Chapter 10

Ten

THE VIOGNIER ROOM

After Sam showed me where my car was (tucked between a black BMW and a sleek, British-racing-green Jaguar, which I hoped was Ian’s, and down from a white Mercedes coupe, another BMW, this one silver, and ending with a muddy Land Rover), he also instructed me on how to get into the lockbox where all the key fobs were held.

I then told him I needed to take in some air, and I’d make my own way back.

He took off at a jog to the house, and I stood outside the garage, which was quite a clip away, tucked under the swell of a small hill so, even if it was huge, you couldn’t see it. Not too far beyond it, and even farther from the house, were some stables.

Although I loved horses, I didn’t head that way, nor did I go to the formal gardens at the back of the house beyond the Conservatory, which sprawled across the rear two strikes of the cross.

I made my way around the western side of the house.

The chill in the air was immense. It stung my cheeks, and I was glad I took a minute to run upstairs to grab a scarf and some gloves before Sam and I set out.

I noted immediately that, along the years, the Alcotts had tamed the forest and the moors around where the fortress had been placed. On the horizon, you could see trees, and beyond those, heather and the romantic swells that were part of what made Britain.

But on quite an expanse around the house, it was cultivated lawns and carefully placed trees, paths leading to shaded benches or through vine-covered arbors, with intermittent tall urns that had been turned out because winter was coming, but I suspected in the summer they tumbled with flowers and greenery.

Like the house, the estate around it was extraordinary.

Perfect.

But it would seem my feet weren’t all that interested in it because they led me to the spot on the wide gravel drive in front of the house, beneath my bedroom window.

Or, not that any longer. Beneath the Carnation Room window.

I didn’t look up.

I walked out, in the direction Daniel had been going when I saw him the first night we were there.

The manicured space gave way to forest, which was untamed in such a way it boggled the mind how the Alcotts had subdued it. Then again, they’d had centuries to clear trees and dig out rocks and make their mark on the landscape.

The forest didn’t last long and opened up to the moors.

Here, the wind was biting, digging through my wool duffle coat, my thick cashmere turtleneck and scarf, and the long-sleeved shell I wore underneath it. My wool-lined, leather gloves held up, but I wished I’d put on a hat, not only for the warmth, but because the wind kept whipping my hair in my face, and it was annoying.

I kept going, and going, beginning to like the sting of the air, the freshness after being in that house for more than a day.

The thing was, the farther I went, the more I realized there was nothing out there. There weren’t any trails. There weren’t any cottages or farmhouses.

There was nothing at all.

So where was Daniel going?

Or more to the point, what was I expecting to find?

Many people had trouble sleeping and they did a number of things to remedy that. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to put on clothes and take a quick walk to clear the cobwebs and maybe bring on some tiredness.

Perhaps Daniel was wound up about our visit, the dinner that didn’t go so well, and he couldn’t sleep. Thus, he took a walk.

“I’m an idiot,” I muttered to myself, turning and noting how far I’d come.

In the distance, I could only see the chimneys of Duncroft.

I headed back, deciding, not only for Portia’s sake, but my own, to cut Daniel some slack. To try to pull myself together and not let the house and its history and its atmospheric location get to me. I wasn’t sleeping, all this was just amping up my anxiety, and I was doing it to myself.

When I made it to the house and was walking across what could be considered its front lawn (one a regulation football game could be played on), my intent was to go around the other side then head to the rear to look at the gardens.

I didn’t want to go in yet. The sun was weak, but it was there, giving me much needed vitamin D. The air was crisp, and it felt like both were clearing my head.

However, as I began to traverse the drive, the front door opened, and Laura stood there.

I waved.

And she called.

“Miss Ryan! If you will!”

Laura, like Brittany, had not been in the kitchen last night, so I hadn’t chatted with her and gotten to know her. She was several years older than the other girls. And right then, she looked severe and reminded me why I’d been letting my mind run away from me about this visit.

I switched directions and headed to the front door.

I was almost to the top step when Laura announced, “Lady Alcott would like you to join her for a light lunch in the Viognier Room.”

She stepped out of my way so I could step inside, and in that yawning, marble entryway, I still felt the chill.

“Are Louella and Ian joining us?” I asked Laura.

I was taller than her, not by much, still, she tipped her head back to look down her nose at me.

No.

Not as sociable as Bonnie, Harriet, Rebecca, Sam, et al.

“The Viscount is working. However, Lady Alcott would like some time with you alone, as Portia’s sister. Blood family with blood family.”

Somehow, that made sense and was an insult to Lou at the same time.

It was Jane’s house. I was her guest. I’d barely seen her and hadn’t truly exchanged a word with her, and Lou seemed incredibly uncomfortable around her.

And honestly, I was curious.

So I pulled off my gloves, saying, “Sure.”

“I’ll take your outdoor gear.”

I nodded, gave her the gloves, unwound my pink scarf, and shrugged off my pale-blue duffle.

I then moved toward the Viognier Room.

It was next to the Turquoise Room, and it was also a dining room, though much smaller and much brighter, with a beautifully varnished oval table that seated no more than eight. It would have been where I’d have my guests to dinner if I owned that house and our party was as small as it currently was.

But that was just me.

As I walked down the hall, I passed a girl I’d never seen who was even younger than all the others. She did not wear a dove-gray dress, but an outfit much like Sam’s: khaki pants and a light-blue polo. She also had yellow rubber gloves on her hands and was carrying a round pail that was stuffed full of cleaning supplies and dust cloths.

She was coming out of the Whisky Room, Richard’s office.

“Hey,” I greeted.

She dipped her chin, avoided my eyes and rushed down the hall only to stop and disappear into one of the other rooms.

Shy.

Or weird.

I decided to have a more positive outlook about everything and chose to believe she was just shy.

Lou was famous. My dad was too. Ian as well. Daniel, Richard and Jane to a lesser extent, as all people with titles tended to be. And it couldn’t be denied, in an even lesser way, I was too. I was Dad’s daughter, and I was filthy rich, so that happened.

It could be intimidating, even if you worked in a house like this.

I made it to the Viognier Room and was surprised to see the door open. They had a thing about keeping the doors closed, and I knew from my tour yesterday that was more than likely about turning off radiators and containing chill in the vast amount of space that went unused.

The Viognier Room was not chilly. The warmth seemed almost forceful as I entered to see Lady Jane already seated at the head of the table.

She stood when I arrived.

“Daphne,” she greeted in a vague way. “I’m pleased you’re joining me.”

She motioned to a chair beside her, the only open place setting.

I moved that direction, replying, “Thank you for the invitation.”

She inclined her head and returned to her seat.

I’d barely sat before a panel in the pale, golden-yellow wall with white wainscoting opened, and Laura came in with a bottle of wine.

She poured while we remained quiet, then she left.

“I hear you took a wander,” Lady Jane noted when the panel clicked shut while I was sipping the wine.

Viognier, of course.

“Yes,” I replied, putting the glass back on the table. “The grounds are gorgeous. I’ll have a look at the garden at the back after lunch,” I told her.

“There isn’t much to see. It’s been readied for winter. But come spring and summer, it’s extraordinary.”

“Do you garden?”

She shook her head but said, “A little. We have two full-time groundskeepers. They do the bulk of the work. They live in the village.”

“Ah,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

Though, I thought I might understand why her voice and manner was vague. I couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling she and Valium had a close relationship.

No judge.

Whatever gets you through the day.

The panel opened again, and silence descended as Laura returned, with Brittany this time, both of them carrying a plate, Laura also carrying a beautifully woven basket.

Laura put hers in front of Lady Jane, Brittany mine, and I saw we were having a ploughman’s. Well, a posh ploughman’s. The basket was filled with slices of fresh bread and homemade crackers, both looked divine.

Lady Jane waited until the panel snicked shut before she spoke again.

“It’s my understanding you and Ian are growing fond of each other.”

I took a slice of baguette. “Your son is charming.”

“He is that,” she murmured. “He’s on quite a tear with the house.”

This was an unexpected comment.

“How’s that?” I queried.

“Updates. Modernization. His father and he have been butting heads about it for years, I’m afraid.”

What?

“But Ian is determined to bring Duncroft into the twenty-first century,” she carried on. “It annoys him, for some reason, to have to plug a cord into the wall. He’d rather these things be built into the infrastructure of the house.”

So it was Ian who was behind the plugs and USB ports built into the nightstands, and possibly elsewhere.

“Even if it took three months for it all to be done, Bonnie was in fits of glee when she was able to move into her new kitchen,” she went on.

And he was behind the new kitchen too.

“Apparently, next spring, we’re having solar panels added to the back pitches of the roof,” she shared. “And possibly one or two of those windmills installed on the northern moors. More, if he can manage it. He wants to offer sustainable and affordable power solutions to the village.”

“That’s…actually really cool.”

“I’m sure these panels will be hideous,” she said, delicately smoothing pâté over a piece of melba toast.

“The roof is tall, and at the back, hardly anyone will see them.”

“We don’t have a lot of sun in England,” she pointed out.

“Any move away from fossil fuels, your grandchildren will thank you for.”

She lifted her hazy, green eyes to me but said nothing.

I cut into a wedge of cheese.

We ate in silence for a while, and it was uncomfortable.

Lady Jane broke it by mystifyingly informing me, “Stevenson oversees the entirety of the staff.”

“Oh?” I asked, after swallowing some pâté covered in thinly sliced cornichon and minced red onion.

“The hiring, sacking, advancement. He keeps a very close log of our possessions, everything from the art and the china and crystal, to the wine in the cellar and spirits in the cabinets. He also sees to any maintenance. And you can imagine Duncroft constantly needs taken care of. He deals with the plumbers and electricians and roofers, and such. He further looks after Richard and myself. A secretary, if you will. Making certain we have all we need, from booking Richard’s train tickets and hotels when he travels, to seeing to our clothing.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Christine is more of a day-to-day person. Scheduling the cleaning so everything remains tidy. Working with Bonnie on menus and making certain the marketing is done. Her days off are the weekends, which is why you haven’t met her yet. Bonnie’s days are Monday and Tuesday. Christine and Laura will see to our meals while Bonnie has her time.”

“Right,” I muttered, interested, but still weirded out by her sharing this.

“It was another argument, that Ian won, the renovation of the top floor,” she stated. “We have less than half the staff that was needed in olden days to take care of the house. And the children raised here are no longer tutored here. But Richard prefers live-in staff, obviously. The comings and goings of bikes and vehicles is distracting. And due to our location, if they don’t stay onsite, it left the pool of possible help only to the village and the town, which isn’t optimal. They’re paid very well. Especially when they have no living expenses. It’s quite a coup to be employed at Duncroft.”

I didn’t believe that for a second.

I still nodded.

“We had loads of space on the top floor,” she continued. “Ian had it gutted, and he made suites for the staff. They now all have kitchenettes, sitting rooms, bedrooms and their own ensuite bathrooms. Little apartments, as it were. They get free, erm…internet and TV. And they’re allowed visitors, if they come in the servants’ entrances, promise not to access the main house and Stevenson has approved them, of course.”

“Of course,” I mumbled.

“I’ve been up there. Ian took me on a tour when it was done. These suites are quite roomy.”

“That’s nice.”

“Your sister is not appropriate for my son.”

Well, hell.

Sneak attack.

I stared at her and said nothing.

“You cannot strive to achieve class and refinement. You either have it, or you do not,” she proclaimed.

“And you don’t think my sister has it.”

“She’s flighty and spoiled.”

I couldn’t argue either, damn it.

“She’s also a schemer,” she went on.

All right, now I was getting mad.

Fortunately, before I could say something rude, she put her knife down, gave me her undivided attention, and continued.

“My first son needs a woman who knows her own worth, but especially has a pure heart. She cannot look to him to give her value. She has to understand herself. She needs to stand independent, even as she stands at his side. She needs to work with him to build the life Ian and she will share, holding up her end all the while. The same to create the family they’ll make when they have children. She’ll need to be confident and, there’s no other word for it, have grit as she plays host with him in this house. Duncroft has consumed many a Lady Alcott. Those who fell to her, they didn’t understand. It is not you pitted against this house. It is you and Lord Alcott who are this house.”

“We’re not talking about Ian,” I said carefully.

“Are we not?” she asked.

What on earth?

“You’d just insulted my sister,” I reminded her.

“Ah, then,” she said. “My second son. Now, he needs a taskmaster. He needs a keeper. He will need to be taken care of until his dying breath. He doesn’t have it in him to take care of a woman, or a family. The woman he chooses will have to bear the brunt of it all, and she’ll have to go into it knowing she will.”

“This is much what Ian had to say,” I murmured.

“Daniel is blinded by envy, Daphne. Perhaps even tortured by it,” Lady Jane told me in what sounded more like a rather ominous warning. “You would do well to remember that. Ian loves his brother. Adored him when they were younger. And Daniel worshipped Ian. I can’t quite put my finger on when that twisted. When it changed. When it became ugly. But it did. I think Ian is wounded by it. Duncroft is remote. They only had each other. They were playmates when they were very young. Then they became friends. Ian wants the brother he grew up with back. I fear this won’t happen. I fear it for the both of them.”

It didn’t take a psychologist to ascertain Lady Jane played favorites.

“You’re being very frank,” I noted.

“People mistake me for distant. It’s the quiet ones who observe the most, Daphne. Advice that might serve you well in the future. But please don’t mistake me, I love my sons equally. Ian is proud and smart and strong, and has the curse of the eldest. He seems to be able to do everything right and people get the erroneous conclusion he doesn’t have to work for it, it simply falls in his lap. I assure you, he works for it. Daniel is kindhearted and fun-loving and free-spirited. But things are harder for him. I’ve no idea why, perhaps it’s just the way of the world. They both have their strengths and their weaknesses. And I love all that is them.”

With that, even though neither of us were finished eating, she stood.

“I believe I have some correspondence I need to see to.”

She began to swan to the door, and I watched her go, baffled by this whole episode, and a little weirded out by it, but she stopped and turned back to me.

“Ian was right. The cords are hideous and it’s most irksome to have to roam around to find one when one is needed. I have a phone. I have a laptop. Time marches on. But that doesn’t mean tradition isn’t important. We’ve made changes. We’ve made do. We’ve made advancements. We don’t need a dozen footmen and scullery maids because fires need to be laid and the vacuum hasn’t been invented yet. But places like Duncroft need to exist, Daphne. They need love and care. They need traditions to stand. They need Stevenson and Christine, and Bonnie and Laura just as much as they need Lord Alcott and myself. And Ian must see this. He must teach his son the same. He doesn’t think so, but he has things to learn from his father. He needs to start paying attention.”

“Are you…do you…” my words sounded strangled, “do you think I hold some sway over Ian?”

“Of course not,” she sniffed, but oddly, I felt her response was a blatant lie. “I’m just making conversation.”

“And it’s been a most interesting conversation, Lady Jane.”

“Do you know your British history?” she asked.

“Of a sort,” I answered.

“The most famous Lady Jane in this country was queen for nine days. She was educated. Intelligent. And she wanted what was best for Britain. Her head was taken as a traitor when she was anything but. Before that happened, she blindfolded herself.” She drew in breath while I struggled to digest words that were disturbing before she finished. “Duncroft is a country on its own, in a way. And many a lady has been found traitor to it and paid the price, even when she wanted nothing but the best for it and did her part, giving her own blood and bone to ensure its future.”

And with that unnerving message, the Lady Jane of Duncroft House swept from the room.