The Prince of Eden (28 page)

With her head thrown back, her mouth half opened, she prayed that it would never end, the color, the warmth, the music, the laughter.

^c^^^^n^ '^ad-^^

For the Countess Dowager, it had been a day of welcoming. First, her half sister, Jane, had arrived about noon, looking painfully old and worn after the ordeal of William Pitch's death. Marianne had sent her directly to the guest chambers on the second floor and had instructed Mrs. Greenbell to stay with her.

Throughout the afternoon, while Jane recovered from the rigorous journey from London, Marianne had kept a constant vigil on the gate, expecting Edward and Jennifer. But as yet they had not appeared.

Now at dusk, she stood at the top of the steps of the Great Hall, eyeing the small but elegant crimson and gilt carriage just turning into the gate. One of the watchmen, stationed a distance across the moors, had ridden ahead and had informed her as to the identity of the passenger.

Sir Claudius Potter.

She closed her eyes in a brief attempt to rest them and, unseeing, smoothed down her black silk gown. Still in mourning for William, she had vowed to wear black for six weeks. Of course she would alter her wardrobe for the evening of James's engagement party, but the rest of the time, it would be black to match her heart.

At the carriage's rattling approach, she opened her eyes. The sun was setting. The dying day enveloped the old castle in a purple mist which was wafted in and out by the head winds off the channel. The stewards had not yet lit the torches. She wished they would. Perhaps the glowing fires would help to alter the gloom of evening. In a very real way she was tired of being sad.

Now at last the carriage door was beginning to open. She caught a glimpse of the man himself, pretentiously groomed in the latest fashion.

"Sir Claudius," she murmured, extending her hand to the man who knew her family's affairs as intimately as though they were his own.

Still engrossed in straightening himself, he gave a final tug to the blue waistcoat, removed his hat, bowed low, and took her hand. "Lady Eden," he smiled, pressing her hand to his lips.

His kiss left a disagreeable dampness. She resisted the urge to brush it away and instead said, "Welcome to Eden Castle. It's been far too long since you've graced us with your presence."

The man's pink cherubic face glowed under the sentiment. "Milady," he murmured, "if the choice were mine, I would close my London chambers and pitch a small tent outside that gate, there to bask in the sunlight of your presence."

Merciful heavens, she thought, trying to cancel the smile before it erupted on her face. He'd grown even more fulsome with age. "Come," she urged, hoping to dilute the formalities of their greeting. "You must be very tired from the journey. Your customary chambers are waiting. After a sound night's sleep, I shall look forward to hearing all about London—"

But his protest was quick. "Oh no, milady. It's the shank of the evening for me. I made an easy trip of it, stopping overnight in Exeter, taking advantage of the opportunity to confer in person with our land agent."

He stepped closer. "With your permission, milady, I would beg a private session with you tonight. There are matters of which you should be apprised. Only a brief audience," he smiled, "for all our sakes."

Apparently she had no choice. As she took his arm to mount the stairs, he saw James just coming from the Great Hall. Close behind him followed Caleb and Sophia Cranford. Marianne stood to one side as James greeted the old solicitor, a greeting of undue extravagance, she thought, as he earnestly inquired about everything, the journey, the condition of the turnpike, the health of ailing King William, the uncertainty of the next monarch. She'd never seen him so garrulous.

"Surely the crown will not be placed on the dubious head of the young princess," he protested, leading the man upward, clearly ignoring Marianne where she stood on the stairs. "I would suggest a regent as the wisest course of action, don't you agree?"

At the top of the stairs, Marianne saw the Cranfords. Then apparently James saw them as well, and Marianne watched as he led Sir Claudius to where the brother and sister stood. "Sir Claudius," James began, "I'm certain you remember Mr. and Miss Cranford."

Apparently Sir Claudius did remember them. Marianne couldn't hear their exchange, had little desire to hear it. Instead she let her attention run in the opposite direction, toward the castle gate, still half searching for Edward and Jennifer.

"Mother, are you well?" In some embarrassment she looked quickly back, saw James beside her, the others waiting at the top of the stairs looking down.

"I'm quite well," she said lightly. "Just waiting for Sir Claudius."

"Fm ready, Marianne," he called down with a familiarity which normally would have displeased her, but now, in Sophia's presence, she permitted it, even enjoyed it.

At the top of the stairs, as she took Sir Claudius's arm, she gave Sophia a clear command. "We will be in the small library off the Great Hall," she smiled. "A bottle of sherry would be nice. Then no more interruptions."

Normally she did not permit her voice to assume such a master-servant tone when dealing with any of the staff. Now, however, she relished it and watched, amazed, as the woman withdrew the ever-present leather notebook and made a note of some sort.

Marianne laughed. "Oh, surely, Sophia, you can remember a single bottle of sherry."

The woman gazed evenly back at her. "Since I'm held accountable for the inventory, milady, I find it helpful to keep careful books."

"I'm sure you do," Marianne murmured. As she glanced ahead through the Great Hall, she saw Mrs. Greenbell entering the room. It then occurred to her that if she were sequestered with Sir Claudius for a period of time, she would be unable to keep an eye out for Edward. And since she did not trust any of her present company, James included, she decided to appoint Mrs. Greenbell to a position of lookout.

"Excuse me, please," she murmured to Sir Claudius. "I'll only be a moment—"

Abandoning him momentarily to the company of James and the Cranfords, she signaled Mrs. Greenbell and met her in the center of the large room.

"I apologize for a request," she said, in advance, approaching the woman and placing her hand affectionately on Mrs. Greenbell's arm.

Mrs. Greenbell dismissed the apology with the warmest of smiles. "I'm here to serve you, milady," she said. "Busy days ahead."

Marianne nodded. "And Jane, how is she? I had hoped to join her this evening, if she's up to it, that is."

Sympathetically, Mrs. Greenbell shook her head. "She dozed briefly

this afternoon. I took tea with her. She's still very much in mourning.**

"As we all are.'*

For a moment both women stood with their heads down. From the doorway, Marianne heard laughter. It seemed such an odd sound, she looked up. Sir Claudius apparently was getting on very well with the Cranfords, the four of them, including James, in a close, intimate huddle.

Mrs. Greenbell followed the direction of her gaze and now commented, beneath her breath, "I see 'the necessary evil' has arrived."

Marianne smiled. Obviously Thomas's epithet for the man was common knowledge.

Mrs. Greenbell withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it lightly against her mouth as though to conceal her words. "They seem to be getting on very well," she murmured. "I would have thought that everything had been said in their endless correspondence."

Marianne looked up, surprised. "Whose correspondence?" she demanded. "James and Sir Claudius?**

But Mrs. Greenbell shook her head and faced in the opposite direction as though to speak with greater ease. "The Cranfords and Sir Claudius."

Marianne stared at the woman. "I—don't understand. Why would they have occasion to—'*

"Heaven only knows,'* Mrs. Greenbell interrupted. "But the letters fly back and forth every month, sometimes twice a month. I take them to the gate and receive them as well.**

Bewildered by this new information, Marianne again glanced back toward the group standing in the doorway.

"I still don't understand," she murmured again.

"I didn't mean to upset you, milady," Mrs. Greenbell whispered. "For some reason, I thought you knew about—**

"No, I knew nothing,** Marianne replied quickly, her eyes and voice level as she stared toward the door.

Then Mrs. Greenbell was there, summoning Marianne*s attention back. "You had a request, milady. I don*t mean to rush you, but I promised Miss Locke I'd walk with her this evening.**

Concerned, Marianne brought her attention back. "Is that safe? I mean, is she—**

Mrs. Greenbell nodded. "I think a walk-about would do her good. She's been complaining of cramps in her legs, from the confinement of the journey, I'm sure.** She folded her handkerchief and returned it to her sleeve. "She was hoping that you might join us.**

With resolution, Marianne nodded. "And I shall, as soon as I can rid myself of that—" With an expression on her face which disguised nothing, she glanced again toward the group in the doorway. "Sir Claudius has requested a brief meeting, business undoubtedly."

She drew herself up as though for an ordeal. "I'll meet with him in the small library. You go ahead and help Jane to the courtyard. What I wanted was for you to keep your eyes open for Edward. When he arrives, I want to be notified immediately."

Mrs. Greenbell looked doubtful. "Do you think they will arrive this late, milady?"

Marianne shrugged. "I've not heard myself. It seems as though Jennifer wrote to Sophia—"

Again both women fell silent, their mutual hate for the woman binding them together.

As Marianne moved a step away, Mrs. Greenbell called softly after her, "Be careful, milady. They are masters at achieving their ends."

Marianne looked back. "So am I," she smiled. "I intend to be nothing but abundantly civil," she added. "Now go and walk with Jane if you will. Tell her where I am presently engaged, and that I'll join her later. And tell me immediately when Edward arrives."

Mrs. Greenbell nodded to all the orders. As the two women parted, Marianne tried to still the anger which washed over her. She had not realized that she would have to spend her last years locked in mortal combat with the daughter of a Yorkshire preacher.

On this grim thought she made her way slowly back to the still-chattering group. Sir Claudius holding forth again, patting his paunch beneath the peacock-blue waistcoat as though describing a memorable meal. Marianne approached the group and to her mortification was kept standing on the periphery until Sir Claudius had completed the tale of the moment.

Then, strangely, it was Sophia who recognized her first, with warmth and deference, as though after thirty years she still had not perceived Marianne's intense dislike of her. "Milady," she smiled. "Is all well with Mrs. Greenbell? Is there any way in which I can ease her duties? She hasn't been looking at all well of late. I have begged her to let me take some of her responsibilities onto my own shoulders, but—"

James spoke in an affectionate protest. "Do more, Sophia?" he exclaimed. "Impossible. You perform the duties of ten women now. I forbid you to do more. We have your own health to consider."

In just barely concealed disgust, Marianne ignored the woman as well as James. "I believe you wanted a private conference, Sir

Claudius," she said, smiling. "Are you still desirous of such a meeting, or has this good company distracted you?"

Sir Claudius protested, "Oh no, milady," he smiled, taking her arm. "We must talk, I'm afraid."

Then the Cranfords and James were moving away. James called back, "We want to hear more about the hunt in the morning, Sir Claudius. You tell a fine story—"

And Sophia bowed low. "I'll send the sherry along, milady. One glass or two? You do not generally take spirits so late in the evening."

"Two," Marianne replied, eyeing the woman as though she were a devouring flame.

When the three had disappeared down the corridor, Marianne turned back to Sir Claudius, appalled to find a look of admiration on his face. "A remarkable woman," he said, keeping his voice low. "It always fascinates me to see how, on occasion, the middle classes can produce a gem."

Belatedly he was aware that he'd said the wrong thing. "My apologies, milady," he murmured. "A witless statement for this egalitarian age. Human superiority knows no boundaries, nor should know none. All of England has had your very precise example to remind us of that truth."

In spite of his overflattering words, Marianne bowed her head. How long it had been since she'd had to defend herself for who she was and where she had come from. Lifting her head, she smiled, a bit too sweetly. "As human superiority recognizes no class structure. Sir Claudius, neither does human rascality. And England has sufficient examples to remind her of that truth as well."

With the air cleared, she led the way across the Great Hall to the small library which in earlier days had served as a minor reception room. As Sophia Cranford had "done over" the large library some years back, in the process rendering that once inviting room almost uninhabitable with its stiff* horse-hair furnishings, potted palms, and high unreachable walls of books, Thomas had insisted that the small reception room be converted to a welcoming den with a few select and well-thumbed volumes about him.