The letter was yellowed with age and worn, as if its recipient had pored over it again and again in search of an elusive clue that might bring understanding—or at least some sort of comfort.
Sarah Hanson slipped the folded pages from between the leaves of a Bible that rested on the table beside a comfortably worn chair in the Hansons’ private parlor. She fingered it a moment, as if reluctant to have Sebastian read it, lest he harshly judge one who’d been so dear to her. “Remember: She was very young when she wrote it,” she said, finally holding it out to him. “Just sixteen.”
Lady Emily’s handwriting had been graceful and delicate, her enthusiasm for her first grown-up house party readily obvious in the letter’s numerous underlinings and exclamation points.
My dear, dear Miss Rice,
Oh, I am so glad Mama was convinced by the lure of Lord Stone’s presence to allow me to come to Maplethorpe, for I am having the most marvelous time!
Thankfully, Lord Stone has shown not the slightest interest in me. I hear he prefers his women “mature and experienced”—no innocents need apply!—which suits me just fine. (Do you think if I tell Mama, she will abandon her matchmaking schemes? Or will she simply blame me for not putting myself forward enough?) His lordship and his companions are out most of the day shooting, and when they do return to the house, their attention is consumed by the billiards table, the contents of Mr. Irving’s extensive cellars, and some foul-smelling things I’m told are called cheroots. Fortunately, the same cannot be said of most of the other gentlemen present, so it is only during the day that we ladies are forced to amuse ourselves with our needlework and reading and letter writing, or rambling walks through the countryside and to the village.
I already wrote Mother and Father about my fellow houseguests, so shall I tell you instead of the village? There are several of what Mama calls the “better sort” of families in the neighborhood. The gentlemen have been invited to join the houseguests in their shooting and they also come in the evening with their wives to dinner. From the Grange comes Squire Rawlins and his quiet little mouse of a wife. The Squire is like a character out of Chaucer—large, gruff, loud, opinionated, and so addicted to snuff he is always liberally dusted with the stuff. He is even older than Lord Stone and interested in nothing beyond his horses and his hounds and his port—oh, and his land and herds, of course. He told me to my face he has no patience for struggling to make conversation with some chit barely out of the schoolroom! How I feel for his wife, for she is not much older than I.
Far more congenial is Lord Seaton of Northcott Abbey, a fine estate that lies to the west of Ayleswick. His lordship also has a wife, although they say she is increasing and ill as a result, so she seldom goes into company these days. Liv tells me there are whispers about his lordship, if you know what I mean. And I must say his behavior does seem to bear them out, for he has been quite marked in his attentions to me, and he is so handsome and charming that my head would surely be turned were it not for Liv’s warnings.
There is also a Major Weston, who is a frequent guest at Maplethorpe. He is quite gallant and likeable, although Lady Dalton bestirred herself from her flirtation with one of Lord Stone’s cronies long enough to warn me he is utterly without fortune and must make his own way in the world. He is related to Lord Weston of Somersfield Park, but while that must obviously make him attractive to Mrs. Irving (Liv tells me her mama is most anxious for her to make some noble connection), I know my own mama would take to her bed for a week were she to learn that her daughter had so much as smiled at a mere major. And if she were to hear about the brooding and romantically dashing young man down at the Ship! Well, I do believe she would suffer an apoplexy. But not to worry, my dear Rice, for I am mindful always of what is owed my house, and am content merely to attempt to capture that young man’s likeness in my sketchbook. If only my humble talents were equal to the challenge!