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Since the choice was out of his hands, he ought to concentrate on behaving as prudently as Miss Antinori. Mrs. Randall had finished her repast, her charge had pushed the food back and forth on her plate a sufficient number of times and heaven knows, he couldn’t choke down another bite. Best to get them back on the road to his estate, the sooner to expose to his guests the full extent of his unsuitability, so that he might put an end to futile daydreams and painful imaginings.
And though the hiring of the carriage to bring them here today had severely diminished his reserve of coins, he vowed he would rent a horse to ride on the return journey even if it meant he must dine on whatever offerings were available at various gaming hells every night for a month.
WILL FOUND HIS NERVES winding tighter with every mile they drew closer to Brookwillow. On the other hand, each turn along the now-familiar road brought into view new vistas into woods he’d explored and streams he’d fished on his infrequent but prized holidays here, evoking a flow of fond memories. Odd, to have so sharp a sense of belonging in a place in which he’d spent comparatively little time. Perhaps it was the warm welcome and straightforward acceptance the Phillipses had always accorded him that made the manor and its land so dear to him.
But drawing nearer also speeded him toward the moment he’d have to gird himself for the dismayed and perhaps disgusted reaction of the ladies, once they viewed the true extent of Brookwillow’s decrepitude.
The carriage turned off the main road and crossed a narrow bridge over the lazy-flowing river. “The gatehouse is just ahead,” he informed his companions, his pulse quickening with anticipation and dread.
“Is this the brook for which the estate was named?” Allegra asked. “’Tis lovely, and the woods also. Will we be able to see the manor house from the drive?”
“Not until we are almost upon it. Though from the manor one has a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, from here the wood prevents one from being able to see to the hilltop.”
The carriage made a sharp turn to enter the drive. Will sucked in a breath, fending off the tug of memory and trying to see Brookwillow as his visitors must.
The tall brick wall that led away from the gatehouse into the woods, lichen-coated and missing most of its top course of bricks. The long-deserted gatehouse, its windows empty of glass and part of its roof fallen in. Only the drive, which received enough traffic to keep the grass beaten down, didn’t look the picture of neglect.
They passed fields that had once, he vaguely remembered from childhood, been planted with gently waving rows of wheat, now grown up in weeds and bracken. As they climbed steadily upward, the tenant farms they skirted looked in better shape, with kitchen gardens neatly tended and new thatch on the roofs, the latter courtesy of a run of good luck he’d had at the tables in the early fall.
“The farms appear in good heart,” Mrs. Randall said.
“I believe the land is quite fertile,” he replied. “Not that I know much about agriculture.”
Before she could answer him, the carriage crested the rise and suddenly, across an untidy meadow which had once been an expanse of parkland, he saw in the distance the stone and half-timbered manor house, the myriad panes of its mullioned windows winking in the sun as if waving a greeting. Despite the trial to come, a wave of affection swept through Will.
“How charming the house is!” Allegra exclaimed.
“You’ll probably not find it so charming once you see how handily the rain penetrates the dining-room roof,” he replied, the need to squelch his pleasure at her compliment making his tone sharper than he’d intended. “Though you mustn’t fault the caretakers. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips have done all one could expect with what little funds were available to prevent the whole place from falling into ruin. They will have marshaled all their resources to provide as comfortable a reception for you as possible, so I beg you will not hold them responsible for Brookwillow’s deficiencies.”
Though Mrs. Randall looked a bit uneasy after that daunting speech, Allegra replied, “I am sure whatever they have arranged will be delightful.”
Recalling the Adamesque elegance of Lynton House, Will wasn’t so sure. The churning in his gut intensified and suddenly he regretted the crackbrained idea of inviting her here, exposing Brookwillow to her discerning eyes in all its shabbiness. He thought of the humble accommodations in the kitchen and the small parlor, the only rooms still in good enough repair to receive guests, the formal rooms beyond having been long since shut up, their hangings in tatters, their wall coverings spotted with damp. Anger and embarrassment flushing his face, he had the crazy desire to order the barouche to turn around immediately and head back to Hemley.
Taking a deep breath, he resisted the impulse. By now he ought to have squelched the pathetic desire to have her think well of him. The whole reason he’d brought her here was to let her see the worst, to give her such a distaste for him she’d have no desire even to remain his friend. And should Allegra be too loyal to cast him off, surely after viewing his crumbling estate, Mrs. Randall would be affronted enough at his audacity in calling himself a gentleman of property to deny him the house.
Which was just what he wanted, wasn’t it?
Maybe not what he wanted, he conceded. But since it was certainly what he needed, he silently vowed to master his cowardly reluctance and finish the business.
A few minutes later, the carriage passed the unused front entrance and pulled into the kitchen yard. A surge of gladness momentarily escaped his inner turmoil when, in a barking of dogs and banging of doors, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips emerged from the kitchen wing to greet them.
As soon as the carriage halted, Will leapt out. Wrinkled face wreathed in a smile, Phillips gave Will’s hand a hearty shake while Mrs. Phillips captured him in a hug. “’Tis wondrous good to see you, Master Will!” she exclaimed. “Ye’ve been gone from home too long.”
“’Tis good to be back,” Will replied, surprised to realize he meant it, regardless of his reasons for returning. “Now, let me present my guests.” He turned to assist the ladies from the barouche.
“I trust you can find a dry seat for the ladies and some meat and cheese to offer them,” Will said to Mrs. Phillips after the brief introductions.
“Well, of course I can,” she answered, giving him an indignant look before turning to his guests. “Ladies, you follow me out of this wind and we’ll have you snug in the parlor in a trice! There’s some good sharp cheese, meat pies and some of your favorite apple tarts, Master Will. By the looks of ye, you’ve need of some fattening. Just like when you was a lad. Gobbled up as many pies as I could make, he always did!”
Will followed them in, his expression grim. As she gazed around the room, Mrs. Randall, widow and daughter of a gentleman, began to look properly appalled at realizing she was being received in what was clearly the servants’ kitchen. Allegra merely looked thoughtful, but soon enough, Will thought, she too would progress from surprise to indignation. Feeling defensive in spite of himself, Will set his jaw.
Mrs. Randall rallied somewhat once Mrs. Phillips seated her on the divan in front of the cozy fire in the small adjoining parlor. Once the private domain of the butler and housekeeper, the Phillipses had converted the place into a sort of reception room for Will’s use after it had become necessary to close up the rest of the house. Allegra’s chaperone brightened further after Phillips entered bearing a tray loaded with cups, saucers, and covered dishes from which emanated the savory scent of warm meat pies and freshly baked apple tarts.
“You mean to stay a few days, Master Will?” Phillips asked. “The tenants was asking if ye’d be by to see ’em. ’Tis about time to start the spring planting.”
“Yes, I’ll be here a day or so while the ladies pay a visit in Hemley before I escort them back to London. Mrs. Randall, your friend is expecting you later this afternoon? Once you finish your tea, I can show you ladies about the house. A tour that, if we are prudent, I believe can be accomplished without either of you coming to harm on a rotting floorboard or a crumbled stair rail.”
Mrs. Phillips gave him a distressed look. “’Tis not much to see in there, Master Will. We closed it up tight like you ordered, moved the furniture out of the rooms where the roof leaks and put it under Holland covers, but there hasn’t been nothing repaired since your last visit. The ladies be more comfortable staying here in the parlor. I can brew up another pot of tea and bring in some more apple tarts afore you drive back to Hemley.”
Mrs. Randall, whose eyes had widened in alarm at Will’s description of exploring the house, nodded vigorously. “If you don’t mind, I should prefer to stay here and have another cup of tea, my lord.”
“Having spent so much time cooped up in a carriage, I’m ready for a walk,” Allegra said. “I would very much like to see the house and tour the grounds, too, if that wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, Lord Tavener.”
“The late Lady Tavener’s flower beds aren’t what they used to be, but the kitchen gardens be just as she planted them and the prospect from there is still fine,” Mrs. Phillips interposed.
