Free In the Wake of the Wind by Katherine Kingsley

“Actually, Miss Segrave, my father is in his bedchamber. He is indisposed this evening, as he often is.”
    “Oh, how unfortunate,” Serafina said, thinking that the Delaware family seemed to suffer from ill health. She hoped Aiden was not similarly inclined. “I hope he will recover soon. Perhaps we could make him a posset or an unguent. My aunt is very skilled with herbs.”
    Charlotte ignored her. “I ordered dinner trays for you both upstairs on the assumption that you would be exhausted from traveling.”
    “As it happens, a light supper of cheese, bread, and fruit will suit us perfectly,” Elspeth said with one dismissive nod of her head. “Come along, Serafina, it has been a long day.” She took her firmly by the arm and guided her toward the door. “I am sure a footman will conduct us to our quarters. I expect we will see you, Lady Charlotte, in the morning.”
    “I have gone to a great deal of trouble over arranging my brother’s wedding. I am certainly not planning on missing it.” Charlotte bent her head back to her embroidery as if they’d already left the room.
    Serafina trailed after her aunt through the Great Hall, her head twisting and turning in every direction as she took in the specifics of her new home. The exterior had been imposing enough, the great house standing on a terrace above a river, surrounded by gardens, woodlands bordering vast lawns on both sides of the drive.
    The house itself, a huge square structure of yellow stone fronted by long rectangular windows on all three stories, was magnificent, but Serafina’s gaze had automatically fallen on the gardens, which obviously at one time had been carefully tended, but now struck her as unkempt.
    Great stretches of daffodils and narcissus ran over the lawns, a beautiful display of yellow and white that needed no care, yet the lawns themselves, save for a small stretch in front of the house, were unmown.
    Well, she was happy enough to see to the care of the lawns and gardens herself. It would give her something to do, and she was used to outdoor work. The interior of the house presented a complete contrast, however. Adorned with beautiful antiques, it reflected loving attention to every detail. The furniture glistened with constant applications of beeswax, the marble floors shone with constant scrubbing, every portrait, and there were hundreds adorning nearly every inch of wall, hung precisely straight.
    And yet there was a subtle air of shabbiness that Serafina couldn’t put her finger on, other than that draperies hung frayed, the silk shredding from the touch of the sun, and rugs appeared worn.
    She frowned as she followed her aunt up the imposing central staircase. Even the footman who led them up looked correct but beaten down. He was tired, she decided, as if he had too many duties to perform and not enough time to perform them in. Not that Serafina knew anything about footmen, or at least what she had known about them from Bowhill she’d mostly forgotten, but she did know something about human nature, having worked at her aunt’s side among the villagers and tenants of Clwydd, administering to them when they were ill, encouraging them in times of trouble.
    Townsend was embroiled in times of trouble, she was certain of that. But she had no idea what was behind it.
    Even the chambermaid who brought up their supper looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. She barely spoke; she certainly didn’t smile, even when Serafina politely thanked her. She merely ducked her head, gave a swift curtsy, and fled like a dog who was afraid of being kicked.
    “Auntie,” Serafina said, tentatively approaching the subject as soon as she’d finished eating, “do you think there’s something a little odd about Townsend?”
    “I can’t think what you mean,” Elspeth answered through a mouthful of apple. “If you’re worried about Aubrey not being here, don’t trouble yourself. It’s perfectly proper for him to keep his distance on