Thornbrook Park (4 page)

Eve meant to be. Why should she care what others thought or said about her? Except for the people who mattered, and Eve had precious few of those. Fortunately, she did have Sophia, who might raise an eyebrow at the state of Eve's wardrobe but would never judge her for it. Not too harshly, anyway.

Sophia leaned across the table and touched Eve's leg-of-mutton sleeve. “She's more insistent than ever that the dead speak through her. She held a séance with the servants. The table shook. A dish flew and crashed into a wall. The dogs in the kennel clear across the field started howling so loudly that you couldn't hear yourself think. My maid quit on the spot and refused even to stay through the night.”

“What fun!” Eve clapped. “Who needs a horrid old maid, afraid of a few ghosts? Good riddance. You do have a new maid?”

“Mrs. Jenks.” Sophia nodded, pouring out more tea. “She's not as meticulous as Bowles, but she's skilled with a needle and thread. I'd hired her for Alice but ended up keeping her for myself and sending one of the housemaids over to tend the ladies of the Dower House. Speaking of Alice, I have a plan. It involves you.”

“Aha. So we come to the heart of it, at last.” It wasn't friendly generosity alone that had inclined Sophia to invite Eve to come and stay. Sophia needed her. The news actually soothed Eve a bit. It was better to be needed than to be tolerated.

“Your letters from India were beautiful. I've never wanted to go there, but you made me dream of bazaars, spices, and men in turbans.” Sophia sighed. “The romance of it all. You were painting with words.”

“I'm afraid I used rather broad strokes.” Eve shrugged. She hadn't mentioned the fleas, the rats, the sandstorms, the riots, the Indians who were not at all pleased to have the British in their midst.

Caught up in her plan, Sophia paid no attention. “I need you to write a letter to Lord Averford's brother. I think he would be perfect for Alice, if only I could get him to visit. I've written a few times and he never answers. You might succeed where I have failed. Captain Thorne is an army man, like your Ben.” Sophia didn't say more, but Eve detected the rest of the thought.
Like
your
Ben, only from a noble family
. “Oh, but you were at Averford House. Did you meet him?”

Eve hesitated. What could she say? If he did come, and she said that they'd met but he didn't know her, one or both of them would look a fool. But if he remembered her? She suddenly felt weak, out of breath. She inhaled deeply to try and steady her nerves.

“No, I didn't have the opportunity. He got in quite late, and I was up and out so early. Our paths never crossed.” There. Perhaps that would serve. She prayed he had no recollection of her.

“What a shame,” Sophia said.

“Yes. A shame.” Eve wondered what it might have been like to meet Captain Thorne properly, perhaps over the breakfast table. She would ask if he wanted any butter for his toast, and he would look at her with those amber eyes and say please, before accidently brushing her hand when he reached for it. “Why don't you tell me what you know of Captain Thorne? To help formulate this letter.”

“Oh, you will do it then? I knew you would. Thank you, Eve. How I've missed you!” Sophia clapped, excited. “Come, to the writing desk.”

***

The night air was chill and dank, and the reek of the Thames lingered thick in his nostrils well after his return to Mayfair from Bloomsbury and the Strand. Tonight, free of any sign of a black rage, he had only wagered on the fights instead of taking part, a good thing because his ribs were still sore from Harris's hammering blows. He had done well, too. The Coopers would be set for the month, maybe two, on his winnings from the last match alone.

He had set Prue's mind at ease and ensured that her son wouldn't have to return to work at the millinery, for now. But how long could he keep Brandon from falling in with a bad crowd, from growing up too fast on the streets of London? And after Brandon, what of Finn and the girls? The responsibility weighed on him. He'd never had to worry about anyone other than himself until he'd gone to war. Now, after the war, he had a whole family to consider and not even a wife of his own. Not that he wanted another obligation.

He settled by the fireplace in his favorite chair and considered the matter. Perhaps he should send Brandon to school. However, he doubted that Prudence was ready to part with a son after having lost her husband. Brandon didn't strike Marcus as much of a scholar, though the youngest, Finn, seemed studious enough.

Marcus remembered Coop mentioning that his father, long deceased along with Cooper's mother, had been a farmer. He could see a farmer in Brandon, the rugged build and large, capable hands. It might suit Brandon, if only Marcus could buy the Coopers a farm. Marcus's annuity, inherited from his grandfather, was enough to support himself in comfortable style, but he wasn't sure how far it would go toward buying and running a farm, even with his pension, despite his esteemed family name.

That name looked up at him, scrawled in looping cursive across an envelope that Sutton had placed on the end table, leaning against a decanter of whiskey where Marcus was sure not to miss it. He filled a glass now if only for the sweet fragrance of the liquor to replace the stench of the Thames.

He picked up the crystal goblet, swirled it under his nose, and held it to the candle's flame to admire the amber hue before putting it down without taking a sip. He had no desire to repeat his misadventure of last week, when he'd ended up in bed with no recollection of how he'd gotten there, only a lingering memory of a blue-eyed woman who apparently was a figment of his own addled mind. Since he'd tracked down Cooper's widow and gotten to know Prudence and the children, he'd begun to actually flirt with the idea of finding respectability.
Respectability
. Wouldn't his brother be surprised?

He supposed he wasn't quite ready for it as long as he kept succumbing to his rages and engaging in boxing matches. Blackened eyes were not in style among the posh. He picked up the envelope, smoothed it between his fingers, and thought of his brother's wife and her dogged insistence that he should return to Thornbrook Park for an extended visit. The woman was as determined as she was beautiful, and Marcus couldn't imagine why his brother remained without sons. A baby or two would distract Sophia suitably. Until then, it appeared that seeing Marcus reformed and married would be her pet project.

Captain Marcus Thorne

Averford House

Mayfair, London

18 September, 1906

Dear Marcus,

Rest assured, my purpose in writing is not to attempt yet again to convince you to come home to Thornbrook Park. I can understand the appeal of London's bustling, merry crowds and endless entertainments. I merely thought to catch you up on some of the matters concerning the residents of a quiet country estate.

Autumn is not yet upon us for another few days, but you would not believe the abundance of apples in the orchard. Mrs. Mallows is in delights for now, baking sauces, pies, and tarts, and coming up with new ways to use apples in even savory dishes, chicken and apple patties, and squash apple soup. I've been enjoying my afternoon tea with apple tarts and Mrs. Dennehy's cheddar from Tilly Meadow Farm. Mrs. Dennehy struggles to keep up on her own now that Mr. Dennehy has passed on, but she still manages to make her renowned cheese.

I'm sorry for all you must have endured at war, Marcus. I hope your London society fulfills you in ways the country could not. The smells of baking apples, burning fields, the crisp night air—these are things I cannot imagine being without, just as you perhaps can't spare your clubs and entertainments. Everyone is more or less mad on one point, as Kipling says. Enjoy your autumn, and think of us, as we keep you in our hearts.

Sincerely,

Sophia

What he wouldn't do for the smell of baking apples at that very moment. How did she know? Once, he had eaten so many apples that he'd gotten sick to his stomach and lingered in bed for two days before waking and asking for more. There were apples in London, mealy little things that never matched the wondrous taste of the ones picked fresh off a tree. Thornbrook Park had lovely orchards.

But it was the line about Tilly Meadow Farm that stood out in his mind. He remembered it well, the wooden house, red barn, and green pastures. It was perfect, exactly what he had in mind for the Coopers. Mrs. Dennehy was struggling on her own, was she? Dennehy had been a tenant farmer. The land belonged to Thornbrook Park. Wouldn't Mrs. Dennehy be happier with a nice position in the house, something easy for an older woman, more of a retirement really? Of course, it would mean spending time with his arrogant ass of a brother. Marcus and Gabriel had never gotten along.

Growing up, Gabriel was his father's son, an avid outdoorsman, while Marcus was Mother's favorite. Gabriel would complain that Marcus was indulged, and Marcus would chide back that it wouldn't hurt for Gabriel to put down his guns and pick up a book once in awhile. But Gabriel's disapproval stung.

Marcus disliked the sort of sport that appealed to Gabriel and their father, hunting and fishing, but he'd wanted to prove he was no dandy. He'd labored with the groundskeeper to build a fence all along the border fields and couldn't wait to show his brother what he'd done. When he'd finally had the chance, Gabriel had dismissed him with a lecture that it was their responsibility to provide employment for the common folk, and he had no business taking away their work.

And when Marcus had announced that he'd bought a commission in the army, he'd expected Gabriel to be the first to congratulate him after their father. Instead, Marcus watched his brother's eyes darken as their ailing father had praised Marcus's choice and finally expressed pride in his younger son. Gabriel hadn't spoken more than a few polite words to him since that day, not even after their father's death right before Marcus was sent off to war. Sophia, then new to the family, had seemed particularly perturbed by their estrangement. She'd never had brothers of her own.

What had gotten into Sophia, anyway? A Kipling quote? Perhaps it was time he returned to Thornbrook Park for a short visit, long enough to have a look around Tilly Meadow Farm and make a few suggestions, even if it meant putting up with Gabriel's condescension.

Within a week, Eve had settled into a routine at Thornbrook Park. She would get up and dress with the maid Lucy's help, and then join Sophia and her husband, the earl, in the breakfast room. On days when Sophia meant to sleep late, which were at least half the days of the week, Lucy arrived at Eve's bedside bearing a breakfast tray.

This morning, with no sign of Lucy or a tray, Eve got up before ten and managed her morning routine on her own, washing and choosing one of her few dresses that hadn't been dyed black, a lovely afternoon gown in cream with tulle sleeves, little rosebuds around the scooped collar, a ribbon sash, and an intricate pattern of satin trim at the hemline. A little dated, but serviceable, she thought, glancing in the mirror. She tried to do something with her hair, managing soft finger waves gathered into a chignon, and set off to see what Sophia had planned for the day. She assumed Lucy had been otherwise engaged or had simply forgotten her.

But when she got downstairs, she realized that the house was in an uproar. Maids hurried here and there, dusting, straightening, lighting lamps. Footmen laden with armloads of flowers rushed to fill every available vase.

She met Mrs. Hoyle, the housekeeper, in the drawing room, where she stood examining the central fireplace and running a hand over the mantel as if not quite satisfied the maids had done a proper job of it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hoyle.” Eve thought it best to make her presence known.

“Some might think so, Mrs. Kendal,” the housekeeper said. “Captain Thorne is coming home to Thornbrook Park.”

She hadn't thought of him much since her first day. “He must have answered our—Lady Averford's—letter.”

“Not that I'm aware. Mr. Sutton telephoned Mr. Finch this morning that the captain had set out for the station determined to show up at our door before noon. Just like him, that one.”

“Noon today? Full of surprises, is he?” Eve smiled, remembering the shock of finding him on the floor outside her chamber.

“Full of blatant disregard for common courtesy, more like. He might have made us aware of his intentions in time for us to arrange a suitable welcome. The lady is beside herself in handling preparations.”

“I shall go see if I can be of assistance,” Eve said, eager to get out of Hoyle's way. Guest or no, she wouldn't put it past the housekeeper to thrust a broom in her hand if she lingered too long.

Upon first acquaintance, Mrs. Hoyle had struck Eve as a hardworking, no-nonsense sort of woman. But upon witnessing Hoyle's interactions with the maids, Eve had decided the woman was a harridan who had come to Thornbrook Park straight from hell with the devil's own recommendation. Mrs. Hoyle paired her intimidating stature with a mix of shrewd suspicion and bitter disgust, wearing an expression that looked as if she were tasting month-old mutton and trying to decide if it were still fit for consumption. Her hair, apparently once dark but now liberally shot with gray, was pulled back in a tight bun that added to the severity of her appearance.

Eve took her leave and made her way back up to Sophia's bedchamber, where Sophia paced, leaving a trail in the plush pink rug.

“Extraordinary news—your letter worked! How did you hear? I hardly expected you to be up at this hour.”

“It's not exactly early,” Eve observed. “Lucy usually brings my tray at half past eight. No Lucy today, so I suspected something was amiss. Hoyle has filled me in.”

“Ah, the ever-pleasant Mrs. Hoyle. I thought she would go apoplectic when she heard.”

“She didn't seem all that pleased. She reminds me of Lady Tedford. Remember?” Eve asked.

“We called her Lady Tedious. Of course. How could I forget? She was always correcting our grammar. Remember when we put a frog in her soup? You had to catch the frog, of course.” Sophia laughed. “How could our mothers have kept such a dreadful friend? Turn around. Let me look at you.”

Eve spun. “Frogs aren't so bad. Better than dancing with Mr. Fellowes.” They had both despised the dance master their mothers hired to improve their presentations. “I thought he was going to kiss you that first time you managed a perfect waltz.”

“Thank goodness he didn't. You look lovely. But then, you always do. Even in last season's styles. Or several seasons ago? We need to get you some new things.”

“In time.” Eve shrugged. “We have more pressing concerns. What are you going to wear?”

Sophia gestured to the bed, where two gowns were laid out, a fussy pink concoction and a more stylish blue. “I'm torn.”

“The blue, definitely. Cornflower brings out your eyes.”

“I think you're right.” She held up the blue sheath. “And I can wear the sapphires that Gabriel gave me on my birthday. Anything to improve his mood.”

“He's not happy to hear of his brother's arrival?”

Sophia shook her head. “They've never gotten on well. Not as long as I've known them. You're sure it's not too matronly?” She pinched the sheath's lace overlay.

“Not at all.” Eve didn't bother pointing out that they were getting on enough in years to suit more mature styles. At five-and-twenty, they weren't old, but they were hardly debutantes. “What really matters is what Alice wears, I suppose. You still intend to make a match?”

Lucky girl, Alice. Would Captain Thorne know Eve? Remember her staying by his bedside through the night? Perhaps it was better if he didn't, Eve thought with a surprising feeling of regret.

“Absolutely. They're perfect for each other. Marcus can marry Alice and keep her settled close to me. I've sent Lucy over to help turn her out properly.”

Eve chose not to add that the situation seemed perfect for Sophia, without much consideration for Alice or her brother-in-law. “Ah, so that's what became of Lucy. I wondered when she didn't turn up for me.”

They were interrupted by a knock, but Lord Averford entered before his wife could answer.

Eve stood back at the edge of Sophia's sitting room, a little in awe of the earl, who seemed slightly out of his element in Sophia's delicate, feminine environs. In a plaid coat and with baize trousers tucked into brown boots, he looked more ready to lead a wild expedition than to greet a guest. Despite his sporting apparel, he looked to be a man more fitted for drawing rooms or parlors.

“I'm headed out,” he informed Sophia, taking no notice of Eve's presence. He pursed his lush lips, an Adonis displeased with his Aphrodite. As fair as his wife was dark, Averford was her perfect foil.

“You aren't even going to stay to greet your brother?”

“You're the one who invited him.” Lord Averford practically growled his words. “I don't see why you expect me to give up my afternoon.”

“It's raining,” Sophia observed, seemingly calm as she placed her dress back on the bed. “He'll arrive within the hour, just enough time to exchange your hunting clothes for more proper attire.”

“Dammit, Soph, I need to shoot—something.” Lord Averford sighed loudly. “I'm going. Marcus doesn't want to see me any more than I want to see him. For whatever reason, he's here to see you.”

“But darling.” Sophia pouted prettily, turning to face him, her fingers toying with his rough collar. “Please. You're brothers.”

“I'll be back in time for dinner.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and made for the door. “Mrs. Kendal, don't let her be the center of attention. I won't have my brother coveting my prize.”

Ah, so he was aware of Eve after all. Frozen in place, she responded with a wave toward the door after he was gone.

Sophia's cheeks colored, and Eve couldn't tell if her friend was flushed with anger or blushing from embarrassment. “I wish he would stay.”

“Perhaps he knows best. They will have a chance to become reacquainted later, after Captain Thorne is more comfortably settled.” Eve had half a mind to run out with the earl. What if Captain Thorne spotted her and knew her at once? “Maybe I should take a walk to the Dower House to see how Alice and Agatha are getting on.”

And if she happened to be away when Captain Thorne arrived, so much the better. Nerves made her stomach tighten. Another knock on the door and Alice swept in before Sophia could answer. Did no one wait for permission to enter at Thornbrook Park?

“Ah, here she is now. No need,” Sophia said, addressing Eve before turning to frown at her sister. “Alice, what's this strange getup? That's not what I instructed Lucy to set out for you.”

“To hang with Lucy,” Alice scoffed. She wore a severe blouse buttoned all the way up to her throat, paired with a mannish necktie and tucked into a narrow, drab skirt. Given the circumstances, Eve was certain Alice found no fault with Lucy but really meant to say,
To
hang
with
you, dear sister
. “I chose what made me comfortable.”

Sophia and Eve shared a glance.

“Comfortable? That tie is likely to choke you, but to each her own,” Sophia said. “Where's Agatha?”

“In the drawing room. She had something urgent to reveal to Mrs. Hoyle.”

“Lord.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “Let me hurry and dress. As much as I am ever at odds with Hoyle, I can't afford to lose another servant just now, especially one so crucial to the running of the house.”

“Why don't I go down?” Eve suggested. “I might be able to distract Agatha.”

“Thank you, dearest.” Sophia sighed with apparent relief. “As it is, I'm going to need to ring for Jenks to do something with my hair, and who knows how long it will be before I'm presentable.”

Eve laughed to herself on her way down the stairs. Sophia was presentable in her dressing gown with her hair all mussed from sleep, but who was she to argue? She found Agatha staring at the family portraits in the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

“This one resembles the earl's brother, don't you think?” Agatha asked her, not looking up from the painting in question of a sweet-faced young clergyman, judging from the collar and robes.

“A little around the eyes, perhaps, but the mouth isn't right,” Eve considered, drawing on the memory of Thorne's lush lips. “I think there's a bit of the devil in Captain Thorne, unlike in this particular ancestor. But how do you know him? He hasn't arrived.”

“Most recently, I've seen him in a vision.” Agatha turned, waving her hands as if to wipe away the memory. “But we met at the wedding, too, of course, not that I remember him from that, so many years ago.”

“Ah, yes. Six years is a long time.”

“But the better question is how do you know him, Mrs. Kendal?” Agatha smiled. She had the perpetual look of one who had been startled from a deep slumber, her green cat eyes occasionally widening and darting to and fro.

Eve nibbled her lip. What to reveal? For all she knew, Agatha's vision involved her settling a drunken Captain Thorne into his own bed.

Agatha might have started the day with her white hair pulled back into a severe bun, but it had escaped to curl in wild, stray tendrils around her head. Oddly, Agatha remained a comforting presence despite her occasionally alarming revelations. She favored bright colors, today a peacock blue gown paired with a long, fringed shawl in chartreuse. To Agatha, wearing complementary colors or patterns never seemed to matter as much as making an impression, and that she did.

Once, as girls, Eve and Sophia had asked Agatha why she dressed in such vivid hues. Agatha had replied that it made it easier for the dearly departed to find her again when they returned.

“I see. No need to reveal your secrets, dear. We all have them.” Agatha laughed and attempted to smooth her hair.

“It's no secret that I stopped at Averford House when I first returned to London,” Eve said. Better to offer something to Agatha than to keep her wondering.

“After losing your husband, poor dear.” Agatha stepped forward to enfold Eve's hands in her own. She closed her eyes as if meditating. “Never fear. What is lost shall be found. Yes, I see it all. Here at Thornbrook Park you will find what you have lost. It's good that you've come.”

“I suppose it is,” Eve said to keep her mouth from gaping. Agatha's revelations always came on quickly and took her by surprise. For all Eve knew, the woman liked to spout nonsense to keep them all on their toes, but Eve never discounted Agatha's predictions entirely. More than occasionally, Agatha had been proven right. “But Captain Thorne will be arriving soon. We should go to the drawing room to be ready when the car pulls into the drive. Have you seen Mrs. Hoyle? I was about to ask her something.”

Agatha shook her head. “Alas, no. I wanted to speak to her myself.”

Eve was both relieved that she had intervened in time to stop Agatha from scaring Hoyle off with any cryptic revelations and curious as to what such revelations might be. Fortunately, Sophia and Alice came down to join them before Eve gave in to the temptation to ask. With Agatha, sometimes it was better not to know.

“Jenks said that a footman clearing brush from the eaves reported seeing the car turning into the lane,” Sophia said. “Shall we go out?”

All in agreement, they stepped out the front door into the unseasonably warm sunshine, the remains of the rain evaporating in a steamy mist that curled around their ankles. Though Eve had spent more than an hour at Captain Thorne's side, mopping his brow and putting water to his lips, she waited with anticipation as the car wheeled around to come to a stop. Her throat clenched as she waited to see the captain step out. She knew intimate details of his body—that he had scars on his chest, a tiny mole on his neck, and freckled shoulders—and yet she didn't know the man at all. How odd.

One of the footmen opened the door for him. “Welcome home to Thornbrook Park, sir.”

When Captain Thorne emerged, he took a quick glance over the lot of them and down the line of assembled servants. Instinctively, Eve drew back a little behind Alice. He wore a dark coat over a white shirt and a simple blue-patterned silk necktie, perfectly arranged. His eyes were bright and inquisitive, and when he swept off his hat, his close-cropped hair glistened like late summer wheat under the sun.