Bound by Honor

Chapter 15

“Thank you,” Letitia replied. “Will you please stay for tea?”

Mrs. Vernon blinked and turned serious. “One of the cows decided to

calve just as my bailiff left for the day. Unfortunately, something is not

right, and the men tending to the barn don’t know what to do without the

bailiff’s help.”

Sir Percival was already walking back the way he came.

“Let me go right away,” he said over his shoulder. “No need for you to

worry. I may be late,” he addressed Letitia again. “Best to not wait with

dinner. This may take some time.”

“As you wish,” she replied to his departing back, then glanced at the boys.

“How about some lemonade in the garden for you, William and Henry?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Vernon replied while her sons squealed their approval

and dashed for the back door, apparently perfectly acquainted with the

layout of the house. Their mother took Letitia’s arm as they walked toward

the drawing room. “I am most obliged, Lady Letitia.” She sighed with relief.

“Percy is always so kind. I do not know what I would do without him since

my husband’s death. He’s been the closest friend a woman in my situation

could imagine and wish for.”

In the end, the introduction into household management had to be

postponed until the next day. After breakfast, Letitia applied herself, not

without some disdain for the idea, to living up to Sir Percival’s standards of

marital accord and felicity, to a review of the contents of Bromsholme’s

closets. Luckily, Mrs. Waters’s open, garrulous nature made time go fast.

In the course of an hour, she found out that a nearby estate, Pythe Park,

belonged to a Mr. Wilkinson, who lived there with his son and daughter,

but the younger Mr. Wilkinson was now traveling on the Continent. Mr.

Petre, the steward, was remarkably competent, though the sixth and

youngest son of a viscount, and thus left to shift for himself without the

fortune his eldest brother commanded. Mr. Vernon had died suddenly of

apoplexy three years ago, leaving his widow well provided for. And Mr.

Slater had been a butler to the family since the days when Sir George and

his lady were still alive.

But it was the mention of the first Lady Hanbury that drew Letitia’s

undivided attention.

“This was her ladyship’s favorite cushion.” Mrs. Waters sighed and

smoothed the flowery design of a needlepoint cover. “She always kept it

on her bed. But as it was made by Sir Percival’s grandmother, it didn’t

seem right to send it with Lady Hanbury’s other possessions to her

parents.”

“I’m afraid I do not understand, Mrs. Waters.” Letitia was now keenly

interested in what the housekeeper had to say.

Mrs. Waters carefully deposited the cushion back in the drawer. “Sir

Percival sent all his wife’s books, clothes and personal belongings to her

family,” she explained.

“He did?”

“Aye, and that was only the beginning.” The housekeeper nodded. “As

soon as her ladyship’s apartment was emptied, he had an architect here

and changed the entire upper floor. All the rooms are different on that side

of the house. And then he had the entire eastern side changed too, where

his and my lady’s rooms are now.”

“You mean, our apartments are now on the opposite side of the house

than during his first marriage?” Why ever would he do something like that?

And why couldn’t he just move the furniture from one place to another?

Mrs. Waters nodded again. “Sir Percival’s and Lady Hanbury’s apartments

used to be on the western side of the house. When her ladyship died, the

master was in such despair, like I never saw any other man.”

“Was it… Did she die in childbirth?”

Mrs. Waters shook her head.

“Sadly, there were no children. Lady Hanbury’s health was never good.

She often spent her days in bed, without taking any nourishment.

Melancholy, the doctor said. Yet the summer she died, she was greatly

improved and seemed so happy. Until that last day, when she shut herself

in her chamber. The master went up in the afternoon and found her dead.

When we ran upstairs to see what happened, Sir Percival lay on the bed,

holding his beloved wife in his arms, and cried like a child.”

Mrs. Waters’s eyes turned suspiciously shiny. “Lady Hanbury looked so

bad, all blue and purple, but he wouldn’t let go of her.” She sniffed loudly.

“Aye, how we all cried, we felt so sorry for him. Sir Percival has never been

the same since that day. And then, only a week after her funeral, he

ordered the upper floor to be demolished and rebuilt. I heard the young Mr.

Wilkinson ask him once why he did that. He replied that no one deserved

to live in those rooms.”

She rooted in her apron pocket and produced a large handkerchief. “I beg

your pardon, my lady, but I never saw such devotion in a man.”

Letitia only nodded in reply. Her head spun from the housekeeper’s story.

To go to such extravagant lengths to make sure that no one—especially

not another woman—would ever sully Sarah’s rooms with her presence

was an unmatched proof of Sir Percival’s feelings for his deceased wife.

The recollection of the pain marring his features after her outburst in the

carriage flashed in her mind’s eye. She had no idea she had poured salt

on a raw wound. No doubt he still carried a torch for Sarah and probably

would forever.

And yet, it didn’t stop him from having a mistress.

She congratulated herself again on the clever plan she had hatched

during her solitary wedding night. An escape to America was her best

option. With Sarah worshiped on the altar of Sir Percival’s memories, and

a mistress warming his bed, her absence would hardly be noticed. Oh, she

might have the orangery, but it was now easy to see that he only thought

to get rid of her this way. All the better. She didn’t need his meddling in her

life.

All these thoughts were still churning in her head after the drawers were

finished and Letitia walked slowly along the back corridor toward the main

staircase. Josepha’s quiet laughter reached her and, as it always had, put

Letitia at ease. Josie seemed to like Bromsholme. What would she say

once she learned the strange history of Sir Percival’s first marriage?