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Chapter Thirty-Five
Acarriage awaited Clara and Molly at the station for the final leg to Anterleigh. The lengthy train ride to the heart of Yorkshire had been difficult with her nausea and sensitivity to odors, but she was grateful for the modern conveyance. By carriage, the journey would have required a full three days of uncomfortable travel over rutted, unpaved roads.
The sickness she felt during the journey was a gift, reminding her that she wasn’t traveling alone. As she was connected to her parents, now she had a child to whom she already felt a growing connection.
Clara’s heart ached when the familiar neo-Gothic stone castle came into view. This estate formed her golden childhood memories; it was the site of bittersweet visits after her parents died. They were buried in the nearby village of Bramfield, in the church cemetery.
She and David hurdled through the same meadow as Father and Uncle Eugene had, and generations before them. Would this child in her belly have memories of the sweet-smelling Anterleigh grass one day?
When the carriage turned down the stone-paved road leading to the house, Clara closed her eyes, listening to the hoofbeats and rattling wheels. She could well be a girl in the carriage with her parents; the distinctive cacophony was so familiar.The carriage slowed to a precise stop under the porte cochère, aligning with the stone stairs.
Her throat closed with emotion as she stepped through the massive arched doorway into the entrance hall. The elaborately carved oak ceiling and arches were as magnificent to her now as when she was a child. She wondered what would James make of it when he arrived tomorrow.
The castle had been rebuilt a hundred years earlier, but she saw her mother’s touches from her time as countess. Twin canine statues, acquired by Mama, guarded either side of the eighteen-foot-tall doors that lead into the great hall.
Clara caressed a hand over the snout of the right-hand statue—hers. David’s dog sat on the left. She paused, a hand on its head, as if the hound could pass on wisdom about how to influence her brother.
After that, she was barely aware of her procession to her chamber. She’d eaten the small bits of bird food Molly had pulled out of her satchel throughout the train journey, and a few more bites before falling into bed.
The next morning, she met with Mrs. Watts, the housekeeper, to discuss the household. Anterleigh was timeless in her mind; thanks to David’s stewardship and the dedication of the staff, it was maintained flawlessly and had changed precious little since her childhood.
Time had not stood still for Mrs. Watts, however; ever petite, she was curved, shorter in her sixties than she had been even a few years before. She was as sharp as ever, however.
“You had very little time to prepare for my arrival, yet everything was ready,” Clara praised. “That wouldn’t be the case if you weren’t diligent when we werenotin residence. Your work is evident, Mrs. Watts. Thank you.”
The housekeeper smiled, and her veined hands patted the sterling silver chatelaine at the waistband of her dark gray skirts. Chains extended from the decorative brooch, attaching the variety of necessary and helpful tools she needed during the day as she supervised the household, from keys to a small pair of scissors.
“I have news to share with you, Mrs. Watts. I’m to be married.”
“Congratulations, my lady!”
“Thank you. My betrothed, Mr. James Robertson, shall be arriving later today, in fact. I’m afraid that Lord Anterleigh was called away to Wales, as there’s been a tragedy at his mine. Only one chamber need be prepared for now.”
Following a brief pause, Mrs. Watts nodded, and assured her of the preparations.
It had been only mildly distressing to impart what was, in truth, rather astonishing news—an unchaperoned visit. Perhaps it was Mrs. Watts’ impressive discretion, or the fact that she made clear she and James were engaged, but the housekeeper’s reaction recovered quickly.
After reviewing the menus, Mrs. Watts departed, and Clara was relieved to have the revelation behind her. Soon enough, whatever shock her marriage would cause socially, at least she could live openly.
She wandered from room to room, smiling and remembering. She lingered in the music room, the ideal place for her to occupy herself. She ran her fingers over the strings of her mother’s harp, smiling. It was horrifically out of tune now, but she remembered the soothing, magical trill when it was under her mother’s care.
Clara eventually settled before the upright Pleyel piano she learned to play on. She ran a hand over the ebonized wood cabinet, smiling wistfully as she traced her fingers over the inlaid gilt fern designs. Mrs. Watts had it tuned before her arrival, and she was glad to have her mind and hands busy.
∞∞∞
On his sixth day in Yorkshire, James accompanied Clara on an excursion to the other side of the lake next to Anterleigh Hall. Clara was feeling better than she had so far; the sunny day was pleasant and not excessively warm, and he was more at ease being on the estate.
James shook out a blanket and laid it in a patch of shade under a tree near the lakeshore. After removing their shoes, they settled onto the blanket, where Clara reclined with a blissful sigh. He rolled up his sleeves, earning a beatific smile.
“I imagined this very scene in the country—you with bare feet, your sleeves up,” said Clara dreamily, trailing a finger over the top of his foot. “I wasn’t sure it would ever actually happen, and I certainly wouldn’t have believed it would behere.”
“Here we are,” he murmured. “Out in the light of day. And a braw day at that.”
“Visiting the orangery turned out to be a lovely surprise—”
“Spur-of-the-moment plan,” he corrected with a smile.
“Yes. And I cherish the memory of it. It was a secret night that belonged only to us.This—being out in the sun together—it’s idyllic. At last.”
