Indeed, she felt guilty about admiring someone who was his antithesis - as if she still owed her husband her undivided loyalty.
Hedley was long dead. 'Thank you.' She forced herself to look into the viscount's eyes as she set a hand in his and descended the carriage steps to the terrace. But then her eyes moved to the house. 'Oh, it is far more vast than it looked on the approach.' She felt like a dwarf. But what gauche words to speak aloud! 'That is because from a distance one sees the house and terrace and flower gardens as a unit and is impressed more by the pleasing vista than by the size of the house,' the viscount said. 'One is meant to be impressed by the house itself when one arrives here.' 'The steps /are /marble,' she said. 'They are indeed,' he agreed, 'as are the pillars.' 'And this is where our grandfather grew up,' she said. 'No,' he told her. 'This house is no more than thirty years old. The old medieval hall was torn down and this built in its place. It was shabby and crumbling, I have been told. And this is certainly beautiful. I nevertheless wish I could have seen the house as it was. Much character and many memories must have been destroyed in the name of modernity.' Vanessa looked at him with appreciation for his feelings. But at the same moment she realized that her gloved hand was still in his. She snatched it away as if it had been scalded, drawing attention to the fact, and he raised his eyebrows.
A very superior-looking gentleman, dressed all in black, was bowing to Stephen and indicating the marble steps. Vanessa realized in some shock that he must be the butler. Halfway up the steps stood a plumpish woman, also in black, who was probably the housekeeper. And at the top of the steps, she noticed for the first time, were two lines of smartly dressed servants, one line on each side of the huge double doors, which stood open. The servants were being paraded for their new master.
Oh, goodness. Could their arrival at their new home have been more intimidating? How would Stephen be able to deal with it all?
But Stephen had offered one arm to Margaret and the other to Katherine and proceeded up the steps in the butler's wake after throwing a glance over his shoulder at Vanessa to see that she followed.
Viscount Lyngate offered his arm, and she took it.
The servants were not wearing cloaks and it was a chilly day despite the sunshine. Nevertheless, not one of them moved a muscle except to bow or curtsy to Stephen as each was introduced to him. He had a word with all of them - as if to the manner born, Vanessa thought with some pride.
She forced herself to smile and nod at all of the servants as she passed, and they bowed or curtsied in return. Rundle Park was like a rural cottage in comparison with this.
Mr. Bowen came behind them.
And then they were inside the great hall, which was great indeed and fairly robbed Vanessa of breath. It was round and pillared and stretched up the full height of the house and into the dome, which was gilded and painted with scenes from mythology. Light from its long, narrow windows streamed into the hall below, making patterns of light and shade on the pillars and checkered floor.
They all stood and gaped.
Viscount Lyngate was the first to speak. 'The devil!' he muttered while the rest of them were still standing with their necks craned backward, and the butler and housekeeper waited to escort them elsewhere.
Vanessa looked at him in some surprise. But then she saw that another gentleman was striding into the hall through one of the arches surrounding it, his boot heels ringing on the tiles.
Vanessa had an impression of tall, dark handsomeness, of a dark-complexioned face, a lock of dark hair fallen across his forehead, of black riding clothes that were well worn but nevertheless becoming on his athletic form. He stopped and clasped his hands at his back and smiled.
It was a smile of considerable charm.
He looked sufficiently like Viscount Lyngate that Vanessa would not have been surprised to learn that they were brothers. 'Ah,' he said, 'the new earl, I presume? And his… entourage?' Viscount Lyngate released Vanessa's arm and strode forward, his heavy greatcoat swinging against his boots. He came to a halt only when he was almost toe to toe with the other man. They were almost exactly the same height. 'You were supposed to be gone by now,' he said curtly and with undisguised annoyance. 'Was I?' the other gentleman said, his smile still in place but his voice transformed into a drawl of what sounded like boredom. 'But I am not, am I, Elliott? Introduce me if you will be so good.' The viscount hesitated but then turned back to face them. 'Merton,' he said, 'Miss Huxtable, Mrs. Dew, Miss Katherine, may I present Mr. Huxtable?' /Not /a brother, then? '/Constantine /Huxtable,' the gentleman said, making them all an elegant bow. 'Con to my friends.' 'Oh, I say!' Stephen exclaimed, stepping forward to shake the gentleman heartily by the hand while the ladies curtsied. 'You have our name. You must be a relative.' 'I must indeed,' Mr. Huxtable agreed while Vanessa and her sisters looked on with interest. 'Second cousin to be exact. We share a great-grandfather.' 'Indeed?' Stephen said. 'Nessie has been telling us about our family tree, something the rest of us have sadly neglected, I am afraid.
Great-Grandpapa had just two sons, did he not?' 'Your grandfather and mine,' Constantine Huxtable said. 'And then there were your father and mine. And then my brother - my /younger /brother, who is recently deceased. And you. Earl of Merton. My felicitations.' He sketched Stephen another bow.
So Constantine Huxtable and Viscount Lyngate were first cousins - their mothers were sisters. But it was another relationship that Vanessa was working out in her head. So were her siblings by the looks on their faces. Stephen was staring at their second cousin, his brow knit in thought. 'There is something here I do not understand,' he said. 'You are the elder brother of the earl who just died? Ought not you to have been - ?
Ought not you to be - ?' 'The Earl of Merton myself?' Mr. Huxtable laughed. 'I missed my chance for glory by two days, lad. That is what comes of being too eager in this life. May it be a lesson to you. My mother was Greek, daughter of an ambassador to London. She met my father when she was visiting her sister, who had married Viscount Lyngate and lived with him at nearby Finchley Park. But it was not until after her return to Greece with her papa, my grandfather, that she confessed to being in an, ah, interesting condition. He marched her back across Europe in high dudgeon. He demanded that my father do the decent thing - which he did. But I would not wait for the fairy-tale ending - or beginning - to my own story. I bowed to the stress of a sea crossing that had incapacitated my mother, and I made my squalling appearance in this world two days before my father could procure a special license and marry her. Thus I was and am and forever will be an illegitimate son. My esteemed parents had to wait another ten years for the arrival of a live and legitimate heir.
Jonathan. He would have been more than delighted to make the acquaintance of all these new cousins. Would he not, Elliott?' He looked at Viscount Lyngate, one eyebrow cocked in what Vanessa suspected was mockery.
Clearly there was no love lost between the cousins. 'But he died a few months ago,' Mr. Huxtable continued, 'several years later than the physicians had predicted. And so, here you are, the new and legitimate Earl of Merton and his sisters. I assume these ladies /are /all sisters, including Mrs. Dew? Mrs. Forsythe, we will have tea in the drawing room.' He spoke with absolute authority and with an aristocratic ease of manner, as if after all he were the Earl of Merton and owner of Warren Hall. 'That is the saddest story I have ever heard,' Katherine said, gazing at him wide-eyed. 'I must write a story about it.' Constantine Huxtable turned his smile on her. 'In which I figure as the tragic hero?' he said. 'But there are compensations for having been born two days too soon, I do assure you. A certain freedom, for example, which neither Merton nor my cousin Elliott here can enjoy.' He bowed to Margaret. 'Miss Huxtable, may I have the pleasure of escorting you upstairs?' Margaret stepped forward and set a hand on his arm, and he led her through the arch by which he had entered the hall a few minutes ago.
Stephen and Katherine followed close behind, gazing with eager interest at this newfound cousin. Viscount Lyngate exchanged a glance with Mr.
Bowen before offering his arm to Vanessa again. 'I do apologize,' he said. 'He /was /asked to leave.' 'But why?' she asked. 'He /is /our cousin, is he not, and has welcomed us with considerable courtesy when he might have resented us - or Stephen anyway. His story /is /true, is it? He grew up here as the firstborn son of the Earl and Countess of Merton?' 'It is true. But English law is quite rigid in such matters,' he said. 'There would be no way to make him legitimate even if there had been no other descendants of his line to inherit.' 'But if there had not,' Vanessa said as they walked through the arch and came to a magnificent marble staircase that wound its way upward, 'he might have petitioned the king to grant him the title, might he not?' Had she not read about such a thing somewhere? 'I suppose he might,' Viscount Lyngate said. 'A lawyer would know the legalities of such a claim and the likelihood of his petition being granted. But there /was /a descendant - your brother.' How could he /not /resent Stephen? Vanessa wondered as she looked up the stairs to where Constantine Huxtable was smiling
