Bound By A Scandalous Secret

Chapter Four

The lovely evening was over.

Although Lord Penford had tea brought into the drawing room, Lorene’s nerves and Penford’s coolness spoiled Genna’s mood. Lorene was worried, obviously, about what Lord Tinmore would say when they finally returned and who knew why Penford acted so distantly to them? Why had he invited them if he did not want their company? Had he done so out of some sense of obligation? Even so, it was Lord Tinmore who’d compelled them to accept the invitation and she and Lorene certainly had not caused it to snow.

Not that it mattered. If Tinmore wished to ring a peal over their heads, reason would not stop him.

All the enjoyment had gone out of the evening, though.

Lord Penford poured brandy for himself and Rossdale and sat sullenly sipping from his glass while Rossdale and Genna made an effort to keep up conversation. With no warning Penford stood and announced he was retiring for the night. Rossdale was kind enough to keep Genna and Lorene company until the housekeeper announced that their bedchambers were ready. At that point they also felt they must say goodnight.

The housekeeper led them upstairs. ‘We thought you might like to spend the night in your old rooms, so those are what we prepared for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Lorene said.

Genna gave the woman whom she’d known her whole life a hug. ‘Yes, thank you. You are too good to us.’

The older woman hugged her back. ‘We’ve found clean nightclothes for you, as well. Nellie and Anna will help you.’ Nellie and Anna had served as their ladies’ maids before they’d moved.

They bade the housekeeper goodnight and Genna entered her bedchamber for the second time that night. At least now there was a fire in the grill and a smiling old friend waiting for her.

‘How nice it is that you can stay the night,’ Anna said. ‘In your old room. Like old times.’

‘It is grand!’ Genna responded.

Anna helped her out of her dress and into a nightgown.

‘Come sit and I’ll comb out your hair,’ Anna said.

Genna sat at her old familiar dressing table and gazed in her old familiar mirror. ‘Tell me,’ she said after a time. ‘What are the servants saying about Lord Penford?’

Anna untied the ribbon in her hair. ‘We are grateful to him. He kept most of us on and we did not expect that. He does seem angry when he learns of some new repair to the house, but his anger is never directed at the servants.’

‘He must be angry at my father, then,’ Genna said. Did his anger extend to the daughters, too? That might explain why he was so unfriendly.

‘I suppose you are right.’ She pulled out Genna’s hairpins and started combing out the tangles. ‘He paid us our back wages, you know.’

Genna glanced at her in the mirror. ‘Did he? How good of him.’

Paying their back wages was certainly something Lord Penford could have avoided if he’d chosen to. What could the servants do if he’d refused to pay them?

Anna gave her a sly grin. ‘Why are you not asking about Lord Rossdale?’

Genna felt her cheeks grow hot. Why would that happen? ‘Lord Rossdale? Whatever for?’

She stopped combing. ‘Is he sweet on you? We were wondering.’

‘He’s not sweet on me!’ Genna protested. ‘Goodness. He’s far beyond my touch. Besides, you know that I’m not full of romantic notions like Lorene and Tess. He knew I wanted to see the house so he asked for a tour.’

‘So he said in the kitchen.’ Anna resumed combing. ‘I am still saying he’s sweet on you.’

Genna stilled her hand and met Anna’s gaze in the mirror. ‘Please do not say so. At least not to anyone else. I admit Lord Rossdale and I do seem to enjoy each other’s company, but it is nothing more than that and I do not want any rumours to start. It would not be fair when he has merely been kind to me.’

Anna shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

As soon as Anna left, Genna started missing her. She missed all these dear people. Now she would have to get used to not seeing them all over again. It was so very depressing.

She stared at the bed, not sleepy one bit. All she’d do was toss and turn and remember when her room looked like her room. She spun around and strode to the door.

Like she’d done so many times when she was younger, she crossed the hallway to Lorene’s room and knocked on her door.

‘Come in,’ Lorene said.

Genna opened the door. ‘I came to see how you are faring. You were so upset about the weather and our having to spend the night.’ How the tables had turned. Genna used to run to Lorene for comfort, now it was the other way around.

Lorene lowered herself into a chair. ‘I confess I am distressed. What will he think?’ She did not need to explain who he was. ‘Knowing we are spending the night with two unmarried gentlemen without any sort of chaperon.’

Genna sat on the floor at her feet and took Lorene’s wringing hands in hers. ‘We are home. Among our own servants. And Lord Penford and Lord Rossdale are gentlemen. There is nothing to worry over.’

Lorene gave her a pained look.

Genna felt a knot of anger inside. ‘Will Tinmore...give you a tongue lashing over this?’ Or worse, he might couch his cruelty in oh-so-reasonable words.

Lorene leaned forward and squeezed Genna’s fingers. ‘Do not worry over that! Good heavens, he is so good to us.’

Only when it suited him, though. He liked to be in charge of them.

Well, he might be in charge of Lorene, but Genna refused to give him power over her—even if she reaped the advantages of his money. She could not escape admitting that.

She smiled at Lorene. ‘Let us enjoy our time back in our old rooms, then. Back home. Does it not feel lovely to be here?’

Lorene pulled her hands away and swept a lock of hair away from her face. ‘I cannot enjoy it as you do, now that it is no longer our home.’

Genna secretly agreed. She did not enjoy seeing the rooms empty of any signs of her sisters or brother or herself, but she’d never admit it to Lorene. The best part of the house tour had been showing Rossdale the secret passages; the rest merely made her sad, just as Lorene had anticipated.

Genna stood. ‘I love being back. I’m glad we can stay. I’ll sleep in my old bed. I’ll wake to sun shining in my windows. Cook will make us our breakfast again. It will be delightful.’

Lorene rose, too, and walked to the window. ‘We had better hope the sun shines tomorrow.’ She peeked out. ‘It is still snowing.’

Genna gazed out on to the familiar grounds, all white now. ‘We must not worry about tomorrow until it comes.’ She turned to Lorene. ‘How did you and Lord Penford fare while we toured the house?’

Lorene averted her face. ‘I played the pianoforte.’

‘We heard,’ Genna said. ‘You learned to play on that piano. How nice you were able to play on it again.’

‘Yes,’ Lorene replied unconvincingly. ‘Nice.’

Cheering up Lorene was not working at all. It was merely making Genna feel wretched. ‘Well, I believe I will go back to my room and snuggle up in my old bed. You’ve no idea how I’ve yearned to do so.’

Even if she feared she’d merely toss and turn.

She bussed her sister on the cheek and walked back to the room where she’d slept for years, ever since she’d left the nursery.

But once in the room, she found it intolerable. She paced for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. Finally she made up her mind. She picked up a candle from the table next to her bed and carried it to the hidden door. She opened the door and entered the passageway.

She made her way downstairs and to the space where she’d left her sketchbook. As she picked it up and turned to go back to her room, the light from another candle approached. Her heart pounded.

‘Miss Summerfield.’ It was Lord Rossdale.

He came closer and smiled. ‘I came to pick up your sketchbook. I see you had the same notion. I am glad you decided to keep it.’

She clutched it to her chest. ‘I have not decided to keep it. I just wished to look at it in my room. I cannot take it back with me. It is too big to conceal and I do not wish to cause any problems.’

‘I am certain Dell would wish you to have it,’ he said.

She could not believe that. Even so, Lorene would probably worry about her taking it out of the house. ‘I do not wish to ask him or to have my sister know. She would not like him bothered.’ Genna was certain Lorene would not wish her to ask anything of Lord Penford.

Rossdale did not move, though, and the corridor was too narrow for Genna to get past him.

‘Enjoy the book tonight, then,’ he said finally. ‘Come, I’ll walk you back to your room.’

She laughed softly. ‘More like you want me to show you the way so you do not become lost.’

He grinned. ‘I am found out.’

He flattened himself against the wall so she could get by, but she still brushed against him and her senses heightened when they touched.

How strange it was to react so to such a touch. She did not understand it at all.

And she dared not think about it too much.

* * *

The next morning did indeed begin with the sun pouring in Genna’s bedroom window. For a moment it seemed as if the last year had never happened. That was, until her gaze scanned the room.

Still, she refused to succumb to the blue devils. Instead she bounded from the bed and went to the window. Her beloved garden was still covered in snow, not only sparkling white, but also showing shades of blue and lavender in the shadows. The sky was an intense cerulean, as if it had been scrubbed clean of clouds during the night, leaving only an intense blue.

Genna opened the window and leaned out, gulping in the fresh, chilled air, relishing the breeze through her hair, billowing under her nightdress to tingle her skin.

‘It is a lovely day!’ she cried.

On a rise behind the house, a man riding a horse appeared. A grey horse and a grey-coated man.

Lord Rossdale.

He took off his hat and waved to her.

Imagine that he should see her doing such a silly thing. In her nightdress, no less! Perhaps he had heard her nonsense, as well.

She laughed and waved back before drawing back inside and shutting the window. She sat at her small table and turned the pages of her old sketchbook, remembering when life was more pleasant here.

Unfortunately, some of her drawings also reminded her of unhappy times. Hearing her father bellow about how much his daughters cost him, or rail against her mother who’d deserted them when Genna was small. Then there were the times when he’d consumed too many bottles from the wine cellar and she’d hidden from him. Her drawings during those times were sombre, rendered in charcoal and pencil, all shadowy and fearful.

Most of the pages, though, were filled with watercolours. Playful scenes that included her sisters and brother. Sunny skies, green grasses, flowers in all colours of the rainbow.

Her technique had been hopelessly childish, but, even so, her emotions had found their way on to the paper. The charcoal ones, obviously sad. The watercolours, happy and carefree.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Before Genna could respond, Anna opened the door and poked her head in.

She paused in surprise. ‘Good morning, miss. I thought you would still be sleeping.’

Genna smiled. ‘The sun woke me.’ She closed the sketchbook and gestured to the window. ‘Is it not a beautiful day?’

‘It is, indeed, miss.’ Anna entered the room and placed a fresh towel by the pitcher and basin Genna had used since a child. ‘Mr Jeffers sent one of the stable boys with a message to Tinmore Hall.’

‘That should relieve Lorene’s mind.’ Genna swung back to the window. ‘How I would like it if I had my half-boots with me. I would love to be outside.’ Even if she had her watercolours and brushes with her, she could paint the scene below and include all the colours she found in the white snow. That would bring equal pleasure.

She gazed out of the window again, wishing she were galloping across the snow-filled fields. On a grey horse, perhaps. Held by a grey-coated gentleman.

She turned away with a sigh. ‘I suppose I might as well wash up. Then you can help me dress.’

Anna also arranged her hair in a simple knot atop her head.

When she was done, Genna stood. ‘I might see if Lorene is awake yet.’ She turned to Anna and filled with emotion again. ‘I do not know when I will see you again.’ She hugged Anna. ‘I shall miss you!’

Anna had tears in her eyes when Genna released her. ‘I shall miss you, too, miss. We all miss you.’

Genna swallowed tears of her own. ‘I will contrive to visit if I can.’

She left the room, knowing she was unlikely to see it again, ever, and knocked on Lorene’s door.

Lorene was alone in the room seated in one of the chairs. Doing nothing but thinking, Genna supposed.

‘How did you sleep?’ Genna asked.

‘Quite well,’ Lorene responded. Of course, Lorene would respond that way no matter what.

‘Anna told me a messenger was sent to Tinmore Hall,’ Genna assured her.

Lorene merely nodded.

Genna wanted to shake her, shake some reaction, some emotion from her, something besides worry over what Lord Tinmore would think, say, or do. She wanted her sister the way she used to be.

‘Shall we go down to breakfast?’ Genna asked.

Lorene rose from her chair. ‘If you like.’

They made their way to the green drawing room where breakfast was to be served. Lord Penford sat at the table, reading a newspaper. He looked startled at their entrance and hastily stood.

‘Good morning,’ he said stiffly. ‘I did not expect you awake so early.’

‘We are anxious to return to Tinmore Hall,’ Lorene said.

‘Yes,’ Penford said. ‘I imagine you are.’

‘I am not so eager to return,’ Genna corrected. ‘I have enjoyed my visit to our old home immensely.’ She looked over the sideboard where the food was displayed. ‘Oh, look, Lorene. Cook has made porridge! It has been ages and ages since I’ve tasted Cook’s porridge!

Becker, one of the footmen, attended the sideboard. Lorene made her selections, including porridge, and was seated next to Lord Penford at the small round breakfast table.

Becker waited upon Genna next, placing a ladle of oatmeal into a bowl for her. She added some cheeses, bread and jam.

‘Thank you, Becker.’ She smiled at him as he carried her plate to the table and seated her opposite her sister.

Penford sat as well although he did not look at either of them. ‘I trust you slept well.’

Lorene hesitated for a moment before answering, ‘Very well, sir.’

‘Fabulously well!’ added Genna. ‘Like being at home.’

Lorene shot her a disapproving look, before turning to Penford. ‘It was a kindness to put us in our old rooms.’

He glanced down at his newspaper. ‘The housekeeper’s decision, I am sure.’

Goodness! Could he be more sullen? ‘I hope you did not disapprove.’

He shot her a surprised look. ‘Why would I disapprove?’

She merely answered with a smile.

Why had he invited them if he seemed to take no pleasure in the visit? Unless his main purpose was to curry favour with Tinmore. If so, Genna was glad Tinmore had not accompanied them. Well, she was glad Tinmore had not accompanied them, no matter what Penford thought. Perhaps if Penford had been a more generous man, he might have left his cousins in the house to manage it in his absence. He might have come to their rescue instead of tossing them out of the only home they’d ever known and forcing Lorene to make that horrible marriage.

Lorene broke in. ‘The porridge is lovely. Just as I remembered it.’

Penford’s voice deepened. ‘I am glad it pleases you.’ He put down his paper and darted Lorene a glance. ‘I sent a man to Tinmore Hall early this morning. The roads are passable. You may order your coach at any time.’

He was in a hurry to be rid of them, no doubt.

‘Might we have the carriage in an hour?’ Lorene asked this so tentatively one would think she was asking for the moon instead of what Penford was eager to provide.

‘Certainly.’ Penford nodded towards Becker, who bowed in reply and left the room to accomplish the task.

Genna sighed and dipped her spoon into the porridge. She’d hoped to see Lord Rossdale one more time, but likely he was still galloping over the fields.

The rest of the breakfast transpired in near silence, except for the rattle of Lord Penford’s newspaper and the bits of conversation exchanged between Genna and Lorene. Genna used the time to think about the house. Her time away had seemed to erase it as her home. Leave the place to the dour Lord Penford. Her life here was gone for ever. More of its memories had been captured in her sketchbook, but she had no confidence that it would ever return to her possession. Likely she would not even see Rossdale again.

* * *

When it came time for them to leave, the servants gathered in the hall to bid them goodbye, just as they had done when Genna and her sisters first removed to Tinmore Hall. This time the tears did not fall freely, although many bid them farewell with a damp eye. Lorene shook their hands. Genna hugged each of them. Lord Penford stood to the side and Genna wondered if he felt impatient for them to depart.

When the coach pulled up to the front, Penford walked outside with them, without greatcoat, hat, or gloves. One of the coachmen helped Genna climb into the coach.

Lord Penford took Lorene’s hand to assist her.

Lorene turned to him, but lowered her lashes. ‘Thank you, sir, for inviting us and for putting us up for the night.’ She lifted her eyes to him.

For a moment Penford seemed to hold her in place. He finally spoke. ‘My pleasure.’ He’d never seemed to experience pleasure from their visit. ‘I shall remember your music.’

Lorene pulled away and climbed into the coach.

‘Safe journey,’ Penford said through the window.

As the coachman was mounting his seat, a horse’s hooves sounded near. A beautiful silver-grey steed appeared beside the coach.

Rossdale leaned down from his saddle to look inside the coach. ‘You are leaving already!’

Genna leaned out the window. ‘We must get back.’

‘Forgive me for not being here to say a proper goodbye.’ His horse danced restlessly beside them.

Genna spoke in a false tone. ‘I do not believe I shall forgive you.’ She smiled. ‘But thank you for allowing me to give you a tour of the house. It was most kind.’

He grinned. ‘It certainly was more than I ever thought it would be.’

The coach started to move.

‘Goodbye!’ Genna sat back, but turned to look out the back window as the coach pulled away.

Rossdale dismounted from his horse and stood with Penford watching the coach leave.

They watched until the coach travelled out of their sight.

Chapter Five

Lorene fretted on the road back to Tinmore Hall. ‘I wish we had not gone. He will have been frantic with worry when we did not return last night.’

Did she fear the effect of Tinmore’s worry on his health or that he would blame her for their absence?

‘He wanted us to go,’ Genna reminded her. ‘He ordered us to go.’

Lorene curled up in the corner of the carriage, making herself even smaller. ‘Still, we should not have gone.’

Genna tried to change the subject. ‘What did you think of our cousin, then? Lord Penford. Did you know he just inherited the title this summer?’

Lorene did not answer right away. ‘I did not know that,’ she finally said. ‘Perhaps that was why he was so sad.’

‘Sad?’ Genna had not considered that. Perhaps he had not been disagreeable and rude. Perhaps he’d still been grieving. His father would have died only a few months before. She felt a pang of guilt.

‘He’s taking care of the house,’ Genna said, trying to make amends, at least in her own mind. ‘Anna said he paid the servants their back wages.’

‘Did he?’ Lorene glanced back at her. ‘How very kind of him.’

Genna might have continued the conversation by asking what Lorene thought of Rossdale, but she didn’t. She felt Lorene really wished to be quiet. Instead Genna recounted their tour of the house, intending to fix in her memory the details of each room they’d visited. More vivid, though, were Rossdale’s reactions to those details. She’d enjoyed showing him the rooms more than she’d enjoyed visiting them.

Their carriage crossed over the bridge and the cupolas of Tinmore Hall came into view. The snow-covered lawn only set off the house more, its yellow stone gleaming gold in the morning sun. Genna’s spirits sank.

She hated the huge mausoleum. The house hadn’t seen a change in over fifty years. At least her mother had kept Summerfield House filled with the latest fashion in furnishings—at least until she ran off with her lover.

The carriage passed through the wrought-iron gate and drove up to the main entrance. Two footmen emerged from the house, ready to attend them. Moments later they were in the great hall, its mahogany wainscoting such a contrast to the light, airy plasterwork of Summerfield House.

Dixon, the butler, greeted Lorene. ‘It is good you are back, m’lady.’

‘How is Lord Tinmore?’ she asked.

‘His fever is worse, I fear, m’lady,’ he responded. ‘He spent a fitful night.’

Oh, dear. This would only increase Lorene’s guilt.

‘Did the doctor see him yesterday?’ Lorene handed one of the footmen her cloak and gloves.

Dixon nodded. ‘The doctor spent the night, caught in the storm as you were. He is here now.’

The doctor’s presence should give Lorene some comfort.

‘I must go to him.’ Lorene started for the stairway. ‘I ought to have been at his side last night.’

‘He would not have known it if you were,’ Dixon said.

Lorene halted and turned her head. ‘He was that ill?’

‘Insensible with fever, Wicky told us.’

‘That is good, Lorene,’ Genna broke in. ‘He cannot be angry at you if he does not know you were gone.’

Lorene swung around. ‘It is not good!’ she snapped. ‘He is ill.’

Genna felt her face grow hot. ‘I am so sorry. It was a thoughtless thing to say.’

‘And very unkind,’ Lorene added.

‘Yes,’ Genna admitted, filled with shame. ‘Very unkind. I am so sorry.’

Lorene turned her back on Genna and ran up the stairs.

Why could she not still her tongue at moments like these? She must admit she cared more about Lorene’s welfare than Tinmore’s health, but she did not precisely wish him to be seriously ill, did she?

She took a breath and glanced at Dixon. ‘Is Lord Tinmore so very ill?’

His expression was disapproving. ‘I gather so from Wicky’s report.’

Genna deserved his disdain. By day’s end the other servants would hear of her uncharitable comment and would call her an ungrateful wretch.

Which she was.

* * *

Over the next three days Genna hardly saw Lorene, who devoted all of her time to her husband’s care. Genna would have happily assisted in some way—for Lorene’s sake, not Tinmore’s—but no one required anything of her and anything she offered was refused. She kept to her room, mostly, and amused herself by drawing galloping horses with tall, long-coated riders. She could never quite capture that sense of fluid movement she’d seen that day when she’d gone to make a painting of Summerfield House.