“You are a Monterey cousin?” Bess enquired, sitting in the other chair at the hearth.
“Very distant,” Rachel agreed mutedly. “Scarcely related at all. I had always lived in Spain, but when my grandmother died the Earl took me in. It was very kind of him,” she added dutifully.
Bess, sensitive always to others, thought she understood the painful vibration she had received on first meeting Rachel. “It is not easy to lose a loved one, or to be uprooted to another country; the two combined must have been very painful.” Rachel stared into her glass without speaking. “In so little time,” Bess went on, “you have done wonderfully to master a new language so thoroughly.”
“My…mother had an English lady as companion.
She stayed with us and we always spoke English when together. She was glad to do so because she missed her home so much.” And how my grandmother had always hated that, Rachel thought wryly.
Bess settled herself more comfortably in her chair. She was a good listener, and would be interested to hear this girl’s story. She said, “You have very unusual looks. Were both your parents English?”
“They were, but my maternal grandmother was Spanish. When my father died my mother lived with her and Spain became her home. I was born there and it was very…dear to me. An unpopular sentiment in this country and in these times, I know.” Spain and all things Spanish were viewed with a distrust bordering on the obsessive by the English. Its religion was outlawed and its converts and devotees subject by law to charges of high treason. Rachel’s slim fingers touched the outline of the gold cross slipped within her bodice.
Bess had seen the movement. “You are Catholic?”
Rachel lowered her wide eyes. “Not officially, naturally—out of respect to the family who kindly gave me a haven. But when I arrived the Earl of Monterey asked me the same question and then said no one should insist I attend the Abbey Hall prayers.” This was a considerable concession actually, for those who did not practise the Protestant faith were viewed with extreme suspicion, as were those who condoned such a lack.
“You do not call the Earl…Grandfather…or Great-uncle?” Bess asked.
“Oh, no! Katherine said that would be most inappropriate.”
On her arrival at Abbey Hall, confused and terrified and taken immediately to confront an elderly gentleman, so sick and grey-looking against the mountainous white pillows, Rachel had run to the bed, eager to embrace her new family with the whole of her warm nature. Looking at her, even John—so weary and tired of trying to face each day—had brightened before such entrancing life. Katherine, who had been present, had soon put a stop to that, keeping her cousin away from John and his few visitors.
“Oh, but surely—” Bess began, then caught herself up. It was not her concern, naturally. She knew Monterey very well—her daughter Anne had once been courted by his older son, who had been a poor heir to such a fine man, and she and Harry had retained friendly relations since. She looked thoughtfully over at Katherine, holding court with Hal and Piers hanging on her every word, and George’s two sons-in-law annoying their wives by doing the same. Bess returned her eyes to Rachel. Poor little girl! No parents, no brothers or sisters and forbidden even to call her scant-remaining relative fondly. Her sympathy was communicated to Rachel, who took a breath.
“Please don’t feel sorry for me, my lady. I am so lucky, really. On the road here I saw so many far more badly placed. I wish I could have done something for them…”
Brave, too, Bess thought. An admirable sentiment for a girl who had little enough. She sighed and smiled and rose to go into the kitchens to ensure the splendid meal under preparation was progressing well.
As was her habit, Bess ordered the places of those around her table. In the merry confusion, Rachel scarcely noticed who her supper companions were until she was seated with an empty plate before her and a glass of wine to hand. Nervously she sipped the wine and saw that she was to the right of George Latimar and to the left of his brother Hal. George, in his easy pleasant way, helped her to food, saying, “So many Latimars must be quite intimidating for you, my dear.”
Rachel looked at the delicious food. Abbey Hall made the greatest effort when entertaining, but that was rarely these days with its master ill, and usually the housekeeping was fairly mediocre for Katherine was a poor manager and Rachel—who could have helped, for she was an excellent housewife—was never asked for her advice. Everything on the board tonight fulfilled the dual role of pleasing the eye as well as the appetite, she thought. Beautifully cooked spiced meats, green asparagus gleaming with butter, tiny orange fingers of new carrots and fat river fish, baked whole, their scales removed and replaced with costly slivers of almond. There was even—as a separate course—a deep glass dish of salad, its contents glistening with oil and lemon juice: a delicacy Rachel hadn’t seen since leaving Spain where she and her grandmother had often gone out into the warm gardens to gather the leaves and tiny jewel-red tomatoes… “Oh, yes,” she murmured, swallowing with a throat closed by homesickness.
“My mother tells me you have been at Abbey Hall for nearly a year now. One of the Earl’s sons—Tom—was a great friend to me in my youth. ’Tis a beautiful place, I remember, with splendid gardens, once the talk of the countryside.”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel said, thinking of the remains of what had obviously been a showpiece of horticultural beauty, now run to ruin without care and attention from its mistress. Too cold! Too rainy! Too boring…Such was Katherine’s opinion of any outdoor activity. A silence fell.
“Are you not hungry? My mother prides herself on her fine food,” George tried again. Rachel lifted her eyes to his face, noticing, even as she blinked away the memory of a mass of vivid blooms which had jostled each other in splendour around her bedroom window every summer of her life before she was banished from her home, how like his father he was and, in turn, his mother. Looking about the table, she saw Latimar features produced again and again: the unusual height in both men and women, the extreme slenderness, the fine eyes—of whatever colour—and the clear pale skin. And, especially, the peculiar vivacity of manner. They all had these traits, in some degree or another, but by some strange alchemy it had been distilled in Hal Latimar. He was, Rachel mused absently, the most perfect human being she had ever encountered.
“Well…” George was smiling at both her perusal and sudden thoughtfulness “…do you approve of us?”
She smiled tentatively in return. “You are a very good-looking family.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you. Tomorrow you will inspect the next generation. I am a grandfather, you know, and scarcely believe it.” At ease now, Rachel began to eat, relaxing and offering a comment here and there. At length George turned to his mother on his other side and Rachel glanced sideways at Hal.
Hal had spent the meal so far staring at Katherine. Part of the effect she was having upon him was the extraordinary excitement he felt because it was so long since he had been so immediately attracted to a woman: she was very different from the women he was used to—so vital and fresh, as well as so beautiful. Throughout the meal she had shared her favours between Piers Roxburgh and Harry Latimar. Piers seemed as struck with her as his best friend, and Harry, with a lifetime’s association with the great and glamorous behind him, was plainly enjoying her company. “I beg your pardon?” Hal turned courteously to Rachel as she spoke.
“I was just remarking how very fond your family seem to be of each other. I have seldom heard so much laughter and happy conversation.”
“Oh, yes, we are all good friends. We do not see much of my sister and her husband, but letters are exchanged on a regular basis and George and his family are near enough to be a part of our life here.” He again