The carriage was making a sharp left turn to pass between high stone gateposts, and Stephen appeared beside the carriage. He had ridden forward and was bending an eager face, reddened from the cold, to look in at them. "This is it," he mouthed, pointing ahead.
Margaret smiled and nodded. Vanessa raised a hand in acknowledgment that they understood. Katherine was craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the house, though it was still out of sight beyond the dense grove of trees through which the driveway was winding.
But a few minutes later they could all see it as the carriage drew away from the trees and, as if on cue, the sun struggled free of the clouds that had covered it most of the day.
Warren Hall.
Vanessa had expected a medieval heap, perhaps because it was called a hall. It was actually a neat and solidly square Palladian mansion of pale gray stone. There was a dome and a pillared portico at the front with what looked like marble steps leading up to the doors. There was a stable block off to one side - the driveway led toward it. Before the house there was a wide, flat terrace surrounded by a stone balustrade, with steps leading down to flower gardens beneath it, still bare now in February. "Oh, goodness," Vanessa said, "this is all very real, is it not?" Which was a foolish thing to say, though her sisters must have known what she meant since they did not question her words.
They all gawked in amazement. "It is /beautiful /!" Katherine exclaimed. "I will still have a garden to tend, then," Margaret said.
At any other time they might all have laughed with considerable merriment over the gross understatement. Even apart from the terrace and flower garden, they were surrounded by cultivated parkland for as far as the eye could see.
None of them laughed.
It was indeed suddenly all very real. None of them could ever have imagined such grandeur and such a total change in their lives. But here they were.
The driveway ascended a slope as it approached the stables and then turned unexpectedly to take them across the terrace to the foot of the house steps. There was a stone fountain in the middle of the cobbled terrace, though there was no water in it this early in the year. There were also many stone urns, which were probably filled with flowers during the summer.
The carriage drew to a halt, the coachman opened the door and set down the steps, and Stephen himself reached inside to hand Margaret down and then to swing Katherine out without benefit of the steps. He was looking very exuberant indeed. Another hand appeared in the doorway before he could turn back for Vanessa - Viscount Lyngate's.
Vanessa had been in virtual hiding from him since the day on which she had lashed out at him and told him exactly what she thought of him.
Afterward, part of her had been appalled at her temerity while another part had been proud that she had found the courage. And all of her had been horribly embarrassed at the thought of coming face-to-face with him again.
The moment had come.
Not that she had not looked at him in private a great deal more than she ought during their journey. He was undeniably good-looking - gross understatement - and virile and… well, and /masculine/. And she admired his effortless horsemanship - she had watched him often while trying to convince herself that it was Stephen she watched. It was all really not fair at all. Hedley had deserved everything good and wonderful this world had to offer and yet he had been thin and weak and very ill during the last couple of years of his life.
Indeed, she felt guilty about admiring someone who was his antithesis - as if she still owed her husband her undivided loyalty.
Hedley was long dead. "Thank you." She forced herself to look into the viscount's eyes as she set a hand in his and descended the carriage steps to the terrace. But then her eyes moved to the house. "Oh, it is far more vast than it looked on the approach." She felt like a dwarf. But what gauche words to speak aloud! "That is because from a distance one sees the house and terrace and flower gardens as a unit and is impressed more by the pleasing vista than by the size of the house," the viscount said. "One is meant to be impressed by the house itself when one arrives here." "The steps /are /marble," she said. "They are indeed," he agreed, "as are the pillars." "And this is where our grandfather grew up," she said. "No," he told her. "This house is no more than thirty years old. The old medieval hall was torn down and this built in its place. It was shabby and crumbling, I have been told. And this is certainly beautiful. I nevertheless wish I could have seen the house as it was. Much character and many memories must have been destroyed in the name of modernity." Vanessa looked at him with appreciation for his feelings. But at the same moment she realized that her gloved hand was still in his. She snatched it away as if it had been scalded, drawing attention to the fact, and he raised his eyebrows.
A very superior-looking gentleman, dressed all in black, was bowing to Stephen and indicating the marble steps. Vanessa realized in some shock that he must be the butler. Halfway up the steps stood a plumpish woman, also in black, who was probably the housekeeper. And at the top of the steps, she noticed for the first time, were two lines of smartly dressed servants, one line on each side of the huge double doors, which stood open. The servants were being paraded for their new master.
Oh, goodness. Could their arrival at their new home have been more intimidating? How would Stephen be able to deal with it all?
But Stephen had offered one arm to Margaret and the other to Katherine and proceeded up the steps in the butler's wake after throwing a glance over his shoulder at Vanessa to see that she followed.
Viscount Lyngate offered his arm, and she took it.
The servants were not wearing cloaks and it was a chilly day despite the sunshine. Nevertheless, not one of them moved a muscle except to bow or curtsy to Stephen as each was introduced to him. He had a word with all of them - as if to the manner born, Vanessa thought with some pride.
She forced herself to smile and nod at all of the servants as she passed, and they bowed or curtsied in return. Rundle Park was like a rural cottage in comparison with this.
Mr. Bowen came behind them.
And then they were inside the great hall, which was great indeed and fairly robbed Vanessa of breath. It was round and pillared and stretched up the full height of the house and into the dome, which was gilded and painted with scenes from mythology. Light from its long, narrow windows streamed into the hall below, making patterns of light and shade on the pillars and checkered floor.
They all stood and gaped.
Viscount Lyngate was the first to speak. "The devil!" he muttered while the rest of them were still standing with their necks craned backward, and the butler and housekeeper waited to escort them elsewhere.
Vanessa looked at him in some surprise. But then she saw that another gentleman was striding into the hall through one of the arches surrounding it, his boot heels ringing on the tiles.
Vanessa had an impression of tall, dark handsomeness, of a dark-complexioned face, a lock of dark hair fallen across his forehead, of black riding clothes that were well worn but nevertheless becoming on his athletic form. He stopped and clasped his hands at his back and smiled.
It was a smile of considerable charm.
He looked sufficiently like Viscount Lyngate that Vanessa would not have been surprised to learn that they were brothers. "Ah," he said, "the new earl, I presume? And his… entourage?" Viscount Lyngate released Vanessa's arm and strode forward, his heavy greatcoat swinging against his boots. He came to a halt only when he was almost toe to toe with the other man. They were almost exactly the same height. "You were supposed to be gone by now," he said curtly and with undisguised annoyance. "Was I?" the other gentleman said, his smile still in place but his voice transformed into a drawl of what sounded like boredom. "But I am not, am I, Elliott? Introduce me if you will be so good." The viscount hesitated but then turned back to face them. "Merton," he said, "Miss Huxtable, Mrs. Dew, Miss Katherine, may I present Mr. Huxtable?" /Not /a brother, then? "/Constantine /Huxtable," the gentleman said, making them all an elegant bow. "Con to my friends." "Oh, I say!" Stephen exclaimed, stepping forward to shake the gentleman heartily by the hand while the ladies curtsied. "You have our name. You must be a relative." "I must indeed," Mr. Huxtable agreed while Vanessa and her sisters looked on with interest. "Second cousin to be exact. We share a great-grandfather." "Indeed?" Stephen said. "Nessie has been telling us about our family tree, something the rest of us have sadly neglected, I am afraid.