Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) (7 page)

Mrs Cooper nodded. “Yes, sir, you are. If my Bessie hadn’t been freed, I know you would have done everything you could to help her.”

Before they could say more, Dominic pulled the bell rope to summon a maidservant to show the pair out.

Alone, he opened the window to admit fresh air and breathed in the fragrance of honeysuckle, lavender and roses. He smiled. It would be a pleasure to call on Lady Castleton again.

Chapter Six

Dominic looked across the breakfast table at Gwenifer, who handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Thank you.” He put it down next to his plate. “Do you know of a lady who needs a nurse for her children?”

Gwenifer tucked a glossy black curl into place beneath her lace cap tied under her chin with silk ribbons. “Ah, that is why Mrs Cooper and her daughter came to see you. I don’t blame Bessie Cooper for not wishing to continue her employment in the Earl of Pennington’s household.”

“How did you find out?” Dominic asked, irritated because he prided himself on his discretion.

“Oh, gossip with reference to her arrest and release travelled fast.” She spread butter on her toast. “Coddled eggs? I ordered them because I know you like them.”

“Thank you.” He served himself. “You write and receive letters from many friends, surely one of them needs a nursemaid or knows of someone who does.”

“I shall enquire. If there is a situation available, but Bessie will need a reference.

“Dominic, that is enough about Bessie Cooper. Have you decided whether or not you wish to redecorate the drawing room?”

He looked across the table spread with a linen cloth on which set with an array of silver and fine porcelain given to him by his mother. What would Lady Castleton think of the old fashioned furniture and shabby carpet, left behind by the previous incumbent?

“I sent for some pattern books.” Gwenifer confessed. “There are two wallpapers I particularly like for the drawing room, one with a beautiful Indian pattern, another with a Chinese design, both of which are fashionable.”

He shook his head. “Those will not do for a rectory. Can you imagine my parishioner’s reaction to elephants and turbans, not to mention pagan temples, or pagodas and Chinese figures? Can you visualise my saintly bishop’s dismay if word of them reached him?” He spread his hands wide in mock despair. “I might be defrocked.”

Gwenifer rested her elbows on the table, and cupped her chin in her hands. “I doubt it would come to that.”

He laughed. “So do I.”

“Perhaps white and gold striped wallpaper, white paint, gold satin curtains, new furniture and pier glasses to reflect alabaster ornaments. It would be the height of good taste and elegance,” Gwenifer suggested.

In spite of his sister’s enthusiasm, which pleased him, Dominic considered pier glasses and alabaster ornaments would be too ornate for a rectory.

Although Gwenifer no longer dressed in either black for full mourning, or the subdued colours of half mourning, he knew she still grieved over her husband’s death. He also understood it was exacerbated because she did not have a child. The more she had to occupy herself, the better it would be. “Yesterday, I meant it when I said you are mistress of my house. You may redecorate the drawing room in any style you please, provided it will neither offend anyone in the parish nor arouse jealousy. A clergyman must tread a careful path.”

“Make sure you don’t trip over your sanctified feet when you walk along it.” Gwenifer’s laughter bubbled out of her.

“Sanctified?” he asked, somewhat aggravated. “Do you think I am pompous and stuffy?”

“Only a little.” She laughed at him. “I forbid you to frown over the suggestion of pier glasses. Don’t worry, everything shall be suitable for a country rectory.”

Dominic smiled in response to her enthusiasm. One day, he hoped she would put her grief aside, re-marry and furnish her own home. If their parents approved of her choice of husband, he was sure Papa would provide a generous dowry. For the time being, it was fortunate he could afford to improve the rectory.

He looked around the breakfast parlour at the old-fashioned, dark wood panelling, an equally dark parquet floor and shabby, forest green velvet curtains. He could not imagine elegant Lady Castleton, to whom his thoughts strayed too often, in the dreary room. A surge of intense sexual desire caught him by surprise. He ignored it, and turned his attention to his sister. “You are right, Gwenifer, the drawing room does need to be refurbished, so does this room, in fact –”

“All the rooms in the house need to be overhauled,” his sister interrupted.

“Yes, you may have a free hand if you agree not to redecorate in the gothic style.” To amuse her, he pretended to shudder. “Perhaps you would prefer to make arrangements for redecoration to be done while we are at one of my other parishes. The curate may supervise, it will give him something other than damnation and hell to mull over. No matter how often I remind him we should make a joyous sound unto the Lord, Henderson is determined to be dismal.”

“I would not trust him to oversee the work,” Gwenifer remarked, obviously amused by the idea. “Oh, Henderson’s heart is good enough, he visits the poor and the sick and is … er … concerned for children. Sadly, he is unpopular and lacks the wit to win the parishioners’’ favour”

Dominic sighed. “I know. By the time he finishes sermonising, the unfortunate poor are convinced it is God’s wish for them to accept the circumstances into which they are born, and not to strive to improve themselves. I pity the sick whom Henderson visits. His prophecies that, if they don’t reform, they will go to hell after they die, leaves them in a worse state than when he arrived. What’s more, the children run when they see him for fear he will inquire about the state of their souls. I found young William, the blacksmith’s son, blubbering under an apple tree in the orchard. Henderson had told him the devil would drag William into an everlasting furnace, the punishment for scrumping apples.”

Gwenifer burst into a series of unseemly giggles. “I fear you will go to hell for committing the same misdemeanour when you were a schoolboy,” she managed to say, when she could speak again. “Yet it is too bad of Henderson. He should make friends with the children, instead of frightening them so much that their mothers complain they have nightmares.”

“Just so. I don’t mind the village boys helping themselves to a few apples or pears, but, as we know, theft is a serious matter. It even leads children to the gallows, something I cannot condone, for our Lord said: Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for such is the kingdom of heaven.  Education would better serve them. Sometimes, I think if I were a politician instead of a clergyman I would do more good.”

“One day you might be a bishop entitled to sit in the House of Lords where you could make your voice heard.”

“I doubt it, Dominic shrugged. “Nonetheless, I confess I am interested in reform.”

“Ah, you are thinking of Robert and what your future might hold.” Gwenifer spoke with the swift intelligence and intuition he appreciated.

He nodded, unable to speak of Robert whom he once admired.

Her eyes glazed with unshed tears, his sister reached across the table to pat his hand. “If you don’t become a bishop, and take a seat in the Upper House, it seems you might take one as a peer of the realm. In either case you could speak out in favour of many much needed changes to the law.” She sighed. “Believe me when I say the thought of young children swinging from the gallows at the crossroads shocks me.” She shivered. “I don’t care to think of it. Let us speak of other more cheerful matters. Unless there is anything I may do for you, after I consult with Cook about today’s menus, I shall visit Lady Castleton.”

“Good, I think you will like her. If you have no objection, we shall go together. I will ask her ladyship to write a reference for Bessie.

* * *

“Mister Markham and Lady Gwenifer,” Jarvis announced as they entered the drawing room.

Dominic bowed. “Lady Castleton, may I introduce my sister, Lady Gwenifer?”

“You may.” Harriet put aside her needlework, a small shirt, then stood.

“Gwenifer, I know you are pleased to meet Lady Castleton,” Dominic remarked, while the ladies assessed each other.

“Good day, both of you are welcome.” Harriet indicated chairs and a sofa arranged at right angles to a pair of the lancet windows set deep in the stone wall. “Jarvis, some wine and refreshments for my guests.”

“At once, my lady.”

Before Dominic could broach the subject of a reference for Bessie, the earl joined them.

Dominic bowed. He murmured a few courteous words in response to Pennington’s greeting, and wished the earl were elsewhere.

At the age of sixty-five or more, Pennington, a dandy, rivalled gentlemen young enough to be his grandsons dressed in the height of fashion. His olive green broadcloth morning coat fitted him so well that, presumably, he struggled to move his arms. Without his valet’s help, he would find it difficult to pull up his pantaloons, which were moulded to his legs. His starched cravat, in the style called the Mathematical, probably took a long time to arrange. Not only women were vain! Dominic choked back a chuckle. Pennington’s starched shirt points were so high that if he attempted to turn his head to the right or left, he would fail.

“Papa,” Lady Castleton began, “you are acquainted with Mister Markham. Have you have met his sister, Lady Gwenifer.”

“I have not the honour,” Pennington replied.

A slight frown marred Lady Castleton’s charming face. Perhaps she also wished her father-in-law had not joined them.

The earl acknowledged Gwenifer’s curtsy with a bow. “

My lady, you are very welcome to this house, in which your brother is considered a hero because he saved my grandson’s life.”

“Yes, I heard he did, although he is too modest to mention it,” Gwenifer replied.

Lady Castleton shuddered. It seemed the mere thought of her son’s escape from death made her feel faint. “Indeed we can never find a way to adequately express our gratitude.”

“There is no need to speak of it,” Dominic murmured. “I did no more than anyone else would have done to save your son. I hope he has recovered from the experience.”

“Yes. Thank you, he is well, but too frightened of the lake to even look at it through the windows.”

Pennington frowned. He raised his hand, obviously about to run his fingers through his well-ordered white hair, but refrained. “I shall take Arthur to the shore. It will not do for my grandson to be a coward.” He lowered his hand to his side. “Whatever else one may say on the subject of his father, Edgar was not a poltroon although-”

The colour in Lady Castleton’s cheeks increased. Her eyes narrowed. “Papa, I hope you are not on the brink of saying something derogatory. Yes, my late husband was not only courageous, he was also a gentleman.”

Jarvis entered the drawing room with two footmen, who carried trays, which they placed on a mahogany pier table at the side of the room.

Uneasy, Dominic’s jaw tightened. To judge by the way Pennington, who sat next to his daughter-in-law, looked sideways at her, she might have been a rare species of some unfamiliar, unwelcome creature.

“Some wine, my child?” the earl asked. “You are over heated. It is not surprising. The weather is sultry. If I am not mistaken a thunderstorm is imminent.”

“Papa, I am not overheated,” Lady Castleton protested.

Dominic’s hands tightened. It seemed thunder and lightning, were not the only storm in the offing.” 

Pennington stood and inclined his head towards Gwenifer. “I hope you will forgive me if I deprive you and my daughter of your brother’s company. I have a matter to discuss with him. “Come, Mister Markham.”

Reluctant to endure a tete-a-tete with his host, Dominic stood. The earl seized his arm. Did his lordship fear he would baulk like a horse at a fence?

Dominic struggled to conceal his instinctive dislike of the earl. “Please release me.”

After Pennington let go of him, he resisted the temptation to brush his sleeve.

Footmen opened the double doors. “Jarvis serve wine in the library,” Pennington ordered, while he led Dominic out of the drawing room.

* * *

Dominic admired the shining floorboards, ornate high-backed wooden chairs upholstered in crimson velvet, a fireplace and tall windows traced with carved stone.

“Ah, you are speechless with admiration.” Pennington indicated row upon row of glass-fronted bookshelves, shaped like arched window frames, which reached from the floor to ceiling on three sides of the library.

Regardless of how long a person lived it would be impossible for anyone to read so many books. “Yes, my lord, I can think of little to say. No remark of mine could do justice to it’s splendour.”

“Your praise gratifies me.” Pennington gestured to a pair of chairs in front of which stood a conveniently place low, oval table. “Please sit down, Mister Markham. I am fortunate to have inherited Clarencieux, which I am still refurbishing.” He chuckled with palpable satisfaction. “No need for me to have a pseudo gothic ruin built in the grounds because there is already a tumbledown church. I realised its potential to become a point of interest for my guests, when I inherited the estate. After all, such relics are much in vogue.” His eyes sly, glanced at Dominic. “I daresay you disapprove of such use of hallowed ground.”