The room was empty.
She breathed a sigh of relief and crossed the room to pull the bell rope.
“Bring a tray of tea, will you, please, Rose?” she said when a maid answered her summons. “Do you know if Lady Matilda was feeling unwell again? Did she go back up to her room?”
Rose flushed and looked uncomfortable.
“I think she is up there, ma’am,” she said, “but not to rest. She sent Randall down to the cellar to fetch her trunk and her big valise, and she sent for her maid to pack them.”
Samantha stared at her. “Right. Thank you, Rose,” she said. “Never mind about the tray for a while. I shall call for it later.”
The maid scurried from the room.
All was bustle and activity in Matilda’s room. Her trunk, two valises, and three hat boxes were open on the floor, and it seemed that every garment she possessed was piled either on her bed or on chairs—except the chair on which Matilda herself sat, her back ramrod straight, her lips set in a thin, straight line.
“What is this, Matilda?” Samantha asked. It was a rather foolish question, of course. It was perfectly obvious what this was.
“I shall be leaving for Leyland tomorrow morning,” Matilda said without looking at her. “I shall take the traveling carriage and some servants.”
Samantha walked farther into the room. “I am sorry it has come to this,” she said. “Are you sure you are well enough to travel?”
“I will not remain here,” Matilda said. “I know what is due my family and the memory of my brother, Samantha, and I will not sully either by remaining with someone who does not.”
“And this is all because I choose to return the calls of my neighbors?” Samantha asked her.
“I hardly call riding out with a single gentleman who is staying with one of your neighbors visiting, Samantha,” Matilda said. “Even if you were not in deep mourning I would call it both vulgar and scandalous.”
“Vulgar and scandalous.” Samantha sighed. “Did I neglect to mention that Lady Gramley will be riding with us?”
“That fact makes no difference,” Matilda said. “I hope your conscience will persuade you to remain at home tomorrow, Samantha. But whether it does or does not, the intention was there and the determination to persist even after I had spoken to you quite sternly on behalf of my father. I will not remain after such an insult—an insult not to me, you will understand, but to the Earl of Heathmoor, your husband’s father.”
“Very well,” Samantha said. “I see there is no point in my saying anything further. I shall make arrangements for the carriage and the coachman and a few other servants to be ready in the morning.”
“It is already done,” Matilda said. “I beg you not to exert yourself on my behalf.”
And the thing was, Samantha thought a short while later when she was back in the sitting room, prowling about as though there was no comfortable chair upon which to sit—the thing was that she had been left feeling guilty, as if she really had behaved quite outrageously enough to be shunned by all decent folk.
Vulgar and scandalous—good heavens!
Oh, she was very angry again. Quite furious, in fact. For two pins she would hurl every ugly ornament on the mantelpiece onto the hearth and shatter them into a million pieces. But she doubted she would feel any better afterward.
Surely—oh, surely, other newly bereaved widows were not expected to stay in a darkened home for a whole year, discouraging visitors and never returning any calls they did receive. Surely they did not cut themselves off from all exercise and social activity, even if they did avoid more frivolous entertainments, like assemblies and picnics.
Surely the way she had been living here with Matilda was not normal.
Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps her restlessness did denote a waywardness, a lack of respect for the man who had been her husband for seven years and for his grieving family. Were they grieving, though? Beneath the outer trappings of mourning, that was. None of them had come to Bramble Hall even once during the five years Matthew had been here, except Matilda at the end. None of them had come for the funeral. It was a long way, of course, from Kent to County Durham and would have caused an uncomfortable delay in the proceedings. Nevertheless, she had personally sent word to the earl and countess by special messenger, and they could have got word back to her just as quickly to delay the service. They had not done so.
Matthew had been the black sheep.
Oh, no, she decided, tugging firmly on the bell pull again, she was not going to feel guilty. And she was not going to try to persuade Matilda to change her mind. Good riddance to her. She was not going to send word to Robland Park to cancel tomorrow’s ride either.
She was not going to feel guilty.
But of course she did.
“Bring the tea tray in, please, Rose,” she said when the maid answered her summons.
She was not hungry either, though. Or thirsty.
7
“It is going to rain,” Beatrice observed at breakfast the next morning. She had looked up briefly from the letter she was reading.
Ben glanced toward the window and agreed that rain was a distinct possibility. It had been a pretty miserable spring so far, at least in this part of the country. It looked as if they were not going to be able to ride with Mrs. McKay after all. Perhaps it was just as well. He did not doubt the battle-ax would disapprove since she did not believe even a sedate visit to a neighbor was seemly. Though he did think it was high time Mrs. McKay thumbed her nose at the heavy restrictions that were being imposed upon her.