an imposing residence built of grey stone, nestled in a fold of the hills. From its numerous chimneys and crenellated walls to the stone mullions and ancient porch it was in every way a nobleman’s residence. Beneath its sloping grounds a river ran through trees among the water meadows.
The Viscount had not lied when he said his estate was remote, but far from feeling concerned Claire knew only a sense of satisfaction at the location. It was definitely the last place her uncle would ever think of looking for her.
Presently the carriage drew up outside the stone porch beyond which was a great iron-clamped door. Another footman admitted her to a flagged hallway hung with racks of antlers and ancient weapons. A great carved-oak staircase led to the upper floors. Claire looked round, trying to take it in, but just then footsteps announced the arrival of the housekeeper, a plump middle-aged woman in a neat grey gown and lace cap who introduced herself as Mrs Hughes. When the courtesies had been observed she offered to show Claire to her room.
This proved to be a light and pleasant chamber at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens and the park. Comfortably furnished, it appeared to have been newly decorated. Elegant blue-and-gold hangings and thick rugs added a feeling of cosiness and luxury. A cheerful fire burned in the grate.
‘I hope everything is satisfactory,’ said Mrs Hughes.
‘It’s beautiful.’
The housekeeper smiled, clearly pleased by the reaction. ‘I hope you will be happy here, Miss Davenport.’
‘I’m sure I shall. Thank you.’
‘Is the rest of your luggage to follow, miss?’
Claire knew a moment of acute embarrassment. ‘No. Everything is here.’
The only indication of the older woman’s surprise was a brief silence. Then she smiled again.
‘Well, then, perhaps you would care to take some refreshment after your journey?’
‘That would be most kind.’
Having removed her bonnet and spencer, Claire followed the housekeeper to a small parlour. A footman appeared a short time later with a tray. Mrs Hughes poured the tea and offered her guest a slice of seed cake. Thus fortified, Claire began to relax.
‘This is a beautiful house,’ she observed. ‘Have you been here long, Mrs Hughes?’
‘Thirty-five years. I took up my post in Lord Destermere’s time. The older Viscount Destermere, I mean.’
‘I see.’
‘His sons were mere children then, of course. Who could have foreseen what tragedy would follow?’ She shook her head. ‘It will be good to have this house inhabited again.’
‘I imagine it will.’
‘The estate needs attention too, after all these months. Lord Destermere will find himself busy enough, I have no doubt.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he will.’
‘Not that anyone expected to see him again after he was packed off to India.’
‘Packed off?’
‘There was some scandal involving a young woman, I believe. Someone his father considered unsuitable. I never really knew the details.’ She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Master Marcus and his brother were rather wild in their youth. I put it down to them losing their mother when they were boys. Their father took her death hard and became very withdrawn. Just between ourselves, Miss Davenport, he didn’t take the interest in his sons that he might have.’
Claire listened with close attention for the words stripped away some of the mystery surrounding her new employer. The story saddened her, too. Children were so vulnerable, as she had good cause to know. It could be no wonder that two bewildered little boys should look to their father for support and guidance. When their parent failed to provide it or show any interest they must have sought to get his attention in the only way they knew how.
‘They got up to enough mischief as boys, but that was nothing compared to what happened once they came down from Cambridge and went to London. They got in with a very fast set indeed. Gaming, drinking, horse racing, opera dancers. You name it.’
‘That must have grieved their father.’
‘There were some terrible rows, believe me,’ replied Mrs Hughes. ‘However, Master Greville calmed down a great deal when he married. In fact, it was the making of him.’
‘Was his wife very beautiful?’
‘Oh, yes, and so accomplished. The toast of London. He was very much in love with her.’
‘How sad that she should have died so young.’
‘Yes, indeed. He was almost distracted by her loss. For some time he couldn’t even bear to look at his infant daughter.’
Hearing those words, Claire felt a sudden chill. Had history repeated itself? Her heart went out to Lucy, and for the first time the burden of her new responsibility was brought home to her.
‘I really thought all would be well again after he inherited the title, but first there was the business of his wife’s untimely demise and then the dreadful news of his own death.’
‘But now Lord Destermere is returned. Perhaps all may yet be well,’ replied Claire.
‘I truly hope so.’ Mrs Hughes set down her cup and saucer. ‘And now perhaps you would like me to show you around the house?’
‘Indeed I should, if it is no trouble.’
‘No trouble at all, miss. Besides, it’s such a rambling old place that it’s easy to get lost.’
And so there followed a guided tour. The reception rooms were beautiful, and there was a library, which Claire made a mental note to revisit as soon as possible, as well as the private apartments and a long gallery lined with family portraits. The last room they visited was the schoolroom. It was spacious and light and it too had been recently redecorated. Moreover, it was supplied with rugs, table and chairs, two small desks and a blackboard and easel. A shelf held a selection of old books and toys and an ancient rocking horse stood in one corner. There was also a fireplace with logs ready laid. Claire saw it with some relief, recalling the chilly room where she and her cousins had taken their lessons under Miss Hardcastle’s exacting eye. This was cosy in comparison, though a glance at the books revealed they were too advanced, and thus unsuitable for a young child.
‘We expect His Lordship tomorrow,’ said Mrs Hughes.
Claire’s heart gave a peculiar lurch. Tomorrow. She regarded the prospect with mingled excitement and trepidation. When she had told the Viscount that she liked children it had been the truth, but her experience of them was limited. Could she do the job? Could she give an orphaned child the care needed? Then she thought back to her own childhood and the benevolent influence of Ellen Greystoke. Surely those precepts would be good ones to follow, comprised as they were of firmness and kindness, always backed by sincere interest. Please God, she thought, let me get it right.
