‘Now this one here, this is by Nicholas Hilliard,’ he said, moving to one of the larger miniatures, hung away from the direct light.
Jane followed him and admired the small gem, glowing in its shady corner, but she was not deceived that this was going to be a conversation about art.
‘Are you in love with my grandson?’ the Marquess asked.
Even braced for an interrogation, she was startled into the truth. ‘No. That is to say, I like and admire him. Respect him.’ She stopped rather too abruptly, but that was better than gabbling about growing desire or her anxiety over whether he truly would allow her the freedom to paint as she wished.
‘Excellent. I did not think that you had foolish romantic notions in your head about this match, but one can never be certain these days. Girls read too many novels, too much poetry and that can only lead to disillusion.’
Jane bit back the retort that it was perfectly possible to read both without becoming romantically deluded. ‘I am very conscious that Lord Kendall offered for me out of concern for my reputation. I would be foolish indeed to imagine warmer feelings than liking on either side.’
An expression that she hoped was approval crossed the craggy face. ‘You consider it a matter of mere liking on both sides? You do not imagine that my grandson is in love with you?’
‘Certainly not,’ Jane said, startled into crispness. ‘We had known each other for a matter of days before his proposal.’ The Marquess looked sceptical. ‘My lord, we have already established that I am not subject to romantic imaginings.’
‘Good. Excellent, you set my mind at rest. I thought when I heard about you that you seemed to be a sensible young woman, one with some courage and resolution. Intelligence. That is what Ivo needs in a wife. But I would not have you...disappointed later.’
What on earth was he hinting at? ‘I have no illusions about the nature of this match and Ivo has assured me that no other woman would be left with disappointed hopes as a result of him offering for me. Naturally, I hope and trust that affection between us will grow with time and familiarity.’
My goodness, I sound like some starched-up dowager. Oh, well, in for a penny...
‘My concern is to be a support to Lord Kendall as he takes up his responsibilities at your side, my lord, but I have his word that I will be able to continue with my art.’
‘Your art? Of course, you paint, do you not?’
‘I paint portraits. In oils. I am not certain if you are aware of how seriously I take it?’
He beetled his brows at her, clearly not used to pert young women standing up to him like this. ‘Are you any good at it?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Now was not the time for modesty.
‘Convince me of it and I have a commission for you. Ah, here is Mrs French. Off you go now: I have no doubt she will show you parts of this house I have never seen myself.’
Jane bobbed a slight curtsy and turned to the woman who stood in the doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her over a crisp apron. There was lace at her collar and cuffs, a great bunch of keys hanging from her waist and a smart cap on her brown curls.
‘Miss Newnham.’ The housekeeper was perhaps fifty, tall, angular and plain, but her expression was intelligent and alert, her voice cool and assured. Jane had no idea whether she would prove to be an ally or an opponent, but she was clearly a force to be reckoned with. ‘Lord Kendall has asked me to show you around the house at any time that is convenient to you.’
‘Now would be perfect,’ Jane said, relieved at the excuse to escape. She had no idea how to respond to what Lord Westhaven had said to her. A commission? Did he really wish her to paint a portrait for him, a man who could doubtless afford to have every relative he possessed painted by Lawrence, the king of contemporary portraitists? And his questions about her feelings had been even more baffling, unless he was simply very old-fashioned and disapproved of love matches on principal.
Or was he warning her against falling in love with Ivo for some reason? Why should anyone object to a wife loving her husband? Unless he feared that she would be hurt... Did that mean that he considered his grandson incapable of loving? Surely—‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs French. I was concentrating so hard on remembering where exactly I was that I missed what you have been saying.’
‘It is a very large house, Miss Newnham,’ the housekeeper said pleasantly. ‘Some confusion is only to be expected at first. But fortunately, unlike so many other old houses, it is quite straightforward in its layout. Both wings are symmetrical—in fact, they are mirror images of each other except that the West Wing has the main entrance hall and that space in the East Wing contains the music room. The only irregularity is that caused by the tower in the centre where the floor levels are different and that is compensated for by short flights of steps on either side.’
She opened a door as she spoke and Jane found herself at the top of stairs leading down to a circular room with a large hooded fireplace and a number of suits of armour. ‘The tower rooms are purely to display the older artefacts,’ Mrs French explained. ‘They are opened when there are parties or balls and when we have visitors call when His Lordship is not at home then this is the main part of the house I show them, rather than any of the more modern rooms.’
It had not occurred to Jane that this was one of the great houses where genteel travellers might expect to call and have the housekeeper show them through the public rooms. That would be difficult to become accustomed to, she realised.
Along with a great deal else...
Mrs French took her around the East Wing because, she explained, this was now Lord Kendall’s domain and would therefore be her own after the wedding. Jane found herself lost in tapestries and panelling, hangings and rich decoration and hardly dared glance through the door of Ivo’s bedchamber, let alone through the one to what would be her suite of rooms next door.
‘At present Their Lordships dine together every evening in the small dining room in the West Wing,’ Mrs French explained as they reached the safer ground of the dining rooms. One large—enormous—and one small, which could seat fifteen easily.
There was something in her tone that suggested she did not expect this to be the case after the marriage. Jane was not so certain. It was hardly as though she and Ivo would want to be alone every evening—besides, it would complicate things for the cook.
‘His Lordship suggested that you might like to view below stairs after luncheon, Miss Newnham,’ Mrs French said as they arrived back in the circular tower chamber. ‘Unless you are tired and would prefer to do so on another day. I am at your disposal at any time. Oh, good morning, Lady Frederick.’
The newcomer was standing at the top of the short flight of stairs into the West Wing. Jane took in an impression of elegance and height and a beautifully cut walking dress and pelisse, both in deepest black. Despite the mourning, the hat perched on Lady Frederick’s dark curls was more dashing than anything Jane had seen outside the pages of La Belle Assemblée and the overall effect was enough to make her feel like a candidate for the post of scullery maid.