Free Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) by M. C. Beaton

door opened and Sir William and Lady Beverley entered.
    ‘How went it?’ asked Sir William eagerly.
    ‘I met Mrs Judd,’ said Isabella.
    ‘Angels preserve me!’ Lady Beverley put a fluttering hand to her bosom. ‘He is married!’
    ‘No, Mama, his mother.’
    ‘Ah, the relief! And how did you find the lady? Is she elegant? How was she gowned?’
    ‘Mrs Judd is a widow,’ said Isabella cautiously, ‘and still grieves for the loss of her husband.’
    ‘When did he die?’
    ‘A year ago, I gather. He blew his brains out.’
    ‘Merciful heavens. Why?’
    ‘I do not know,’ retorted Isabella sharply. ‘Perhaps gambling runs in the family. Mr Judd is to take me driving next Tuesday.’
    Sir William rubbed his hands. ‘It’s as good as in the bag.’
    ‘What is, Papa?’
    ‘Your marriage to him, of course.’
    ‘Tell Papa about the temple,’ urged Lizzie.
    ‘Mr Judd intends to knock down the temple and replace it with a ruin. He is going to put footman John in it to act the part of a hermit.’
    Sir William walked to the window and stared out at the rain. Raindrops gathered on the window and ran down it like tears. ‘Well, well,’ he said in a stifled voice, ‘such things can be put back again.’
    ‘How?’ asked Lizzie, her pointed chin on her hands. ‘After the wedding, does Isabella say, “I want that temple back”? And he says, “Yes, dear”?’
    ‘Gentlemen can be coaxed,’ said Jessica loftily. ‘If he loves Isabella, he will do anything for her.’
    Love, thought Isabella, what is love? She did not read romances. ‘Do you not think, Mama,’ she ventured, ‘that it is extremely odd in Mr Judd to make arrangements to take me for a drive without asking the permission of my parents first?’
    ‘It shows that Mr Judd feels on easy terms with us,’ protested Lady Beverley.
    ‘He is to give a ball,’ said Isabella.
    ‘He will never give one in such style as we did,’ said Sir William over his shoulder.
    Isabella half-closed her eyes, remembering in dismay how much had been squandered on that last ball, from the new bed hangings to the gold swords for the footmen.
    Barry came in with a basket of logs and kindling.
    ‘Begging your pardon,’ he said, ‘but the day has turned damp and cold. I thought you might like a fire.’
    Lady Beverley nodded. Barry set the fire and lit it and soon there was a cheerful crackling of burning wood.
    He retreated with the empty log basket over his arm.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said Isabella hurriedly. She followed Barry through to the kitchen. ‘Where is Joshua?’ she asked.
    ‘Gone to the market in Hedgefield this morning and not back yet,’ said Barry. ‘But he will be. He waits until the end and then buys produce cheaply.’
    ‘Oh, dear.’ Isabella sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I suppose he has a very small amount to spend.’
    ‘Yes, miss, but the gamekeeper at Perival sent over some rabbits and a fine hare and a brace of rooks. Rook pie for dinner tonight.’
    ‘How very kind,’ said Isabella.
    ‘I was about to have a jug of ale, Miss Isabella. Would you care for some?’
    Isabella nodded. She had never drunk ale. She wondered what she was doing to be so familiar with this servant, but Barry seemed a solid, stable figure in an uncertain world.
    He drew a small tankard of ale for her and a larger one for himself.
    Isabella waved a hand. ‘You may sit down.’
    Barry sat down opposite her. He had heard many tales of the incredible pride and haughtiness of the Beverleys, and yet here was the eldest daughter joining him for a tankard of ale.
    ‘May I be so bold as to ask how your visit to Mannerling went, miss?’ he asked.
    ‘It was . . . disturbing.’ Isabella sighed. It was warm and comfortable in the kitchen. The rain pattered steadily against the windows and dropped down the chimney and hissed on the fire. ‘Mr Judd wants to take down a Greek temple and replace it with a ruin. You know, Barry, not a real ruin but one of those