Susan Johnson - Again and Again

The Countess of Netherton was in a small sitting room, writing at a white and gilt desk when Caroline was shown in. She immediately smiled, rose to her feet and hurried forward, holding out her hand. “Do come in. May I call you Caroline? We’re quite informal out here in the wilds. Thornton, have tea brought up.” She took in Caroline’s paleness. “You look chilled to the bone. The weather’s been dreadful, hasn’t it? Come,” she drew Caroline forward. “Sit by the fire.”

Within moments, Caroline was put at ease, her new employer so genuinely kind the tightness in her shoulders melted away. Tall and fair, Lady Carlisle was dressed in a scarlet wool gown without ornament, her hair, fashionably short and curled, her smile quite capable of renewing a cynic’s faith in humanity. They spoke of the weather and the state of the roads, of the castle’s history and antecedents, of children in a general way and in short order, Caroline was feeling as though her new position was going to prove agreeable.

Tea arrived as Lady Jane was describing her two children in the glowing phrases of a doting mother. “You’ll meet the little darlings later,” she said with a teasing smile. “Hugh and Joanna are out riding with their father. Since it warmed up slightly today, Ian agreed to take them to the village for sticky buns. It’s not as though our cook can’t bake sticky buns, but you know how much better they taste when you’re away from home.”

“I understand. My father and I would ride to our village for cream cakes,” Caroline said. The pleasure as a child is out of all proportion to the simple treat.“

“Isn’t it just… although Ian and the children enjoy each other’s company most, I think.”

“I know the feeling.” Caroline went silent, her childhood made perfect by a father who adored her, his loss like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

“You said in your letter, your parents are gone.” Lady Jane’s tone was sympathetic.

Caroline forced her thoughts to the present. “My mother died when I was very young so I don’t remember her well.” How often had she uttered that phrase; it never got easier. “My father has been gone five years now.”

“I’m sorry. My parents too are no longer with me. I understand how difficult it can be.”

Caroline smile was strained. “One must make do.”

“Yes, of course.” Jane leaned over to pat Caroline’s hand. “The passage of time helps, I’ve found, and keeping busy is an additional antidote. Tell me of your life abroad,” she added, diplomatically changing the subject. “Your letter mentioned you’d been living in France.”

“I was married to a French émigré. He died a few months ago.” Divorce was often perceived as scandalous. Caroline chose caution.

“My condolences. Do you have other family?”

Caroline shook her head, suddenly unable to speak as a great rush of loneliness washed over her.

“How awful for you. Perhaps I could give you some of my eight brothers and sisters-please, I beg of you, take them,” Jane said with a grin. “They all live in the neighborhood and are constantly underfoot”

Jane’s attempt at levity served its purpose and Caroline smiled. “I look forward to meeting them.”

“You won’t be so gracious once you do. My sisters love to give orders and my brothers speak of nothing but their hunting dogs and horses.” She chuckled. “I’m afraid, it’s an instance of the pot calling the kettle black-but nevertheless, they are a trial on occasion. I’m the youngest, you see.”

Caroline lifted her brows. “And always in need of their advice, they no doubt presume.”

“So they contend.” Jane shrugged and smiled. “I have quite a different opinion, of course.”

“It sounds as though you have a busy household. I look forward to the distractions.”

“Good. Perhaps we can help ease your loneliness. As for your duties, you needn’t be apprehensive. I don’t expect my children to be serious students. Neither Ian nor I are bookish. Our interests are almost exclusively horses and hunting,” she added. “The countryside is perfect for coursing… and very beautiful.” Jane waved her hand in a deprecating gesture. “Not so much now as in the warmer months. Should you like to ride, we have a good stable. Feel free to take your pick of the mounts,” she offered.

“Thank you. I do like to ride.” Caroline almost said, I used to hunt with the Beaufort Hunt.

“We’ll see that you’re set up then. Do you have any requirements in terms of books and supplies for the schoolroom? I must say, your education is splendid-intimidating as a matter of fact; you speak six languages. How very impressive,” Jane said with a casual politesse; most of the aristocracy had little interest in education. “Your recommendation by the Duchesse of Montclair was impressive as well.”

The duchesse was extremely kind. She’s a distant relative of my poor departed husband.“ Caroline inwardly cringed at her fabrications, but she needed privacy and hermitage right now-somewhere far from London and the ton where she could take stock of her options. And additionally, since Shipton, somewhere Simon couldn’t find her.

“I have a feeling we’re going to muddle along famously,” Jane observed, brightly. “Please, have more cakes and jam. You’ve hardly eaten a thing. Let me freshen up your tea,” she declared, reaching for the teapot. “I can’t wait until Ian and the children meet you. They’re going to love you!”

Several days later, in the early evening, a mud-spattered carriage arrived at Netherton Castle, and a tall, dark-haired man leaped down to the cobblestones and strode toward the same door that had intimidated Caroline on her arrival. He was glowering, his mouth was set in a grim line and if it had been possible for fire to actually spark in one’s eyes, he would have incontestably illustrated that principle.

When Thornton greeted him in the cavernous entrance hall, the butler glanced at the man’s muddy boots, but knew better than to make mention of the muck he was leaving on the oriental carpet.

His host, however, wasn’t so politic when the visitor entered his drawing room.

“Good God, Simon, take off those filthy boots. Jane will have your head if you ruin her carpets.”

A muted growl issued from Simon’s pursed lips, but he sat, pulled off his boots and handed them to Thornton who received them with relief, grateful the muddy trail from the entrance hall up the grand staircase, down the corridor to the drawing room had come to an end.

“You look like you need a whiskey,” the Earl of Netherton said.

Simon nodded and rose to his feet “It’s been a miserable few days.”

“In what way, although from the look of you, I’m not sure I want to know. You look ready to do battle.”

“Damned women,” Simon muttered, moving toward his host. They’re the bane of my existence.“

Well aware of his friend’s reputation with the ladies, the earl’s concern lessened. “It’s nothing serious then.” He handed Simon his whiskey. “I stand relieved. I thought I might have to serve as second to you in some duel.” He turned to pour himself a drink.

“What makes you think it’s not serious?”

Ian Carlisle glanced over his shoulder, his brows arched in surprise. “You mean to tell me, it might be?”

Simon didn’t immediately answer. He tipped the whiskey down his throat, handed the glass back, said, “Fill it up,” and blew out a breath so obviously of frustration, Ian’s concern returned. “It could be serious,” Simon murmured. “Under the right circumstances… Oh, hell, I don’t know if it is or not… It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t find her.”

Ian turned with their drinks and surveyed his friend’s less than impeccable attire. “You’ve been looking for some time apparently.”

“For three days. She disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No. She was gone from London when you and Jane first came down.” Ian and Simon had become friends at Waterloo. “Oh, bloody hell.” Simon lifted the glass to his mouth. “Screw it. Tell me about the hunting.”

Dismissing women was more the norm than the exception with Simon. Back on familiar ground, Ian waved them into chairs near the fire and proceeded to describe the state of his coverts, deer herds, and hunting pack. By the time Jane came back with the book she’d gone in search of, the men were deep in a discussion of the next day’s hunt.

After welcoming Simon, Jane saw to it that he had a dinner tray brought to him from the kitchen. They’d already dined, but she and Ian joined Simon for coffee. By the time Simon had eaten his way through several servings of roast beef, a variety of vegetables, fresh bread and honey, his mood had lightened. Ian and Jane were always the best of company, far removed from the brittle gossip of the ton, less interested in the scandal of the day than the weather and the state of their crops. Their peaceful existence, sensible view of the world, their obvious happiness were all reasons he accepted their invitations when he felt a need to escape the profligacy of his life.

Pushing his plate away, Simon leaned back in his chair and surveyed his hosts with a faint smile. “I forget what contentment is until I come to Netherton.” He half lifted his hand. “Thank you for reminding me there’s a better life somewhere.”

“You’re always welcome, Simon,” Jane pleasantly noted. “You needn’t wait for an invitation.”

“When the lure of the bright lights wane…” Ian intoned facetiously.

Simon shrugged. “I seem to be reaching that stage with greater frequency of late.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” Ian waggishly reminded him.

Simon’s dark brows rose. “Meaning?”

“Marriage, of course. You might find you like it.”

Simon smiled. “Jane’s already taken.”

“You’ll always have an excuse, won’t you?” Her expression was sportive.