Page 6 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“She’s certainly keen on extending an invitation to you and Lavinia, isn’t she?” he said.
“Oh, father, do say we can go. It’ll do Lavinia good. I know you want to arrange a match for her, but… I can’t turn down the chance to go back to Sarum Lacy House,” Octavia said.
There was a wistful look in her eyes, and Lavinia could see how much the invitation meant to her. But as for accompanying her mother on the journey, Lavinia was in two minds. Everything was so new, and Lavinia did not feel ready for another upheaval.
It was one thing to live with her grandfather at Tall Chimneys and make mistakes as to which piece of cutlery to use and which glass to drink from, but quite another to do so in another person’s house.
“Will she really want us there if she’s lost her daughter?” Lavinia asked, for she could not imagine a grieving mother wanting to entertain a long-lost friend and her daughter, returned from nothing to the center of the ton.
But Octavia shook her head.
“She had a son, too. I think she’d appreciate the company. She writes how difficult it’s been since Gwendolene’s death. I feel so sorry for her,” Octavia said.
Lavinia shook her head sadly. She, too, felt sorry for Horatia. To lose a daughter was surely one of the worst things that could happen, and she felt for Horatia’s son, too, losing his sister, while bearing the responsibility of his inheritance.
“Then you want to go, mother?” she asked, and her mother nodded.
“With your permission, father,” Octavia said, glancing at Lavinia’s grandfather, who nodded.
“I’m happy for you to go. But remember what I said, Lavinia—you can’t avoid making a match forever, and Lord Bath isn’t going to go away,” he said.
Lavinia nodded. She knew Lord Bath would be persistent, but putting distance between them might be enough to attract his attentions elsewhere. Despite her initial misgivings, the thought of going to Sarum Lacy House for the rest of the season certainly had its advantages.
Chapter 2
The path wound its way through the woods, where wildflowers grew on the banks, and the dappled shade of the trees carpeted the woodland floor with a shimmering light. Archie was dawdling, his steps slow and labored. He had not wanted to leave the churchyard, where he would gladly have stayed all day if he could.
But duty called, and the affairs of the estate, his responsibilities, would not wait. But still, it had been good to pass a few solitary hours at sister’s graveside. He went there as often as he could, sitting in front of the simple headstone in the family plot, close to the church wall. He missed his sister terribly, and despite what others had said, time was no healer.
Six months since we buried her, and not a day goes by when I don’t miss her,Archie thought to himself, as he paused at the stile leading back into the garden.
The house rose up in front of him, its gable ends partially obscured by the tall trees growing around it. The gardens were at their best at this time of year, an expanse of flowers beds and lawns, shrubbery, and hedges, behind which fountains and statues lay waiting to be discovered. It was a maze, and Archie often found himself lost among its winding ways, and hidden recesses, always discovering something new.
For a few moments, he stood on the stile, hoping to return to the churchyard the following day. He always hated leaving his sister, though it had been harder when the days were still cold, and snow lay on the ground. Now, with the warmth of summer, he liked to imagine her reclining on the grass in front of the house, reading a book, or simply enjoying the sunshine.
“Good day, My Lord,” a voice nearby said, and Archie looked up, startled from his thoughts.
One of the gardeners was pruning a piece of topiary into the shape of a bird, and Archie climbed over the stile and approached him.
“I didn’t see you there, Thomas. I was lost in my thoughts,” Archie said, and the gardener smiled.
“It’s easy to get lost in your thoughts in the garden, My Lord. I’m often lost in mine,” he said, and Archie smiled.
Thomas had been one of the gardeners at Sarum Lacy House since Archie was a child. He lived in a cottage in a dell, in the woods bordering the garden, and kept a pet raven for company.
Archie had always liked Thomas. He had a quiet and reflective demeanor about him, and the way of one possessed of a deep wisdom. He knew all the names of the plants, their uses, anddangers, and he was never far from some animal or another, often taming them to come right up to him and feed from the palm of his hand.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Archie said, and the gardener nodded.
“That’s because you’ve had a lot to think about, My Lord. It can’t be easy, though I’ve noticed you’ve kept your own counsel more in these past few months,” the gardener said, clipping at the topiary wings as he spoke.
Archie sighed. Thomas was right. He was becoming something of a recluse, shying away from company, and rarely leaving the house and grounds, save to visit his sister’s grave.
She had been buried in the churchyard of the parish church—Saint Wilfrid’s—but her requiem Mass had been celebrated in the chapel at Sarum Lacy House, her coffin carried in solemn procession, and received by the rector, whose patronage resided with Archie, and who had allowed the priest to conduct the final rites at the graveside, as unorthodox as that had been.
“I suppose I have. It’s just… well, it might sound foolish, but I can’t find many reasons to go on. When I inherited the estate, I thought Gwendolene and I would run things together, grow old together. But fate can be a cruel mistress,” Archie replied, shaking his head sadly.
He still felt angry at the thought of his sister’s death. She had been in the prime of her life, filled with such promise and potential. She had never known half the things she had desired, or half the promises Archie had made to her. He was angry, and yet there was no one against whom to release that anger.
