14
Mr. Dean and Lord Jerome arrived promptly at noon, and the foursome started off on the hour-long journey to Whitley House. Lord Jerome and Regina were in a state of dazed euphoria, still unable to believe that they’d found their way back to each other after so many years. Diana felt a little uncomfortable observing their loving glances and furtive touches, and finally forced herself to look out the window so that she did not seem like a Peeping Tom. She was too embarrassed to look at Mr. Dean and so had no idea how he was coping with their lovestruck companions.
Diana still found herself ambivalent about this trip and could not understand why she had such a dread of visiting her own home. She knew that she would have to face up to this ridiculous fear and overcome it, especially now that Regina was soon to be married. Diana had lived with two disagreeable, curmudgeonly persons for five years before Mr. Boyle’s death; surely she could live with only Mildred again. (Once Mr. Dean succeeded in getting rid of Lucius, that is, and she believed that he would.) But she had felt so free these last two months with Regina. To have a sympathetic friend, one who did not look at you with disapproval and disdain but with affection and respect, had been so very refreshing. And, if she were honest with herself, it wasn’t just Regina whom she would miss.
She darted a glance at Mr. Dean, who sat beside her on the bench, and found he was staring at her. And the look in his eyes stole the breath from her body. There was the same passionate adoration that she’d seen in Lord Jerome’s eyes when he looked at Regina, but when it was directed at her by Mr. Dean, it was infinitely more affecting. And, of course, Diana found Mr. Dean, or Maxwell, as she’d started calling him in her thoughts, ten times more attractive than Lord Jerome. Even now, when he only touched her with his gaze, she felt herself trembling, especially when she recalled how it had felt when he’d touched her with more than a look.
Could it be that she, who had vehemently proclaimed that she would never marry, was considering marrying again? And to a self-proclaimed fortune hunter? Was she a complete idiot? As she sat there, staring helplessly back into Maxwell’s eyes, which appeared a dark gray in the carriage’s dim interior, she certainly felt like one.
She was distracted when the carriage turned onto the drive at Whitley House, and she tore her gaze away from Mr. Dean.
“We have arrived,” Diana said, and Regina stopped looking adoringly at Lord Jerome to look out at her surroundings.
Diana felt the pride of ownership as they pulled up in front of the simple but elegant villa, built a century ago for a rich duke’s mistress on eighty acres of parkland. George Boyle, the father of Mildred and Percival and a wealthy barrister, bought it from the woman’s son in 1761. Percival, Diana’s future husband, was just three years old at the time and Mildred hadn’t yet been born. The house wasn’t overwhelmingly grand, but its white stucco façade gleamed in the afternoon sun, and Diana preferred its compact elegance to an oversized, elaborate structure.
“It’s beautiful, Diana,” Regina said, as the carriage drew to a stop on the circular drive.
They stepped down from the carriage and Godfrey came out to meet them, directing the coachman to the stables before turning to Diana. She was shocked to find that she was happy to see the far-from-subservient “servant.” Perhaps it was merely that she had grown so accustomed to seeing him every day, for so many years, that she just thought that she missed him. Whatever the case, she smiled at him and said, “I have brought guests, Godfrey, but we are only staying a few hours. Is Mildred at home?”
“Unfortunately not, ma’am. I believe she went to town to call upon you. With her . . . nephew, Mr. Lucius Boyle.” (Maxwell, who was at Diana’s side, did not miss the slight hesitation before the butler said the word “nephew.”)
“It is unfortunate that you did not make us aware you were coming,” Godfrey continued. “You and Miss Boyle must have crossed each other en route.”
Diana, though she didn’t contradict him, thought it was actually extremely fortunate she had not informed them she was coming. In fact, she couldn’t believe her good fortune, and turned happily to Regina and Jerome, who were behind her and Mr. Dean. “Mr. and Miss Boyle apparently went to town to call upon us, Regina.”
“How unfortunate to have missed them,” Regina said, with a look of feigned disappointment.
“Indeed,” Diana agreed, but restrained herself from laughing at Regina as she wanted to, because of Godfrey’s presence. Instead, she led her guests into the house and to the drawing room, requesting that Godfrey bring refreshments, and pointing out features of the house along the way.
Once they were seated in the drawing room Mr. Dean asked Diana, “Could I see the book you wanted to show me?”
“Certainly,” Diana said, standing and leading him to a bookshelf, from which she pulled out a heavy Bible.
“You wanted to show him a Bible, Diana? Are you going to give him a sermon, too?” Regina asked, and Diana made a face at her friend.
“He was curious about the Boyle family,” Diana explained, but realizing Mr. Dean wanted to keep the reason for his involvement in her affairs private, said no more on the subject. Thankfully, the mention of sermons reminded Regina and Jerome that they needed to ask a member of the clergy to officiate at their wedding, and they began a low-voiced discussion about whom to ask, leaving Diana and Maxwell to peruse the Boyle family history in relative privacy.
Diana opened the Bible to the page where one of the Boyle forebears had begun writing a list of births and marriages. The first entry was dated 1730 and recorded the birth of George Boyle, Mildred’s father. This was followed by George’s marriage to Lucille in 1756, and then the birth of Percival in 1758.
“This is your late husband,” Maxwell confirmed, pointing to that entry.
“Yes. Percival Boyle, born 1758. Then Mildred is the next entry, born in 1764.”
“It appears their mother also died that year,” Mr. Dean said, pointing to the entry that showed the death of Lucille Boyle in 1764, followed by the death of George Boyle in 1782. The next entry was Diana’s marriage to Percival in July 1810, and then the death of Percival Boyle in December 1815. Diana figured it must have been Mildred who had taken over the recording of family history as a young woman, because the handwriting changed with the entry of George Boyle’s death, and seemed to be the same hand that recorded both Percival Boyle’s marriage to her and his death.
Diana and Mr. Dean looked through the brief entries again and Diana ran her finger over the list, stopping where a sibling should have been. There was no brother, the supposed father of Lucius Boyle. There were just two births listed after their father George’s marriage: Mildred and Percival. There was not even any indication that George remarried after his wife Lucille’s death and sired any other children. Diana and Maxwell exchanged looks; hers one of surprise, and his one of satisfaction, as he was pleased his theory had been proven correct.
“You realize what this means, don’t you?” he asked in a low tone, and Diana nodded.
“I never realized family history could be so fascinating,” Regina called out to them from across the room, just as a footman entered the room with a tray, followed by Godfrey. “Ah, here are the refreshments.”
Diana closed the Bible and put it away, and she and Maxwell rejoined the other couple. Maxwell entertained them over tea by telling them the sad story of Robert Barker, who was the official printer to the king and produced many of the Bibles in England in the seventeenth century, including the one in Whitley House’s drawing room. But in 1631 he made a costly mistake.
“In the book of Exodus, in the chapter that lists the Ten Commandments, he omitted a very important word,” Mr. Dean said, and then paused to take a bite of scone.
“Was it the word ‘neighbor’s’?” Lord Jerome suggested, after mentally reviewing the account while Mr. Dean chewed his pastry. “As in: ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.’ ”
Regina giggled. “That would be a shame if it were a sin to covet thy own wife. I’m very impressed at your Bible knowledge, Jerome. I’m fairly certain I couldn’t recite the Ten Commandments. Is there anything you don’t know?” she asked him, with a fond look.
“He doesn’t know the word that was omitted in Robert Barker’s 1631 edition of the Bible,” Mr. Dean retorted, with a challenging look at his friend. “It was even worse than coveting your neighbor’s wife. It was in the verse that says ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ and they left out the word ‘not.’ The verse read: ‘Thou shalt commit adultery.’ ”
“Oh, dear,” said Diana, appalled. “That’s truly terrible.”
“It is, indeed,” said Regina, and looked as if she didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused.
“Did they chop off his head?” Jerome asked, almost sympathetically.
“He and his co-publisher had their printer’s licenses revoked, were fined three hundred pounds, and were imprisoned,” Maxwell said.
“That’s a pretty egregious error, but you can’t help feeling sorry for the poor chap,” Jerome said. “There are a lot of words in the Bible.”
“And it was a very short word,” Regina said, which, for some reason, seemed extremely funny to Diana, who broke into giggles.
Shortly afterward, their refreshments finished, Diana took them on a tour of the house, pointing out two of her favorite features: the hand-painted chinoiserie wallpaper in the dining room and the green damask on the walls of an upstairs bedchamber.
“I recently replaced the damask, as it had faded quite horribly in the ninety years since the house was built,” Diana explained, “though the Chinese wallpaper is original.”
“Did you sew this as well?” Regina asked, pointing to an elaborate scene in needlework on the cushion of a chair.
“I did,” Diana said, smiling. “It’s a view of the grotto from the southwest side of the house, overlooking the river.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mr. Dean said, looking at it more carefully. “You are very talented.”
“She is,” Regina agreed. “She creates the most incredible embroidery. Every day when our callers leave, she pulls out a piece of cloth and diligently works away at it.”
“I was so excited when Regina took me to see Mary Linwood’s exhibition in Leicester Square. She is a true artist,” Diana said. “Have you gentlemen seen it? She has recreated many famous paintings using needle and thread, with the thread actually resembling brushwork. She even uses silk thread to create highlights.”
“I saw it a few years ago,” Maxwell said. “I found it very impressive. Her work looks so much like the original paintings, but has its own unique beauty.”
Lord Jerome admitted he had not been to the famous needlewoman’s exhibition. “I will take you after we are married, Jerome,” Regina told him, “since this is one subject where my knowledge surpasses yours.”
“I am sure there are many such subjects, my love,” Jerome replied, kissing her hand. “And you’ll find me a willing pupil.”
Diana thought only Lord Jerome could make the most innocent of sentences sound like an improper suggestion, and rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she led her guests back downstairs to begin a tour of the exterior of the house.
After Diana gave them an overview of the grounds, pointing out the grotto and some of the other landmarks, the two couples separated. Regina and Jerome headed for the Sweet Walk, an aptly named path that had been planted with fragrant flowering trees and shrubbery, and Diana and Maxwell walked in the opposite direction, eventually arriving at an unoccupied cottage.
“We call it ‘River House.’ Not a very original name, I know, but it’s even closer to the river than Whitley House. It was originally built as a greenhouse, I believe, and later used as an aviary before it was converted into a dwelling,” Diana explained. The house was unlocked, and they let themselves in and stood talking in the front parlor, where the few pieces of furniture remaining were draped with holland covers. “When I first came to live at Whitley House, there was a retired military officer renting it, but he left shortly before Mr. Boyle’s death, and I haven’t decided yet what to do with it. I suppose I’ll eventually let it to someone again.”
River House was smaller than the main house, though still a comfortable size, with two floors and four bedchambers. It was also very bright and light-filled, especially at the current moment, with the afternoon sunshine streaming in the front windows.
“It’s very pleasant. Miss Boyle did not want to remove here after her brother’s death?” Maxwell asked.
“Why, I don’t think either of us even considered such a thing.” Diana looked as if she had just experienced an epiphany. “What a marvelous idea!” she said, with a huge smile. But after a moment her face fell. “Though I doubt she’d agree to it.”
“You have to do something about her, you know,” Maxwell said. “You can’t just come back to Whitley House and live with her as though nothing has happened. She must be aware that Lucius Boyle is not who he claims to be, which means she is trying to trick you into marrying him under false pretenses.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I encouraged Regina and Lord Jerome to walk apart from us. I wanted your advice about what I should do. I’m such a coward that my initial reaction was to leave immediately and return to town without confronting her. But now I think we must wait until she returns, and I must speak to her privately. What I still do not understand is who Lucius Boyle really is and where she could have found him.”
“Perhaps he’s an actor she hired,” Maxwell suggested.
“I can’t imagine Mildred hiring an actor,” Diana instinctively demurred, before sighing in resignation. “But then again, I can’t imagine Mildred doing any of this. Although we’ve never been close, I would have never thought she’d actively conspire against me.” The realization greatly depressed Diana, and suddenly overcome with fatigue, she pushed aside the covering on the sofa and sat down. She gestured to Maxwell that he could sit as well, but he merely propped himself against the opposite wall.
“Did her brother not leave her any of his fortune? I beg your pardon if the question sounds overly intrusive, but I am trying to understand what her motivation might be,” Maxwell said.
“She was left a small sum; I believe her income works out to about a hundred pounds a year.”
“And he left you both houses and everything else?” Maxwell asked, though it made him uncomfortable to do so. It could only remind Diana that he was already largely aware of the extent of her fortune, as he’d listed it in his directory. But Diana did not seem conscious of his discomfort, she was so distracted by Mildred’s mysterious behavior.
“Yes,” Diana said, “he left her only two thousand pounds, from which she derives her income. I had never considered it before, but that was quite paltry.”
“It does seem so, as it made her practically dependent upon you. He could have given her enough to set up her own establishment, or even left her this house in addition to the two thousand,” Maxwell said.
“Poor Mildred. I feel foolish when we talk about it now, but I had never before thought about how that must sting. No wonder she is always sniping at me. She spent her entire life at Whitley House, and had to see it given to someone else.”
“It still doesn’t excuse her behavior, however,” Maxwell reminded Diana.
“Not entirely, no. But it does help me to feel more sympathetic toward her.”
Maxwell smiled at her. “I don’t think you need any help to feel sympathy. You’re the most kindhearted person I know.”
“That’s because you did not know my mother. She used to tell me that we are all the heroes of our own story, and we should stop and consider how the villain of the story might tell it.”
“Your mother sounds like a wise woman. And while Mildred and Lucius do seem to be involved in a villainous scheme, it would be helpful to try to understand what may have led them to take this step. Perhaps your butler might also have some insight.”
“Godfrey?” Diana asked, and then was silent for a moment as she considered it. “You could very well be right. He’s been at Whitley House for decades. We could have probably just asked him outright if Mildred and my late husband had ever had a brother; I’m sure he would know. And Lucius Boyle, or whoever he is, has been staying here for a few weeks now. Godfrey may have observed, or overheard, something.”
Diana rose from the sofa with a sigh and turned to replace the cover. Before she could do so Maxwell rushed over to help her.
“Thank you. I suppose I should interview Godfrey before Mildred and the so-called Lucius Boyle return. I hate to encourage Godfrey, yet again, in his prying tendencies, though they have been of great benefit to me. He is the one who discovered the existence of your directory, and that you were the author,” Diana told Maxwell.
“He sounds like he’s wasting his talents as a butler,” Maxwell said. “He should work for Bow Street.”
“I wish he would. He doesn’t make the most comfortable of butlers,” Diana said, with a grimace.
They exited the house and stood for a moment in the front garden, looking out at the river. “It looks so peaceful, yet you don’t seem to have found much peace here,” Maxwell commented.
“I am at peace when I’m outside, like this, walking by the river or working in the garden. And I am fond of the house, but it has been a little like a golden cage,” Diana said, as they began walking down the path that would eventually take them back to Whitley House. “I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until I went to stay with Regina. I’m very glad for her and Jerome, of course, but I selfishly wish I never had to return here.”
“I wish there was something I could do to ensure your happiness,” said Maxwell, feeling frustrated by the futility of the words even as they left his mouth. “I know that the expression ‘Your obedient servant’ has become a commonplace one, with no deeper intent than to express a polite platitude. But I can think of no greater honor than to be of service to you. And I beg you always to think of me, sincerely and truly, as your obedient servant.”
He had stopped walking and turned to face her, and she stopped walking as well, wondering, as her heart began to beat faster in anticipation, what he was about to do. She was surprised when he knelt down on one knee on the path before her, and bowed his head as if he were a knight paying homage to a queen. He then raised his head and, still kneeling, took her hand and brought it briefly to his lips.
Diana could think of nothing to say; it felt as if there was a solemn significance to this simple gesture, but he did not make her an offer of marriage as she half expected him to. He just stared up at her as if she were the goddess she’d been named for. She supposed if they were living in medieval times and he had sworn fealty to her, she would now be expected to tap him on each shoulder with a sword. She had no sword, of course, so she reached out and touched him on one shoulder and then the other, but instead of striking him she pressed very gently, brushing his shoulder lightly with her palm. This must have been the correct thing to do because he smiled at her when she had finished, a smile so brilliant that it caused her very toes to curl.
He then got up, brushed lightly at his breeches, and they began walking again. And Diana wished she had the courage to tell him that if it was his goal to ensure her happiness, he’d succeeded, because his very presence filled her with joy.