‘I still can’t believe you talked me into coming back to Stonedown Manor for Christmas,’ Lady Clara Kingston complained to Lady Anne Exton, her sister-in-law, for the second time during their journey. The first had been when they’d set out two hours ago from their estate, Winsome Manor. Conversation with Anne had eased Clara’s initial misgivings and for a while the carriage ride through the snow-covered countryside had been soothing. But as the rolling hills of Surrey had changed to the flatter lands on the edges of the Weald in Kent and the familiar landscape surrounding Stonedown Manor, Clara’s apprehension had returned. With Stonedown looming on a nearby rise, the creamy stone front of it fading into the stark and leafless trees and frost-covered hills behind it, Clara’s unease increased.
‘You’re too young to cloister yourself at Winsome,’ Anne said. ‘And what better way to return to society than surrounded by people you know who will be glad to see you? It’s been ages since you’ve attended one of Lord and Lady Tillman’s annual Christmas house parties.’
‘For good reason.’ It’d been six years since the last time Clara had travelled this road. Back then she’d been heading home with the disappointment and embarrassment that had marred the remaining days of that Christmas visit accompanying her. It had been one of the worst Christmases that she’d ever endured and one of the best and most memorable.
‘That was a long time ago, Clara, and far behind you. Think of the better times,’ Anne encouraged.
‘I’m trying.’ Clara traced the outline of her wedding ring beneath her glove. She’d been unable to take it off despite the two years that had come and gone since Alfred’s passing. With him beside her, she could have returned to Stonedown without the regrets and doubts weighing her down, laughing at the less-than-pleasant memories of her last visit instead of allowing them to torture her as much as his loss. The surety of his love and protection was no longer there to help her and never would be again. Whatever waited for her at Stonedown, she must face it alone, as she had the humiliation that had marked that Christmas morning six years ago before Alfred’s caring had driven it away.
Clara nearly rapped on the roof of the coach to tell the driver to turn around and take her back to Winsome, but instead she clasped her hands tight together in her lap, her wedding ring pushing into the crook of her fingers. She couldn’t run away from this like a scared spinster or that was exactly what she would become. She was tired of being the widowed aunt, of living through Anne’s and Adam’s lives while hers remained mired by a loss of love and purpose. This more than all of Anne’s urgings had brought her to Stonedown. After two years secluded in the country, even she could see how the isolation and loneliness weren’t good for her.
Anne leaned across the carriage and clasped Clara’s hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, Clara. Everything will be all right. You’ll enjoy yourself and who knows what might happen. You met Alfred here. There might be someone equally special waiting for you this time.’
The light of hope in Anne’s pale green eyes surprised Clara as much as the sensation rising in her heart. Hoping for such a thing felt like a betrayal of Alfred’s memory, but she needed to believe that there was something more waiting for her than the endless lonely days at Winsome Manor, many of which she spent lamenting what hadn’t been. Alfred wouldn’t want her to stop living, but the chance of lightning striking twice at Stonedown was remote, as was the possibility that she and others would not recall that her biggest embarrassment had also happened here. ‘Assuming people can see me as I am and not always think of me the way I was and what happened before.’
‘Few people will be so bored during their time here as to dwell on that unfortunate incident. There’s no reason for anyone to remember or to bring it up.’
‘I pray you’re right.’ Clara didn’t wish for people to view her as the simple girl who’d allowed herself to be duped by a fortune hunter, but as the poised Marchioness of Kingston that she’d become in the years since. It was the other reason she’d decided to come here, to prove to herself and everyone how much she’d changed. As for love finding her twice at Stonedown, she wasn’t that hopeful. ‘I doubt there will be anyone waiting at the house party for me. Most of the guests our age are married and the rest are old enough to be our parents. But you’re right, this is a good chance for me to venture out again and remember what it’s like.’
‘Don’t be too safe,’ Anne suggested with a mischievous smile as she sat back against the squabs. ‘An innocent risk every now and then is good for a woman.’
The plotting look in Anne’s eyes made Clara wonder if Anne knew something about Lady Tillman’s guest list that she didn’t. There wasn’t time to ask as the carriage made the turn on to the main drive leading to the massive front staircase.
A number of other carriages stood before the entrance, disgorging their passengers who strode up the numerous steps to the house. Spying the carriages and all the familiar faces, the excitement and anticipation that used to seize Clara when she and Adam were children and their parents would bring them here for the week before Christmas swept her again. Yes, she would enjoy herself in a way she hadn’t done in years and perhaps for a little while forget the lingering sadness that had been draping her for far too long.
A footman opened the carriage door and a gust of cool air with a hint of snow rushed in. Clara stepped out and peered up at the tall façade and the wide columns stretching up to support the triangle-shaped entrance giving Stonedown Manor the appearance of a Greek temple. It had seemed so much taller when she’d been a child holding on tight to her mother’s hand while they’d climbed these same steps. Coming to Stonedown had been as much a family tradition as Christmas pudding or carols. After their parents’ passing eight years ago, Clara and Adam had continued to come to Stonedown, to keep the tradition and their memory alive until that awful Christmas six years ago.
With a sigh, she started her ascent, but Anne took her by the arm, giggling like a new maid. ‘Do you remember how old Lady Pariston used to pinch the footmen on the cheeks?’
Clara tossed back her head and laughed, having quite forgotten. ‘I do. Didn’t she catch one on the bottom once?’
‘She said her shoulder hurt too much for her to reach the higher cheek. She will be here.’
‘Then no footman is safe.’
They almost doubled over in laughter when they reached the top, the old memory and the chance to see the charming Dowager again giving new life to the prospect of being here. It didn’t have to be all pain and regret, and Anne was right, Clara must think about the happy memories instead of dwelling on the unfortunate ones.
She and Anne stepped into the main entrance hall and craned their necks to take in the tall-ceilinged room with wide-eyed wonder. Despite the marble floors, the stone and iron of the curving front stairs and the high plastered ceilings and stark white moulding, there was a cosiness to Stonedown, an air of family and comfortable living one often didn’t find in estates this grand. This was the seat of the Earls of Tillman, but also their true home and, where it once rang with the noise of their five children, it now echoed with the sound of their grandchildren and the children of the guests and all the people gathered to celebrate Christmas. Fresh boughs of holly adorned every table and garlands of evergreens draped the long banister of the wide staircase leading up to the first floor. The crisp and spicy scent of cinnamon and nutmeg mingled with the earthy aroma of pine while the tinkling notes of someone playing Christmas carols on the piano in the music room drifted through the air. Clara took it all in, allowing the many happy memories of Christmases with her family here to fill her and make her doubts about coming fade. This delight was exactly what her tired soul needed.
‘There’s Lady Tillman. She will be so happy to see you.’ Anne guided her to where their stately hostess stood beneath a magnificent painting of the Italian countryside.
Lady Tillman, with her grey hair done up and decorated with a sprig of holly, and her thick figure regal in a dark green velvet frock with long sleeves and fur cuffs, reminded Clara of her mother and the way she used to appear whenever she’d greeted