Free Cavendon Hall by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

of his wife, Constance, who had died far too young. She sighed to herself. Her husband, Paul Baildon, had died young; she had been a widow for a very long time.
    Turning away, Lady Gwendolyn walked across the hall in the direction of the small yellow sitting room, where afternoon tea had been served for years.
    Gwendolyn had been born in this house seventy-two years ago, and brought up here with David and their sister Evelyne. She knew every nook, cranny, corner, and secret hiding place. In fact, there wasn’t much she didn’t know about Cavendon and the Ingham family. Well, that was not exactly true. She was ignorant about any number of things, as was her nephew Charles.
    A small, amused smile struck her face fleetingly. Only the Swanns knew everything, and what they knew had been passed down from one generation to the next. There were notebooks filled with endless records, so she had been told once, and this information had come from the best source—a Swann, no less.
    Ah well, Gwendolyn mused, what would we have done without the Swanns? And they’re on our side, thank God, stand sentinel beside us. She would trust a Swann with her life if she had to.
    Her nephew was the only occupant of the yellow sitting room, and he jumped up, came toward her once he saw her appear in the doorway.
    After kissing her cheek, he said, “It’s lovely to see you back at Cavendon, Aunt Gwendolyn.”
    “Thank you, Charles, I feel the same.” She glanced around. “Am I the first?”
    “Yes, actually, you are. I’m afraid our ranks are a bit diminished today. Felicity is still in Harrogate, visiting Anne, and Diedre accompanied her. But DeLacy will be joining us.”
    At this moment Hanson glided into the room, and after greeting Lady Gwendolyn, he addressed the earl. “Do you wish tea to be served immediately, m’lord?”
    “Yes, Hanson, thank you. But perhaps you could send a message to Lady DeLacy to come down.”
    “I took the liberty of doing that a short while ago, my lord.”
    Charles nodded. “Thank you, Hanson. Very astute of you. I’m afraid punctuality is not her strong suit.”
    As Hanson left the room, Gwendolyn said, “Isn’t Daphne joining us as well, Charles?”
    “I don’t think so. Apparently she has been busy with dress fittings for most of the day, and feels tired. She has asked to be excused.”
    “Sorry I’m late, Papa!” DeLacy cried as she came racing into the room, a bright smile on her face. She ran over to her great-aunt, kissed her on the cheek, and then went to kiss her father.
    “You are coming to the supper dances and the big ball, aren’t you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn?” DeLacy asked a moment later, sitting down next to her. “It’s never the same when you’re not present.”
    “How nice of you to say so, Lacy, and of course I plan to come, my dear. I’ve always thought the entertaining we do at Cavendon at that time of year, in the summer months, was the best, the most fun.” Leaning slightly closer, she said in a low voice, “Please do try to avoid sky blue this season, darling. The obvious is rather boring, you know?”
    DeLacy stared at her, saw the amusement flickering in the deep-blue eyes, and began to giggle. “I will certainly do that,” she answered, still laughing, and then glanced at the door as the two footmen came in, both pushing laden tea trolleys, followed closely by Hanson, as always present to make sure nothing was amiss or went wrong.
    As they went through the ritual of afternoon tea, Charles silently debated whether or not to tell his aunt that Hugo was about to make a visit. In the end, he decided he must do so. He preferred not to spring it on her at the last minute. But he would certainly avoid mentioning anything about property and Little Skell Manor.
    After DeLacy insisted he try a piece of the Swiss roll, Charles tasted it, and then put it down. Looking across at his aunt, he said, “I had a letter from Switzerland today. And you’ll never guess who it was