Kate Hoffmann - The Legacy

“Lily has had her colt,” he said. “Rawley came up to the house to tell me and I wanted to show you.” He pulled open the heavy wooden door of the stable and they stepped inside. The interior was dark and dusty and Grace crinkled her nose as they walked down the row of stalls.

When they reached the end, Edward jumped up on the gate, then held his hand out to her. “She’s in here,” he said.

Grace climbed up beside him and stared down at the newborn colt, curled up in a pile of straw in the corner. Like its mother, it was a rich, chocolate brown with a white blaze on its forehead. “It’s a girl?”

Edward nodded. “And it’s yours,” he said.

She gasped. “Mine? Whatever will I do with a horse?”

“You’ll learn to ride. You’re a young lady and Mother said Lily’s colt was to be a Christmas gift for you.”

“Isn’t the colt a little small to ride?”

Edward gave her a playful punch to the shoulder. “Don’t be a ninny. Of course, you can’t ride her now. You’ll ride a pony first and then one of the gentler mares. And by the time she’s old enough to ride, you’ll be an expert.”

“What will we call her?” Grace asked.

“That’s up to you,” he said. “Mother asked that you name her.”

Grace thought about it for a long time, trying to come up with the perfect name for the baby horse. The colt’s mother was called Lily, so perhaps she ought to be named after a flower as well. “How about Daisy?” she said. “Or Violet. I like Violet. Or maybe Sweet Pea?” She sighed. “How am I supposed to decide?”

“You don’t have to decide now,” he said.

“No, she should have a name. She’s been born and everyone gets a name when they are born. It will be Violet. Violet is her name.”

Edward grinned. “It’s a fine name. The one I would have chosen.” He jumped off the gate and held out his hand to her. “Come. Mother asked that I bring you to her after you’d seen the colt.”

“I should go back to my French lesson.”

“Bugger your French lesson. She has a surprise for you.”

They walked back to the house, Edward chatting about riding lessons and saddles and stirrups. She’d never thought to learn to ride. It didn’t seem of much use, considering most people were replacing their horses and carriages with motorcars these days. “You know, I’d much rather learn to drive than ride,” she said. “How old must I be to drive?”

“You want to drive a motorcar?” Edward laughed. “Don’t be silly. We have a chauffeur. If we drove ourselves, we’d have no use for Farrell.”

“But wouldn’t it be fun?” she said. “We could fly down the road as fast as the car would take us. You will teach me how to drive, won’t you Edward? Just as soon as possible.”

“Only after you learn to ride,” Edward said.

When they entered the house, they went straight to Geneva’s parlor. She was sitting where she did most mornings, at the pretty desk in the corner by the window. Her correspondence was stacked around her and when Grace stepped up to the desk, she looked up and smiled.

“And what do you think of your gift, Miss Grace?”

“Thank you, Lady Porter. It’s a wonderful gift. But I’ll have to ask Mama if it’s all right to keep it.”

“One does not turn down a gift like that,” Geneva said. “It shows bad breeding. You will graciously accept and tell your mother I will hear no complaints about it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Grace said. “Now, I must go back to my studies. The professor is waiting for me.”

“No, you should come back to the stables,” Edward said. “I’ll introduce you to your pony and then I’ll give you your first riding lesson. Can we, Mother? Surely Grace can leave her studies for one day.”

Geneva glanced back and forth between the two of them, an odd expression on her face. But then it passed, and she nodded. “I’ll let him know you’re taking a short holiday from your books.” She set her pen down on the desk and stood. “Come. If you’re going to ride, you’ll have to have proper clothes.”

Grace followed Geneva upstairs to the room that had once been Charlotte’s. The door had always been closed whenever Grace was in the house. The servants had warned her that the only person allowed inside was Lady Porter.

“My daughter had a lovely riding costume,” she said. “It would probably fit you perfectly. She was nine when we bought it, but you’re a bit smaller than she was.”

“I couldn’t think of wearing—”

“Nonsense. There is plenty of wear left in it.”

Lady Porter opened the door and walked inside the room, but Grace hung back, waiting to be invited in. “It’s a lovely room,” she murmured.

Lady Porter turned around. “Yes, it is. I took great care in decorating it.”

“You must miss her terribly.”

Her expression grew wistful. “Every moment of every day. A daughter is a precious jewel, a reflection of all the dreams that I had as a young girl. Sons belong to their fathers, until they go off and make a life of their own. But there is a connection between mothers and daughters that can never be broken.” She forced a smile, then turned back to the wardrobe.

The wide cabinet was filled with clothes but Geneva found the blue velvet habit right off. She held it out in front of her, slowly stroking the fabric. “I remember when we bought this,” she said. “Charlotte was so pleased with the way she looked.” Geneva held it out. “Go ahead. Try it on.”

“Now?”

She nodded. The look in her eyes was so hopeful, so melancholy that Grace was afraid to refuse. She slowly stripped off her dress until she stood in her chemise and pantalets. Then, she pulled the skirt up over her hips and fastened the buttons at the waist. A fine linen blouse with ruffled cuffs came next, followed by a matching velvet jacket. Grace turned her attention to the buttons and when she was finished, she looked up to find Geneva staring at her with a frightened look in her eyes.

“Lady Porter? Are you all right?”

Slowly, the woman sank to her knees, her hands clutched against her chest. A low moan slipped from her throat and a moment later, she bent forward and began to wail. Grace glanced around the room, uncertain of how to react. She reached out and touched Geneva on the shoulder, but the woman was so distraught that she didn’t notice.

Grace backed out of the room, then raced downstairs to find Edward. He was in his father’s library and when she entered, he knew immediately that something was wrong. “It’s your mother,” Grace said.

They hurried upstairs to Charlotte’s chamber and Edward immediately dropped to the floor next to his mother. He held her elbows, forcing her to sit up, and when he’d caught her gaze, he spoke to her in a soft but firm voice. “Stop. Mother, you must stop now. Listen to me. If you don’t stop now, you won’t be able to stop later.”

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “Everywhere I look, I see her. She’s crying out to me and I can’t reach her.”

“If you don’t control yourself, Father will send you away again. And I won’t be able to rescue you. Please, Mother, try to stop.”

“Where is she? Where is Charlotte?” She glanced up at Grace and through her tears, a smile broke across her face. “There you are, my darling.” She held out her hand and it trembled.

Grace looked to Edward for guidance and he shook his head. But Geneva was insistent and finally, Grace bent down on the other side of her and took her hand. “You have to stop now…Mother,” she murmured. “Listen to Edward. He knows what’s best.”

“Oh, my darling. Look how pretty you are. That color suits you. It always has.”

“Let’s get her to her bedchamber,” Edward said.