Dr. Branyon fought down the familiar surge of anger that had gnawed at his belly so many times during the past years. “Yes, I know.” She didn’t see his jaw tighten or his eyes darken, but he knew that even if she had, it wouldn’t have surprised or dismayed her.
Lady Ann stopped in the middle of the entrance hall and looked dispassionately about her. There were grand Renaissance screens, with two archways divided by fluted pilasters and enriched with elaborate paneling of splendid craftsmanship. All the trappings of war were displayed on and about the walls—hand breastplates and morions, buff leather jerkins, matchlocks, and many other articles of equipment worn or used by the foemen of the civil wars. Faded Flemish tapestries depicting scenes of battle shimmered in soft glowing patterns. Ancient flambeaux sent spiraling threads of blue-black smoke upward to the blackened beamed ceiling.
“It is really quite strange, you know,” she said aloud, “but I have always hated Evesham Abbey, though I cannot deny its incredible beauty.
The history of England still lives in this hall, yet I have no pride in it, no flights of fancy over its grandeur. You said, dear friend, that I am drawing upon Arabella’s strength. I will tell you that if she were forced to leave Evesham Abbey, I would dread to think of what would happen to her.” Lady Ann waved her hand out about her. “Every panel, every armament, shield, every nook and cranny of this house is a part of her. Much of her indomitable will, as you call it, is tied up with this house. So, you see, I must be firm with her, try to make her understand that her father didn’t betray her, that he did what he could so that she would remain here.”
“So you believe she should marry the new Earl of Strafford as her father demanded?”
“Oh yes, Paul, she must marry Justin.”
He hadn’t quite expected this. He looked down at her, wishing for just an instant that he could touch the soft blond hair over her ears. He cleared his throat instead and said, “Judging from the events of the day, I would say that you have your work cut out for you.”
“Arabella cried,” Lady Ann said. “I could not believe it, but she did.
Did her rage at Justin bring it out of her? Or were they finally tears for her father? She never cries, you know. I don’t know about this time, but it seems a good sign.”
She turned then, nodded to the footman who held open the door, and walked into the Velvet Room.
“Justin, Elsbeth,” she said, giving them both her smile, which was soft and warm and quite beautiful. “I trust we have not kept you waiting overlong.”
“No, dear ma’am,” Elsbeth said. She walked to her stepmother and asked in her shy voice, “Is Arabella all right, ma’am?” Dr. Branyon said, “She was sound asleep by the time we left her bedchamber. On the morrow she will be quite restored to her usual self.”
“That could be a pity,” the earl said to no one in particular. “Are you certain, sir? Could she not perhaps have a relapse into common sense and sound reason? Perhaps even a bit of amiability? I shan’t repine if she only chooses to dip her finger into just a cup of benevolence.” Lady Ann held down the chuckle, gave him a frown, and said, “Are you and his lordship becoming acquainted, my dear?” She saw that Justin started in surprise. It was the new title, she realized. He would have to become used to it.
“Oh, no, not as yet, Lady Ann. His lordship had to change his clothes, you see. He was really quite dirty from arguing with Arabella. He had been with me but a moment before you and Dr. Branyon arrived, but he does seem nice. He called me ma’am, at first, but I told him that since we’re cousins, he’s to call me Elsbeth.”
“I like the sound of ma’am,” the earl said. “But if you prefer that I call you Elsbeth, I shall have to ask Lady Ann’s permission.”
“Ma’am?” Lady Ann said, cocking her head to one side. “I think it dreadful myself. It makes a lady sound old. Do call her Elsbeth, Justin.”
“Thank you. Would you like to sit on that very small crimson velvet and gold chair, Elsbeth? I don’t dare try it, it might collapse.” Lady Ann sat in front of the ornate tea service. “Do you take cream in your tea, Justin? Sugar? We must accustom ourselves.”
“Just as it comes from the pot, Ann,” he said.
“No frills, hmm, my lord?” Dr. Branyon said, raising his own teacup to the earl in salute.
“On the Peninsula there was little milk unless we could catch a wandering goat. As for sugar and lemon, they were unheard of. One becomes very basic when one has to.”
Dr. Branyon liked the new earl. He wasn’t pompous and utterly cruel like the former earl. He was a large man, much like his late relative, and carried his size with loose-limbed grace. Though his bronzed face looked more suited to rugged adventuring, his elegant fitted evening clothes were not at all out of place on him. He looked to be as much at ease in the drawing room as he would be on the battlefield. The earl sensed eyes upon him and turned to Dr. Branyon, an inquiring smile spreading over his face. It softened his features.
Dr. Branyon was beginning to think that Ann was quite correct in her hope. The earl might be just the right husband for Arabella. At least he wouldn’t let Arabella walk all over him. On the other hand, she might shoot him if he believed, as had the late earl, that a woman’s only use was to bear sons. Or if he believed, as had the late earl, that
