Page 74 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Beaufort Hall was not as terrible as Grantham had warned Nick to expect, but neither was it fit to live in.
It was clear that little maintenance had been done for years—possibly since Arthur Sidney inherited. The house had been stripped of most fittings that were worth anything, the cracked plaster in the dining room ceiling where chandeliers should have hung testifying eloquently to Sydenham’s rapacity. The furnishings that remained were either worn or broken, and there wasn’t a carpet or drapery without a scattering of holes.
He should be grateful Mr. Stone had boarded up the broken windows and the cupola light. That alone had prevented irreparable damage to the structure, not to mention the walls and floors. The house needed to be emptied and everything within sanded, painted, and polished, but the building itself seemed sound.
For the first time, Nick truly appreciated what Emilia had confronted. When he pictured her arriving, full of confidence and optimism, unaware of the true nature of the post she’d taken, it made him want to punch someone. Of course she couldn’t leave Lucinda here, with no one to protect the child from an abusive father and indifferent servants. And when the viscount died, no wonder she’d launched her extraordinary crusade.
Under the exertion of a little charm, Mrs. Stone thawed somewhat. She and her husband, who was the head groom, had shut up the house after Emilia took Lucy to London and removed to the small coachman’s cottage, from where she’d spied Nick’s coachman poking around the stables. The Stones had been with the Sidney family for forty years, and were loyal to all of its members, even the dissolute Arthur—which the woman was now at pains to explain.
“Not right, him,” she confided primly, as she led Nick on a tour of the servant’s areas belowstairs, while Emilia and the girls explored the gardens with James. “His mother’s fault, I don’t doubt. A very cold woman, she was, very cold. It’s not right for a child to have such a mother. But then, it’s not my place. He was the master, and that was that.”
“Hmm.” Nick kept his tone idle. “What of Lucinda? Was he a kind parent to her?”
Discomfort flitted across her face. “Well—fathers aren’t meant to raise children. He had no notion how it was to be done. His wife died,” she added witheringly, as if Lady Sydenham were to blame for her own demise.
Nick thought that any decent man would know it wasn’t right to terrify his child, let alone strike her. “Thank goodness for Miss Greene,” he said, his tone harder.
Mrs. Stone flushed. “Yes. Thank goodness,” she muttered.
The woman should be ashamed. Sydenham had been her employer, true; but Emilia hadn’t let that stopherfrom standing up for Lucinda. It wasn’t as if Mrs. Stone’s loyalty had been rewarded, either. Sydenham hadn’t paid them a farthing in his last year—a fact Mrs. Stone had already managed to mention twice—and he’d left nothing in his will for the faithful retainers. They’d been reduced to scraping a living in the humble coachman’s cottage, where they had no legal right to be.
It made Nick shake his head. Forbes had the right of it:Think they’re better than the lot of us,his manager had said.
Later they went into the nearby village, where Nick did shake the vicar’s hand after that gentleman came hurrying down the street from the church, coattails flapping in his haste. Word that the new Lord Sydenham had arrived got around at lightning speed, and by the time Nick stood a round at the Roaring Bull, it seemed the entire village was there to raise a glass to him.
After that it was easy to procure a wagonload of supplies to be sent to Beaufort Hall. Nick meant to spend the night at the estate. And to his surprise, Lucinda said she would, too.
“Are you certain it’s a good idea?” Emilia asked softly.
Lucinda nodded, a film of fresh milk on her upper lip. She’d been rolling a hoop across the green with a pair of local children while Charlotte cried encouragement, holding a posy of flowers one little girl had given her. A few young men made periodic attempts to get her attention, though James’s presence seemed to give them pause. “I’m brave, Millie. And James broke the switch.”
Emilia bit her lip. “If you’re certain...”
Lucinda glanced at Nick, who stood sipping his pint of beer. “Mr. Dashwood keeps his promises, and he promised nothing would hurt me.”
“Well... Yes, he did...”
Lucinda nodded. “And he’s going to stay there, so I will, too.” She gulped the rest of her milk and ran back to the group of children with hoops.
“It will be an adventure,” Nick said. It gave him an unfamiliar feeling to hear the child express such confidence in him. “Sleeping on camp beds, with lanterns for light and a picnic hamper providing dinner. Charlotte will adore the excitement of it. And I hope Lucinda won’t be frightened if we’re all nearby.”
Emilia’s expression eased. “Perhaps you’re right.”
He grinned, bumping her shoulder with his. “It does happen now and then.”
She blushed. “Of course! I can’t help but worry...”
“Lucinda showed courage today,” Nick said quietly. “I wouldn’t let her stay there tonight if she had dissolved in terror. I want her to know there’s nothing there now for her to fear, and that she will always be safe in our care. I want her to see that it’s just a house, where she can be happy and safe even after her terrible experiences.”
“Of course,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
Between them, he caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. If she’d noted his use of the wordour,she hadn’t reacted. Nick admitted he was still testing it himself, but deep in his heart, it felt right.
Shefelt right—her hand in his, her presence beside him, her touch on his skin. He’d had associates, underlings, followers, and enemies his entire life. Not much family, and few friends. Emilia was his first true partner, and he liked it. He liked her. Nick wasn’t sure what to call the feeling, but it was beginning to seem like destiny.
They headed back to Beaufort Hall in good spirits. Nick spoke to James, and the young man did an excellent job of keeping the two girls giggling with his antics and jokes. They arrived to find that Mrs. Stone, who’d been indignant that they meant to stay in the village, had thoroughly swept and dusted the drawing room. The draperies had been beaten and rehung, the ragged carpet pulled out, and the scuffed floor was still damp from scrubbing. Mr. Stone showed himself, a gruff older man who snatched off his cap when Nick approached. Leaving behind a cauldron of warm washing water, the Stones departed for their own cottage.
