But she breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned to a gasp of pleasure as she came into the tall, columned room while a man of perhaps three score struggled to push himself up from the upholstered chair before the hearth. Gone were the stark floors and walls, replaced with thick, dark rugs that seemed to ripple in the bright sunlight streaming through the tall windows like lush, magical lakes. Colorful tapestries and gilded urns decorated the spaces between the windows and braided cords wreathed around the columns. It smelled of warm beeswax and pipe smoke and it took a bit of self-control for Mary to refrain from a happy jog on the spot.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the old man said with a rusty clearing of his throat. “Someone should have announced you.”
Mary rushed toward him with her hands outstretched, leaving Valentine and Roman standing near the top of the stairs. She shined her brightest smile at him as she reached him.
“Lord Quimby, at last,” she said and clasped the old man’s hands.
His smile was pleased if a bit bemused. “Again, I must beg your pardon, my lady—it is clear that you are familiar with me and yet I cannot for the life of me place the how of it. Surely even in my old age I would not forget a face as comely or a voice as gracious as yours.”
Mary cast her eyes to the carpet in a show of humility—goodness, it was rich; she could just imagine her bare toes sinking into it.
“You are even kinder than your reputation would paint you,” she said, dragging her gaze back up to the old man’s jowly face. “But it is I who must apologize for my lack of attention. Surely you must think I had no care at all for you and your plight here at Beckham Hall.”
Now his hoary brows drew together, and although he kept hold of Mary’s hands for far longer than was appropriate, she allowed it. “My plight? If you mean the weevils, I must say that it really wasn’t that bad, and it was only that one instance at Eastertide. By spring all the flour has a bit of them. It was Lady Elmsbeth, was it not? That old gossip! I knew I shouldn’t have let her invite herself. Cook has assured me that—”
Mary gave a laugh that was genuine. It seemed the dowager lady had been keeping a close eye on Beckham in Mary’s absence, and she did hope to meet the woman again soon.
“No, Lord Quimby, I was not speaking of the weevils, although I am aware of the havoc the loathsome creatures can wreak on one’s holy day feasts!” She shook and pressed his fingers with another little laugh and then deftly slipped her hands from the old man’s papery grip. “I meant your plight in holding Beckham in my stead until I returned to England. While extremely noble in service to the king, I’m sure it was hardly convenient for you to take on such a task without knowing the terms. You have my deepest gratitude and I will be certain to relay it also to the king.”
Now the old man frowned in earnest. “Holding Beckham until you returned . . . ? There must be some mistake. I—”
She heard the footsteps behind her, and by Lord Quimby’s wide gaze darting over her shoulder, Mary knew her support was nearby. She turned slightly and took the parchment that was already at her elbow only to hand it directly to the old man.
He snatched it from her, almost all traces of his earlier courtesy gone. “You can’t be . . .” he muttered to himself as he held the parchment close to his nose. “Lady Mary Beckham?” He jerked the parchment down with a rattle and glared at her.
Mary forced her expression into one of gentle surprise. “Lord Quimby, I can’t help but think that you are dismayed—nay, shocked and dismayed!—at my return. I can’t fathom why that would be.”
“You,” he said, the parchment trembling in his hand, “were rumored to have abandoned your home with a known traitor and then thought dead! Save for a handful of letters that could not verify your whereabouts, there has been no sign of you for nearly two years! Henry couldn’tpaysomeone to take Beckham now—the harbor’s overrun with pirates! No soldiers of any worthy spirit agree to be stationed here, and the sheer lunacy of the types of pilgrims we see through the village now marks the place as little better than a barbarian purlieu!”
She gave him a sideways, chastising look. “Oh, don’t be so modest. The hall is simply lovely.” She leaned up straightaway and tapped the scribbled calligraphy on the parchment with her fingernail. “As you can see, it plainly states that I have returned to Beckham withmy husband,” here, she rolled her eyes up to indicate the men behind her, “and that the estate is to be returned to me immediately.” She drew her hand back to fold her fingers together primly before her waist. “Which would be right now.”
“This is outrageous!”
“Why, Lord Quimby, you behave as though you didn’t receive your own copy of this decree from the king a fortnight ago.”
The old man sputtered. “I most certainly did not!”
Valentine leaned around Mary and used his forefinger and thumb to pluck the page from the old man’s hands before he could tighten his grip. “Excuse me. I am sorry, but this one belongs to me.” He straightened behind Mary once more.
“What an embarrassing mistake. I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to the king about it,” she said with an air of grave seriousness. “I wouldn’t dare go against a royal decree myself.”
“Speak to him I certainly shall!” Lord Quimby said in a trembling voice and drawing himself up to his full height. “I’ll depart at first light for the king’s court and—”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. This is a simply shocking turn of events and I think your plan most appropriate.” Mary stepped closer to the old man and took hold of his elbow. She began walking toward the stairs, her arm linked with his. “I shall have your personal belongings sent to the inn right away, and any private servants you have employed.”
“What?” The old man jerked to a stop. “The inn? I’m not going to theinn; I’m staying here, in my home!”
Mary clasped her hands again and gave him a sweet smile and a wrinkle of her nose before she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but . . . no.”
She heard a door open and the pale, thin Father Braund emerged from the chapel at the end of the hall.
“Lady Mary?” he said, his kind voice full of amazement. “Is it really you?”
Her smile deepened as she rushed toward the priest, breaking into a run the last few steps and embracing him.
He drew away and his gaze beamed down at her. “I daresay you look much improved over the last time we met. Have you come home?”
“I have. And not only I, Father, but also several others I’ve brought with me whom I can’t wait for you to meet.”
