Part 19 (1/2)

”d.a.m.n it,” he said, ”I have hurt you.”

”I would be obliged if you would watch your language,” she said, ignoring the fact that her mind had quite consciously used the same word a mere minute or so ago.

”Why will you not come?” he asked.

She looked hard at him. ”I have not been invited,” she said. ”In my world-in my former world that is, one does not attend events to which one has not been invited.”

He scratched his head, leaving his hair untidy. It was growing, she noticed. ”Good G.o.d, Camille,” he said, ”you were so central to the whole plan that it did not occur to me that you would need an invitation.”

Indignation warred with something else. She was central to the whole plan? Whatever did that mean?

”I want you to see it,” he said. ”I went up there on Wednesday and saw the house and the garden. Garden is actually a misleading word. It is more like a park. And house is the wrong word too. It is huge and terribly impressive. My great-uncle may have been elderly, but nothing has been neglected and allowed to grow shabby. I still cannot believe it is mine. I still cannot imagine myself living there. But ideas went teeming through my head while I was there and I wished you were with me.”

”Not Anna?” she said stiffly.

He sighed aloud. ”I did not think of her even once while I was there,” he said. ”I wanted you.”

”I plan to be busy today.” She looked down sharply at her hands.

”Doing what?” he asked.

”That is not your concern,” she told him.

”Yes, it is,” he said. ”There is no school today and no family. You are planning to be busy doing nothing merely to punish me. I deserve to be punished. I have been shy about coming to see you since Sunday, but I ought to have done so, especially as I wanted to come. And if I am sounding horribly confused and contradictory and idiotic, that is because I am all those things. Camille, please come.” He had stooped down on his haunches before her and reached for her hands before apparently remembering the playing, shrieking children all about them and setting his hands on his knees instead. ”Please?”

He had been shy about coming?

She looked at him for long moments. ”I am going home,” she said abruptly. ”My mother is going back to Hinsford Manor to live-Anna has persuaded her. Abby is going with her. And so am I.” She had no idea if she spoke the truth. Surely not. But how could she stay . . .

He frowned as his eyes searched her face. ”Come this afternoon anyway,” he said. ”Come with your family. You have only a few days left here with them, and it is a lovely spot for a picnic. It looks as if it is going to remain a beautiful day too. Come, Camille, if not for my sake, then for theirs and yours.”

She frowned back at him and he suddenly smiled.

”But come for my sake too,” he said. ”The earth really did move on Sunday. I think it did for you too.”

”I will come,” she said stiffly. ”I will ask someone from the family to take me up in one of the carriages.”

He stood up. ”Thank you,” he said.

But she noticed something suddenly and grabbed his right hand with both of hers. His knuckles, if not quite raw, were red enough to look sore.

”I would guess,” he said, ”that his mouth looks and feels considerably worse.”

”I hope,” she said, ”he really did lose a tooth.”

Judge Fanshawe had called upon Joel on Wednesday just after he returned from being measured for new clothes and boots. The judge was an elderly gentleman much bent by age and had sent his servant to summon Joel down to the street, where he stood waiting outside his carriage. He had told Joel that he had never been more offended in his life than when he discovered that Viscount Uxbury, Mr. Martin c.o.x-Phillips, and Mr. Blake Norton were contesting the will.

”I look forward with great glee to crus.h.i.+ng them to powder beneath my bootheel, should they persist, which, alas, I fear they will not do when they take a closer look at the list of witnesses,” he had said. ”I was one of them, and even the others are formidable. You may safely consider your inheritance your own, Mr. Cunningham.”

He had shaken Joel's hand with a surprisingly strong grip before climbing back inside the carriage with his servant's help and going on his way.

So, on impulse, Joel had gone up to see his new property, which he would probably sell as soon as all the business of the will had been settled. He had spoken with the butler-Mr. Nibbs-and a.s.sured him that all the servants might remain until further notice and that Mr. Crabtree would be directed to pay their salaries. Nibbs had shown him about the house before summoning the head gardener to take him through the gardens. Afterward Joel had spent another hour wandering about the house on his own. It was all far larger and more imposing than he had realized, and intimidating too. But something had happened when he had stood at last in the library behind the chair where his great-uncle had sat, his hands resting on the high back. He had felt . . . a connection, a longing, though he could put neither feeling into clear words in his mind.

His mother had grown up here. His grandparents had lived here as well as his great-uncle. He had not felt the presence of ghosts exactly, but he had felt . . . well, a connection. It was the one thing that had always been absent from his life. Not that he was complaining. His life so far had been remarkably blessed, even if he omitted the happenings of the last couple of weeks. But . . .

Well, he had fallen in love. And, perhaps by an a.s.sociation of thought, he had wished Camille were with him. He had been fairly bursting with thoughts, ideas, needs . . .

He had informed Mr. Nibbs of Friday's picnic and warned him that the guests would wish a tour of the house. He had asked that some chairs and blankets be carried out to the front lawn, weather permitting, and that arrangements be made for horses and carriages. He had a.s.sured the butler, however, that he had engaged the services of a caterer in Bath so that the cook and kitchen staff need not be thrown into consternation. He had not been sure they would be up to catering to a large party of aristocrats after having worked for some time with an ailing old gentleman who probably had not entertained a great deal. He had given only one other direction before he left.

”If you could arrange to have those blind-eyed busts removed from the hall as soon as humanly possible, Mr. Nibbs,” he had said, ”I would be much obliged to you.”

The butler was too well-bred to smirk, but Joel would have sworn he was doing it inwardly. ”I shall give the order, sir,” he had said. ”They were a wedding gift to Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham, but Mr. c.o.x-Phillips was never overfond of them.”

And now Joel was back, pacing the terrace before the house, noting that the lawns had been freshly scythed, that five chairs had been set out in a semicircle on the lawn so that no one would have to face away from the view. There was a neat pile of blankets to one side of them. And what the devil was he doing? Joel wondered. He had no idea how to host anything more grand than an evening gathering of his male friends in his rooms. When the caterer had asked him what specifically he wanted for food and drink, he had gaped-he hoped he had not literally done so-and asked for advice. He had had enough money to pay for the picnic, but only just. His meager savings were wiped out, and he could only hope that Judge Fanshawe was correct.

He would have a tailor's bill and a bootmaker's bill to pay within the next week or two.

Fortunately, he did not have long to brood. One carriage was crunching over the gravel of the driveway and another was coming right behind it. Joel moved onto the steps outside the front door and stood with his hands clasped behind him, trying to pretend that he was the grand master of all he surveyed. He wished his boots were not quite so scuffed.

Everything proceeded remarkably well after that. Everyone was in high spirits, and they all admired the house and the view and the garden. The housekeeper gave them a tour of the house, though the Dowager Countess of Riverdale decided to remain in the drawing room after they had arrived there, and Lady Matilda Westcott chose to stay too to ply her with smelling salts despite her mother's vociferous protests. Everyone went their separate ways after the tour was over, most of the family strolling outdoors across lawns, through the rose arbor, down onto the steeply sloping rock garden, behind the house to the woods through which a carefully cultivated path ran.

”Joel,” Anna said, linking an arm through his just before they all gathered on the main lawn for the picnic tea, ”this is a quite exquisite jewel of a place, is it not? And to think that we grew up down there within sight of it and were never aware of it. Do you regret . . . Oh, never mind.”

”Yes, I do,” he said. ”If only one could reach back in time and know. But it cannot be done, and it was their choice to remain unknown to me. I do, however, owe the decency of my upbringing to them-it might have been very much worse. And I owe my grandmother my career. It would not have happened if I had not been able to go to art school.”

”You were always very talented,” she said. ”But you are probably right. What are you going to do? Are you going to live here?”

”Rattle about alone in such a vast mansion?” he said. ”It is hard to imagine.”

”Alone, Joel?” she said, and he was aware that her eyes were resting upon Camille, who was looking remarkably pretty in a light muslin dress and straw bonnet Joel had not seen before-and who had scarcely glanced his way since her initial stiff greeting when she had arrived with her maternal grandmother and her mother and sister.

”I have not decided what to do about the house,” he said. ”I was determined to sell it, but . . . Well, my mother grew up here, and . . .”

She squeezed his arm. ”Take your time to decide,” she said. ”All will be well. I promise.”

”Oh, you do, do you?” he said.

”I do.” She laughed and released him in order to join two of her aunts.

The picnic fare seemed like perfection itself to Joel, and everyone appeared to agree with him. Everyone complimented him, and he laughed and told the truth.

”I left everything in the hands of the caterer,” he said. ”When I was shown a list of possibilities, I did not even know what most of the items were. They all had fancy names. So I had to leave the choice to the experts and have been relieved to discover that I recognize the foods even if not the names.”

Everyone laughed with him and it was time for his little surprise. Servants came from the house with trays of champagne and Joel proposed a toast to the dowager countess, who was sitting upon one of the chairs beneath the shade of a tree, though Lady Matilda had made several attempts also to hold a parasol over her head.