She dipped a quick curtsy and quickly fled down the path that led to the boundary with the village. Jessica watched her go with a pang of regret. “I wish I could do that.”
“So do I, my dear. So do I.”
They spent an hour above-stairs while Gillian changed her clothes and talked about her outing. Jessica eyed the slight tummy her new mother had developed with growing fondness and a touch of exasperation. A new sibling wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for when her father had married her companion, but she was pleased for them. A little worried about her, too. Mother seemed tired nearly all the time but insisted she was well enough to face their guests at last.
Jessica wasn’t looking forward to the next few days. Rebecca had been quite against Father’s decision to remarry and had avoided speaking to Mother while they had all been in London. Rebecca thought Gillian beneath their family and could not see how happy Father had been made by marriage.
Not that he’d been miserable before. Father found amusement everywhere, consorting with a large group of friends, including Gideon Whitfield, and had enjoyed his life. But he’d needed someone to come home to. Someone to share the ups and downs of his life with. Gillian fit that need perfectly.
Rebecca couldn’t have come home at a worse time for the couple. Father was tense with worry over the pregnancy already. Having Rebecca looking down her nose at Gillian for her humbler origins would only make him more cross. And with Lord Newfield and his son here, too, pushing his political agenda, there would be little peace and quiet for the newlyweds. “Should we wait for Mr. and Mrs. Garland?”
“My brother and his wife wish to spend the afternoon with their children,” Gillian murmured. “Pony rides have been arranged.”
“Half their luck!”
“They go home tomorrow, and I do hope their last night is not spoiled.”
“I won’t allow that,” Jessica promised. “We should invite Gideon for dinner. He is a wonderful distraction.”
“Unfortunately, I already know he has other plans for his evening,” Mother sighed. “We will have to make do without him tonight.”
They descended the stairs together and at the doorway to the drawing room, Jessica allowed her new mother to move just ahead of her. She was determined to show her support for this marriage any way she could. Gillian was the Duchess of Stapleton, and it was high time Rebecca accepted her elevation, as far as Jessica was concerned.
Even the butler seemed to sense the mood and played his part, announcing the duchess’ arrival to the duke and Rebecca with a great deal of pomp when it wasn’t strictly necessary with only family present.
Father, of course, did what he always did. He strode across the room, took his wife in his arms and kissed her soundly, regardless of who was watching. “All right, darling?” he whispered to Gillian.
Mother nodded and smiled. “I am now.”
Rebecca smiled only at Jessica. “At last.”
Mother and Father turned at the sound of her voice, Mother’s hand resting lightly on Father’s arm, and stared at Rebecca, who remained at a distance.
Jessica’s sister drew near, her expression almost pained, and dipped a shallow curtsey. “Your grace.”
“Mrs. Warner,” Mother began. “What brings you to our home at this time of year?”
Rebecca’s smile was a fragile thing that never reached her eyes. “I felt the need to be with my family.”
Mother nodded. “I see? Well, we are happy to have you back.”
Rebecca’s nodded. “Thank you.”
Mother smiled serenely. “Please, won’t you sit down?”
There was a moment when Rebecca’s chin trembled, but she sank down without another word. Father caught Gillian’s hand in his. “Mrs. Warner wishes to remain with us for the summer.”
“Lovely,” mother murmured, but Jessica was struck by Father’s odd tone. Rebecca was never at Stapleton for the whole of summer. Usually, she remained in London or flitted about the countryside visiting her friends. By the way Rebecca was twisting her fingers in her lap, Jessica suspected that something was wrong.
Rebecca had married young and been widowed the same. Granted a generous independence within her settlement, she’d lived mostly in their brother’s townhouse in London—at least until she felt people needed reminding that she was a duke’s daughter.
“Lord Newfield and Lord James,” the butler announced suddenly.
Jessica turned to view both men as they swept into the room.
She inclined her head as greetings were exchanged but stared at Lord James, trying to figure out what he was doing in the countryside—her countryside in particular—without his soon-to-be bride. Lord Newfield and his son were similar in looks. The father rounder, the son thinner. Both had thick, unruly hair in a dull shade of brown. She could easily see how Lord James would age just by looking at his father now.
Jessica eased toward her sister to whisper, “Rebecca, why did you bring them here?”