Sarah Mallory - Pride in Regency Society - Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife / The Earl's Runaway Bride

Their progress had been slow through the lanes around Makerham, but once they reached Guildford the roads improved and they made good time. Eve had given instructions that they were to press on as quickly as possible, but even though their stops to change horses were brief, and Eve had alighted only once at Tenterden to partake a hurried dinner, it was nearly ten o’clock when they arrived at their destination. As the carriage pulled up at the closed gates Eve let down the window.

‘I can smell the sea on the breeze,’ she murmured. ‘I had forgotten how the winds carry the salt air inland.’

‘There’s no lights in the house,’ muttered Martha, peering out of the window towards the shadowy building, outlined against the darkening sky. ‘We’re locked out.’

‘Nonsense,’ Eve replied. ‘There is a light in the window of the Gate House. Mr Granby is even now knocking on the door.’

A few minutes later the valet approached the carriage followed by a large, ambling figure. ‘This is Silas Brattee, Mrs Wylder, the gatekeeper. He says your message never arrived.’

‘But I sent it express!’

Granby shrugged. ‘I will follow that up tomorrow, madam.’

Eve waved him aside and peered at the figure behind him. ‘You are Aggie’s husband, are you not?’ she said. ‘You will not know me, for you were at sea when I lived here as a child.’

‘Aye, I was, mistress. Went off to sea about the time that you was born, I’m thinking. The mistress was dead by the time I came home for good, but Sir Benjamin kept me an’ Aggie on here to look after the place.’ Silas was shifting from foot to foot as he spoke to her. ‘If we’d known you was comin’ ma’am, we’d’ve spruced up the house. As it is, the place ain’t fit…’

‘Well, it will have to do,’ replied Eve. ‘Unlock the gates, please.’

‘Mebbe the Bell would suit, or the Woolpack,’ suggested Silas hopefully.

‘That is only a mile or so back,’ added Granby. ‘They will have rooms for the night.’

‘Nonsense. I took the precaution of bringing my own linen. It will not take a moment to prepare beds for us.’

‘Nay, mistress,’ said Silas. ‘You’d be much more comfortable in the village, miss, believe me.’

Eve peered through the darkness at him. ‘I am beginning to wonder if you received my message, but decided to ignore it,’ she declared. ‘Let me in now, Mr Brattee.’

‘The house has not been lived in,’ Granby warned her. ‘It may well be damp.’

‘I do not care if the roof is falling in,’ retorted Eve. ‘I will stay in my own house tonight.’

Her fierce glare had its effect. Granby nodded and muttered to Silas to unlock the gates.

‘Well,’ sighed Eve as they clattered onto the grasscovered drive and drove up to the front door. ‘This is a poor beginning.’

‘Mrs Brattee is going to bring coffee and some food up to the house later,’ said Granby as he helped Eve to alight. ‘However, I fear you will not be very comfortable.’

‘I am so exhausted now I think that as long as I can lie down I shall be happy,’ she said, following him into the dark entrance hall. She stood for a few moments, pulling off her gloves while the valet moved around the walls, lighting candles. As the feeble glow strengthened, the outline of the large panelled hall could be seen. It was furnished with a large table that filled the centre of the room and a number of solid chairs and heavy dark chests pushed against the walls.

Martha gave a gusty sigh. ‘Ooh, miss, this reminds me of the last time we was here, when your sainted mother was alive. I was nobbut a girl then, o’ course, like yourself. My first post away from home, but I remember your mama saying how glad she always was to come back here after her travels.’

‘I am sure she never had to come to an unprepared house!’ retorted Eve with asperity.

‘No, miss, but she wouldn’t have worried about it. A very spirited lady was your mother and one who loved adventure, God rest her soul.’

‘Well, I want nothing more than a quiet life!’ Eve sighed. ‘Let us see what we can do, Martha. Fetch a candlestick and we will go upstairs. I had best take the main bedroom; if my memory serves, there is a maid’s room adjoining. Ask Dan Coachman to bring up the trunks and we will search out the sheets.’

‘You are never going to be making up beds, miss!’ Martha was shocked. ‘Rich—I mean, Mr Granby can help me with that.’

‘Well, if you think I am going to sit alone down here like a great lady while you are labouring away you are very much mistaken,’ replied Eve, amused. ‘I am just as capable as you of putting sheets on a bed—well, almost—and we shall have it done in a trice. Mr Granby would be better employed in the kitchen, helping Mrs Brattee to prepare our supper!’

Eve was thankful that the main bedchamber was still furnished and once they had removed the dust sheets she declared herself very well satisfied. She gave a cry of delight when she found her mother’s portrait propped against the elegant little writing desk and immediately charged Martha to assist her in hanging it on the empty hook above the fireplace.

‘There,’ she said, bringing the candles closer. ‘Now I feel much more at home.’

‘She was a beauty, Miss Eve, and no mistake,’ remarked Martha. ‘And you have the look of her, too.’

‘Do I?’ Eve gazed up at the painting. She saw an elegant woman in a gold sack-backed gown standing very erect with one hand resting on a large atlas. Eve recognised some similarities, the thick, luxuriant dark hair, straight little nose and smiling mouth, but there was a confidence about her mother that she had never felt in herself: those dark eyes seemed to look out upon the world with such self-assurance.

‘This was painted just before her marriage,’ she murmured. ‘Even then she yearned to travel the world, whereas I—I have always been content to live quietly at home. What a disappointment I would be to her.’ She stared at the portrait for a few moments longer, then gave her head a little shake, as if to throw off some unwelcome thought. ‘Well, such musings will do no good! Open those trunks and find our sheets, Martha, we must prepare for bed.’

There were no hangings on the tester bed, but the mattress was in place beneath its protective cover and it did not feel damp. Martha grumbled as she pulled the sheets from the trunk, but Eve was glad to be active, it helped her forget her unhappiness for a while.

That night Eve dreamed Nick was still alive. In those darkest hours just before dawn, when dreams are at their most vivid, she saw him clearly, heard his ringing laugh and knew in her very core that he was near her. The disappointment, when she opened her eyes and memory returned, made her feel physically sick. Eve looked around at the unfamiliar furnishings and knew a moment’s panic. This was not Makerham, neither was it the warm sunny place of her dream, the place where Nick was. She closed her eyes again, trying to bring the dream back, but it was impossible. All that was left was a vague, half-remembered happiness and she clung to it, holding on to it like a talisman, to be touched and rekindled when the demands of the day grew too great.

As Eve made her way downstairs she thought that Monkhurst looked much more welcoming with the morning sunshine flooding in. She found Mrs Brattee waiting to escort her to the small parlour where breakfast was laid out for her.

‘Aggie!’ Eve smiled fondly upon the housekeeper. ‘I am so sorry I missed you last night. Martha insisted that I take supper in my room, and to tell you the truth, by the time we had finished making the beds I was ready to fall asleep! You have not changed a bit, yet it must be all of ten years since I was last here!’