Free White Regency 03 - White Knight by Jaclyn Reding Page A

and
once she even imagined she had seen the eyes of one of them, a most
severe-looking Tudor fellow in jerkin, hose, and cartwheel ruff, move to follow
her progress down the hall.
    She put it off as a play of the
candlelight on the walls, but as they continued, Grace found herself glancing
at the binding of the novel she’d carried in with her from the carriage to make
certain its title still read The Mysteries of Udolpho and not suddenly The
Mysteries of Westover Hall. This night certainly had all the trappings of a tale worthy of Mrs.
Radcliffe. Complete with the ancient castle and the somber butler who looked as
if he himself might be of the netherworld.
    Once they were a fair distance from the
entrance hall, Mrs. Stone’s demeanor seemed to ease a bit. Soon she even began
to chat. “We hope you will enjoy your stay here at Westover, my lady, even
if ‘tis to be for the one night. ‘Twill be your home one day when Lord Knighton
becomes the new duke. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to
ask.”
    The thought of making her home in this
solemn place was most unsettling to her and brought her to remembering
something Nonny had once said to her. A lady makes her husband’s home her
own. Grace wondered if her grandmother could have foreseen the gloom of
this chilling place.
    “Thank you.” Grace thought for a
moment, then said, “I wonder if you might answer something for me, Mrs.
Stone?”
    The housekeeper stopped before a massive
oaken door, took up the vast ring of keys that hung at her waist, and fitted
one inside the lock. “Of course, my lady. Anything.”
    “Have you been in service here at
Westover very long?”
    Mrs. Stone turned the handle and pushed
the door wide, stepping back to face Grace on her answer. “Oh, quite some
thirty years or more.” She entered the room and began lighting the
numerous sconces and candle stands that were set about the room, continuing as
she did. “My mother was in service here before me and married my father,
who worked in the stables, so I grew up here at Westover. I started as a
scullery maid, then became an upper chamber maid, a nursery maid, and worked my
way through the ranks to housekeeper these past ten years or more. My own
daughter and nieces are maids here now, too.”
    Grace nodded. “Then you have known
the Wycliffe family very long?”
    “Oh, indeed, my lady, very long. I
was a nursery maid to Lord Knighton when he was a child.”
    Grace tried to imagine Lord Knighton as a
boy, playing along these same halls, his laughter echoing throughout the lofty
ceilings, but an image just wouldn’t present itself. She returned her attention
to the housekeeper. “Since you have been here so long, perhaps you can
tell me if this house and this family have always been so filled with the
misery they are now.”
    Mrs. Stone stopped immediately and turned
to face Grace. Her mouth was fixed, her eyes suddenly clouded.
    “I’m sorry,” Grace said.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.”
    “It is all right. You’ve every right
to know.” The housekeeper glanced to the door, her voice quieting.
“No, my lady. It has not always been thus. Westover used to be a happy
place filled with much laughter.”
    “What is it, then, that has brought
such sadness to this family?”
    Again Mrs. Stone glanced to the door.
“It is only since the death of the previous marquess—your husband’s
father—some twenty years ago. Lord Christopher’s passing brought such a
terrible sorrow to them all, one that has lingered even now. ‘Twas his
lordship’s passing that brought along the rift between the old duke and his
lordship, your husband. A terrible rift it is, too, one that has never been
breached. And poor Lady Frances. Such a ray of happiness she once was. She has
never gotten past losing her husband. It was as if when his lordship died, so
did life for everyone else in the family.” She said then, her voice
lightening, “But not every Wycliffe has been so