Sussex Summer Read online

  As he rode up the neatly raked drive to the stone stairs in front of the house, the doors opened and several figures emerged to stand before the steps. A groom ran to take Ariel, and as Edward dismounted, he was surrounded by family and servants and practically fell into the waiting arms of his mother.

  “Thank God you are home safe at last,” she said, holding her eldest son tightly. She then released him and held him at arms’ length, looking intently into her son’s eyes as if she feared he would vanish should she look away.

  Edward found his mother little changed, except that her chestnut hair, which proclaimed her Scots ancestry, contained a few more strands of gray. Lady Tremaine’s figure was still youthful, and her face unlined. Her clear hazel eyes glistened with suspicious moisture as they embraced once more before Edward turned to his father.

  Lord Tremaine was in his early fifties. His blond hair had darkened over the years, but his figure was still trim and muscular. He was more restrained in his welcome and did not embrace his son, but the viscount’s hand gripped Edward’s almost convulsively, and the emotion in his eyes could not be mistaken. Edward felt an obstruction in his throat, and turned to enter the house before his emotions got the better of him.

  Dawkins, the butler, stood waiting to greet the returning captain on the steps, and Edward ignored custom to shake his hand warmly. Dawkins had been in the Tremaines’ service as long as Edward could remember. The housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, stood next to Dawkins, and Edward kissed her lined cheek affectionately.

  The other member of his family who lived at Haverton Park waited to greet Edward in the large entrance hall. Edward remembered his younger brother as a gawky schoolboy of fifteen, and the foppish young man of twenty who stood before him bore little resemblance to that memory. James was evidently an aspiring dandy, for he was clad in the extreme styles which characterised that set: he wore a bright green coat, skin-tight canary-yellow pantaloons, a striped waistcoat and a perfectly creased and tied lavender neckcloth. His shining red-blond hair was carefully waved and arranged, and Edward could not tell whether his brother’s crimson cheeks owed their colour to rouge or chafing from the ridiculously high points of his shirt collar. The face was still boyish, but the frank schoolboy look had been replaced by an expression that managed to be both sulky and superior.

  Sensing that his brother would not care to embrace, Edward held out his hand. James took it gingerly and, after a limp shake, allowed it to fall. He was staring with horrified fascination at something on Edward’s coat, and looking down, Edward saw the rose he had placed there, now limp from and hanging drunkenly. He pulled the rose out of the buttonhole and addressed his brother, who appeared to be so shocked by the picture his elder brother presented that he was bereft of speech.

  “Well, James, I see the schoolboy is gone and has been replaced by a man-about-town. It is good to see you again.”

  “Glad you have come back safely,” James said briefly. “Your valet’s waiting in the front bedchamber,” he added helpfully, certain that Edward must desire the ministrations of that servant before anything else.

  Edward smiled wryly at his brother and decided to take his advice. Promising to join his family in the drawing room shortly, he left the room and went upstairs to have his valet help remove some of the grime of his long and tiring journey.

  His old bedchamber was on the ground floor, just off the entrance hall, and Edward found it had been kept unchanged for him. Ames, his valet, had already put away his clothes and laid out fresh linen. He came forward to assist Edward out of his coat and then hesitated, looking at Edward’s hand, and Edward realised he still held the drooping rose. Reluctant to throw it away, he placed it between the pages of a book lying on the desk beneath the window. Wordlessly, he then placed himself under the expert care of Ames.

  An hour later, feeling much refreshed, Edward joined his family in the green drawing room. He was grateful for the fire his mother had perceptively ordered to be lit, obviously sensing that in her son’s condition Edward would chill easily. He leaned back against the smooth green damask upholstery of the Hepplewhite sofa and savoured the excellent brandy his father handed him. Smuggled no doubt, but Edward drank it without any feelings of guilt. He had served his country well.

  “How is Mary?” he asked. Mary, his elder sister, lived in Yorkshire with her husband, Squire Deane, and their two children.

  “She is doing well,” Lady Tremaine replied. “She and George plan to make a visit here later this summer. You will enjoy little Tad and Lydia.”

  “Yes,” Edward confirmed, “I am looking forward to seeing them.” He could barely remember his nephew, and had never even seen his niece. It was good being part of the family again.

  As Edward took another relaxing sip of brandy, his gaze travelled up to the ceiling where the graceful white piaster floral border caught his attention and admiration. It was a moment before he was aware of the uncomfortable silence which had descended upon the room. Recalling himself, he observed that his parents were regarding him with concern evident on their faces. James stood by the fireplace and studiously avoided looking at him at all. Edward could not blame them for their reaction to his appearance. The coat and breeches he had put on fit him no better than his uniform. A glance in the mirror in his bedchamber had told him that all his valet’s skill had not disguised the fact that he looked little better than a walking skeleton. Edward took another swallow of brandy and broke the silence.

  “Are you acquainted with the Miss Hampton who lives in the large cottage on the outskirts of Staplefield? The cottage with all the roses and honeysuckle?” he asked to lighten the atmosphere and encourage a conversation. “I do not remember them living in the village before.”

  To his surprise, the question seemed to make his family more uncomfortable. His father cleared his throat noisily, and James appeared to be absorbed picking a speck off his coat sleeve. His mother answered, but her normally serene face appeared flustered as she spoke.

  “Yes, we are acquainted with the Hamptons. John Hampton was the vicar of a parish near Bath. He came here about four years ago to complete a scholarly work he has been writing on Luke. His wife is deceased, but he has two daughters. Miss Hampton is the elder daughter, and there is a younger daughter, Miss Fanny Hampton.”

  Edward opened his mouth to ask more about them, but before he could speak, the viscount interrupted.

  “Did you know there is a new Earl of Staplefield?”

  Edward’s eyebrows rose in surprise at this sudden change of topic. He determined to question his mother about the Hamptons later. There was some mystery there.

  “So Louis Grandville, Earl of Staplefield, died,” he said. “I am sorry to hear that.” Edward had always admired Lord Staplefield, the local eccentric. The earl had felt that English culture had reached its zenith in 1773, and had refused to abandon his favourite year. He had continued to dress in the fashions in style that year, eaten foods in vogue then and refused to purchase anything invented after that date. Once a year in August he had held a large masquerade at his estate, Bramleigh, to which he invited all the local gentry and aristocracy to show them the proper way an entertainment should be conducted, circa 1773, of course.

  “Who inherited the title?” he asked.

  “A great-nephew, Charles Grandville,” Lord Tremaine answered, visibly relaxing as his son accepted the change of topic. “Odd thing was the way the old earl left his estate. Although he could do nothing about the title, he provided that his heir would only receive the money and Bramleigh if he would continue his uncle’s style of living whenever he would be in residence at Bramleigh.”

  James entered the conversation for the first time. “New earl’s soft in the head if he don’t contest the will. Look deuced silly in clothes more than two score and ten years out of fashion.”

  Edward looked at his brother consideringly. “They would not look that much out of fashion. It is still the style required of one at court.”

  “C
ourt!” James scoffed at the thought of anything that fusty. He looked contentedly at his fashionable reflection in the glass above the fireplace and smoothed an invisible crease in his canary-yellow pantaloons.

  Edward smiled. He could not like all the changes in his brother, but he supposed it was his age, although he did not recall being like that himself at twenty.

  “What is the new earl like?” he asked.

  “We do not know,” his father replied. “He has not been in residence at Bramleigh yet, although his uncle died over a year ago. Perhaps he has been contesting the will, or perhaps he simply prefers to reside in Town.”

  The ice broken, Lord and Lady Tremaine brought Edward current on the rest of the gossip of Staplefield. Only the Hamptons were left out of the news, and Edward was more determined than ever to find out why.

  Edward’s chance to ask about the Hamptons came the next morning. Exhausted from his journey, he rose late and, after devouring a good-size breakfast, retired to the small salon upstairs where he found his mother working on some embroidery.

  Edward kissed his mother affectionately and sat across from her in a comfortable wing-back chair upholstered in blue-and-ivory brocade.

  “Did you breakfast yet, Edward?” Lady Tremaine asked, laying her embroidery aside and looking at him with renewed concern.

  “Yes. I had four rashers, three eggs, a kidney, some wheat loaf and two cups of coffee.”

  Lady Tremaine smiled at this complete catalogue of his meal and realised she was being overly solicitous. “Very well, I promise not to worry you about what you eat. Or anything else,” she added.

  Edward sat forward in his chair and spoke to his mother reassuringly. “Do not fret about me, Mother. Despite my frightful appearance, I assure you I am fine. I only need to put some weight back on.”

  Lady Tremaine nodded her acceptance of her son’s diagnosis of his state of health, and Edward leaned back into his chair.

  “Where is Father?”

  “He is closeted with the new land agent, Benton, and Jamie out is riding with Christopher Archer.”

  “I gather from what was said last night that Jamie was sent down from Oxford last term. If Christopher is here he must have been sent down as well. What prank did they pull?” Edward asked, remembering some of the jokes he and his friends had played on their masters.

  “It was not a prank,” Lady Tremaine said with a wry smile. “It was a matter of principle, or so Jamie maintains.”

  Edward waited for his mother to elaborate.

  “He and Christopher began wearing pantaloons mornings. They declared that breeches as morning wear were quite exploded, and that they would not be caught in them before one o’clock. Unfortunately any students wearing pantaloons in chapel were marked absent. After several absences from chapel they were sent down.”

  Edward snorted, the sound between laughter and disgust. The story was of a piece with what he had seen of his brother since his return.

  Edward remembered he wished to ask his mother about the Hamptons and decided to take advantage of their being alone to question her while there was little chance they would be interrupted.

  “Mother, what is the mystery about the Hamptons? You all looked uncomfortable when I asked about them yesterday. Nor did you mention them when you were talking about the doings in Staplefield. Surely they are socially acceptable if Mr. Hampton is a former vicar and a scholar?”

  Lady Tremaine folded her hands together in her lap and looked down at them a moment. Then she straightened her head with a sigh.

  “I suppose I must tell you, although it does not reflect well upon Jamie. Of course the Hamptons are socially acceptable. We became well acquainted with them when they moved to Staplefield and quite enjoyed their company. Mr. Hampton is a genial man, if a little abstracted, but that is to be expected in a scholar. His daughters are exceptionally fine young women. Fanny, the younger sister, was particularly beautiful. She and Jamie spent a great deal of time together, and last year they became betrothed.”

  “Betrothed? No one ever wrote to inform me of Jamie’s betrothal!” Edward exclaimed, surprised at this piece of information. He also wondered why Fanny Hampton’s beauty was spoken of in the past tense.

  “The reason we did not was that shortly after the betrothal, Fanny became quite seriously ill. We did not wish to worry you, so we did not tell you anything about it. Then…” Lady Tremaine faltered and looked past Edward through the window, staring at the cloudless blue sky. Edward said nothing, and in a moment his mother resumed her story. “Then Jamie broke off the engagement.”

  “Why?”

  His mother looked more uncomfortable than ever. “Fanny had been extraordinarily beautiful before her illness, but the fever destroyed her looks.”

  “And that is why he ended the betrothal?” Edward was appalled. Such behaviour was inexcusable in a gentleman and reflected poorly upon the whole family. “You and Father allowed it?”

  “Jamie did not consult us. When we heard what he had done we insisted he resume the betrothal, but Mr. Hampton was against it, quite understandably. We did agree that the engagement not be officially ended until Fanny was completely recovered, for the sake of both our families. Needless to say,” she sighed, “our relationship with the Hamptons has become rather awkward. I tried to call upon Fanny once, but Jane told me she was not well enough to receive visitors. I gathered Fanny had refused to see me and did not call again. However, I must make another call soon, or the gossips will begin to wonder why the family of Fanny’s betrothed does not visit her in her convalescence.”

  Edward was silent several minutes. No wonder Miss Hampton had looked at him so strangely when he had introduced himself. It was a wonder she had remained to speak with him at all. How painful it must have been to her family to have the betrothal broken in such a manner on top of their other troubles. He must try and think of a way to rectify the situation. It certainly could not be allowed to remain as it was. Perhaps he could speak to Miss Hampton and persuade her to discuss with her sister the possibility of another call from his mother. She had been friendly enough to him “I spoke to Miss Hampton for several minutes on my way home yesterday. I had stopped to admire her flowers. Perhaps if I were to call upon her again I might be able to induce her to speak to her sister on your behalf.”

  Lady Tremaine considered a moment. “Perhaps that would be best. As you are newly home from the war, Fanny might even be willing to see you. Despite her illness, she is a lovely child and will no doubt wish to welcome you home. And if she accepts a call from you, she will have to accept calls from the rest of the family, as well.”

  Edward intended to call upon the Hamptons the next day, but the journey home had taxed his strength more than he had realised. He felt too tired and weak to go anywhere for several days, and when he did feel recovered his father required his presence so that he might be brought up-to-date on the affairs of the estate.

  It was not until a week later that Edward was at last able to set out of a morning for the Hamptons’. He reluctantly ordered his recalcitrant bay to be saddled, realising that he could not yet handle his father’s high-spirited cattle. Ariel might not mind his directives, but neither did he ever go faster than a trot.

  Edward did not see Miss Hampton in the garden when he reached the cottage, so he tethered Ariel by the gate and walked through the fragrant garden to the cottage door. His knock was answered by a comfortable-looking woman of middle age who stepped back to allow him to enter.

  “Captain Tremaine to call upon Miss Hampton,” he explained.

  “Please wait here, Captain Tremaine,” the woman replied. “I shall inform Miss Hampton you are here.”

  Edward looked around the small entrance hall as he waited. It was neatly but not expensively furnished, with Sheraton-style chairs and a bench. A small cherrywood clock ticked softly on a wall bracket, and a portrait of a young woman with two children hung on the wall. Edward was examining the portrait when a door at the far end of
the hall opened and he was joined by Miss Hampton. She was as fresh-looking as he remembered, although the white smock covering her blue muslin dress had a smattering of ink stains, and a smudge of ink marred her pink complexion. Her unfashionably long hair was piled atop her head and partially covered with a lace-trimmed muslin cap.

  “Please forgive my appearance, Captain Tremaine,” she said, looking down ruefully at her ink-stained smock and hands. “I assist my father with his studies when he requires it, and I was not expecting company. Nor,” she added confidentially, “does the plan of our house allow me to escape upstairs and make myself more presentable without your seeing me.”

  Edward laughed with her and assured his hostess it was of no moment to him. Privately he thought her ink-smudged appearance quite charming, particularly when she smiled and a dimple appeared.

  “I see where you acquired your scholarship, Miss Hampton,” he commented.

  “Yes, I suppose Father has turned me into something of a bluestocking,” Miss Hampton admitted, and Edward thought if she were an example of a bluestocking, he had been missing something.

  “I hope you are fully recovered from your journey?” Miss Hampton asked, the conventional question spoken with evident sincerity.