CHAPTER 11
Devin walked into the study and closed the door behind him with a resounding thud. Across the room Michael, Lord Westhampton, raised his eyes from the book he was reading and looked at Devin with a mildly questioning face.
“Bad day?”
Devin grimaced. “Oh. Hullo, Michael. Didn’t know you were here. I thought everyone else had gone to bed.”
It was almost midnight, and the house was dark. Devin, lying in his bedroom thinking about the locked door into Miranda’s room, had been unable to sleep and had gone prowling.
“Just a bit of reading before sleep,” Michael replied. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to invade your study. Shall I leave? Or does that look on your face mean you would prefer to have a listening ear?”
“I would prefer to change my life,” Devin said, disgruntled. He walked over to the teak cabinet beneath the windows and opened the door. “Whiskey? I have brandy if you’d prefer.”
“Whiskey’s fine,” Michael replied. “And what exactly would you change about your life?”
“Living it. I don’t know. Oh, Christ.” He poured two drinks into fine crystal glasses and handed his brother-in-law one, then drank half the other one in a single gulp. He sighed. “What am I doing marrying that woman? I must have been out of my mind to agree to it.”
“I was rather under the impression that you had no other choice,” Michael pointed out mildly. “Besides, I rather liked your bride-to-be. She’s quite…different.”
Devin grimaced. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Her theories about education for women certainly made for stimulating dinner conversation.”
A smile cracked Devin’s face as he remembered the look on his mother’s face at supper tonight when Miranda had advocated that women be allowed to attend university. “It was a livelier dinner than usual,” he admitted. “But you see my point—she has been here since four o’clock, not even half a day, and already she has stirred everything up. The woman is a menace.”
“If you feel that strongly about it, perhaps you should cry off.”
“Cry off! Are you mad? The wedding is in two days. Besides, a gentleman can’t back out of it, and you know it.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I can see how it would damage your reputation.”
Devin shot him a disgusted look. “Oh, hell, Michael, you know I can’t. I need the money. The Aincourts have never had the luxury of marrying for love.”
“Yes, I know,” Michael replied quietly.
“Of course you do. I mean, you and Rachel—you had the same sort of arrangement. But it’s different for you. The two of you are rational, civilized sorts. You can live in harmony—do what you want, live separate lives.”
“Yes. We do.”
“But Miranda! She’s an odd creature. She has strange ideas about things.”
Michael nodded, waiting.
Devin downed the rest of his whiskey and set his glass down with a crack. “Dammit, she wants a platonic marriage!”
Michael blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Have you ever heard of such a thing? She says we don’t love each other, so we shall go our separate ways, do what we want.”
Michael hesitated, then said, “I would think that such an accommodating wife would appeal to you.”
“Accommodating? I have never met anyone less accommodating than Miranda. She thinks we should go out and have affairs with other people.”
“I see. And you are against that?”
“The Countess of Ravenscar, having affairs with God knows who? Of course I am against it.”
“Then you are in favor of the two of you having a true marriage—fidelity and—”
Devin fixed him with a piercing look. “Don’t mock me, Michael. You know I never had any intention of being faithful to her. Of course I want to do what I want, have affairs. I just—well, I didn’t expect her to want them, too. She’s as bold and brassy as any bird of paradise.”
“Really? I thought she seemed refined. A bit outspoken, of course, but that was refreshing. Not at all coarse.”
“Of course she’s not coarse. Good God, Michael, why would you think that?”
“Well…’bold and brassy’ as a lightskirt,” Lord Westhampton reminded him.
“You know what I mean.” Devin got up and poured himself another drink. “She wants to restore the house. That is what she’s interested in. She wants to put the estate back in running order. That’s why she wants to marry me. I asked her where she wanted to go on the honeymoon—Paris? Vienna? Italy? Do you know what she said? ‘Oh, I don’t care much for a honeymoon, my lord,’” Devin said in a falsetto. “’I want to get right on the house. Papa and I have already scheduled an architect to come look at it.’ Now, does that sound like any woman you know?”
“No,” Michael admitted.
“Other women want honeymoons. They want babies and clothes and parties and such. She wants to fix things. It’s not natural.”
Devin slumped back broodingly in his chair. Across from him, Lord Westhampton hid a smile.
“She locked the connecting door,” Devin said suddenly.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Between our rooms. I didn’t really believe her. I assumed she would come around.” He shrugged and sipped at his drink, more slowly this time. “That’s part of her ‘going our separate ways’ idea. She said it would be a perfect solution. We wouldn’t have to pretend that we are in love. We wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of consummating our marriage. We could just live entirely separate lives.”
“And that is not what you want?”
“Well, what about heirs? There won’t be any, will there?”
“No. And I know an heir is important to you.”
Devin looked at him suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No. Well, only a little. I don’t understand, Dev. If you don’t care for the woman—indeed, it seems to be exactly the opposite—then why do you mind if she doesn’t grace your bed? I have never known you to worry about an heir before. As long as she is discreet…”
“But she doesn’t even care! She hasn’t a spark of jealousy in her whole body,” Devin grumbled. “Now, I ask you, is that normal?”
Michael shrugged. “Some women aren’t jealous.”
“Yes, if they don’t care.”
Michael glanced away. “Do you want her to care for you?”
“Of course not.” Devin made a face. “Oh, hell! I just don’t want her turning me down.”
“A point of pride. I see.”
“It’s damned frustrating. She is the most contrary female I have ever met. And she isn’t even beautiful.”
“No,” Michael agreed.
Devin cast him a sharp look. “Do you think she’s not pretty?”
Michael pressed his lips together for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I think she is quite pretty. But not a beauty.”
“But there is something about her eyes. Did you notice? They’re gray and…and penetrating. Sometimes, when she looks at me, it’s as if she can see right into my soul.”
“Disconcerting.”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“Intriguing, as well, don’t you think? And her hair is a nice color.”
“Yes. Sort of chestnut. Very nice.”
“Did I tell you that the first time I met her, she came to my rescue?”
Michael swallowed his drink the wrong way and began to cough. After a few minutes, his coughing fit died, and he asked weakly, “What did you say?”
“Three men attacked me. She was driving by in her carriage and saw it. So she made her driver stop and came running to help me. Whacked one fellow with an umbrella.”
“Indeed.”
“I’ve never met a woman like her.”
“No, I should think not.”
“The thing is, she…appeals to me.” Dev looked at his brother-in-law. “You’d think I would be relieved not to have to bed the woman I married only for money. But I—I can’t stop thinking about her. These two weeks up here, I kept thinking about her. I mean, it’s understandable. It’s devilishly boring here. But…well, what I mean is, why her? And it seems like the more I know I don’t have to take her, the more I want to. Does that make sense?”
“Sad to say, yes, it does.”
“I didn’t think it would last. I didn’t think she would stick to that idea.”
“Until she locked the door.”
“Right.”
“No doubt you figured you could charm her into it.”
“Well, yes. I mean, it’s not as if I’m an ogre. Women like me.”
“So we’re talking about a bit of hurt pride.”
Devin hesitated. “Yes…I suppose so. I mean, it couldn’t really be anything else.”
“I’m sure not.” Michael took a quick drink to hide his smile. “You know, Dev, I think this is going to be a very interesting marriage.”
“That’s one way to describe it. Hellish is more like it.”
“I was going to go back home as soon as the wedding was over,” Michael went on musingly. “But you know, I think I may just stay awhile now.”
* * *
Lord Westhampton was the only person in the dining room when Miranda walked in the following morning. He looked up at her and smiled. “Miss Upshaw. So, you are an early riser?”
“A lamentable habit,” Miranda said with a smile. “I am afraid I cannot seem to shake it. Good morning, Lord Westhampton.”
He got up and came around the table to pull her chair out for her, “There is food on the sideboard. And a pot of tea. Shall I ring for a servant to bring you coffee? I understand many Americans thrive on it.”
“Yes, and I am one. It would be kind of you to ring.” Miranda got up and walked along the elegant dark sideboard, investigating the various dishes. “If I ate like this every morning, pretty soon you would have to roll me down the hallway.”
She picked up a small sampling of the various dishes, leaving the kidneys, which she could not work up a taste for. She brought her plate back to the table and sat down just as a footman entered with a rack of toast. He set it down beside Miranda and went back for the pot of coffee.
“Tomorrow you can be sure that the coffee will be ready and waiting for you,” Michael told her. “Cummings runs a tight ship. It has pained him these many years, I’m sure, to be unable to staff the house properly.”
“Yes. I shall have to talk to him later. There are so many things to do—repairs to the house, the gardens, the estate.” Miranda smiled, seemingly not at all daunted by the task before her.
“Ravenscar tells me you are very interested in restoring the estate.”
“Oh, yes. Papa is, too, probably even more than I.”
“If I can be of any assistance to you, please feel free to ask. I have had to do quite a few repairs to my own house over the years.”
“How kind of you. But I warn you, if you tell Papa that, he will bend your ear for hours.”
“I wouldn’t mind. It’s rare that I can find anyone who has any interest in the matter.”
They talked for a few minutes about the problems of very old houses. The footman reappeared with a pot of coffee for Miranda, and after he left, there was a short silence.
Then Michael said, “You know, Miss Upshaw…Lord Ravenscar is, well, he isn’t exactly what he seems to be.”
“Really?” Miranda looked at the man with great innocence.
“No, he…well, he is a much nicer person than most people think. I am very fond of him, and I should hate to think that he might get hurt.”
Miranda gazed at him levelly. “You know, Lord Westhampton, any observer of our wedding, seeing the two of us, would generally not worry that Lord Ravenscar is going to get hurt.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course. Devin is not naive or innocent by any means. But neither is he a scoundrel. He has a heart, which he does his best to keep hidden, and he can be wounded. On the other hand, with the right woman, he could be very happy.”
“Well, that is fortunate, isn’t it? Some people, I understand, can never be happy no matter what the circumstances.” Miranda set down her fork. “I am not sure what you are driving at, Lord Westhampton. If you think I am not the right woman for Lord Raven-car, then I am sorry you feel that way, because you really have nothing to say in the matter. On the other hand, if you are trying to ascertain whether I am the right woman for him, I can only say I do not know. I have found in life that we must wait and see what happens. I am not accustomed to turning aside from something because there are risks. I suppose there is a third thing you might be trying to say—that I must change if I am hoping to make Devin happy. That is not likely to happen. He is as he is, and I am as I am. Have I answered your concerns, my lord?”
Michael smiled. “Yes, Miss Upshaw. I would say that you have answered my concerns more than adequately. I always thought it would take a very special woman to match Devin. I think perhaps he has found her.”
Miranda smiled back. “I would like to think so.”
After that, they fell to talking of other things. Miranda found Lord Westhampton to be a very intelligent and well-read man, with a great deal of knowledge on a wide array of subjects. He was possessed of a dry and ironic wit, sometimes so subtle that it took a moment or two to realize exactly how well he had skewered a topic.
He was in the middle of describing how he had attacked the woodworm that had eaten into most of the railings and balustrades in his house when he looked up and suddenly broke off. Something flashed across his face, too quickly for Miranda to tell what it was.
“My dear,” he said and rose to his feet, his manner a trifle stiff and formal. “Good morning. Won’t you join us?”
Miranda turned and saw Rachel framed in the doorway. She looked, Miranda thought, especially pretty this morning. She was wearing a simple green morning dress that brought out the color of her eyes, and there was a touch of pink in her cheeks. Miranda wasn’t sure whether the country air was simply good for her, if the cause of her good looks was her happiness at her brother’s marrying, or if there were another reason altogether.
“Hello,” Rachel replied, her voice equally formal. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“No, of course not. Lord Westhampton and I were just chatting about restoring old houses. I found it quite interesting, but he, I am sure, would appreciate being rescued,” Miranda said cheerfully.
“I’m sure that isn’t true.” Rachel smiled at Miranda, then glanced at her husband.
“Oh, no,” Lord Westhampton protested, and the smile that had been so relaxed and friendly a few moments ago now seemed forced. “Lady Westhampton can attest to the fact that I am quite fond of much that most people would consider boring. It was kind of you to let me rattle on so.”
It seemed very strange, Miranda thought, that two such likeable people should be married—for several years, as she understood it—and still be so uncomfortable around one another. She wondered if Rachel had told her the whole story when she had described the separated state of their marriage.
Michael went around to hold Rachel’s chair for her, then said, “Well, I shall leave you ladies to talk. Good day, Miss Upshaw. Rachel.” He gave them a slight bow and walked out the door.
“Your husband is very nice,” Miranda said. “I enjoyed talking to him.”
Rachel gave her a small smile. “Yes. He is. One can always rely on Michael.” She got back up and went to fill her plate, saying, “I trust you slept well last night?”
“Yes, thank you.” Miranda accepted the change of subject.
“Would you like to go over the preparations for the wedding?” Rachel asked. “Or we could go to the church if you wanted to see it.”
Neither idea particularly appealed to Miranda. “I am sure that whatever you and your mother have decided will be fine.” Rachel looked at her oddly, and Miranda went on, “Not that I’m not interested. Of course I would love to go over them. But maybe later. I think Devin plans to show Papa and me around the house this morning.”
“This morning?” Rachel looked surprised.
“Why, yes, I believe so.”
“My, my. Already you’ve had a good effect on him.”
Miranda chuckled. “Actually, I think it’s boredom. He told me he had taken to keeping country hours because there was so little to do.”
“Well, I hadn’t noticed him up and about before noon since we’ve been here.”
Miranda privately thought that it was also quite possible that he simply would not show up. But before Rachel finished her breakfast, Devin strolled into the room. There was a faintly glazed look to his eyes, it was true, and he said in an amazed tone, “Is this your usual hour to rise?” But he was there when he had said he would be.
“Actually, I am usually at work by now,” Miranda answered with a chuckle. “I have been talking to Lord and Lady Westhampton for almost an hour.”
“Good God.” He looked appalled at the idea and went to pour himself a cup of tea.
After breakfast and two or three cups of tea, he seemed more alert, and they went in search of Miranda’s father, Rachel having quickly excused herself from an exploration of the old house.
Miranda opted to meet with the estate manager before they began the tour, so their first stop was at his office, which lay across the sideyard and was in the front of the small stone house in which he lived.
“Lord Ravenscar!” he said, looking surprised, when Devin knocked on the door and walked in.
“Hallo, Strong.” Devin glanced around the office.
“If you had sent me a note, I would have been happy to call on you in the main house, my lord,” the estate manager went on nervously, scurrying around and moving files out of one chair and dragging another closer. He was a short, stocky man, balding at the back of his head, so that he looked as if he wore a monk’s tonsure.
“Miss Upshaw had a fancy to see your office,” Devin explained. “Miss Upshaw, this Mr. Strong, the estate manager. Strong, the future Lady Ravenscar, Miss Upshaw.”
“How do you do, miss? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Strong quickly covered up his first look of surprise and smiled at her, whipping out his handkerchief to dust off the seat of the straight-backed chair for her.
“Thank you.” Miranda reached out and shook his hand. “And this is my father, Joseph Upshaw.” She sat down in the chair while her father pumped the man’s hand.
Strong retreated behind his desk, casting a look at Devin. Miranda suspected he was not used to dealing with countesses who shook estate manager’s hands. “Congratulations on your marriage, my lord,” he said obsequiously. “I wish you very happy, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I am sure I will be,” Miranda said crisply. “I would like to talk to you this afternoon about the estate, after we finish the tour of the house. Just to get a general idea of what the problem areas are and what it will take to bring it back to a profitable working order. After the wedding, I shall get into it more deeply, of course.”
Strong gazed back at her blankly. He blinked. Finally he said, “You—you want to talk to me, Miss Upshaw?”
“Yes.” Miranda wondered if the man was a trifle dim. If so, it was no wonder that the estate had gone downhill the last few years. “About the state of Lord Ravenscar’s holdings.”
“But…but…” he sputtered, looking toward Devin for help.
“They are going to fix the place up,” Devin explained. “Didn’t anyone tell you that?”
“Well, yes, your uncle wrote me. I mean, I understood that there would be, uh…” His eyes rolled back toward Miranda, and he paused uncertainly.
“An infusion of cash?” Miranda asked politely. “Yes, there will be. But first we will have to see what needs to be done, won’t we?”
“I—I—but surely Mr. Dalrymple is the one you need to talk to about that. I mean, him being the trustee and all, he’ll be the one handling the money. He’ll be arriving this evening, won’t he?”
Miranda cast a look at Devin, who said, “Yes, he is due in this evening. But the fact is, Strong, Uncle Rupert won’t be the one you will be dealing with anymore. From now on, it will be Miss Upshaw. Or, rather, Lady Ravenscar, as she will be.”
The estate manager’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Miranda as if she had suddenly grown two heads.
“We shall start off slowly,” Miranda assured the man, thinking that she would probably have to bring in Hiram Baldwin to help Strong, at least temporarily. The man looked as if he might faint. “This afternoon I just want to go over things in general. I won’t need to look at the figures just yet. But I really know nothing about the estate. What sort of land it is, how it’s being used, whether it’s being put to the best use. Later we can get into it in more detail. Then I’ll need maps and records for the past few years. We may have to go back even further than that. And, of course, I’ll want to ride around the estate and see everything firsthand.”
“The whole estate?” He goggled at her.
“Well, not at one time, of course,” Miranda said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. “First, of course, we are going to go over the house and grounds. Devin is going to show us around them now.”
“Lord Ravenscar?” Strong looked almost as doubtful as he had when he had heard that Miranda intended to run the estate.
Miranda smothered a smile as Devin said, “I do remember where everything is, you know.”
“Oh, of course, my lord, I didn’t mean to imply…” Strong began to rub his hands together anxiously. “I am sure you will do an excellent job of it.”
The three of them rose and left the office. Miranda suspected that as soon as the door was closed behind them, Mr. Strong had run to pour himself a stiff drink.
She turned to Devin, saying thoughtfully, “Is Mr. Strong a trifle slow? He seemed to have a deal of trouble understanding what I wanted.”
Devin smothered a smile. “I think you are a bit…shall we say, intimidating…for the ordinary man, Miranda. He is not accustomed to a countess walking in and saying she would like to see the books. I am sure he’ll be fine once he gets used to you. Give him a little time to recover from the shock. Maybe he will be better after he talks to Uncle Rupert.”
They went first around the outside of the house, exploring the neglected grounds and examining the exterior of the mansion. Devin pointed out where the herb garden on the kitchen side of the house had stood, as well as the elegant formal gardens on the terrace behind the house. Flowers still grew there, the roses in a wild tangle, the vines of the arbor running over and dripping down into the doorway. There was a kind of shaggy, careless beauty about the flower gardens, but the unpruned hedges at the bottom of the terrace simply looked like thickets of wild bushes, and the graveled paths were muddy and pocked with holes.
“There’s been only old Mr. Pettigrew and his grandson for a few years now, and they cannot take care of it all. I have even seen Cummings out in the roses a time or two, trying to cut back the weeds so he can still have roses for the vases,” Devin said. “When I was a boy, I can remember there was a maze down on that side of the terrace.” He pointed toward an area that was overgrown with grass now. “It had to be carefully pruned, and over the last generation it had become completely overgrown. Father had them cut it to the ground and uproot it. He was afraid one of us children would manage to crawl into it and become hopelessly trapped.”
“I read that the landscaping was done by Capability Brown,” Joseph said. “Is that true?”
“As far as I know. The alternating elms and beeches as you come up the lane are ones he had planted. And over there—” he pointed in the other direction from the maze, where trees encroached upon the grounds “—those were once a very neat orchard, or so my father told me. Fruit trees all in military rows, planted by his grandfather. In the spring it’s beautiful, a thick blanket of pink and white flowers.”
“I have a landscaper coming next week,” Joseph said with satisfaction. “We’ll soon set it to rights. I don’t suppose you have the original plans?”
Devin shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose they might be in the library or my study. I shall look for them.” He turned and looked back at the house, shading his eyes against the sun. “The exterior stone is in pretty good shape, just nicks and chinks here and there, some stone carvings that have fallen off. The roof needs repair badly, I know that. The west wing is entirely closed off because of the water damage. Most of the chimneys don’t draw properly. There’s woodworm in most of the banisters and railings. Dry rot. Wet rot. There are some floors in the west wing that I am not even sure are safe.”
He looked from Joseph to Miranda and back again. “Still game for repairing the old pile?”
“You must be joking. You’ve only whetted Papa’s appetite,” Miranda said with a chuckle. “Lead on.”
They went inside and walked through the house, taking what Miranda termed a short overview. The original old great hall of the center wing had been turned into the large entry of the house, the centerpiece of which was an elegant staircase that rose to the landing, then curved in both directions up to the second floor. The steps were marble, as was the floor of the entry, and the banisters were made of English oak. Miranda had already noticed on her way downstairs this morning that the railing was pricked with hundreds of tiny holes, indicating the presence of woodworm.
“At least we don’t have deathwatch beetles,” Devin said as they started making their way around the stairs. “Or at least we haven’t heard them knocking.” The larger beetle, which was even more voraciously destructive than the woodworm, was known by the tapping sound it made inside the wood.
“That’s good.”
“Those are the best tapestries.” Devin pointed to the huge, faded hangings that decorated the walls of the large room, along with several enormous portraits of ancestors, many of them darkened with time. “Mother had the best ones taken from all the rooms and moved down here, where they would be seen first.”
He led them next to the vast kitchens and the warren of small larder rooms and servants’ quarters, then took them into the main ballroom, a huge expanse of marble floor that took up most of the central wing of the bottom floor. Then they climbed up the stairs and started from the top, opening the windows in the attic to look out upon the slate tiles of the roof, many of which were broken or displaced, and examining the water damage. They made their way down, walking up and down the halls, poking into all the rooms, so that by the time they reached the second floor, where the main family rooms were, it was long past time for lunch, and they were hungry and dusty, as well.
However, Joseph and Miranda wanted to finish the tour, so Devin led them down the hall, looking into what he called the morning room, which had been paneled all in dark wine-red Cordovan leather with brass studs, now faded and cracked. Next came a music room, and across the hall was what he termed the small ballroom, a chamber about half the size of the main ballroom below. Beyond it lay the library, a large, gloomy room.
Devin crossed to the windows and pulled aside the heavy draperies, revealing a set of tall windows that faced south, letting in a pleasant light that revealed a room two stories high, filled with books.
“Oh, my…” Miranda breathed. “What a wonderful room!” Two tables and a number of well-cushioned chairs sat in the middle of the room, as well as a large globe on a stand and another stand containing a large, old, leather-bound Bible. Built-in bookcases eight feet high ran all around the room. The double bank of windows took up much of one side wall, and above the bookcases on two of the other walls were more hangings and portraits. But the fourth wall held a wooden walkway about four feet wide, reached by a wooden staircase, and that wall was also filled with bookcases.
Miranda walked all around the room, admiring everything, thinking of how she would refurbish the room and make it beautiful and comfortable. This, she knew, would be a room in which she spent much of her time. “I love it here.”
She climbed the wooden staircase to the loft of the library, noting that the banister here, too, had the tiny pinholes that indicated woodworm. When she reached the upper level, she walked along, admiring the books.
“Oh, look!” she cried. “Here are books about the house. I can’t quite see all the titles. I wonder if there is a map of the gardens in any of them.” She stepped back to get a better angle of sight to the top shelves. “I’ll need a stool.”
She went up on tiptoe, straining to see better, and reached behind her to balance her hand on the rail. The balustrade gave way beneath her hand, and Miranda, off balance, felt herself falling helplessly backward into space.