The Wicked Lord Montague. Carole Mortimer
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you, Agnes.’ Mrs Stratton nodded approval as the maid brought in the tray of tea things.
Lily waited until she had departed before continuing the conversation. ‘I have always thought this room to have a particularly lovely view of the gardens.’
‘Why, thank you, Lily.’ Mrs Stratton’s already ample chest puffed out with pleasure as she poured their tea. ‘His Grace has always been very generous in regard to the comfort of his servants.’
‘I am sure his kindness is only commensurate with the care and devotion all of you have shown towards him and his family for so many years.’ Lily sat forward slightly so that she might take her cup of tea from the older woman.
It was now four long days since Mr Seagrove, Lily’s adoptive father, and vicar of the parish of Castonbury—and a particular friend of His Grace—had returned from dining at Castonbury Park to confide in Lily concerning the letter the duke had written to his son Giles in London, where that haughty gentleman had chosen to reside since resigning his commission in the army nine months ago.
It was a confidence which Lily had listened to with horror as she recalled the last occasion on which she and Giles Montague had spoken!
Having lived in a state of turmoil these past four days at the mere thought of Giles Montague’s return, Lily had been unable to contain her restless anxiety another moment longer. She decided to walk the mile to Castonbury Park in order to pay a visit to the kindly Mrs Stratton, in the hope that the duke’s housekeeper may have further news concerning the heir’s return.
Presenting Mrs Stratton with a jar of Mrs Jeffries’s legendary gooseberry jam on her arrival—everyone in the parish knew that the gooseberries in Mr Seagrove’s garden were far superior to any other in the district—had gone a long way towards paving the way to an invitation from Mrs Stratton for Lily to join her in her parlour for afternoon tea.
Not that Mrs Stratton was one for gossip. Her loyalty to the Montague family was beyond reproach. Nevertheless, Lily hoped there would be some way in which she might steer the conversation in the direction in which she wished it would go. ‘It must be somewhat lonely here for His Grace since most of the family travelled down to London for the Season?’ she prompted lightly.
‘Perhaps.’ The housekeeper frowned a little.
Lily sipped her tea. ‘Did none of them think to stay behind and keep His Grace company?’
‘I believe Mrs Landes-Fraser had intended on doing so, but Lady Kate was called away on other business, and her aunt decided it prudent to accompany her.’
Lily smiled affectionately as she guessed that the eldest of the two Montague sisters, having pooh-poohed the idea of attending the London Season, was no doubt now off on another of her crusades to help the underprivileged and needy, and that her maternal aunt, Mrs Wilhelmina Landes-Fraser, had accompanied her in order to ensure she did not stray too far from the bounds of propriety.
Mrs Stratton offered Lily one of the meringues made by the duke’s French chef. ‘Besides which, I believe His Grace is more … settled in his manner when he is not troubled by the rush and bustle of the younger members of the family hurrying here, there and everywhere.’
Lily bit back her frustration with this unhelpful reply as she carefully helped herself to one of the delicacies. ‘Perhaps there will soon be news of Lord Giles returning …?’
‘None that I am aware of.’ The older woman looked puzzled. ‘I must say that I do not completely … understand his continued absence, given the circumstances.’
‘No,’ Lily prompted softly.
Indeed, she had never understood Edward’s excess of affection for his brother Giles. He was a gentleman whom Lily had never found particular reason to like in the past, but for over a year now, she was ashamed to admit, she had detested him almost to the point of hatred!
Mrs Stratton gave a slightly exasperated shake of her grey head. ‘And he was such an endearing scamp as a child too. I find it hard to believe—’ She broke off distractedly, not one to give, or condone, any criticism of a single member of the Montague family to whom she had long devoted her time and emotions, the more so since her own son did not visit as often as she might have wished.
Lily had discovered this past year that she was not so generous of nature in regard to Lord Giles Montague. Indeed, she found it hard even to begin to imagine him as anything other than the disdainful and arrogant gentleman who, the last time they had spoken together, had so wilfully and deliberately insulted both her and the possible lowly origins of her forebears. The mere thought of his ever being ‘an endearing scamp,’ even as a child, seemed positively ludicrous to her!
The eight years’ difference in their ages had meant that Lord Giles had already been away at boarding school by the time Lily was old enough to be allowed to play further afield than the vicarage garden, and he had not always returned home in the holidays either, often choosing to spend those times staying at the home of a friend. The occasions when he had come home for the holidays he had scornfully declined to spend any of his time with children he considered should still be in the nursery, and upon reflection, Lily had come to believe that he had only suffered Edward’s company because of the young boy’s obvious hero-worship of his older brother.
A hero-worship Lily firmly believed to have succeeded in bringing about Edward’s early demise.
The fact that Mrs Stratton had obviously received no instructions in regard to airing Lord Giles Montague’s rooms for his imminent arrival did, however, seem to be a confirmation of his continued absence. It enabled Lily to relax for the first time in days as she devoured the delicious meringue with gusto. She had always been naturally slender, and besides, this news of Lord Giles—or lack of it!—was surely reason enough for celebration on her part.
She did feel a slight pang of guilt on behalf of the Duke of Rothermere, but ultimately believed that he, and everyone else at Castonbury Park, and the surrounding village, were far better off without the oppressive presence of Lord Giles Montague and his conceited arrogance.
Lily felt happier than she had for days as she walked back to the vicarage. She had removed and was swinging her bonnet in her gloved hand, allowing the sun to warm her ebony curls as she strolled through the dappled glade, which she invariably used as a shortcut onto the road leading back to the village.
Spring was indeed here; the sun was shining, the wildflowers were in bloom, the birds were singing in the branches of trees unfurling their leaves after the long winter. Indeed, it was the sort of pleasant early evening when one was assured of God’s existence and it felt good just to be alive and in His—
‘Well, well, well, if it is not Miss Seagrove once again trespassing on the Rothermere estate!’
The sun disappeared behind a cloud, the wildflowers lost their lustre and the birds ceased singing as they instead took flight from the treetops at the sound of a human voice. At the same time, the colour drained from Lily’s cheeks and her heart began pounding loudly in her chest, her shoulders having stiffened defensively in instant recognition of that hatefully mocking voice. A voice which undoubtedly belonged to none other than the utterly despicable Lord Giles Montague!
‘I do not remember you as being this … accommodatingly silent during the last occasion on which we spoke together, Miss Seagrove. Can it be that “the cat has finally got your tongue”?’
Lily drew in one, two, three steadying breaths, as she prepared to turn and face her nemesis; all of her earlier feelings of well-being had flown away with the birds in the face of the shocking reality that Giles Montague was returned to Castonbury Park, after all.
In the end it was the impatient snorting of that gentleman’s horse which caused Lily to turn sharply, only to come face to face with the huge, glistening black and wild-eyed animal as it seemed to look down the long length of its nose at her with the same scornful disdain as its rider.
Lily took an involuntary step back before chancing a glance up at the owner of that horse, her breath catching in her throat