The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,58
will reach the castle when we reach it.”
“That was the turning from West Creech just a few moments ago,” his aunt Marjorie assured Miranda far more kindly. “Not long now.”
He had been treated to a full examination of his family tree as the College of Heralds confirmed his right to succeed his father, so he knew the older lady with her grey hair and warm brown eyes was actually his cousin once removed, but he had been calling her aunt since he could remember. Of course, he’d gone by Thorgood, for his father’s lesser title, for all that time too. Surprisingly difficult to remember he was Howland now.
Miranda stiffened, eyes widening, and she pointed out the window. “There it is!”
Even his mother pressed her patrician nose to the glass then.
Castle How, the hunting lodge where he’d spent part of every summer, stood tall on its headland, as if it truly guarded the way from the Channel to the Downs. His mother and Aunt Marjorie knew the visit would be of much longer duration this time. When one faced penury, one stayed where one could.
“I want the blue suite,” his nine-year-old daughter declared to all and sundry. “The one looking out over the Channel. That way I can keep watch for the French.”
His mother shuddered. “The French will not be coming over the water, Miranda. I have the king’s word on that.”
King George might offer as many promises as he liked. Drake had a feeling Napoleon would do whatever pleased him. The best they could do was pray for unfavorable winds for crossing for the foreseeable future.
“You can watch the Regatta from there too, if you like,” he suggested to his daughter as the coach and its two companions, carrying the servants and luggage, trundled down the graveled drive for the wide front doors. “I understand it’s only a week away now.”
“I’d nearly forgotten,” Aunt Marjorie exclaimed. “Now, that’s a wonderful time to be in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
His mother sniffed. “If there is a good time. The crowds, the noise. And entirely too much celebration.” She shuddered again.
“I love it,” Miranda said. “I don’t want to watch it from the castle this year, Father. Will you take me to the shore?”
Much as he hated to agree with his mother’s pessimistic outlook, the Regatta was favored by people his sheltered daughter might never meet otherwise. “I would prefer you stayed at the castle.”
Her face darkened under her shiny blond curls even as her jaw hardened, and he readied himself to withstand the storm that was building. His late wife, Felicity, had doted on her daughter, caring for her herself. When she’d died, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to hand Miranda over to a governess. But that was when his father had insisted on managing everything about their holdings, leaving Drake with little to do except teach and support his daughter. Now they had far fewer holdings, but he had responsibilities nonetheless. Yet what governess could withstand his daughter’s outbursts? Even his aristocratic mother quailed before them.
Aunt Marjorie was no more immune. “Now, then,” she said soothingly. “Your father will be expected to open the festivities this year, as earl. I’m sure James will build a fine grandstand on the headland. The four of us, James, and his new wife, Eva, can all sit there.”
Miranda’s color faded, and she smiled benignly at her great-aunt. “What a splendid suggestion. I can hardly wait.”
~~~
Linus could only be thankful the next few days passed uneventfully, for him and Abigail, and for the spa. Some Newcomers and Irregulars left, but many more took their places, all coming for the annual Regatta. Every room at the Swan and the Mermaid was full, and Mrs. Kirby told him every house had been let, if only for the next fortnight.
“I’m very glad you took your house when you did, or I wouldn’t have been able to let you in until September,” she confided.
The difference in the village was appreciable. As he walked Ethan from the Archers up the street to their new house, others strolled in the same direction. Lines formed at the baker’s and the grocer’s. Mr. Carroll’s shop was more stuffed with people than curiosities for once, and Abigail kept her shop open longer hours.
“Though I may have to close if we continue selling as we have,” she told him when he stopped to get Ethan one evening.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You have excellent wares, and our guests are taking notice.”
“But I still have something for you,” she said,