was restless. In previous summers he had enjoyed making his way from one house party to another, but this year nothing pleased him. Even in Brighton with Gwen and Anthony his mind constantly wandered to Rotham.
He corresponded regularly with Nicky, but was a little disappointed that she did not appear to be missing him. At the end of August he made his excuses to leave Brighton and went to Chalcots. He had visited the house only once since he had inherited it—after all, the Brook Street house was much more convenient for when he was in town, but now he realised that this pretty little villa would make an ideal family home and he began to draw up plans for its refurbishment.
September slipped by as he threw himself into the work at Chalcots, exchanging letters with Nicky on colour schemes and plans for the gardens. With all the work he had put in hand the house was quite uninhabitable and he resided at Brook Street, but did not even consider going to the clubs, theatres and gambling dens that he had frequented as a bachelor. He spent his evenings writing to Nicky, or reading her letters.
He was sitting in his study, the cheerful fire there driving off the first chill of autumn, when he realised with a shock how much he missed her and, instead of picking up his pen, he gathered up all the drawings and swatches into a pile. He would take them to Rotham and discuss them with her in person. Tomorrow.
* * *
Once the decision had been made he was eager to get away and, after making sure that the builders and decorators knew exactly what was expected of them, he set off, arriving late in the afternoon, tired and dusty, to find the house in uproar. Servants scurried about, too absorbed to notice him. Intrigued, he left his horse in the stables and quickly ran into the house, but arriving in the great hall he stopped and stared in amazement at the scene of feverish activity. The gardener’s boy was carrying in armfuls of plants and flowers while the maids were busy covering trestle tables with snowy cloths. And in the midst of it all, issuing directions, was Nicky. Her condition was very evident, but there was a bloom about her that he had not seen before. She looked...radiant.
At that moment she saw him and, after a quiet word to the housekeeper, she came towards him, hands held out. His heart lifted at the sight of her welcoming smile. He took her hands, pressing a kiss on to each in turn.
‘What is this, madam?’ he demanded with mock severity. ‘I am away for a few weeks and return to find Rotham in chaos!’
She laughed.
‘We are holding a harvest supper tonight. I am so glad you are here, you will be able to join us.’
‘We have not celebrated the harvest here since Mama died.’
Long-buried memories returned as he watched the preparations and heard the snatches of song and laughter coming from the servants as they worked. That, too, was something he had not heard for many years.
He brought his gaze back to her face and grinned. ‘How did you cajole my father into this?’
‘I was reading Robinson Crusoe to him—’
‘Wait!’ He put up his hand. ‘You were reading to Father?’
‘Why, yes. It would be very monotonous if I could only entertain him with my music, so we play at backgammon or cards, and when the tea tray is brought in I read to him. I bought a number of my favourite works to bring with me. Lord Rotham enjoyed The History of Sir Charles Grandison, and Sterne’s Tristram Shandy although I have not suggested I should read him Mrs Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho...’
‘No, don’t,’ said Gideon, his mind reeling at this new vision of his father. ‘I beg your pardon, I interrupted you.’ He waved his hand towards the hall. ‘You were telling me how all this came about.’
‘Well, Defoe mentions sowing seeds and I merely suggested that he might like to hold a harvest supper.’
‘And where is my father now?’
‘In his study, keeping out of the way.’ She tried to look serious and failed, going off into a peal of laughter.
Gideon found himself laughing, too, but he sobered quickly.
‘I am surprised Father allows you to do so much. He was more anxious than I that you should not overtax yourself.’
‘I am not overtaxing myself, Gideon. Your father and I agreed that I am the best person to know just what I can do.’ He was not convinced, but she merely shook her head at him, her green eyes full of warm amusement. ‘Pray do not be anxious for me, sir. My role here is merely to oversee matters. To prove it, I shall leave the rest to Mrs Ellis and take you away for some refreshment.’
As she led him upstairs to the drawing room, he noticed that the house no longer had a sad air of neglect. Fresh flowers adorned side tables, brass wall sconces gleamed and the grand staircase smelled of beeswax and lavender. The drawing room, too, was much more comfortable. Furniture had been moved into a less formal arrangement, curtains were thrown wide and the hard wooden chairs were covered in cushions.
* * *
His valet had also noticed the difference, as he told Gideon when he went upstairs to change.
‘Warner tells me the viscount is like a new man. When Mrs Albury began changing things he thought there would be hell to pay, but it seems his lordship is content to let her have her way. And none of the staff have left, either, which was a worry, when the mistress began wanting this cleaned, and that moved, but, no, she’s charmed ’em all, just like she did at Brook Street.’
‘Yes, well...’ Gideon buttoned his jacket, a slight frown creasing his brow ‘...I only hope she does not find it all too much for her.’
‘Not Mrs Albury,’ opined Runcorn confidently. ‘She’s as canny as she can hold together and knows what she is about.’
Gideon bent a searching look upon the valet.
‘Do you think her scheming, then?’
Runcorn stepped back, a mixture of shock and outrage contorting his features.
‘In no wise, sir! I hears nothing but good of the mistress from everyone who’s met her. A proper lady she is, and no mistake.’
Gideon was relieved to know that Nicky was so well respected at Rotham, but he was still concerned that she was doing too much.
* * *
He found his opinion shared by the viscount. They were sitting together after the harvest supper, watching as the room was cleared for dancing.
Gideon’s eyes were on Nicky as she left the minstrels’ gallery after talking to the musicians. He heard his father murmur that she had been up since dawn and must be exhausted.
‘She took a rest this afternoon,’ said Gideon, ‘but it was only a short one.’ He jumped up to hold her seat for her when she returned to the top table. ‘My father was just saying how tired you must be.’
‘Not as tired as you,’ she countered. ‘You only arrived at Rotham today.’
The musicians struck up a lively tune and a number of couples took to the floor.
‘You will not dance.’ Her brows shot up and he added quickly, ‘I beg your pardon, I do not mean to browbeat you, but I am concerned,’
She smiled. ‘And I am grateful for it. You are right, this is far too energetic for me, but you must dance, Gideon. I believe it was always the custom for everyone to stand up together, was it not, my lord?’
‘Aye, in the old days,’ agreed the viscount, ‘although I do not dance now.’
‘Then your son must do the honours,’ she declared, giving Gideon’s hand a squeeze. ‘Go along, sir, and do your duty.’
Smiling, Gideon went off to find partners for a succession of energetic country dances. The mood was very merry and the old rafters echoed with laughter and good cheer. When he returned to the top table Nicky pushed back her chair and rose.