Jenny, seeing her mistress's distress, scrambled down from her place in the following carriage. Emily finished her retching and wiped her mouth on the damp cloth Jenny handed to her. Her head was spinning and her knees weak. “Thank you, Jenny. I am recovered now.”
She stepped away from the bushes and stood whilst her maid attempted to restore order to her appearance. She glanced up to see three anxious faces watching from the carriage. Pinning a smile to her pale face she walked back and climbed slowly up the steps that had been lowered in her absence by one of the postilions.
“I'm so sorry, Mama. I do believe that something I ate at breakfast must have disagreed with me.”
“And I am sorry, my dear. I should have got down to assist you. But I am no use in such circumstances, as you well know.”
“Please do not apologise, Mama. I'm quite old enough to vomit on my own.” She heard a smothered giggle. “It's quite permissible to laugh girls. I'm not so stuffy as to object.”
Amelia grinned. “You were very sick, Em; I'm so relieved that you got out of the carriage in time.”
Emily joined in the laughter. “Amen to that, Millie.” She reached up tapped, gently, on the roof, and the carriage resumed its stately process down the drive.
Whilst the girls exclaimed in wonder at the extent of the rolling parkland and the handsome trees both Emily and Lady Althea sat silently, immersed in their own thoughts. Lady Althea had no reservations about her return to Westerham. It was where she belonged now that her husband was no longer alive. She had accepted her reduced circumstances happily when she was sharing them with her beloved Peter. Without him the misery of her penury had quite overwhelmed her.
She knew that now she had returned she would get well again and be able to take her place in society. Lady Althea glanced down at her new dress and her thin lips curved in appreciation. Soon her father would replenish the whole of her wardrobe and she could start re-establishing herself in the ton. The season had barely begun; in a few weeks she was certain that she would be strong enough to enjoy escorting Emily to the balls, soirees, and musical evenings on offer in London.
Emily's thoughts were not so sanguine. Her mother's happiness, maybe her very life, was dependent on her fulfilling her grandfather's wishes. She had no doubt that his benevolence was linked to her marriage to his heir, the Viscount Yardley. If he had truly wished to restore their fortunes he could have done so two years since, when he received the first letter asking for help.
She looked across at her mother, so thin and frail, but at least she was smiling. Edwards had assured her Lady Althea was no longer taking laudanum every night to help her sleep. Everything rested on Emily's shoulders. Well, they were strong enough; she had been running Glebe House, and educating her sisters, for the past two years. She doubted that many 19-year-olds could do as she had done. Compared to that, persuading her cousin Sebastian to make an offer should present no difficulty .
“Em, Emily, look, look at the house! It looks just like a castle.” Serena tugged at her sister's sleeve to gain her attention.
Sorry, Serena, I was wool-gathering. Are we there?” Emily leaned forward and peered out of the window. “Good heavens, it's huge! And you never said it was half castle, Mama.”
“Did I not, my dear, I must have forgot.” Her mother joined them at the open window. “It is exactly as I remember it. I am so glad that I am back here at last. I have missed Westerham every day I have been away.”
Emily's brow creased a little. Was her mother's enthusiasm unnatural? Surely all young woman understood they had to leave the familial home when they embarked on matrimony? Was this obsession with Westerham a sign that she was still unwell after her prolonged period of mental instability?
“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 in 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.