Page 25 of The Proposition
“Mr. Ferrand is not expecting me,” Clemency spoke up, pulling the note out of her bag and showing it. “He wrote, and he claims it is somewhat urgent. You may tell him Clemency Fry is calling.”
“I am afraid, miss, that the gentleman is not at home,” the man said. He had a strong accent, Welsh perhaps, and kind brown eyes. Though his face seemed gentle, he was as broad and well-muscled as Mr. Ferrand. “He is expected back soon, if you care to wait.”
“Ralston? Ralston?”
A soft, pretty voice echoed through the still, empty house. It came from above, somewhere beyond the exquisitely polished staircase curving up the left side of the foyer. It had been done in lacquered black wood and marble, matching the diamond pattern of the tiles on the floor.
“One moment, miss, please.”
“Of course.”
The man, presumably Ralston, disappeared up the stairs, leaving Clemency to shuffle awkwardly to the side, out of the way of the hardworking porters. She wondered who the lady’s voice might belong to, though Mr. Ferrand’s sister was the obvious conclusion. Would she be as infuriating and arrogant as her brother?
“Nonsense, Ralston! I am more than capable of entertaining her until Audric arrives….” The lilting, sweet voice returned, and then, a tiny, frail creature appeared at the top of the stairs. Miss Ferrand. She was dressed in dark, almost matronly blue, the wrap-style dress nearly drowning her birdlike frame as she descended the steps. Ralston hurried after her, huge by comparison, looking like a giant lumbering after a pixie.
“But Mr. Ferrand made it very clear that—”
“I am mistress of this house while he is away, Ralston, that is also very clear,” the young woman said. For her diminutive stature, she had a forceful way about her. That was not surprising. She floated over to Clemency, every bitla dame très gentille,complete with silent footsteps, that Clemency had never managed to become. She imagined a stack of books on the girl’s head, and knew they wouldn’t wobble at all. Still, when she came close, Clemency saw a darkness under her eyes and a thinness to her skin that spoke of illness.
“Men!” Miss Ferrand exclaimed, giving a divine curtsey. “How exhausting they are. You are our first neighbor to come calling, and I must thank you for it. Miss Fry, was it?”
Clemency returned the curtsey, though with far less effortless grace. She liked this young woman immediately. “Indeed, Clemency Fry. If I am at all intruding—”
“Of course not, I am consumed with doing absolutely nothing, as you can see,” the girl said with a smile, and the family resemblance was clear, even if she did not share the vivid green eyes. “Ralston and my brother will not allow me to lift so much as a book to help. Is that not so, Ralston?”
Ralston blushed to the roots of his raven hair. His eyes danced away nervously as he ducked his head. “ ’Tis so, miss.”
“And it is all very gallant of them.” She had a girlish laugh, and Clemency could not tell her age. She might have been fifteen or five-and-twenty. “Ralston, take us to the river view, please, and find someone to bring tea. You must call me Delphine, and I will call you Clemency, unless you object. Which you can! Oh, but I do not often host alone; it must be obvious…. I am so appallingly out of practice.Mon Dieu.”
“I cannot imagine being mistress of such a large place,” Clemency said, trying to put her at ease as Ralston led them through the place. “You are doing just fine.”
“It is too large,” Delphine agreed with a shrug. “Audric—Mr. Ferrand, that is—always insists upon these castles and palaces and places that we could not possibly hope to fill. Half the house will sit empty and then he will complain of a draught.”
“That does sound like him,” Clemency murmured.
Delphine turned wide brown eyes on her. “You know him well?”
“Not at all well,” she hastily replied. “We…are recent acquaintances.” Clemency fumbled for a respectable reason to call, her mind racing as Ralston navigated them through the labyrinthine halls of Beswick and to the south veranda overlooking the park. “Your brother rendered me a service the other day; I fell into the river just there,” she said, pointing. “And he fished me out of the water. I wanted to…to thank him for his assistance.”
“Indeed, that is Audric all over.Sauveur suprême de la femme!As we cannot be expected to save ourselves, mm? I am sure it was his pleasure to play the hero for you,” Delphine said, laughing again. Her amusement turned to discomfort, as she coughed raggedly for a while after, and Ralston offered her a handkerchief. Taking it, she smiled and waved away their concerned looks. “Do you know, in Paris he made me attendDon Giovannithree times. Three! Such torture. It is a wretched story, filled to the brim with murder and disguises, but he has a dramatic heart, one fit for the opera…but what am I saying? Forgive me for rambling so. You fell into the river! I hope you were not harmed.”
Delphine whirled around to face her, and Clemency calmed her with a light shake of her head. “Only a scratch on my arm. Your brother bandaged it for me.”
“The savior! Ha. That was good of him,” Delphine replied, waiting until Ralston had pulled out a wicker chair for her on the veranda. A canopy of leaves and birdsong soared over them, the shade keeping the creeping sun at bay. The chairs and table had been decorated with expensive silksfrom the West Indies, orange and red, as bright as the wildflowers dotting the fields below. “Bien sûr,it is also good of you to call on us, Miss Fry—Clemency—what an unusual name that is, if you do not mind my saying so.”
“My mother has a flair for the dramatic,” Clemency said, accepting the chair Ralston offered. “Do you think your brother will be long?”
“Is my company already tiresome?”
“On the contrary, Miss Ferrand, I only worry that I am trespassing on your kindness and making a nuisance of myself while you are not yet settled in your new home,” Clemency replied. She turned her face to the light breeze rolling toward them from the river. Somewhere in the distance, Claridge hid among the trees, and she wondered if at night they could see the candles in their windows blinking like distant eyes of fire.
“You must push such worries from your mind,” Delphine told her. Though the day was warming she had bundled a heavy shawl around her thin shoulders. She too seemed to enjoy the splendor of the wind off the fields. “As I said, I am glad of your coming—it is quite troublesome to make friends, as I know nobody here.”
“And what do you think of Round Orchard so far?” Clemency asked. Ralston returned, bringing their tea. It was somewhat unorthodox, but she did not comment on it. He had brought a blanket for Miss Ferrand, folded over one arm, and he placed it on her lap carefully. It struck Clemency as strangely intimate, and she stuffed her face down into her teacup to keep her eyes elsewhere.
“I have seen so little of it, I hardly know how to respond,”she said with a sigh. “I like Beswick well enough, and this view is rather striking. And so far I like you, Miss Fry, and if there are other young ladies of quality here, then I think Round Orchard will have many charms indeed.”
“If you are hungry for information and acquaintances,” Clemency said, watching Ralston retreat a safe distance away, “then I can introduce you to my sister, Mrs. Hinton, and Miss Brock, and several other amiable ladies. It is not Paris or London society, but—”
