Chapter Seven

In Which our Heroine is Disconcerted, and our Hero makes Himself Useful

The Forest Grange library was everything one might expect in a house belonging to the Trease family—filled with books that were obviously not just there to impress guests, but actually opened and read, and more than once to judge by the well-worn spines.

It was not massive, nor was it stiff and formal. The furniture scattered around bore evidence of many an afternoon’s reading; the cushions comfortably curved, the arms of the chairs by the fireplace showing signs of wear.

It was welcoming, especially on this snowy day, and a bright fire popped and crackled cheerfully, inviting one and all to find a book worth perusing, and settle in with it for a cosy read.

“I like this. Very much.” Richard sighed the words absently, drawn to a shelf featuring Shakespeare’s works, and then strolling on to more contemporary authors.

“It is a family favourite,” nodded Holly. “I have spent many an hour here, and it served as our schoolroom during our childhood.”

“All excellent and obedient children, I’m sure,” he shot her a quick smile, pleased when she returned it with one of her own.

“Of course.”

They strolled down a shelf-lined wall, Richard stopping occasionally to take out a volume and look at it, then return it.

“We had desks set up in here for studying,” said Holly, “but now we’re able to use the smaller side tables if we need to, and the large desk there to write letters. Mama has her own study, and Papa, of course, has a much larger one for his work.”

“You don’t have a study?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well…” she hesitated. “I have a sort of study.”

“What is that?”

“A room that isn’t a study, but has all the features of a study.”

Richard blinked, turned, and leaned against a sturdy shelf filled with huge leather-bound tomes. “When is a study not a study?”

“Is that a riddle?”

“No, a question.”

Holly shook her head. “Never mind.” She pointed to the shelf he was leaning against. “If you turn around, you’ll see some of the history of the Trease family. The first Viscount, Hopper Trease, liked keeping books, once he learned to read and write. The habit stuck with his descendants.”

“Good grief.” Richard’s eyebrows rose at the sight of at least a dozen volumes. “These are all estate records?”

She nodded. “They are indeed.”

“A real treasure,” he murmured, part of him itching to take a peek into one or two of them, especially the early ones.”

“And here…” Holly moved around the last bookshelf and arrived at the wall, where a huge map was mounted within an ornate frame. “This is our land, drawn just after Hopper became the Viscount. We think he wanted to show his new wife the extent of his lands, to make sure she realised the importance of her new station.”

He glanced at her. “What was her old station?”

“Milkmaid,” grinned Holly. “We have humble beginnings, you know, since Hopper himself worked on the farm. This whole estate, Forest Grange, became ours because of an unfortunate incident in the old barn which involved a member of the then royal family and…er…milkmaids.”

Richard bit his lip against a laugh. “Really?”

“Really.”

“All’s well that ends well, I suppose one could say.”

“One could indeed.”

Lured by the beautifully drawn map, he stared at the arrangement of land. “This isn’t quite the same as today, though, is it?”

“No, there have been some changes.” Holly came to stand beside him. “There was a huge flood in…um…” she frowned, “maybe a hundred years ago or so, I can’t recall the exact date. And that changed the course of the river here.”

He watched her as she touched the blue water where it separated Myrtle Manor and Rosewood Park. “There’s now a pretty waterfall, since it goes over part of the granite ledge that runs through our properties. You can see some of the rocks in the forest.”

“And this is exactly where it was before?”

Curious, Holly turned and glanced at him. “I suppose so. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered.”

“Hmm,” she shrugged, then ran her finger along the edges of the river. “I think it moved that way, but that’s only because I recall my sister Cherry telling me that some of the plants in this area were probably a result of the sediments in the soil.” She sighed. “It is interesting, of course, but Cherry does tend to go on about anything that’s green and grows, well past the point where any ordinary person has lost interest.”

“This would be the sister who has just wed, I think you mentioned?”

“Yes. I expect she’s now happily planning all the spring plantings at Belcaster, their ducal residence.” Holly grinned. “But they’ll be here for Christmas, I hope, if the snowstorms aren’t too severe.”

Nodding, Richard’s gaze returned to the map. There was something …something about the course of the river. In this map it wound past Forest Grange land, then meandered around the small country house that was already named Myrtle Manor, and on to become the edge of Rosewood Park.

It nibbled at the edges of his brain, an irritating feeling that he was seeing something important, but not really understanding it properly.

He was about to say just that to Holly when the door opened, and two figures walked in.

“Miss Trease, Mr Hawkesbury…Mr Blackstone,” intoned Ferguson, bowing slightly, as he led the gentleman into the library and made the introductions.

Holly straightened. “Good afternoon, sir.” She crossed the room and curtseyed politely.

“Mr Blackstone.” Richard gave a gentlemanly nod of greeting, receiving a similar gesture.

“Mr Hawkesbury.”

The dark gaze immediately returned to Holly, making Richard’s skin crawl a little. He fully understood, and agreed with, Lady Hazel’s comment. This was not a man to be left alone with a lovely young woman.

“I understand you visited Myrtle Manor this morning, sir. I trust you found Mr Harry Chalmers well?”

Holly’s question was a casual one, but Blackstone seemed to pay close attention to it. “Unfortunately, Miss Trease, I didn’t find him at all. The gentleman was not at home.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, to be sure. To travel in this weather only to arrive at an empty house? Most disappointing for you.” Holly’s words were perfectly cordial.

Blackstone’s lip curled. “Indeed. Most disappointing.”

“I must assume then that Harry wasn’t expecting you, sir. It has been my experience that he is always on hand to welcome guests…”

“I will bow to your assertion, Ma’am. Mr Chalmers was indeed unaware of my impending arrival, so yes, I cannot lay the blame on his head.”

“A wasted trip, though, sir,” offered Richard. “A disappointment, especially given the storm.”

Blackstone turned his head toward Richard. “I wouldn’t say wasted, sir.” His lips curved a little. “I wouldn’t say that at all.”

Holly came to his side, and it was all he could do not to take her hand. That expression on the other man’s face was not one of pleasure or amusement. It was barely even a smile. But it did send a ripple of unease up Richard’s spine, and he was very glad Holly stood close.

But before anything else could be said, there was a tap on the door and Ferguson’s head appeared around the wood.

“I do beg your pardon, Miss Trease, but if you have no objections, our footmen need to put up the greenery here before it gets late…”

“Oh yes, that would be lovely, Ferguson,” approved Holly, crossing the room to hold the door wide. “Please have them bring in the fir. I love the scent, and we’ll have our tea by the fire with the aroma of Christmas filling the air.” She turned to the two men. “Don’t you think that is the most splendid idea? Mama and Papa will be joining us as well, I believe.”

“As you wish, Miss Holly.” Ferguson’s lips barely twitched, but Richard caught the glance they exchanged by the door.

“I would love to help,” he said, crossing the room. “Do you trust me with some branches?”

“Of course,” reassured Holly, as several younger footmen carried boughs of greenery into the library. “My apologies for the informality, Mr Blackstone,” she hesitated, “will you be terribly inconvenienced?”

He bowed slightly, managing a less intimidating smile this time. “Of course not, Miss Trease. I will be pleased to assist, if I may. Such seasonal celebrations are always important, are they not?”

Richard, wondering if Blackstone had ever actually celebrated anything seasonal at all, remained silent, but vowed to keep as close to Holly as possible without raising comments.

There was just something about that man that didn’t sit right…

*~~*~~*

The fir boughs were as lush as always. Holly loved the scent, and as the footmen began to hang them in their usual places—over the pictures on the wall, and on the mantel—it quickly became a reminder of the Christmas season that made her smile.

She needed it, since Blackstone’s presence was more than a little disconcerting.

His gaze drifted to her much too often for her liking; all she had to do was turn around and there he was, watching her every move. After a while of this, she reached the end of her patience.

“Mr Blackstone, might I prevail upon you to pass one or two boughs to Richard? He can reach higher than I.”

“Of course,” answered Blackstone, his voice quiet and correct. There really was nothing at all about the man to suggest anything sinister. Just those eyes.

“Thank you, sir.” Richard reached out from the chair he was using as a stepladder, and accepted a bough, arranging it neatly above a painting of some long-gone Trease ancestor.

“Oh, that’s very nice indeed, Richard.” Holly smiled at him, very glad he was there. “You have done this before, I take it?”

He nodded and stepped down, surveying his work. “Indeed yes. My family also enjoyed having the house filled with the sights and scents of Christmas.”

“You live locally, do you, sir?” Blackstone’s tone conversational, his question quite natural.

“Unfortunately no, Mr Blackstone. I reside in London. Business brought me down here, and it looks like the weather will force me to remain for a little longer than I intended,” he glanced at Holly, “that is, if my presence isn’t an inconvenience.”

“Of course not, don’t be silly,” she scolded, passing a beautifully folded ribbon to him, and nodding at the bough. “Tuck that in the middle, would you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, doing as he was bid. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

The sky was darkening, and it was not surprising that Blackstone was the one to find a taper and begin lighting candles. “I see the storm has not abated,” he commented, pausing to look out of the window at the thick flakes. “’Tis good to be indoors on a day such as this. I do not envy anyone still travelling through this weather.”

“I doubt many people are abroad, Mr Blackstone. I am sure our lads knew it was on the way, and took all the necessary precautions.” She tied more ribbons into bows. “We are used to these storms, since the landscape seems to encourage them. But overall, the snow is good for the crops lying beneath the soil, and keeps the river flowing too.”

“Ahh, I believe I saw the river and crossed it at a small bridge over the waterfall, as I rode to Myrtle Manor this morning,” he commented.

“Yes, you would have.” Holly tied another ribbon. “The Ban is a well-known feature of this area, and has been for centuries.”

“Your father was kind enough to show me a map earlier, Miss Trease, so it’s easy to see how important it must have been to everyone in the area.” He paused for a moment. “And it is not hard to notice how much the course has changed over those centuries.”

“Not really that much, though,” Holly frowned.

“More than you might think. I can show you…” He held his hand out toward the map on the wall, and Holly found herself walking toward it with Blackstone at her side.

Aware of Richard stepping down from his chair and following them, she slowed her steps and watched as Blackstone pointed to the bend in the river.

“Here, you see? At the time this map was drawn, the water ran just outside the boundary of Forest Grange land, and then acted as the border between Myrtle Manor from Rosewood Park. I believe it served as a legitimate marker…and was used extensively by the public.”

“Yes, I see,” she nodded, wondering where all this was leading.

“But now,” continued Blackstone, “as I noted this morning on my ride, the river hasmoved, carving its way through Myrtle Manor property, right here, on the bend.”

His finger touched an area on the map that appeared to be a field next to the house, and Holly had to think for a moment or two before managing to impose the present-day landscape on the one from two centuries before.

“So what you’re saying is that the Ban is no longer a border? But actually part of the Myrtle Manor property now?”

“I believe so.”

Richard cleared his throat. “If that is indeed the case, then the river would be a private waterway, I believe, belonging to the Chalmers family.”

Holly glanced at him. “Oh, I’m sure it is still regarded as public, Richard. I doubt Harry even knows it’s moved over the years. I certainly hadn’t noticed, and I often see boaters on it in the summer. It is a very pretty sail up to the waterfall and back to Lesser Banhope.”

“I’m sure you’re correct, Miss Trease,” said Blackstone, his smile somewhat unsettling. “And it’s certainly nothing to cause anyone concern.”

He returned to the remaining few boughs. “Where would you like these?”

Holly dragged her thoughts away from maps and back to the task at hand, directing him to a couple of bare portraits near the door.

As he moved away, Richard leaned close to her ear. “We have to talk.”

She nodded, then walked to the table with the ribbons, just as Ferguson entered and held both doors wide for two maids and a footman.

“Tea, Miss Trease. His Lordship and her Ladyship will be joining you momentarily.”