“Your estimation appears quite reasonable, my lady. I shall be proud to assist you.”
It did nottake Beaufort long to realize that his people blamed him for Annalise’s departure. In his egotistical way, he had not understood how many upon the estate his wife’s gentle nature had touched. He could view their pity for him in their eyes when he called upon the various worksites located both on and off the estate, as well as the valley surrounding Klare Fields. He recognized their truth in the subdued greetings he received in the village.
The word of his grandmother’s decline had spread quicker than he had expected. Those that dared to speak to him expressed their grief for what he must endure. Yet, despite their knowledge of what had occurred at the manor house, none asked of Annalise’s absence, though occasionally he knew the question was on the tip of their tongues.
Generally, a man only sent his wife away if she were known to have taken up with another man, but none who had ever known Lady Beaufort’s acquaintance would believe such drivel. His wife possessed a heart of pure gold, and Navan had been truly blessed to have claimed her.
Assuredly, he understood why few asked of his sweet Annalise. Those who had initially dared to inquire of his missing countess had been met with a brusque reply from him, for the idea he had permitted her to leave haunted each minute of his days. He constantly wondered if she was well and if her thoughts turned to him as often as his turned in her direction.
At Klare Manor, it was worse than when he was in the fields or the village. The servants and those brought in each day for repairs provided him sidelong glances, their faces stiff with disapproval. Men in Ireland simply did not send their wives away. Only betraying one of God’s commandments was worthy of such an action. No one who had ever encountered Lady Beaufort would consider her anything but virtuous. The servants’ loyalty no longer rested with his grandmother, but rather with their new mistress, for Annalise had been the one who had employed them. According to Mrs. Felix and the manor house’s cantankerous cook, Annalise was a paragon of uprightness and organization and generosity.
Naturally, Navan was well aware of his wife’s endearing qualities. His grandmother and, consequently, he, should have engendered the loyalty of those on the estate, but somehow his English wife had won their hearts, as easily as she had won his.
It was impossible to consider how Annalise’s short stay at the manor house could make such a difference. And yet, as the days ticked by and he had received no word from his wife, Navan found himself spending less and less time at the manor, for despite all the people working inside to restore it, the manor house felt strangely empty.
Reminders of Annalise were imprinted on each room, from the new drapes and bedspread in his chambers to the newly plastered walls waiting to be painted. Klare Manor had begun to sparkle with the grandeur it once held. Polished armor and picture frames. A repaired tapestry. Furniture with a high shine. Even with her absence, the work continued as a tribute to his wife. The manor house no longerreflected Lady Klare’s taste and influence. Like everything else in Navan’s life, the manor had changed for the better with the addition of Lady Annalise Beaufort.
“Thank you foragreeing to come to Beaufort House,” Annalise told Madame Emmeline. She had not expected the modiste herself, but she was pleased with the woman’s quick response.
The modiste employed her fake French accent when she said, “Our shop is always pleased to serve you, my lady. I am glad I came. Your measurements altered slightly.”
“Likely because the meals in Ireland were more potato and bread based,” Annalise responded innocently. “I do very much prefer the green and the blue shades you showed me, and even the dark russet.”
“I agree, my lady,” the woman said. “I could have these completed by week’s end.”
Annalise handed the woman one of Beaufort’s cards. “The bills may be presented to my husband’s man of business.”
The modiste took the card and smiled. “I recall…”
The woman stopped what she was going to say, but she had piqued Annalise’s curiosity. “You recall? What?”
“It is nothing, my lady,” the woman said with a blush of embarrassment. “I once worked for another who dressed women not of your class.”
“You are saying my husband knew one of these women?” Annalise asked.
“Forgive my forwardness, my lady,” Madame Emmeline said as she quickly placed her fabric samples in the trunk she had brought to the house. “I should return to my shop. Others will be waiting forme.”
Annalise wanted an answer, for she knew the question would haunt her, but she permitted the woman’s leave-taking. “Naturally. Again, I am grateful for your expertise.”
An hour later, Mrs. Mayo brought Annalise a salver with a letter upon it. “This came for you, my lady.”
“A letter?” Annalise asked. “For me? Few even know I have married Lord Beaufort.”
“It is from Derbyshire,” Mrs. Mayo explained.
“My brother or Lord Duncan then. I have yet to write to either, though such was on my list for today.”
“It is not in the hand of either lord,” Mrs. Mayo assured, again thrusting the salver forward so Annalise might claim the letter.
Tentatively, she took it from the tray to study it. The embossed stamp indicated it had come from someone named Smithfield. Then it struck her. “My mother’s family,” she whispered aloud. She sat heavily in a nearby chair and held the letter to her chest as tears arrived in her eyes. “I never thought this day would come.”
“I should leave you unless you require my assistance,” Mrs. Mayo asked.
Annalise shook off the offer. “I believe I would prefer privacy.”
Mrs. Mayo bobbed a curtsey, but she retrieved a handkerchief from a nearby drawer and handed it to Annalise before departing.
With shaking hands, Annalise broke the wax seal and unfolded the two pages and began to read.
