Charlotte smoothed her skirt front as she approached Mrs. Kelton. The woman was dressed to the hilt in an elegant black gown of glimmering silk. An enormous chain of diamonds sparkled round her neck. A bit much for a widow in mourning. Charlotte’s fingers went to her own bare throat. Perhaps she should’ve worn her mother’s jewels. She never guessed that a family dinner would call for such finery.
Not that Mrs. Kelton was family. She was her uncle’s second wife and no real relation. Still, it was the closest thing she had to kin, save Susie.
Her sister was asleep for the night. A maid had been placed in the nursery to keep watch till Charlotte went up. The emptiness beside her seemed almost tangible, so long it had been since she’d had a meal without Susie next to her.
“Mrs. Kelton,” Charlotte said with a curtsey.
“Dear Charlotte, please call me Aunt Nora. I’m glad to see you are recovered from your arduous journey.” Mrs. Kelton took her hand and patted it. “You look . . . quite lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, Aunt.” How sweet the word tasted. Charlotte had never had an aunt before.
Aunt Nora nodded at Mr. Morland. “Thank you, Mr. Morland, for bringing her. You may go.”
Mr. Morland bowed slightly.
“Oh, no.” Charlotte pulled her hand away. “I’ve asked Mr. Morland to take dinner with us.” At her aunt’s scowl, she added, “’Tis the least we can do after he come all the way up to Hull to fetch me.”
Mr. Morland gave Charlotte an approving smile—until her finger came up and slipped between her teeth. He shook his head the tiniest bit. Gaw. She would never remember. She forced her hands behind her back.
“Oh?” Mrs. Kelton said. “Odd to dine with the servants, but if that is your wish. After all, this is your home now.” She sighed so loud Charlotte worried she’d have to send for the smelling salts.
With only her and her aunt in this great big place, what did it matter who ate with them? When Charlotte’s mother was alive, they’d had all sorts over to their house for dinner. It had never mattered if they were deckhands or warehouse runners or the captain of Father’s ship. And Mr. Morland was the most gentlemanly man she’d ever met. He could hardly be called a servant.
She tried again. “I wanted to thank you for having me here,” she said to Aunt Nora. “It’s very grand, and I’m much obliged.”
“Do not thank me. It was my late husband’s idea to give everything he owned to a complete stranger, I can assure you.”
Charlotte stepped backward, bumping into a piece of furniture. Her arms flailed as she tried to maintain her balance but lost, landing on her backside in a soft chair near Aunt Nora. She was muddling everything.
“Mr. Kelton is greatly missed,” Mr. Morland said. “He was always a generous man.”
“It is I who should be thanking you,” her aunt said to Charlotte, completely ignoring Mr. Morland and the fact that Charlotte had just toppled into a chair. “For not removing me from the premises.”
“I would never,” Charlotte said. How could she think such a thing? “We are family.”
Her aunt smiled, but it looked a bit like she’d caught a whiff of rendered whale oil.
Mr. Tafford entered and announced dinner. At last. All Charlotte really wanted was to get some food into her belly and go to bed.
Mr. Morland offered his hand to Mrs. Kelton, but she wrinkled her nose. “I shall take myself in to dinner, thank you.”
Mr. Morland extended his offer to Charlotte. She wasn’t too proud to take his arm.
She glanced up at Mr. Morland. “Why do you laugh?” Charlotte asked him in a whisper.
“I’m not laughing,” he said.
“Not out loud, perhaps. But your eyes are surely laughing.” Charlotte slowed their pace so she could get her answer.
“Sorry. It’s just, I haven’t seen the old— Mrs. Kelton so flustered.”
Charlotte came to a complete stop. “She despises me.”
“Her whole life has changed,” Mr. Morland said in a hushed voice. “Her future is uncertain. She is afraid, and that does not always make people wise.”
He motioned for Charlotte to enter the dining room.
Charlotte hadn’t meant to put Mrs. Kelton out of spirits. Really, it couldn’t be that odd to— “Great conkers! Look at that table.”
Her aunt gasped and covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Were it built to seat the entire parish?” Charlotte asked.
Mr. Morland pulled a chair out for her at one end while a footman did the same for her aunt at the other end. There had to be ten miles of gleaming mahogany between them. A place had been set for Mr. Morland near Charlotte’s end. Probably Mrs. Tafford’s doing.
“I assure you, dear niece, this is but an average-size table for a person of my—a person of your means.”
A footman shook out a napkin and laid it in Charlotte’s lap as another ladled thin soup into a shallow bowl.
“When my son arrives, you shall see how easily he can fill it with his vast number of acquaintances,” Aunt Nora said. “Or he used to, before my dear husband passed.”
“When might we expect to see Mr. Hardwick?” Mr. Morland asked.
Charlotte leaned forward and smelled her soup. It didn’t look like much. This would never fill her. She dipped her spoon in, trying to be as delicate as Aunt Nora.
“Hurst is eager to meet the newest member of Willowkeep,” Mrs. Kelton said. “He’s leaving London early, before the close of the Season. I expect him here by the end of next week.”
“This is delicious.” Charlotte scooped another spoonful of soup. And another.
Mr. Morland nodded. “Cook is one of the best in the county.”
Aunt Nora humphed when Charlotte lifted the bowl and tipped the remaining broth into her mouth. The footman cleared the bowls and brought out the next course: a roasted capon, creamed potatoes and ham, boiled carrots and parsnips, and some kind of cold salad with beets.
Each course brought something new and wondrous. If every meal was like this, how was Aunt Nora such a broomstick?
A footman set a honey almond tart in front of her. This had to be some kind of dream. She would have pinched herself to be sure, but she was too busy eating.
When Charlotte couldn’t swallow another bite, she leaned back with a moan, rubbing her stomach. “Goodness. I’ve filled my corset near to bursting.”
Aunt Nora choked, then pulled out her fan and wafted it about her face.
The footman laughed out loud, and Mr. Morland gave him a frown. “Watch yourself, Daniels.”
The footman cleared his throat and looked straight ahead.
Aunt Nora pushed her chair back from the table. “Goodness me. I never.” She muttered all kinds of astonishments as she rushed out of the room.
Mr. Morland pushed his chair back as well. “Shall we retire to the drawing room?”
“I didn’t mean to offend her,” Charlotte said. “’Twas a delicious meal. I only meant to compliment its finery.”
Mr. Morland pulled out her chair as she stood. “A lady does not mention her . . . unmentionables in polite society. Or ever. Except, I suppose, to her personal maid.”
“Right. Of course I knew of that.” He must think her a complete heathen. “It’s only been me and Susie for so long, I’m not used to thinking about polite society—or any kind of society.” She pulled her finger from her lips and put her arm behind her back.
She followed Mr. Morland across the hall. He reached for the drawing room door, where she presumed Aunt Nora sat in her severe chair waiting for them.
Charlotte stopped him. “Must we? Is it improper of me if I don’t want to withdraw and spend another hour in the company of that woman? She disapproves of me. She scowled at me through the whole meal.”
Mr. Morland released the door handle. “I hadn’t thought you’d noticed, so intent you were on your food.”
“Well, I did look up occasionally.”
He laughed out loud. “Miss Darby,” he said. “You are entirely anomalous.”
“What does that mean?”
His eyes sparked with some kind of mischief. “It means that you don’t have to go into the drawing room if you don’t wish to.”
“Well, that’s a blessed relief.”
She didn’t mean to be antymous—or whatever he’d said. She simply couldn’t imagine passing the rest of the evening in her aunt’s company. She had just spent three days trapped in a carriage, trying to keep a restless child under control. She was completely done in. “I really am exhausted.”
“Of course. In that case, I’ll bid you good night and make your apologies to Mrs. Kelton for you.”
“Thank you, sir. You’ve been very kind.”
He bowed to her, then pulled open the door to the drawing room. Charlotte leapt out of view, listening while Mr. Morland crossed the threshold.
“Mrs. Kelton. Miss Darby has informed me that she is very tired. She will not be joining you this evening.”
Charlotte couldn’t hear the reply. Would Mr. Morland stay with Mrs. Kelton? He couldn’t be excited by the prospect. Mrs. Kelton had snubbed him before dinner, but she’d talked with him almost exclusively throughout the whole meal. Thank heavens he’d agreed to accompany them. If it’d been just her and Aunt Nora, it would’ve been an uncomfortable affair indeed.
Mr. Morland emerged from the drawing room, rolling his eyes. He stopped short when he saw her. He quickly closed the door. “Miss Darby. Still here? You haven’t changed your mind, have you? I’m sure Mrs. Kelton will make room for you in there if you wish to join her.”
“Goodness no. I just . . .” What? What did she want? She was dog tired. But being alone in her room was so . . . alone. She’d shared a chamber with Susie most of her life. She’d passed every night with the clacking of carriages and the clanging of ship’s bells rattling through her window. Now she’d traded the smell of shipping docks and the cries of gulls for sculptured hedges and the chirping of garden birds whose calls she did not recognize.
Susie was asleep for the night. A maid had been placed in the nursery to keep watch till Charlotte went up. And when Mr. Morland left, she’d be lost in the giant house. Nothing more than a speck of dust in a world big as the universe. She didn’t belong here. Not really.
“Miss Darby?”
She looked up at him.
“Perhaps, if you’re not too fatigued, I might show you something.”
“What is it?” Whatever he had in mind had to be better than Aunt Nora or alone in her room.
“Come with me. I want to show you how Willowkeep got its name.”
“Yes, please.” She followed him down the hall past the parlor, deeper into the belly of the house, until they emerged near a door leading to the outside.
He stopped and gestured at a room just to the right of the door. “This is my office.”
“Is that so? And naturally Willowkeep were named after your workplace.”
He grinned. “I merely point it out for your information. In case you need to find me.” He pulled the back door open, and a splash of evening air flooded in. “We are going outside.”
They stepped out onto a pebbled path. To the right, it led off through overtrimmed bushes, as if some gardener had gelded the rows of shrubs, which, if left to grow as nature intended, would have been quite handsome.
“This way,” he pointed down a different path toward a wilder-looking area.
The lowering light cast long shadows, like fingers, across the way as the sun slipped down in the west, just resting on the horizon.
They crossed over a trail of moss-covered stepping stones set among the lavender and then came to a narrow river. A bend in its course created a sort of pond where three ancient willows stood like the towering masts of a shipwrecked galleon. Their long branches draped over the pool, dipping in just enough to test the waters.
Mr. Morland parted the branches for her, and there, in the bower of the largest tree, stood a wicker bench. She walked toward it, and he let the limbs fall back into place.
“This is lovely,” Charlotte said, turning to take it all in. “It’s like a secret hideaway, cut off from the whole world.” The twilight cast the entire area into shadows of greens and blues. A gentle wind picked up, whispering through the branches and swirling round her as if welcoming her with its cooling breeze.
Mr. Morland sat on the bench, leaning back and stretching his legs. “I thought you might like it.”
“Willowkeep,” she said. “There’s nothing like this up in Hull. Not that I’ve seen. Too cold, maybe. The wind can be fierce as it comes in from the North Sea.” She bent over the pond, but it was too dark to see past the surface.
Mr. Morland appeared beside her, his feet making naer a sound on the soft grass.
Charlotte straightened. “And this is part of the estate?” It must be because Mr. Morland said it was the namesake.
He nodded. “All of it belongs to you now.”
She turned in a circle, but the branches blocked her view. The lands of Willowkeep must go far beyond this spot. Far enough to include tenants, the fields of hops Mr. Morland had pointed out, and even the village of Kippingham. It was beautiful, but too much for one small girl from Hull. “I can’t rightly believe it. I’ve never owned anything of my own before.” She had one thing of value—her mother’s jewels. “But it don’t really feel like it’s mine, do it? I mean, I’m a visitor here.”
“Miss Darby.” Mr. Morland handed her his handkerchief even though she was sure she hadn’t shed a tear. “You’ve not been here above three hours. Give yourself some time.”
Charlotte pulled the cloth in and out of her hands. “I don’t even know what I’m s’posed to do. I can’t manage a place like this. ’Specially while I’ve got Susie to mind.”
“You are not expected to,” Mr. Morland said. “That’s why you’ve got me. And Mr. and Mrs. Tafford. And Cook. And gardeners. And chambermaids. And the lot. If the whole world collapsed tomorrow, this place would still keep running.”
She balled the handkerchief into a lump, then wrung it like it had committed some horrible crime. “I must look like a fool to you,” she whispered.
“Not at all,” he said.
The water rippled and murmured as it rounded the bend. An egret called from somewhere downstream, raspy and hoarse. Not a gull, but at least she recognized it.
“What’s through here?” Charlotte parted the curtain of draping branches and stepped into a second, smaller dome of green created by a separate willow tree. In the center, raised up on a pedestal, stood a statue of a lion. His face was worn and pitted like he’d had the pox. His mouth curved into a snarl. The mix of moss and bird droppings scattered across his mane gave him a pitiable look, not at all like the grand beast he was meant to be.
Mr. Morland came through the branches behind her.
“What’s this?” Charlotte asked.
“You’ve found Henry’s lion.”
“Henry’s lion?”