Chapter Twelve

S itting in her room, Ysella tumbled thoughts through her mind, searching for a solution to her predicament. For that was how she saw it. She had been thwarted by her brother, and her stubborn streak had no intention of letting him win. She was meant to be with Oliver, and no argument Kit could propound would make her change her mind. What a mean, selfish pig Kit was to treat her in this way.

She had to meet up with Oliver again, but now Kit knew she'd gone riding without a groom in attendance, she was unlikely to get away with that again. He'd be watching her. And he'd have the grooms watching her as well, knowing him. With no one to see, she gave in to the impulse to stamp her foot. Several times. Not even if she were to ride at six in the morning, which in any case would probably still be dark, would she be able to sneak out to meet Oliver. And on top of that, she couldn't hope that Oliver would spend his entire day riding back and forth through the more remote corners of the estate in the hopes she might escape surveillance and join him.

No. She had to get a message to him.

But who could she send? Not Martha, who had already made her disapproval of Oliver obvious and had probably informed Mama about her rendezvous with him in the park in London. The dreadful tattletale would go straight to Mama, or even worse, to Kit, should Ysella entrust her with a missive for her beloved. She had to find some other way of getting in touch with him. At least she knew where he was staying.

Try as she might, however hard she racked her brain, she couldn't come up with any solution. Well, she might as well write him the letter she intended to send, and keep it on her person in case an opportunity arose to send it. That would be an excellent idea.

She sat down at the bureau in her room and opened it. In one of the neat little alcoves resided the rose scented notepaper her dear friend Caroline Fairfield had given her at Christmas. "For writing notes to friends you will make in London, and perhaps to gentlemen admirers," Caroline had said. That would be perfect. She took a sheet and picked up her pen. What to write?

‘ Deere Oliver, I must apolagize for my brothers behavior today yesterday. He is very extremely worrid for his wife, my deerest friend Morvoren, who has been very ill. Or he would not I know have asked you to leeve so presipitusly. He still refuses any callers at all while at the moment, but I am certun he will come around. I have an ideer that I will visit my dressmaker in Marlbro with my maid and think he will not be so desprut that he will want to acompny me. They are the Missis Segewick in the High Streat. I will come on Wensday at noon. Your Ysella .'

There, that was a good letter. He wouldn't mind the crossings out. Ysella was not the best of communicators by letter, as Morvoren could verify, but she didn't care. She'd said what she wanted to say and arranged a meeting that no one could eavesdrop on. Now to find someone to take the letter to the Castle Inn, and make sure it wasn't that flapjaw Martha who would accompany her on Wednesday. She folded the letter, dripped some sealing wax onto it and when that was dry, carefully wrote Oliver's name and address on the front. Captin Oliver Feathuston, The Cassle Inn, Marlbro . Done.

As it happened, luck favored Ysella, and on descending the stairs the next morning for breakfast, her blighted love not having diminished the hunger caused by having missed dinner the night before, she found a messenger boy waiting at the foot of the stairs.

A quick glance around showed no one else about. "You, boy," she called softly.

The boy, who looked to be a farm boy of about fourteen, turned his head. "Me, Miss?"

Ysella laughed, partly at her good fortune in coming downstairs at the very moment when a useful boy had presented himself and partly at the look of amazement on his face at being accosted by the daughter of the house. That she presented a very pretty countenance, she well knew, and it seemed the boy had noticed.

"Yes, you. I don't see any other boys about, do you?"

The boy fidgeted his feet and, as though his hands had suddenly grown enormous, quickly put them behind his back.

Ysella reached the foot of the stairs, and approached him, fixing her most charming smile on her face and batting her eyelashes at him. "What are you doing here?"

The boy fidgeted still more under her gaze, his cheeks taking on an alarming ruddy hue. "I-I had a message for his lordship. I'm waitin' for a reply… Miss."

Ysella wasn't in the least interested in what the message had been about. Instead, she batted her eyelashes a bit more at the boy, who reddened even further and took a step back as though afraid she might be dangerous.

She followed him, until his back came up against the wainscotting and stopped him from retreating further. "Do you think you could carry a message for me?" she purred, slathering on the charm.

He nodded, eyes big in his rosy-cheeked face.

She stepped back, satisfied. "Perfect. Do you think you can carry a message for me as far as Marlborough? To the Castle Inn?"

The boy hesitated. Marlborough was a long way away for a boy on foot, and he'd probably be in trouble with whoever had sent him to the Abbey if he was away all day with no explanation for his absence.

Ysella pounced. "I can pay you." She held up her reticule in which she kept her pin money and gave it an encouraging shake. "But… you have to tell no one you've delivered my message. No one at all."

The boy's muddy brown eyes had grown wider at the mention of money. No doubt he was unused to having any of his own if he worked for his father on the estate. Any money he earned would go straight to his family, bypassing his own pockets.

"I c'n do that, Miss," he whispered, as though awareness of the secret nature of his mission had been immediately borne in upon him. He held out a grubby hand, the nails broken and blackened.

Ysella took the note out of her reticule and handed it over to her unlikely Cupid. Rummaging a little deeper, she came out with a handful of coins. Picking through them, she found a threepenny bit and held it up.

The boy's avaricious eyes narrowed a little and he didn't take it. His gaze fixed instead on the pile of coins in Ysella's hand.

Ysella sighed. "Very well, sixpence for you, young man, and you will need to hurry." She chose a second threepenny bit and the boy took the two coins with evident delight.

"Who do I give it to, Miss?"

"It's written on the letter."

His brow furrowed. "I don't read, Miss."

Footsteps sounded in the grand hall. Pressed for time, she leaned forward. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of not-so-clean boy. "Captain Oliver Featherstone, at the Castle Inn. Can you remember that?"

"Cap'n Featherstone. I got it. Mum's the word, Miss." He slipped coins and letter into a pocket in his faded jacket.

Ysella turned away from him to head for the breakfast room and nearly bumped into Kit coming out of the hall. Still angry with him, she flashed him a dark look and swirled past. Food was what she needed next.

Mama was in the breakfast room sipping a cup of coffee.

Flushed with success, Ysella bounced over to her and kissed her on the cheek. "Good morning, Mama."

"You seem in a good mood," Mama remarked, pouring herself more coffee from the silver coffee pot. "Would you like coffee?"

Ysella helped herself to a plate of kedgeree and sat down beside her mother, who poured her a cup of coffee. The kedgeree was mildly spiced just as Ysella liked it. She ate in silence for a short while, thinking.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

Ysella frowned a little. "When Morvoren was ill, I went to the library and found the family Bible. Derwa once told me about…" Here she hesitated, uncharacteristically wondering if she was being intrusive, but she'd committed herself now and had to continue. "That between Kit and me you'd had… other children. Ones I don't know."

Mama set down her coffee cup and turned to face Ysella. At least she didn't look angry. "So you went to look for them in the family Bible?"

Ysella nodded.

"And did you find them?"

Ysella nodded again.

"And I suppose you want to know what happened to them?"

Ysella bit her lip. "Well… if you don't want to talk about them, don't. But when I found their names in there, with Morvoren being so ill, I promised myself that I'd try to bring them back to life by asking you about them if she got better. And she did. I've been waiting for a moment when I could ask you." She hesitated. "But not if you don't want to talk about them."

Mama frowned for a moment as though considering Ysella's request. "No. You're right. I've not spoken of any of them since they died. Not even with your father. Saying their names out loud and acknowledging their existence won't make them live again, but it will make them live in my memories. Your sisters remember them, I imagine, but I doubt Kit does. He was such a boy, things like that went over his head."

"What happened to them?" Ysella asked, forgetting her plate of food. All she wanted now was to hear the story of the brothers and sisters she'd never had the chance to meet. They were a family of four children, but they should have been nine.

Mama inhaled deeply. "My boy Corentyn was born in 1786, when Kit was only two. Your Papa was over the moon to have a second son, but Corentyn didn't thrive. We never found out what ailed him. Not even Doctor Busick knew. He died in his sleep at three months old."

"You must have been very sad."

Mama nodded. "The pain of losing a child never really leaves you." She pressed her hands to her heart. "It still hurts, right here, but don't worry. I want to tell you about them." She smiled. "Two years after we lost Corentyn another son came along—Gryffyn, we called him. Like Corentyn, he failed to thrive. At least that was what Doctor Busick put as cause of death. He died within ten days of his birth. As did Elowen, the girl born the following year. Your Papa and I began to think we'd been cursed. There seemed no reason that after three healthy children the next three could be so sickly. I began to worry for the children I already had, to think any of them might die at any moment."

Mama's eyes had taken on a faraway look as perhaps she pictured in her mind's eye those children she'd known so briefly. She shook her head. "After Elowen came Melyonen, a girl every bit as pretty as you and your sisters. She lived a little longer, but when Kit and the girls caught scarlet fever, she was too little to fight it off." She smiled, her eyes full of sadness. "She'd be two years older than you, had she survived."

What would it have been like to have had a sister that close to her in age?

"And Peran?"

"Ah yes, little Peran. My tiny, dark-haired Peran. That's what his name means, in the Cornish of my youth. Little dark one. He was born six weeks too early and lived only a day, but he still lives in my heart."

Ysella swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Where are they buried?"

"In the churchyard near your dear Papa's grave. A sad little row. When you came along, so healthy and robust, we didn't dare believe you might live. But you were always a fighter, Ysella, with a strong grip on life. Not like my five lost ones."

Ysella covered her mother's hand with her own. "Thank you for telling me, Mama. I'm glad I know now. I can remember them as well, even if I only know their names."

Mama smiled. "You can be such a sweet, thoughtful girl when you try, my dear. I'm lucky to have you."

A wave of guilt swept over Ysella. Mama wouldn't be saying that if she knew how she planned to go behind Kit's back.

*

With it being only Monday, and two days to go before Wednesday, Ysella left suggesting to Kit that she should visit her dressmakers until Tuesday. In the meantime, she also had the brainwave of telling him she was sorry to lull his suspicious nature.

Congratulating herself on being so clever, she told him later on Monday that he was forgiven, she'd been a silly girl, and he was quite right about Oliver. She even went so far as to tell the same story to Morvoren, although she wasn't sure she'd been believed. As a fellow woman, Morvoren was much harder to gull than Kit. Having to do all this lying stuck in her throat somewhat, but it had to be done. She didn't want Kit suspecting anything when she announced her intention of visiting Marlborough on Wednesday.

They were taking afternoon tea in the drawing room when she broached the subject. She'd been in to visit her little nephew in the nursery and had spent a happy hour chattering to Morvoren that afternoon, but had steered well clear of the subject of Oliver Featherstone. Let them all think she'd dismissed him from her heart.

"I was thinking, Mama," Ysella said, setting her half-drunk dish of tea down on the table. "I was thinking I might go and see the Misses Sedgewick and ask them to make some new gowns for little George. He can't go on wearing mine and Kit's hand-me-downs forever, and I'm being very slow with the gown I've been stitching."

Mama, who seemed not to have been party to Kit's diatribe about Oliver, thank goodness, smiled. "That sounds a nice idea, my darling. I'd come with you, only I want to stay with Morvoren. I feel she needs me still. Doctor Busick has said she can have George with her for a while each day now, and someone needs to be with her for that as she's still so weak."

"That's quite all right," Ysella said with a mix of magnanimity and relief. "I can take Martha with me. She likes a visit to the dressmakers." She dimpled, at her sweetest and most obliging, or so she wanted Mama and Kit to think. "I promised to buy her a new mob cap with lace finishings as she's so very good at styling my hair. As a present, that is. A treat for her. She's very keen to have it." Not quite true, but she could buy her one anyway, if necessary. In fact, she made a mental note to do just that to give credence to her story.

Kit, who'd been eating a slice of Cook's best Madeira cake, set down his crumb covered plate. He raised his eyebrows. "Just gowns for George?"

Ysella turned her innocent gaze on him. "Well, I would very much like a new gown of my own for when I return to Town, if that's agreeable to you, Kit. I have a picture of the one I fancy, and I'm sure the Misses Sedgewick could produce it for me. I've had invitations to so many balls and soirées, some of which of course I'll miss while I'm down here, that I need more gowns. One can't be seen out in the same gown twice. And when I get back, I fully intend to make the most of all my invitations. And I'd like to go to Almack's." She folded her hands in her lap, as demure as anyone could wish for in a sister. "Perhaps you'd like to come with me and give me some advice on what is á la mode at the moment?"

Mama snorted with laughter. "Whatever makes you think Kit will be able to advise you on that? Anyone less interested in fashion would be hard to find. Martha will serve you better, as I'm sure I've seen her reading your fashion pamphlets. If she can style your hair as well as she does, she'll be well able to help you choose the fabric for a new dress."

"And you don't mind the expense?" Ysella continued, determined to flesh out her excuse for a visit to Marlborough. "My pin money won't stretch that far."

Kit smiled. Was he fooled? He should be, as she was always after new gowns. "Of course, you can have a new gown. And thank you for thinking of little George. I've been too busy myself to think of ordering him anything."

"He's doing very well in your own old nightgowns," Mama said, with a hint of reprimand. "He can wait a bit longer for things to call his own."

"Nonsense," Ysella said, hammering home her advantage. "I spoke to Morvoren earlier, and she told me she wants all new things for George. She's happy for now that there are our old baby clothes, but she wants new ones. She told me she wants George to be the best dressed baby in Wiltshire." She smiled sweetly at Kit again so he wouldn't guess she'd just made this all up. "She just wishes she could choose them herself."

He smiled back. Yes. Fooled. Men were so easy to dupe. "Well, in that case don't buy too many, so when she's on her feet again she can choose some herself."

Ysella dimpled, satisfied with her ruse. "I shan't. Don't worry."