A Country Mouse Read online

  'Well, you're home now, Mama. I cannot wait for you to show us all the places that you have talked about so much.'

  Her mother finally focused on her eldest daughter. 'You still look a trifle hagged, my dear. Pinch your cheeks and press your lips together; try and restore some colour to your face. You want to make a good impression, do you not?' Lady Althea smiled and for the first time in two years humour was reflected in her eyes. 'I believe that one pallid individual is quite enough for this family, do not you?'

  Emily laughed out loud; the relief at her mother's return to normality replacing her anxiety about making a favourable impression. 'We do look like a pair of underfed sparrows, don't we? But I'm certain will both be robust again now that we're here.'

  'There're dozens of footmen waiting outside to greet us, Em. They look like soldiers on parade with all that green and gold frogging,' Amelia commented in awe.

  'Do I have to speak to them?' Serena sounded anxious, as the horses dropped to a sedate walk.

  'No, darling; you merely nod and smile at servants. Never offer your hand, curtsy or say thank you. It is not done, you know.'

  'Not say thank you, Mama? That's so impolite. Emily has always told us we have to treat our staff with respect.'

  'That was all very well, Serena, at Glebe House. But here, at Westerham, things are done differently. You do not want the staff to consider you ignorant, do you?' Serena shook her head, all her pleasure squashed by her mother's words. She shrunk up against Emily's side and pushed her cold hand into her sister's. Emily squeezed it and tried to smile. It was not a very convincing effort.

  The coach shuddered to a halt and there was instant activity. Two footmen jumped forward, one opened the door whilst the other pulled the steps into position. The three girls sat immobile, but Lady Althea surged forward. Regally she held out her hand and a footman took it and guided her to the ground. He bowed again, she nodded. Without waiting to see if her daughters followed she walked forward, nodding from time to time, her head high, the ostrich plumes on her bonnet bobbing as she went.

  Emily realized they had to move. 'Come along, girls, we're getting left behind.' She stood up and, still clasping Serena's hand stepped out, ignoring the bowing footman. She waited, back straight, for Amelia to jump down after her, and set off, not wishing her mother to vanish and leave them alone, surrounded by a sea of unfriendly, supercilious servants.

  Millie had taken her other hand and now she was obliged to negotiate a flight of intimidating marble steps, flanked by Doric pillars, with no hand available to hold up her skirts. She attempted to extract one hand from Millie's but her sisters fingers tightened.

  Drawing a steadying breath Emily prepared to negotiate the front steps without treading on her hem. Somehow she managed to lift her dress a little with her finger tips, in spite of her sisters, and she prayed that she would not fall flat on her face. All was well until the last two steps when a formidable, grey-haired figure, stepped out and bowed deeply.

  His sudden appearance startled the already nervous girls and they both stepped backwards, attempting to hide themselves behind Emily's slender frame, jerking her arms and dislodging her tenuous grip on her skirt. The flimsy stuff of her dress swayed freely and with her next step she trapped it under her boot. Unable to free her hands to balance, Emily fell forward, taking both girls with her, to land in an ignominious heap at the feet of the autocratic butler, Penfold.

  Unaware that her humiliation was being observed from the gallery that overlooked the enormous marble floored Grand Hall, Emily disentangled herself from her sisters and staggered to her feet. Not one of the watching servants had stepped forward to assist them and of her mother was no sign. She had vanished into the interior intent on re-establishing herself as her father's 'darling girl'.

  The row of footman remained as statues, faces expressionless, watching her smooth down her dress. 'Are you hurt, Serena, sweetheart? Did I tread on your hand?'

  'No, I 'm fine, thank you, Emily,' Serena whispered.

  'I'm unhurt as well, thank you,' Amelia's voice was thread-thin in the silence. Emily's embarrassment vanished. What sort of an establishment was this, which treated guests so insolently?

  She stiffened and met the haughty stare of Penfold. It was his eyes that dropped first. He flushed and bowed again. This time his action was deferential. 'Miss Gibson, Miss Amelia and Miss Serena, welcome to Westerham. His Lordship is waiting to greet you in the Green with drawing-room, if you will kindly follow me.'

  Emily was not having this. She was not going to be summoned like a servant before being allowed to recover from her travels. 'We will be shown to our rooms, now, if you please. I shall attend on his lordship when we are recovered from our journey.' She raised an eyebrow and Penfold knew he had met his match.

  'Very well, Miss Gibson.' He snapped a finger and two footman stepped forward. 'Show Miss Gibson, and Miss Amelia and Miss Serena to their apartments.'

  He bowed again to Emily. 'If you would like to ring when you are ready, Miss Gibson? I shall send someone to escort you down.'

  Emily nodded, but did not deign to reply. Holding her torn skirt firmly in one hand, the other resting on the polished banister, Emily followed the footman. Her sisters, following her lead, straightened their backs, held their heads high and marched up the stairs, side by side, showing their solidarity and support.

  The footman led them up two flights and along the corridor halting outside a pair of double doors. He opened these and, still without a word being spoken, he bowed them into their new home. Emily sailed into the room. She waited until she heard the doors click shut behind them before releasing her breath. She stared, eyes wide and her mouth open.

  'Look at this, girls; our sitting-room is bigger than the drawing room at Glebe House.'

  'Do you think these rugs are Persian, Em? Are we allowed to walk on them?'

  Emily laughed. 'Of course we are, you goose. They would not be on the floor otherwise.' The private sitting-room, with elegant chaise-longues and delicate gilt chairs was everything it should be. The two doors at the far end opened into a pair of matching bed chambers.

  Serena ran forwards eager to explore. 'Can Millie and I share this one, Em? I love the rose-pink of the bed drapes. Do you see, it matches the curtains?'

  Emily followed the girls around the room, exclaiming when expected, at the opulence of its appointments, but her mind was elsewhere, rehearsing what she would say and do when she met her future husband and her grandfather.

  A discreet door, inset into the wood panelling, opened into a bathing closet and adjoining dressing rooms. Jenny was busy sorting out Emily's clothes. She curtsied. 'I'm almost finished, miss. Are you wishing to change your dress?'

  Emily held at the torn skirt for inspection. 'I must. Is this ruined, or can you repair it?'

  'I'm sure it will mend, Miss Emily. Now, Miss Amelia and Miss Serena, run along next-door, Mary's waiting for you.' She smiled as the girls looked round, puzzled.

  'Where's the door, Jenny? I don't see one anywhere?'

  'Go back into the bed chamber; you'll see another door, you go through there.'

  Amelia stopped. 'Then we're not to sleep in here?'

  'No, Miss Millie, this is Miss Emily's room. But yours is just as pretty, it's all done out in yellows and golds.'

  It took Jenny half an hour to restore Emily's appearance. Even her long chestnut brown hair was re-done and green ribbons, that matched her second new gown, were threaded through her hair.

  'There, miss, you look a picture! Green suits you, and the combination you chose, of emerald silk for the under skirt and pale green muslin into the over dress, is perfect.'

  'Thank you, Jenny. I'm still rather pale, but there's nothing I can do about that.' She turned sideways and her lips curled in a smile. 'I'm almost invisible from this view. It's fortunate that this new fashion pushes up one's chest; without that help I would look like a boy.'

  'Go along with you, miss. You look lovely. No man i
n his right mind could ever mistake you for anything but a pretty young lady.'

  The maid ran outside to alert the footman who was to escort her mistress downstairs. Emily brace herself for her ordeal. As Millie and Serena were to remain upstairs with Mary; she would have to brave the supercilious stares of the staff on her own. Jenny opened the door and the footman bowed.

  'I am to take you to his lordship, Miss Gibson. Would you kindly follow me?'

  Emily nodded and glided gracefully out of her sitting-room to retrace her steps down to the Grand Hall. She had time to wonder where her mother was and if her reunion with the Earl had progressed well, and then they were in front of imposing, ornately carved doors.

  Two footmen guarded each side, like sentries. They sprang forward and flung open the double doors, leaving her framed in the doorway. One of them stepped forward and announced in a loud voice. 'Miss Emily Gibson, my lords.' He bowed and disappeared back down the wide carpeted passageway.

  Emily felt unwelcome perspiration trickling down her spine as she walked into the room. The elderly gentleman, with a shock of grey hair, impeccably attired in superfine topcoat, knee breeches and shining top boots, watched his eldest granddaughter approach. He smiled, just. 'Welcome to Westerham, my dear. We are so glad you have found the time to join us, at last.'

  Emily froze in mid-step and flags of colour appeared on her cheeks. She dropped into a low, formal curtsy, dipping her head, not wishing her anger to show. With careful elegance she rose and met the Earl of Westerham's critical gaze. 'I apologize if I kept you waiting, my lord.' She stopped there, offered no further explanation, or greeting, or effusion of delight at her incredible good fortune.

  * * * *

  The man, leaning nonchalantly against the mantelshelf, his fair hair cut fashionably short, hid his smile. His great-grandfather would not like that answer one jot. Sebastian decided that maybe he had been premature in his judgement of Miss Gibson. The girl had backbone, and intelligence, and in that rig she looked almost presentable.

  * * * *

  The Earl snorted. Emily ignored him, standing apparently relaxed, waiting for him to introduce her to Viscount Yardley. She dared not risk a glance in the direction of the intimidating gentleman she had noticed, observing her, aloof from the proceedings.

  The Earl remembered his manners. 'My dear, allow me to present you to your cousin Sebastian, Viscount Yardley.'

  Emily half turned and sank into a second graceful curtsy keeping her eyes down, as was expected of a well brought up young lady. To her surprise an elegant hand appeared and raised her to her feet. She looked up to meet the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They appeared to bore into her very soul. If he had had not been holding her she would have taken an involuntary step backwards. Sebastian raised her gloved hand and pressed the back lightly with his lips. She was aware that although his mouth smiled his eyes were cautious, assessing her every move and, she believed, finding her wanting.

  Incensed she snatched her hand back; it was a deliberate insult, but she was unable to help herself. If his expression had been unfriendly before, now it was arctic. His eyes narrowed and she could see him clench his teeth, obviously biting back a crushing set-down.

  From somewhere she found the strength to speak. 'I am delighted to meet you, Cousin Sebastian.' Her cousin raked her from head to toe, dislike and disdain apparent in his every gesture.

  'Are you indeed, cousin? I only wish I could say the same.' He turned and half bowed to his great-grandfather. 'You will excuse me, I hope, sir?'

  Without another word he sauntered out of the room leaving Emily so furious she forgot to be insulted. She glared after him, hating him, and for a glorious moment forgot that she had possibly just ruined her family's one chance of happiness.

  Chapter Four

  'Well, my child, you certainly knocked him from his high horse.' The Earl chuckled, much amused by his granddaughter's spirited behaviour. Emily swung back to face him, her face crumpled and tears filling her eyes. 'I have offended him, my lord. He will never offer for me now.' The weight of failure was crushing her chest.

  'Come and sit by me, my dear, and do not look so woebegone. If he does not want you, that will be his loss. There are plenty more eligible gentlemen out there for you to choose from, I can assure you. You are an heiress now.'

  Her mouth fell open. 'But I thought I had to marry Viscount Yardley. I thought that was the arrangement between us.'

  Her grandfather frowned. 'What arrangement, Emily? You wrote to me asking for my help in finding a husband; Sebastian is just the first suitable bachelor I have introduced you to.'

  Emily sat down beside the old man. 'Are you saying that you do not mind if my cousin does not offer for me? You're not going to send us back?'

  'Good God no! Of course not! Whatever gave you that ridiculous notion?'

  Emily recalled the letter from the Earl. In it he had offered to find her a husband and suggested that Viscount Yardley might do; he had also offered to give them a permanent home. There had been no mention of sending them back. Her fevered imagination had manufactured the threat. She nodded, her eyes still damp.

  'It appears I have misunderstood, my lord,' she said stiffly. 'But after the callous way you have treated my mother these past years, it is small wonder that I did so.'

  He shifted on his chair and his lined face flushed. 'You are right to take me to task, Emily, my dear. I have behaved abominably. I blamed my dear Althea for her mother's demise; I was so distraught at the time I was not thinking rationally.'

  Emily was unimpressed. She regarded him sternly. 'But you also ignored my plea for help when our father died two years ago. Surely you were not still overwrought at the loss of the countess then?'

  He shook his head. 'I have no excuse, other than your appeal arrived on the anniversary of her death. It was not an auspicious time, as you can imagine, and opened old wounds.'

  Emily jumped to her feet. She had heard enough of his feeble excuses. 'On my father's death you became the head of our household, my sisters and my legal guardian. You have shamefully shirked your responsibilities. If we were not in such desperate straits, believe me, sir, we would not be here now.'

  Her grandfather pushed himself up out of his chair. He towered over her, his face thunderous. 'I shall not be taken to task by a chit of a girl; I am the Earl of Westerham and your grandfather

  and I expect to be treated with respect, at all times. Is that understood?'

  She felt her courage desert her. She knew she had overstepped the mark and sincerely regretted her impertinence, however true her intemperate words had been she should have held her tongue. Then her spine stiffened and her head came up. She returned his glare, unbowed. 'I sincerely apologize for my incivility, my lord. You are quite right; I should never have spoken so rudely.' Her eyes flashed dangerously and her nostrils flared. 'However, I do not retract my words for they are the truth. I merely regret the way in which they were spoken.'

  The Earl's face became redder and for a horrible moment Emily thought he would fall to the ground with an apoplexy. It was time to take her leave. She dropped a small curtsy and spun, her skirts flying out revealing her trim ankles, and walked briskly across the acres of polished boards and scattered rugs, praying she would reach the door before the explosion came. She did not.

  'Come back here, miss. I have not finished with you yet.' The roared command bounced off the walls. She could not in all consciousness pretend she had not heard. She stopped, and slowly turned back to face him. He waited, stony faced, for her to retrace her steps.

  She halted, two paces in front of him, keeping her eyes lowered, waiting for the torrent to break over her head. She heard him step forward and flinched, expecting to be felled by a blow. A gnarled, but surprisingly strong hand, reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up.

  'Well, my dear child, that was invigorating. I have not enjoyed myself so much for years.'

  'I beg your pardon…' Emily stammered.

/>   'I enjoy a good row - cleans the pipes - do you not agree? Come, Emily, do not look so worried. The show is over.' He laughed. 'You will have to get used to my temper if you wish to live here.' He released her chin and took her icy hand. 'You are trembling, child. I am sorry; I did not mean to frighten you. Come and sit with me.'

  Emily allowed herself to be led to the settle by the fire, grateful for its reviving warmth. She was totally bemused. How could he change from terrifying to benevolent in a second? She regained her composure and dared to speak again. 'I don't understand. Are you no longer angry with me?'

  He leant over and patted her hand. 'No, my dear, I am not. You enraged me for a moment; I shouted at you and then I felt better. It is always so for me. In time you will get used to it.'

  'I'm not going to retract my words, sir. I do feel that you mistreated us this last two years.'

  'I did, my dear. But I had no idea you were in such difficulties. Your letter merely stated that your father had died and that Althea was grieving and asked if I could help in anyway, did it not?' Emily nodded. 'However you did not tell me you were so strapped for cash that you could not pay the bills.' He scowled at the thought, causing her to recoil again.

  She considered his explanation and found it to be true. 'I hoped you would send us help anyway, now that the reason for your disapproval had been removed.'

  'I am sorry, my dear. You are quite right to admonish me; I should have offered to have you here then. I have sadly neglected my duties; can you find it in your heart to forgive an old man of five and eighty?'

  'I suppose I must, sir. I would not wish a gentleman of your great age to meet his maker unforgiven.' Her words were bland but her eyes sparkled.

  He chuckled. 'Thank you, my child. Do you think you could call me grandfather now I am forgiven?'