘Where?’

‘Behind that panelling,’ she said, indicating the far wall. ‘When you open it, there is a spiral staircase which leads either to the library or to the cellars. I was fascinated by it as a child.’

‘I’m sure you were,’ he said, with a clipped smile. ‘Most houses of the time had a secret passage or priest’s hole added. Hawkscote is obviously well appointed. A pity, then, your uncle left this labyrinthine will as an obstacle to you acquiring it.’

‘What would you have me do, Charles?’ she said, raising her brows. ‘Sell it for a fraction of its real value?’

Colour tinged his cheeks as he replied, ‘No, not exactly.’ Charles was willing to air objections, but had no alternative to offer; he did not want Hawkscote to escape Alyssa’s grasp and soon, by virtue of their marriage, his own. He shrugged and protested, ‘But a young woman needs protection and guidance. If you agree to marry before embarking on this … this farrago of nonsense, you would at least enjoy the security inherent in being betrothed to me.’

She looked up in surprise. ‘You deserve an answer as soon as I can give it, but please do not press me now.’

He availed himself of her hand, saying earnestly, ‘You have kept me waiting for some time, Alyssa. You
know
I care for you. Say you will be my wife and then I can go back to London with a lighter heart.’

He looked down appealingly and rubbed his thumb across the tender skin on the inside of her wrist, but what Alyssa should have found a sensual action, she found only irritating. Sighing inwardly, she acknowledged the fault lay with her feelings rather than his.

He was a respectable man, with reasonable fortune and of good manners and understanding. He was also handsome enough in a subtle way, being of average height with brown hair, dark eyes and a thick-set figure. His tendency to be pompous and superior was annoying, but she knew he would make a kind husband.

Alyssa had received two marriage proposals in the past but they were from unsuitable men for whom she did not care. However, Charles’s qualities were laudable and there were sensible reasons why she should accept. Why then was she not more appreciative of his offer? Perhaps it was because there was no spark of excitement surrounding Charles. With the exception of egotism, moderation was his motto – Alyssa, on the other hand, wanted more than a moderate marriage.

He deserved an answer, even if it was the one he would not like, but Uncle Tom’s will had thrown everything into turmoil and like a pebble thrown into a pool, the ripples of its effect moved ever outwards.

When Charles had learned of the terms, he lapsed into sulky petulance, but recently his behaviour had become proprietorial. He delivered pessimistic lectures on the dangers awaiting her in Dorset and gave instructions on what she should, and should not, do. Not only was he dull, thought Alyssa, he wanted to order her every movement.

Unsurprisingly, Alyssa’s independent spirit railed against these dictates. Having witnessed his querulous, domineering behaviour, she was inclined to refuse immediately, but she felt it only right to let matters settle before giving her reply.

So, with this in mind, she replied, ‘No, I’m sorry, Charles, There is much to think of now and I need more time.’

He released her wrist and turned away. ‘I don’t understand. I offer you the protection of my name yet still you will not answer,’ he said, in a hollow voice.

‘If you find my position difficult to comprehend, shall we decide at once to be nothing more than friends?’

He looked back, consternation flickering across his features, ‘No! That is – perhaps I am rushing you – the last few weeks have been distracting.’ He made the effort to smile. ‘I can wait a little longer.’

‘As you wish but I make no promises.’

They were interrupted by Mrs Farnell bringing in the tea. ‘What time would you like to dine, miss?’ she asked, placing the tray on a small table.