Part 2 (1/2)
Then came the hunt for shoes to go with each outfit, bags to go with the shoes, and a few simple pieces of jewelry to add sparkle to our ensemble. When Bill asked about our extended shopping trips, I explained to him what Dimity had explained to me: Five days in a country house was equivalent to six months in a foreign country. One had to be prepared for anything.
I made no attempt to tame my unruly curls, knowing that they'd refuse to cooperate in any case, but Emma had her gray-blond hair styled in a becoming bob. The new haircut seemed to bolster her self-confidence. By the time we left the salon, she'd stopped scolding me for addressing her as Viscountess.
As I surveyed my new finery, I took particular pleasure in a slinky black number I'd found at Nanny Cole's Boutique in London. It fit me like a glove and would, I knew, knock Bill's eyes right out of their sockets. When I thought of what else it would do to him, I realized that it was an extremely selfish purchase.
I hadn't felt like such a girly-girl in years and I reveled in every giddy minute. It took me half a day to pack my new clothes-in tissue paper, as Dimity suggested-and I finished by tucking Reginald into my shoulder bag. Reginald was a small, powder-pink stuffed rabbit who'd been with me since childhood, and a powder-pink rabbit was, in my opinion, the perfect complement to a girly-girl's wardrobe.
For the first time since I'd known her, I was glad that Dimity was less than three-dimensional. If we'd had to cart her holiday frocks to Hailesham Park along with mine, we'd have needed a moving truck. As it was, I had to endure endless ribbing from Bill-”Have you packed my spare truss, dear?”-as we loaded my suitcases into his silver-gray Mercedes. The teasing made me more determined than ever to handle my bodyguarding duties without his help.
Dimity might scoff till her ink turned purple, but a promise was a promise. Although I agreed with her that poisoned rings and dueling pistols were no longer in fas.h.i.+on, I also agreed with Emma. Accidents happened, even in the most aristocratic circles, and I had no intention of letting my friend down by allowing one to happen to her husband.
By the time Bill and I kissed the twins good-bye, I felt fit and ready for service. I was, as Dimity had instructed me to be, prepared for anything.
Anything, that is, except the sight that met my eyes when Hailesham's fabled gardens came into view.
Four.
Are you sure we're on the right road, Bill?”
I peered intently at the woods lining the narrow, winding lane but didn't see much. A late start, heavy traffic, and the shortening days of early October had left us navigating the back roads of Wilts.h.i.+re in the dark.
”We pa.s.sed the lodge gates five minutes ago,” Bill replied. ”But I'm not sure what to look for next.”
”Hailesham House.” I cleared my throat and a.s.sumed a professorial expression. ”A sublime, eighteenth-century neocla.s.sical villa on a hill with three levels of terraced gardens descending from a graceful front staircase to an ornamental lake and a sweeping great lawn. The gardens are open to the public from May to September, but the house is a private residence.”
Bill raised an eyebrow. ”Excuse me?”
”There're giant topiaries, too,” I went on. ”Whimsically clipped giant topiaries rising at regular intervals from the yew hedges bordering the lowest level of terraced gardens.” I counted on my fingers. ”There's a dolphin, a unicorn, a peac.o.c.k, a turtledove-I'm looking forward to the turtledove.”
”Are you making this up?” Bill demanded.
”Would I do that?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him, then grinned. ”Emma picked up a brochure at the tourist information office in Oxford. According to the brochure, the ninth Earl Elstyn's primary country residence is surrounded by five hundred acres of forested parkland-so I suppose we could be on the right road.”
”The land does seem to be forested,” Bill agreed.
No sooner had he spoken than the encroaching greenery parted to reveal Lord Elstyn's primary country residence in all its glory. Bill hit the brakes and we sat for a moment in total silence.
”Bill,” I said finally. ”Do you see what I see?”
”If you mean the flaming turtledove, then yes,” Bill replied, ”I do.”
The giant topiary appeared to be on fire. It was a fantastic sight, as eerie as it was beautiful. Writhing fingers of flame stretched skyward from the whimsically clipped hedges, scattering sparks into the darkness. Burning shreds of shrubbery danced like incandescent b.u.t.terflies over the ornamental lake while the sublime neocla.s.sical villa hovered serenely above, each windowpane alight with the flickering reflections of the blazing turtledove.
I rested my chin on my hand, mystified. ”Do you suppose it's some sort of . . . welcoming gesture?”
”No,” Bill said, glancing at the rearview mirror.
”Why not?” I asked.
He tromped on the gas pedal. ”Because there's a fire truck coming up behind us.”
My teeth rattled as Bill swerved onto the great lawn, and my heart raced as a fleet of fire engines thundered past. Bill waited until the lane was clear, then sped up the graveled drive and skidded to a halt behind the last of the fire trucks. Together we leapt from the Mercedes and ran to the bottom of the graceful staircase. From there I could see a half-dozen men fighting the fire with the tools they had at hand: Two of them trained garden hoses on the surrounding greenery while four others formed a bucket brigade with water dipped from the ornamental lake.
A tall man in a dark, double-breasted suit stood at the top of the staircase, watching, as the professional firefighters went to work with their axes and hoses.
”What's going on?” Bill called up to him.
The man strode down the stairs to join us. I needed no introduction to know who he was. I could see by the light of the burning turtledove that Lord Elstyn resembled his son.
Like Derek, the earl was well over six feet tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and strikingly beautiful midnight-blue eyes, but I detected telling differences as well. Derek's face had been weathered by the elements, but the earl's fair complexion appeared to be lined by age alone. While Derek's curls were as unruly as mine, the earl's had been artfully cut to lie close to his head. Both men had large and capable-looking hands, but Derek's had been roughened by years of manual labor.
The earl's, I soon discovered, were as soft as chamois.
”Bill, dear boy, so good of you to come,” said Lord Elstyn. ”And you,” he added, taking my hand in both of his, ”must be Bill's lovely wife. Lori Shepherd, I believe?”
”That's right, my lord,” I said. ”I'm Lori.”
”And I'm Edwin,” said the earl. ”I refuse to stand on ceremony with the chairwoman of the Westwood Trust.” He kissed my hand before releasing it. ”I'm delighted to meet you at last and hope one day to meet your splendid sons. I do hope you've brought photographs of them.”
It was a bizarre conversation to be having while fire-men were unspooling hose and hacking at shrubbery not fifty yards away, but Dimity had advised me to follow the earl's lead, so I went with the flow.
”No self-respecting mother would leave home without pictures of her children, Lord, er, Edwin.” I looked up at him uncertainly. ”Do you want to see them now?”
”It might be best to save them for a less hectic moment,” he said gently, then turned to Bill. ”You had a pleasant journey, I trust?”
Bill pursed his lips. ”Your sangfroid is admirable, Lord Elstyn, but mine is wearing thin. Are you going to tell us why your garden's on fire?”
”Sheer carelessness, I should imagine.” The earl dismissed the conflagration with a wave of his hand. ”I expect we'll discover that one of the gardeners left a tin of paraffin too close to a brush pile. What was supposed to be a small bonfire became instead a rather spectacular display.”
I sniffed the air and detected the acrid scent of kerosene.
”The garden will be a bit charred around the edges while you're here,” the earl continued, ”but I hope the woodland walks will, in some small way, ease your disappointment.”
”Are we the first guests to arrive?” I asked, wondering why no one else was outside watching the fire.
”You're the last,” the earl informed me. ”The others are in their rooms, changing for dinner.” He favored me with a warm smile. ”I've put you next door to my daughter-in-law. I understand that you're great friends.”
He raised his hand, and an elderly man in a dark suit emerged from the porticoed entryway. He seemed spry despite his years and trotted down the stairs to meet us.
”Giddings will show you to your room, Lori, while I have a brief word with your husband,” said the earl.
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if Giddings was spry enough to handle my ridiculous pile of suitcases, and saw that the Mercedes had vanished.
”Where's our car?” I asked.