Chapter 20

Twenty

THE DOGWOOD SUITE

I was in the gallery on the third floor, or in British terms, the second, since the first was known as the ground floor.

I’d checked the Poppy Room, and Rebecca and Brittany had taken care of all Lou’s things. Her bags were lined up beside the door, ready to be carried down in the morning.

I didn’t want to go back to the Rose Room for whatever reason, possibly because the last time I was in it, I’d heard a woman scream.

But also because of the story of Adelaide and Augustus.

I hadn’t spent a lot of time on the second floor. When I did, I saw it was clearly unused.

This was because it contained the ballroom and a variety of parlors to mingle in, when people did that kind of thing in the days of massive house parties where hundreds of guests were invited.

There were more bedrooms up here, much smaller, they hadn’t been modernized (not a one), and back in the day, they were probably used for those with lesser titles or even overflow staff.

There was one, sunny, beautiful room at the end of the northeast corner, which was unmistakably the Music Room, what with the harp, the pianoforte, and a flute that lay in a bed of cobalt-blue velvet sitting on a side table.

There was also a gallery of portraits of past earls and countesses and their progeny, and this was what I wandered as I talked with Jo, Lou’s mum, and shared what happened, spinning it as best I could when there wasn’t much to use to spin it that way. But I made sure she knew Lou was in fine fettle when we left her: covered in Hello! And OK! magazines, KitKats, Maltesers and Crunchies.

I continued wandering when our conversation was over.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the gallery when I took my own tour, but one could say now that the legacy of Cuthbert was marked.

Earlier earls were all fair.

After Cuthbert, they were all dark.

That gave me a giggle.

Now I found Joan and Thomas easily, and not simply because all the portraits had little gold plaques screwed into the bottom of the frame to tell you who they were.

They were hanging together in one lasting form of control: him seated, turned slightly to the left, facing her, who, in her portrait, was seated, turned to the right, forced to face him.

She was pretty, she looked delicate, and the usual empty stare of people in older portraits was tinged with sadness.

His with condescension, and it might be what Ian told me, but his lechery clung to him like a cloak. Gazing at him gave me a shiver.

Thus, I didn’t do it for very long.

Adelaide and Augustus were also easy to spot: the only earl and countess who’d had their portrait painted together with their children. It was huge, by far the largest painting in the gallery, taking up one whole end of the room. She was seated, a babe in her arms. He standing at her side, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Also like very few of the others, they were smiling outright, and the artist had captured a toddler in baby hose and a ribboned cap scampering across the carpet while one of his sisters laughed.

I could see it with those two. He was straight and handsome, she was exquisite. Knowing their thirst for each other, knowing their undying love had created all that was in that portrait was not only beautiful, but titillating, and almost erotic.

I wanted to read his last letter to her.

And I loved that Ian told me that story about Duncroft, a happy one, a bedtime story that wouldn’t lead to nightmares.

I kept moving and came upon David and then Virginia.

But I moved by them swiftly until, not far down the line, I got to Richard and Jane.

He was in a hunting outfit, red coat and all, and I couldn’t help my lip curling, because of course he’d set out to chase down, exhaust and allow his dogs to tear apart a fox.

Jane’s portrait, like David’s, was painted when she was much younger. Probably late twenties. And although the bloom hadn’t gone off the rose to this day, when she was younger, she was astonishing. A goddess. An angel. Sitting, the skirt of her gown a sea of filmy pale pink wafting around her, the perfection of her face effortlessly composed, I felt myself start to get angry that Richard was the kind of man who would break her heart with impunity.

But I was glad to know he didn’t break her spirit.

There was space for more, the room was vast, so Ian would have his place, and I loved that for him. With all his stories, his knowledge of this house and the people in it, it was obvious he was proud of his home, and he deserved to be part of its legacy because of that, along with simply being born to it. And I hoped somewhere down the line, some ancestor told happy, and maybe even juicy stories of the love he created in this house.

Although it might seem weird, if I had more time in Duncroft, I could see myself coming up and spending it here, sitting on one of the six button-topped, cerulean velvet, Queen Anne benches lined down the middle of the room.

It was quiet. Peaceful. Like a museum that was closed and only you were there to breathe in the peace.

I was about to head out, thinking maybe I’d have a hot bath before I got in bed, when an odd-woman-out portrait, mounted away from the rest, caught my eye.

I’d noticed the Earls Alcott had good taste in spouses, and she was no different.

But she was openly haughty.

It was a common trait in others, but hers was explicit. Almost a dare. Even a threat.

I looked to the plaque.

Joan Katherine, 10^{th Countess Alcott}

1920-1922

I stared at the plaque.

I then moved back to Virginia’s.

Virginia Elizabeth, 10^{th Countess Alcott}

1922-1959

Dowager 1959-1963

I looked to David’s.

Edward “David” Frederick Thomas, Earl Alcott

1918-1959

Dpsd. 1959-1960

Dpsd? What did that mean?

I moved to another painting of an earl.

There was also the Dpsd. note.

Dpsd as in deposed?

I continued on.

All of them had the same, either Dpsd. or Dowager.

Except Thomas and Joan and the ones before them.

Good Lord, did Thomas’s shenanigans lead to the covenant that ousted the earl at thirty-eight?

And how were there two 10^{th countesses?}

Who was Joan? And how was she countess at the same time David was earl? From her portrait, she unquestionably was not his mother.

I jumped and twirled when I heard a throat cleared.

Brittany was standing there.

She didn’t give me the creeps like Laura did, but she was certainly a cold fish.

“Lord Alcott requests you to attend him in the Dogwood Suite,” she announced.

The Dogwood Suite?

“The actual lord,” she finished.

The…?

Richard?

Richard was asking me to his bedroom?

“Why?” I queried suspiciously.

“I’d hardly know,” she replied. “Do you need me to show you the way?”

I didn’t. I knew it.

But something about her pushed me to be catty.

“Yes, since I don’t make a habit of going to an old man’s bedroom at”—I looked at my phone, thumbing the screen to activate it—“nine thirty at night.”

“Then follow me.”

She stood with her hand on the light switches.

I walked to her.

She turned the lights out before I got there, plunging the room into shadows.

Not a cold fish.

A bit of a bitch.

She didn’t say anything as we made our way into the hall, down the stairs, or to Richard’s room. She still didn’t say anything as she knocked softly.

She then gave me a lip curl and walked away.

The door opened.

Good news, he wasn’t in his underwear or a gaping dressing gown.

Bad news, I didn’t know what this was about, and I’d had a trying day. I didn’t need his shit.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “Do you need something?”

“Yes, please, Daphne. To talk to you.”

I had a feeling Daniel had been at his dad, told him the jig was up with the carnations, and Portia’s money, and Daddy-o was intervening.

He stepped aside so I’d enter his room.

I did, but when he went to close the door, I said, “I’d rather you keep it open, please.”

He appeared startled, then pissed. “I’d hardly be inappropriate.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

He scowled at me but did as I wished, leaving the door open before he walked into the room.

It was much like Ian’s, except a lot bigger. There was an additional room that was a study, another baronial desk he did nothing at. The furniture was heavier, more ornate, darker, even lugubrious.

And there was a lot of white, with flashes of surprising pink, though somehow made masculine, both colors of dogwood blooms.

“Would you feel comfortable sitting?” he asked.

I would, actually. I was feeling off. It was the day. Lou’s situation. Amaretto on an empty stomach.

“No,” I answered.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No again, and no offense. I’ve already had one and I was about to go to my room and get ready for bed.”

“So be it,” he murmured.

He then glanced at the door.

Though it wasn’t a glance since it lasted a long time.

I expected someone to come in, like Daniel to plead Portia’s case, but that didn’t happen before Richard spoke.

“I’m sure you know by now that Louella and I had a…liaison.”

I jolted, like I’d been struck by lightning.

He smiled a slippery, obnoxious smile. “I can assure you it was before your father.” He lifted his shoulders in a mock-indifferent shrug. “It was when she was casting about for a patron. She married your father not long after I ended things with her.”

I didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t know why he was telling me this.

Though, sadly, I didn’t disbelieve him.

Even when Lou was at the height of her career, she dated older men. After years of thinking on it, I put it down to her trying to find her father, who adored her and made her feel safe, and it wasn’t wrong to search for something like that.

Whatever made you happy.

“Obviously,” he continued, “I’d never leave my Jane for her.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, my voice a lash.

“Why?” He seemed shocked at the question.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because Daniel’s told me what’s befallen her, poor girl. And I wanted you to know how sorry I am for her, your family, and tell you if there’s anything at all I can do…”

He let that trail.

“Are you a neurosurgeon?”

“No.”

“An oncologist?”

“Daphne—”

“In other words, no. I don’t believe there’s anything you can do. But thanks, Richard. Though, I hope you don’t mind, I won’t share this tête-à-tête with Lou.”

“The affair may have ended, but it was enjoyable while it lasted, and—”

“Please, don’t,” I hissed, moving to leave.

“I’m concerned about her,” he stated.

I stopped. “I don’t know you very well, and I’m in your home and it pains me to be impolite, but you must know I don’t believe you. More, it sickens me that you’d use the awful thing that’s happening with Lou to do something petty and spiteful like you’re doing now.”

I moved toward him.

He stood staring at me and not backing down.

I stopped close.

“Do you think it makes me think less of Lou, that she was with you? Is that what this is? To shock me and make me upset that my stepmother had an affair with a married man? Doing that within a few hours of me finding out she has a tumor in her brain?”

“Hardly. As I said. I’m concerned. I thought she told you about us.”

“She came here for Portia, the question is, why on earth did you allow her in your house with your wife here?”

And now the Richard, Lady Jane and Lou uneasiness was explained, and I wished it wasn’t.

Dear Lord, somehow Lady Jane knew Lou had an affair with her husband.

God, I felt for them both.

But in this instance, I loved Lou, but I mostly felt for Lady Jane.

“Portia is high-strung,” he explained. “You probably know, she’s been here before. More than once. Jane and she weren’t meshing. I called Louella personally—”

The second time that night, my head spun.

This time with fury.

“Oh my God. You’re a fucking piece of work.”

“No need for foul language,” he bit. “And if you’d let me finish a single sentence, and perhaps listen when I speak rather than making judgments before hearing, I could get my point across.”

I crossed my arms on my chest. “And what point is that, Richard?”

“As I said, she means something to me. I’m concerned. My sons don’t know of our past relationship, obviously. It’s clear you and she are close. Dear friends. Which was why I thought she told you. So I had hoped you’d keep me informed about her condition.”

“How’s this?” I suggested. “I’ll keep Ian informed, and Portia can keep Daniel informed, and you can learn news of Lou from them.”

“I’m not entirely certain why you’ve taken such an adversarial stance with me, Daphne,” he remarked shortly. “I’m hosting you and your sister in my home. I believe you’ve been made comfortable.”

I leaned back and tossed out my arms. “Ah yes, sleeping in a dead woman’s bed and getting her floral bouquets delivered at night.”

“Jane told me about that,” he said, now appearing sincerely regretful. “I believe Jane has shared both of our feelings on that subject with Portia and Daniel.”

“So you had nothing to do with me being in that room? Oh, and while we’re talking about this, Lou being in the Floral Room?”

“Daniel made all the arrangements at Portia’s behest.”

Sadly, I could believe that too.

“Though, when I discovered where you were both assigned, I was dismayed,” he informed me. “But by then, it was too late.”

“It’s the matter of packing a suitcase and moving a room away, Richard,” I pointed out. “Or, if we weren’t really welcome, finding a hotel or inn nearby.”

“Staff prepare those rooms, Daphne, and they have other duties as well. You can’t understand the running of a house like Duncroft. Nothing is as easy as you think.”

That was probably true too.

Though Ian managed to get us moved without much trouble. I was there when he ordered it, and none of the staff seemed overwhelmed with the additional duties.

“I think Ian shared he wasn’t pleased at the arrangements, and you didn’t tell him it was Daniel and Portia’s idea,” I reminded him.

“He was angry. They don’t get along. Jane and I both try to run interference. I knew if he knew it was Daniel, this would cause problems between my sons.”

Shit!

That was a good excuse too.

“And while we’re on the subject of Ian,” he began.

Here we go, I thought.

“I’m pleased you two are getting on so well.”

Well, knock me over with a feather.

He looked sincere about that too.

“Your patisserie is well-known and well-regarded. I heard your pastries were even ordered by Buckingham Palace for some event or other.”

He heard right.

That was a huge coup.

I didn’t confirm.

Richard kept talking, “Ian needs a woman who…how shall I put this, has her own pursuits.”

Well, hell.

“He’s a busy man,” he continued. “He travels often. And I believe he’d become bored very easily with a woman who waited at home for him, or tagged along, demanding his attention.”

Well, hell again, because that wasn’t where I thought this was going.

I thought he was insinuating Ian needed someone who had something to take her attention so he could fuck around on her at his whim.

It seemed I was wrong.

I studied Richard closely.

Cripes, did I have this guy’s approval?

“And Jane likes you enormously,” he concluded.

That felt nice.

“I like her too,” I muttered.

“We don’t have to be enemies, no matter what my son has told you about me,” he said. “Obviously, if he finds a woman with whom to settle down, create a family, she and her children would be my family as well.”

Regrettably, not a selling point for Ian.

But we’d just kissed. I’d known him mere days.

And oddly, it seemed Jane was grooming me to take over for her, and Richard already had us married off.

“I’m honestly concerned for Louella,” he said quietly. “Whatever you think of me, she had an alarming incident in my home. I understand how you can’t understand how difficult it was for me to learn of that, and why you wouldn’t. To have everyone off to the hospital to be with her. And it was inappropriate for me to come along. And yet, outside of you, I’m the one in this house who holds the most affection for her.”

I looked hard, and I couldn’t believe it, but it appeared he wasn’t lying.

As such, I matched his tone when I said, “I didn’t know about you two. I wish I still didn’t. But I get it, and you have my apology for being unkind when I came in here. It’s been a bad day.”

He appeared mollified. “Yes, it has. It’s upsetting for all of us, but I know, especially for you. I hope the drama is over for you, and the rest of your stay at Duncroft is far more enjoyable than it’s begun.”

He held his hand out to me like we’d shake.

Détente with Richard Alcott?

I had enough going on. I didn’t need to be feuding with the father of the man I was…what? Seeing? Dating in a Conservatory?

God, this was all so weird.

I took his hand.

He squeezed minimally and let me go.

“Enjoy the rest of your night and sleep well, Daphne,” he bid.

“You too, Richard.”

I took my leave and almost stopped at Ian’s room on the way to my own to tell him what just happened, but I decided against it.

I wasn’t sure he needed to know any of that.

Also, I was tired, worn out actually, and my head felt almost woozy.

I hadn’t had dinner, but I’d had a lot of drama.

I needed a bath and bed.

And hopefully a good night’s sleep.

I headed to the Rose Room to get that, knowing that things had been very strange.

But not knowing it was about to get much, much worse.