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“You’d just insulted my sister,” I reminded her.
“Ah, then,” she said. “My second son. Now, he needs a taskmaster. He needs a keeper. He will need to be taken care of until his dying breath. He doesn’t have it in him to take care of a woman, or a family. The woman he chooses will have to bear the brunt of it all, and she’ll have to go into it knowing she will.”
“This is much what Ian had to say,” I murmured.
“Daniel is blinded by envy, Daphne. Perhaps even tortured by it,” Lady Jane told me in what sounded more like a rather ominous warning. “You would do well to remember that. Ian loves his brother. Adored him when they were younger. And Daniel worshipped Ian. I can’t quite put my finger on when that twisted. When it changed. When it became ugly. But it did. I think Ian is wounded by it. Duncroft is remote. They only had each other. They were playmates when they were very young. Then they became friends. Ian wants the brother he grew up with back. I fear this won’t happen. I fear it for the both of them.”
It didn’t take a psychologist to ascertain Lady Jane played favorites.
“You’re being very frank,” I noted.
“People mistake me for distant. It’s the quiet ones who observe the most, Daphne. Advice that might serve you well in the future. But please don’t mistake me, I love my sons equally. Ian is proud and smart and strong, and has the curse of the eldest. He seems to be able to do everything right and people get the erroneous conclusion he doesn’t have to work for it, it simply falls in his lap. I assure you, he works for it. Daniel is kindhearted and fun-loving and free-spirited. But things are harder for him. I’ve no idea why, perhaps it’s just the way of the world. They both have their strengths and their weaknesses. And I love all that is them.”
With that, even though neither of us were finished eating, she stood.
“I believe I have some correspondence I need to see to.”
She began to swan to the door, and I watched her go, baffled by this whole episode, and a little weirded out by it, but she stopped and turned back to me.
“Ian was right. The cords are hideous and it’s most irksome to have to roam around to find one when one is needed. I have a phone. I have a laptop. Time marches on. But that doesn’t mean tradition isn’t important. We’ve made changes. We’ve made do. We’ve made advancements. We don’t need a dozen footmen and scullery maids because fires need to be laid and the vacuum hasn’t been invented yet. But places like Duncroft need to exist, Daphne. They need love and care. They need traditions to stand. They need Stevenson and Christine, and Bonnie and Laura just as much as they need Lord Alcott and myself. And Ian must see this. He must teach his son the same. He doesn’t think so, but he has things to learn from his father. He needs to start paying attention.”
“Are you…do you…” my words sounded strangled, “do you think I hold some sway over Ian?”
“Of course not,” she sniffed, but oddly, I felt her response was a blatant lie. “I’m just making conversation.”
“And it’s been a most interesting conversation, Lady Jane.”
“Do you know your British history?” she asked.
“Of a sort,” I answered.
“The most famous Lady Jane in this country was queen for nine days. She was educated. Intelligent. And she wanted what was best for Britain. Her head was taken as a traitor when she was anything but. Before that happened, she blindfolded herself.” She drew in breath while I struggled to digest words that were disturbing before she finished. “Duncroft is a country on its own, in a way. And many a lady has been found traitor to it and paid the price, even when she wanted nothing but the best for it and did her part, giving her own blood and bone to ensure its future.”
And with that unnerving message, the Lady Jane of Duncroft House swept from the room.
Eleven
THE ROSE ROOM
I was barefoot in the Rose Room, about to nip out to go to Lou’s to ask her to zip my dress.
I was also wondering why I’d fought against being moved.
During the tour, I noticed that this was the prettiest, most spacious, most decked out room of the lot in this wing. The only rivals it had were the Carnation and Robin Rooms.
It was the turrets that won the match. One had a chaise longue in it, a perfect spot for reading or napping or gazing over the estate. The other had a beautiful secretary, perfect for those times when you needed to “see to your correspondence.”
The seating area was bigger, as was the fireplace. It had an actual closet, a walk-in one that was enormous, thank you very much, and if the bathroom in Carnation was a dream, the one in Rose was sheer heaven.
And the ridiculously beautiful wallpaper didn’t suck.
I loved it there. I felt right there.
At home there.
It was weird, but even though my lunch with Lady Jane was curious (I decided to consider it that rather than creepy), I was still hell bent on making the best of the rest of this visit.
A mammoth task, but I was psyching myself up for it.
