He got to his feet. “I’ll go mend my ways, then,” he said, grinning at her, “and leave you to rest.”
There was a new spring in his step as he made his way back downstairs. It amazed him that he had not thought of this before but had been content to idle away his life at Lindsey Hall, which was Bewcastle’s home, not his, and wherever else he could expect to derive a few days or weeks of amusement.
And yet for years he had known that he would eventually be a landowner. There was much to do, much to learn if, when the time came, he was going to be able to give to the land as well as take from it.
Yet it was all to be done with Julianne Effingham at his side. His mind shied away from the prospect. He would think of that another time.
Judith would have liked to join the shopping excursion, especially when Branwell specifically asked her.
But when Aunt Effingham intervened quite firmly to declare that she needed her niece at home, she made no objection. She had no money to spend anyway, and shopping was no fun if one could not buy even the most trivial bauble to show for the day. Besides, Horace had been quick to second Bran’s invitation.
And if she went, she would have to look at Julianne and Lord Rannulf Bedwyn chattering and laughing together all day long.
She did not love him. But she was lonely and depressed, and foolishly—ah, foolishly—she had tasted another sort of life altogether ... with him. She could not help remembering. Her body remembered, particularly during the times when her guard was most effectively down. She was starting to wake at night, her body aching for what it would never know again.
On the whole she was quite content to spend her day writing a pile of invitations to next week’s grand ball and delivering some of them herself in the village, walking all the way there and back since the gig had not been offered her, and then cutting flowers from the kitchen garden and arranging them in fresh bouquets for each of the day rooms. She spent an hour in the drawing room, sorting through a bag of her aunt’s embroidery threads, which had become horribly tangled together, patiently separating them and winding them into soft silken skeins. Twice she had to interrupt the task, once to run upstairs for her grandmother’s handkerchief and again to bring down the dish of bonbons Grandmama particularly liked.
But her grandmother was at least good company. For as long as Aunt Effingham was not with them, they chattered brightly on an endless number of topics. Grandmama loved to tell stories about Judith’s grandfather, whom Judith had never known, though she was seven years old when he died. They both chuckled over anecdotes from home Judith told purely for her amusement, like the one of the whole village chasing madly after an escaped piglet through the churchyard and rectory garden until Papa had stepped outside from his study, fixed the poor, terrified animal with his most severe clerical look, and stopped it in its tracks.
And then the butler interrupted them.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, looking from one to the other of them, apparently not knowing quite which of them to address, “but there is a, ah, person in the hall insisting upon speaking with Mr.
Law. He refuses to believe that the young gentleman is not here.”
“He wishes to speak with Branwell?” Judith asked. “But who is he?”
“You had better show him in here, Gibbs,” her grandmother said. “Though why he would not believe you I do not know.”
“No.” Judith got to her feet. “I’ll go see what he wants.”
The man standing in the hall was turning his hat around and around in his hand and looking uncomfortable. His age and his manner of dress immediately disabused Judith of any notion that he might be a friend of Bran’s who was in the same part of the country and had decided to pay him a surprise call.
“May I help you?” she asked him. “Mr. Law is my brother.”
“Is he, miss?” The man bowed to her. “But I need to see the gentleman in person. I have something to deliver into his own hands. His sister’s will not do. Send him to me if you will.”
“He is not here,” Judith said. “He is gone for the day. But Mr. Gibbs has already told you that, I believe.”
“They always say that, though,” the man said. “But it usually isn’t true. I’ll not be avoided, miss. I’ll see him sooner or later. You tell him that. I’ll wait till he comes.”
Whatever for? she wondered. And why the persistence almost to the point of rudeness? However had he found Bran here? But she was not entirely foolish. She felt a prickle of apprehension.
“Then you must wait in the kitchen,” she said. “If Mr. Gibbs will allow you there, that is.”
“Follow me,” the butler said, looking along his nose at the visitor as if he were a particularly nasty worm.
Judith looked after them, frowning, and then returned to the drawing room. But she could hear the sound of horses and carriages even before she had a chance to sit down again, and crossed to the window to look out. Yes, they had returned, far earlier than she had expected.
“They are back already?” Her grandmother’s surprise echoed her own.
“Yes,” Judith said. “They have made good time.” They would not have had to make the detour to Grandmaison on the return journey, of course. They would have brought Lord Rannulf with them.
Despite herself she found that she was leaning closer to the window to catch a glimpse of him as he descended from the carriage. But it was Lord Braithwaite who handed Julianne out, and they were followed by Miss Warren and Sir Dudley Roy-Hill. Aunt Effingham had gone outside to greet them.
“What did that man want with Branwell?” her grandmother asked.
“I have no idea,” Judith said. “He is waiting to see him personally.”
“I daresay he is a friend,” her grandmother said.
Judith did not disabuse her. A moment later the drawing room door was flung open and Julianne hurried inside, looking cross and tight-lipped, her mother on her heels. Aunt Effingham closed the door behind her. Presumably, all the guests had gone straight to their rooms to freshen up after the day out.
“He could not come,” Julianne said, her voice brittle and overloud. “He had promised to stay with Lady Beamish. But he would not let me persuade her to release him from his promise. He would not come. He does not like me. He is not going to offer for me. Oh, Mama, whatever will I do! I must have him. I will simply die if I have to settle for anyone inferior.”
“You are home very early, Julianne,” Grandmama commented. “Whatever is wrong?”
“There were no shops worth looking in,” Julianne said petulantly. “All their wares look shabby after those on display in even the least fashionable shops in London. Yet everyone dragged about wanting to linger everywhere and exclaim in wonder at everything. I was fatigued to death within an hour. And whoever said the White Hart is elegant has clearly seen nothing that is . We had to wait ten whole minutes for warm tea and stale cakes. And if Hannah and Theresa tell you that theirs were hot and fresh, Mama, then they are lying. It was such a stupid idea to go there today. I am sure you had a divine day in comparison to mine, Judith.”
Judith understood that it was Lord Rannulf’s refusal to join the expedition that had doomed it to certain failure. Why had he refused to go?
“Of course he likes you, dearest,” Aunt Effingham said soothingly. “Lady Beamish has been quite particular in promoting a match between the two of you, and Lord Rannulf has been most attentive. If he could not go with you today, you can be sure there was a good reason. You must not show that you are upset with him. Tomorrow is the day of the garden party at Grandmaison, and you know that we have been invited to stay for dinner too. All will be well tomorrow, as you will see. You must be your natural pretty, charming self, my love. No man is ever caught with a lady’s anger.”