Shades of the Past Page 6

  She heard men’s voices by the carriage, and turned. The lane had lost its modern paved surface, and was little more than a dirt track. The coachman was leaning over to speak to someone just out of sight. His voice was broad Gloucestershire. “I didn’t reckon I’d see you just yet, Ha’penny Jack. The fair’s not for another few days.”

  The unseen man replied. “I knows I’m early, but there’s a plump widder woman I’ve a mind to see in the village. Name of Dolly Frampton.”

  “But will she want to see you, that’s the question! You traveling showmen think you’re so marvelous, but you ent nothin’ really. You can’t neglect the likes of Dolly from one year to the next, and expect ‘er to welcome you with open arms when you deigns to come back. You’d best know she’ve been seen out and about with the butler from the big ‘ouse.”

  Laura moved to see what someone called Ha’penny Jack was like. He proved to be a burly fellow of about thirty, with lank brown hair and a round face. There was a battered three-cornered hat on his head, and his brown coat had seen better days, but his clothing didn’t command much attention, instead it was the immense gaudily-colored box he carried on his back. He was bowed by its weight, and at first Laura couldn’t think what on earth it was. Then she realized, if he was a traveling showman the box had to be his puppet theater, and he was called Ha’penny Jack because that was what he charged.

  The showman prepared to walk on, but then paused to nod back along the lane in the direction of Cirencester. “Reckon this must be the day for carriages to lurk in country byways,” he observed suddenly. “I just passed another one. It must have been coming along behind you, otherwise you’d have passed it drawed up by the big elm tree two ‘undred yards back. Its blinds was pulled down tight, but someone were inside, I heard ‘em.”

  Laura’s ears pricked. A carriage with lowered blinds? Could it be the one she’d noticed yesterday? Oh, surely not. She could understand seeing it at Tyburn, Oxford, and even passing the King’s Head, for those places were all on the same main route to the west and Wales, but this would be different. There wasn’t anything main about these little lanes, so if it were indeed the same carriage, she’d have to wonder if it was deliberately following her.

  The coachman glanced back along the lane, and then shrugged. “Probably some young blood on a tryst with another man’s wife.”

  “No doubt.” Ha’penny Jack shifted his load. “What you doing ‘ere, anyway? Stuck here like sommat useless tied to a stick.”

  “I’m reduced to carting around a prospective chaperone for Miss Deveril.” The coachman’s resentment was very plain indeed, and he didn’t really care if Laura heard or not. A lady of means like Lady Tangwood was a very superior sort of chaperone, and warranted respect. A nonentity of a widow reduced to working for her living did not, even if she did look the image of the late Lady Deveril!

  Ha’penny Jack grunted. “Oh, well, can’t be ‘elped. I’ll be on my way afore I seizes up under this lot. You comin’ to the fair?”

  “Yes. Sir Blair’s given everyone the day off as usual.”

  “See you then.” The showman began to trudge away.

  The coachman called after him. “Reckon you’ll be an attraction at the prize ring this year, when you and the butler punches each other’s lights out for Dolly’s favors!”

  Ha’penny Jack was scornful. “I’ll make minced meat of ‘im!”

  “That’ll be the day!”

  The sound of a church bell drifted over the valley, and the coachman stood up to peer over the hedge at her. “Reckon we’d best be going. Sir Blair don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  She returned. “I gather there’s a fair soon?” As she reached the gate she wondered suddenly if she would return to the future, but she didn’t, and was still her Regency self as she came to the carriage.

  The coachman nodded. “Yes, the Mercury Fair at Great Deveril.” He answered, but hardly courteously.

  “Mercury?”

  He shrugged. “Sommat to do with the god of trade and gain. His day’s the twenty-fifth of May, and the fair’s ‘eld ‘round then every year. It’s a big occasion and folks come from miles. Come on now, we’ve got to get going.” He gathered the reins, making no attempt to get down and open the carriage door for her.

  She glanced along the lane in case she could see the carriage the traveling showman had mentioned. The lay of the land was against her, but she could see the top of the elm tree. She climbed into her seat and closed the door behind her. The whip cracked and the vehicle jolted forward.

  The lanes were the same ones that existed in the future, and in bad weather couldn’t be much more than mud tracks, but they were passable enough now, and it wasn’t long before she recognized the lodge ahead. Just before the carriage turned through the gates, she looked to where the modern signpost to the canal tunnel would stand. There was nothing there now, but she could see the narrow way that led down the hillside. In times to come it would be overhung with trees, but here in 1818, its banks were exposed and grassy.

  The drive still swept down between rhododendrons, but when the grounds opened out, there was no holly avenue, just close-trimmed lawns beyond which stood the original great house, its golden stone gleaming in the May sunshine. What was going to happen to it, she wondered? Would fire destroy all but a third? Or had some other fate befallen it?

  She remained in her seat as the butler emerged from the house. He was in his late thirties, of medium height and stocky build, with blue eyes and thick brown brows, and was dressed in a black coat and gray breeches. His hair was concealed beneath a powdered bag wig which made him look rather severe—in fact, his whole demeanor was somewhat imposing—and Laura felt a perverse desire to laugh as she thought of him in a prize ring with Ha’penny Jack! It was hard to imagine anyone less like the traveling showman, and she couldn’t help thinking Dolly Frampton must be a woman of broad taste in men.

  He opened the carriage door. “If you’ll follow me, madam, Sir Blair is in the lower gardens with Miss Deveril and Mr. Woodville.”

  She looked into his shining blue eyes, and with a start realized there was something oddly familiar about him. She felt she’d seen him somewhere before. Perhaps she’d noticed him at the ball. Yes, that must be it.

  Gathering her skirts, she alighted. Peacocks were calling on the lawns, and the summer breeze rustled the ivy that had begun to cloak part of the house façade. The air was sweet with the scent of flowers, and horses whinnied in the nearby stables as she followed the butler toward the gardens on the other side of the house.

  Her heartbeats quickened. In a matter of moments now she’d see Sir Blair Deveril again.

  Chapter Six

  There was no evergreen windbreak in 1818, so the view over the valley was unbroken as Laura followed the butler to the gardens. As she scanned the valley for the stream and the field gate, she saw a flash of sunlight on glass under the solitary elm tree a little further along the lane. The carriage Ha’penny Jack had mentioned! She gazed intently, and was able to see enough of it to know it was very like the one she’d noticed yesterday. There wasn’t time to wonder more about it because the butler led her further around the house and the view changed.

  Suddenly she could see the canal. It curved from an adjoining valley like a silver ribbon, passed a waterside inn, and then came directly toward the hillside before vanishing somewhere below the Deveril House gardens. Barges moved slowly on the shining water, and more were moored along the bank. A whitewashed cottage, right on the canal bank, stood directly at the foot of the hill, and as she looked, a man ran into view from where she believed the tunnel portal must be. He called to a woman hanging washing in the cottage garden, and she immediately left what she was doing. More men came from the cottage and nearby barges, to gather concernedly by the cottage gate. Laura could tell something was wrong, but then the curve of the hill cut the view as the butler conducted her across a sunny terrace in front of the house, and down balustraded stone steps to the sl
oping flower-edged lawns.

  Gardeners were scything the grass, much to the annoyance of the peacocks, whose complaining cries echoed in the warm air. Beyond the birds’ noise, Laura heard laughter, and then saw Blair, Marianna and Stephen in an arbor that was overgrown with roses. They were seated on white-painted wrought iron chairs enjoying cool glasses of lemonade from a tray on a little table, and Blair’s three spaniels were on the grass at his feet.

  * * * *

  It was an idyllic scene of which Laura could hardly believe she was part, even if only briefly, but as the butler led her across the sweet-smelling lawn, she knew it was all very real.

  Marianna wore a yellow and white gown and a wide-brimmed yellow silk hat with daisies around the crown, and her shawl and red velvet reticule lay on the table before her. She was seated beside Stephen, who had on a green coat and fawn breeches. He glanced at his love with an open adoration that would be impossible to misinterpret if Blair chanced to look, and it told Laura the Weymouth liaison had been resumed right here at Deveril House. The lovers were defying all the rules, and were guilty of betraying Blair’s trust. Heaven help Stephen if they were found out, she thought.

  Her attention moved to Blair himself. He was in an informal gray coat and cream breeches, and the light breeze ruffled his dark hair and unstarched neckcloth. For a moment he looked directly at her. His face bore no interpretable expression, except that his brown eyes were perhaps a little quizzical. His unsmiling lips certainly gave nothing away. She was very conscious of the immediate barrier he raised. It was an invisible, impenetrable but almost tangible shield.

  She had no way of knowing what he was thinking, but for her the attraction he exerted hadn’t diminished at all. Merely looking at him set her at sixes and sevens, and to gaze into his eyes was to know a desire that verged upon the sinful. He wrought havoc with her common sense, and in those few moments it was very hard to remember that her nineteenth-century self had come here unwillingly to do Sir Miles Lowestoft’s work. But the Laura of the future wasn’t at all unwilling; in fact, she was swept along by the sheer excitement of these travels in time. And by the exhilarating feelings this man aroused. In this at least she knew she and her Regency alter ego were united, for they were both strongly drawn to Sir Blair Deveril.

  The butler announced her, and Blair stood. “Very well, Harcourt.”

  Harcourt? Of course! Laura suddenly realized why the butler had seemed so familiar—his bushy-browed blue eyes were the same as those of the man in the wheelchair. He must be Gulliver Harcourt’s ancestor!

  Blair inclined his head to her. “Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “Sir.” She dipped a curtsey.

  Stephen had also risen and murmured her name, but he avoided her eyes as if knowing she’d already perceived the way things were between Marianna and him.

  She acknowledged them in the same way. “Mr. Woodville. Miss Deveril.”

  Blair drew out one of the wrought iron chairs. “Please take a seat, Mrs. Reynolds. Would you care for some lemonade?”

  “That would be most agreeable, thank you, Sir Blair.”

  The scent of roses was heady as they all sat down, and when ice chinked in the crystal jug, Laura was reminded of the ice in the ballroom. Where did it all come from at this time of the year? There were no freezers in this age!

  Marianna smiled at her. “I trust you’ve recovered from the ball, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Yes, thank you. I was truly honored to attend.” Blair’s gaze was still upon her, and Laura couldn’t help meeting his eyes. An electric current seemed to so charge the air between them that it crackled.

  Marianna spoke again. “You did not stay long. Was something wrong?”

  “I…felt a little unwell,” Laura answered untruthfully.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you better now?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “Good.” Marianna smiled. “Well, I confess I enjoyed every moment of it; indeed, I shall be twenty again soon in order to have another,” she declared, her flirtatious glance briefly encompassing Stephen, who had the grace to color a little.

  Marianna went on, “I trust you will not find country life too dull before we go to London, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  She spoke as if it had been settled, and the forthcoming interview a mere formality, but Blair’s face told a different story. Laura managed to smile at her. “Country life is always pleasing, Miss Deveril.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to have my first proper Season, but at the same time I’ll hate to leave Deveril House.” Marianna gazed up at the house. “I love it so much here,” she breathed.

  Laura saw how Blair looked at his sister. His eyes seemed unaccountably sad. What was he thinking?

  Marianna gave a quick laugh. “I’m afraid I get quite foolish about this house.”

  Laura smiled. “I can quite understand why, Miss Deveril. I’m sure I’d feel the same if I lived here.”

  “You don’t think me silly?”

  “Of course not.” Laura returned her glance to Blair, and with something of a shock found herself meeting his gaze again. The atmosphere between them was such they might have been the only people present.

  Marianna’s unsettling lack of diplomacy sprang to the fore again. “Oh, Blair, I hope you’re going to honor your promise, for I do so like Mrs. Reynolds and want her to be my chaperone.”

  He bridled slightly. “Since when have I not honored a promise?”

  “I don’t know, but you may choose to make an exception of this occasion because she’s so like Celina.”

  Blair flushed angrily. “That will do, Marianna.”

  “Forgive me, Blair, but it has to be said.”

  “No, miss, it doesn’t!” he snapped.

  Laura exchanged a dismayed glance with Stephen. If Marianna wished to sabotage everything, she was going the right way about it. Blair clearly found the resemblance to his late wife something that was very hard to accept, and his sister’s careless observations didn’t help in the least.

  At last Marianna realized she’d trodden on sensitive ground, and became effusively apologetic, which was almost as bad. “Oh, Blair, I—I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean anything, truly! Oh, I feel dreadful now. Please forgive me, I just didn’t think.”

  “You seldom do.” Blair stood, and turned to Laura. “Mrs. Reynolds, perhaps you and I should walk together, away from unwelcome interruption?”

  Marianna blushed. She blushed still more when she caught Stephen’s eye and saw disapproval written there.

  Laura rose, and as she slipped her gloved hand over his sleeve, she was aware that even such a formal act became sensuous because it was him. As if it was merely a prelude to much, much more...

  The arbor was close to steps down into a private walled garden that was overhung to one side by mature trees. Pattering paws on the flagged path to the fountain signaled canine company as Blair assisted Laura down the steps. An Italianate marble fountain, encircled by a decorative parapet upon which to sit, played among formal flowerbeds that were also Italian in layout. The sound of water was refreshing, and as sunlight flashed through the cascades Laura didn’t need to be told that it was Celina’s garden, because the late Lady Deveril’s presence was almost physical.

  Blair spoke suddenly. “Mrs. Reynolds, I trust you’ll excuse my sister’s lack of reserve. I fear she believes in saying what she thinks.”

  “I seem to recall that last night you were equally as forthright,” she replied, because plain speaking wasn’t the sole preserve of the Deverils.

  He didn’t respond, but invited her with a gesture to be seated on the fountain’s stone parapet. Then he took out a Spanish cigar. “Do you mind if I smoke, Mrs. Reynolds’?”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  He searched for his luminaries, and shortly afterward a thin curl of smoke rose from the cigar. He looked at her. “You’re justified in pointing out my rather ungallant conduct last night. I’m afraid I coped rather badly. I’ll be honest wi
th you. I hoped that this morning your resemblance to Celina might be less apparent, but you’re a painful reminder of losing her two years ago.”

  His sadness carved through Laura like a knife, and she loathed Sir Miles Lowestoft even more than before. Nothing excused the vicious spite behind the plot, and she hated herself for having anything to do with it, albeit under duress. She was helping shatter what was left of Blair Deveril’s already broken heart, and it was despicable. For a moment she couldn’t speak, but at last found her tongue. “I—I’m sorry I’ve aroused sad memories, Sir Blair.”

  “It’s hardly your fault, Mrs. Reynolds, “nor is your resemblance to Celina of the significance I think you fear.”

  She didn’t understand. “It isn’t?”

  “No.” He met her gaze, and added, “It has a bearing, of course, but is far from being everything.”

  She still didn’t understand, and it seemed he had no intention of explaining, for he continued, “Truth to tell, everything reminds me of Celina anyway, especially this house, and this particular garden. It’s become too much.”

  She looked quickly at him. “Too much?”

  He smiled a little wryly. “Don’t misunderstand, Mrs. Reynolds. I don’t intend to put an end to myself, it’s simply that Deveril House is full of constant memories, and the only way to be free is to sell and leave. In fact, it’s already a fait accompli, and when I sign the documents in a day or so, Deveril House will have a new owner.”

  Laura’s lips parted. “But, isn’t this your ancestral home?”

  “Yes, it is, but I’ve ceased to regard it as such. It has been…sullied.”

  “Haven’t you embarked upon refurbishment?” she asked, puzzled.