how has he changed?”
The maid blinked with surprise. “Oh I mean naught by it, mu’um,” she quickly backtracked. “Just that his lordship and his friends, they don’t hunt as they used to, and Mr. Brady—that’s the gamekeeper—he says the boars are so thick on the lower acreage they are devouring the crops.”
That was hard to imagine. Nathan was an avid hunter, perhaps one of the best in all of England.
“And he’s been away quite a lot,” Maude continued. “I suppose that’s why he let some things like the orangery go to seed.”
Evelyn yelped with surprise. “The orangery? My pride and joy?” It was beautiful, full of miniature topiary orange trees from France, with a cozy sitting area on the terrace just outside the French doors. She’d often used the setting for garden tea parties in the spring. “But what of the orange trees? What happened to them?”
“All gone,” Maude said, her eyes wide. “Sold, I think.”
He’d sold her orange trees? She’d bought that group of topiaries shortly after Robbie died. Frankly, she’d gone through a period where she’d spent quite a lot of money—furnishings, clothing, the orangery—but at the time, she told herself it was a needed diversion, something to take her mind from the death of her son. Looking back on it, it seemed more like an obsession, as if she were trying to fill some invisible hole.
Nevertheless, the orangery had turned out beautifully, and the day the orange trees had arrived, Nathan had stood in the drive, his feet braced apart, his face darkening as each tree was unloaded from the wagon.
“You said I could have whatever I wanted,” she’d reminded him sharply, anticipating his protest. He’d told her that in the course of a heated argument they’d had when she’d complained of his constant absences. “You are always gone from here, and I know with whom!” she’d shouted at him.
“Anywhere is far better than being here with you,” he’d snapped. “You are never happy, Evelyn!”
It was true, she was never happy, but Lord God, she’d tried. “I am trying! What am I to do?” she’d demanded angrily.
“For heaven’s sake, I know not! Get out! Visit friends! Go to Bath with your sister and take the waters, I hardly care, just do something!”
“And listen to you scold me for spending—”
“In exchange for your silence, Evelyn, you may have whatever you want.”
“In exchange for your freedom is what you mean, isn’t it?”
It had gone on from there, the endless arguing.
But of all the meaningless things she’d tried to console herself with, things and activities and vices that could not fill the weeping gash across her heart, the orangery had been her haven.
Evelyn looked at Maude’s reflection in the mirror as she wound her hair into a chignon on the back of Evelyn’s head. “He’s away quite a lot, you say?”
Maude paused in the winding of Evelyn’s hair and removed the pins from her mouth in a manner that suggested she enjoyed having information to impart. “Mr. Benton says his lordship doesn’t like to be about when there is no one in residence, for he finds the place far too empty. It’s as if he cannot bear to be alone here. He’s had guests nigh on three months this time.” She stuffed the pins back into her mouth.
Evelyn frowned. “And the Franklin sisters? Do they come around often?”
Maude removed the pins again. “Mary and Sarah Franklin?” She shook her head. “No, mu’um, I wouldn’t know of the Franklin girls.”
But as Evelyn’s hair went up, Maude told her of the night Nathan and his friends had frightened a new chambermaid near unto death by playing a game of ghost, and that Mrs. Gillette, the housekeeper, had stumbled on Wilkes and a scullery maid in a rather compromising position. The scullery maid, Maude said, was no longer employed at Eastchurch Abbey, but in the home of the earl’s sister in Birmingham, a ten-hour carriage ride from here.
That hardly
The maid blinked with surprise. “Oh I mean naught by it, mu’um,” she quickly backtracked. “Just that his lordship and his friends, they don’t hunt as they used to, and Mr. Brady—that’s the gamekeeper—he says the boars are so thick on the lower acreage they are devouring the crops.”
That was hard to imagine. Nathan was an avid hunter, perhaps one of the best in all of England.
“And he’s been away quite a lot,” Maude continued. “I suppose that’s why he let some things like the orangery go to seed.”
Evelyn yelped with surprise. “The orangery? My pride and joy?” It was beautiful, full of miniature topiary orange trees from France, with a cozy sitting area on the terrace just outside the French doors. She’d often used the setting for garden tea parties in the spring. “But what of the orange trees? What happened to them?”
“All gone,” Maude said, her eyes wide. “Sold, I think.”
He’d sold her orange trees? She’d bought that group of topiaries shortly after Robbie died. Frankly, she’d gone through a period where she’d spent quite a lot of money—furnishings, clothing, the orangery—but at the time, she told herself it was a needed diversion, something to take her mind from the death of her son. Looking back on it, it seemed more like an obsession, as if she were trying to fill some invisible hole.
Nevertheless, the orangery had turned out beautifully, and the day the orange trees had arrived, Nathan had stood in the drive, his feet braced apart, his face darkening as each tree was unloaded from the wagon.
“You said I could have whatever I wanted,” she’d reminded him sharply, anticipating his protest. He’d told her that in the course of a heated argument they’d had when she’d complained of his constant absences. “You are always gone from here, and I know with whom!” she’d shouted at him.
“Anywhere is far better than being here with you,” he’d snapped. “You are never happy, Evelyn!”
It was true, she was never happy, but Lord God, she’d tried. “I am trying! What am I to do?” she’d demanded angrily.
“For heaven’s sake, I know not! Get out! Visit friends! Go to Bath with your sister and take the waters, I hardly care, just do something!”
“And listen to you scold me for spending—”
“In exchange for your silence, Evelyn, you may have whatever you want.”
“In exchange for your freedom is what you mean, isn’t it?”
It had gone on from there, the endless arguing.
But of all the meaningless things she’d tried to console herself with, things and activities and vices that could not fill the weeping gash across her heart, the orangery had been her haven.
Evelyn looked at Maude’s reflection in the mirror as she wound her hair into a chignon on the back of Evelyn’s head. “He’s away quite a lot, you say?”
Maude paused in the winding of Evelyn’s hair and removed the pins from her mouth in a manner that suggested she enjoyed having information to impart. “Mr. Benton says his lordship doesn’t like to be about when there is no one in residence, for he finds the place far too empty. It’s as if he cannot bear to be alone here. He’s had guests nigh on three months this time.” She stuffed the pins back into her mouth.
Evelyn frowned. “And the Franklin sisters? Do they come around often?”
Maude removed the pins again. “Mary and Sarah Franklin?” She shook her head. “No, mu’um, I wouldn’t know of the Franklin girls.”
But as Evelyn’s hair went up, Maude told her of the night Nathan and his friends had frightened a new chambermaid near unto death by playing a game of ghost, and that Mrs. Gillette, the housekeeper, had stumbled on Wilkes and a scullery maid in a rather compromising position. The scullery maid, Maude said, was no longer employed at Eastchurch Abbey, but in the home of the earl’s sister in Birmingham, a ten-hour carriage ride from here.
That hardly
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