Edith Layton by The Return of the Earl Read Free Book Online Page A

teeming with poppies, violets, primrose, and pinks. She was so taken with the lovely scenery it helped relieve some of the tension. Because neither Sophie nor Hammond spoke a word, and Sophie’s maid sat silent in a corner of the coach.
    After a long while, even the beauty of the countryside paled. “How long until we get there?” Julianne finally asked.
    “We’ve been there for the past ten minutes,” Hammond said, glancing at his pocket watch.
    Julianne stared. “All this is part of the estate?”
    “Yes,” Sophie said in a pinched voice. “And you haven’t seen half of it. Wait until you get a look at the manor. And the dairy. And the buttery, and the orangerie, and the stables,” she said, dropping each name like a bead of venom as she glowered at Hammond. “There was an indoor tennis court. The earl who built it was a friend of Charles II, and he was a fiend for the game, they say. But it’s fallen to ruin. We were going to pull it down entirely,” she added, glaring at Hammond.
    “If you look to your right,” Sophie went on, “you can get a glimpse of the lake. The music temple is to the right. The Parthenon—the white rotunda in the distance—is on that slope to the back over there. There’s a maze around back of the manor, near the waterfall and reflecting pools. And there,” Sophie said in a perversely satisfied little voice, “ahead. You can finally see the manor.”
    Julianne couldn’t speak. She could only stare. She’d seen a few great houses, from afar. She’d never seen the like of Egremont.
    Made of golden stone, tall and well proportioned, it sat atop a rise and surveyed the land around it. A columned front portico overlooked a leaping fountain in the center of the drive, where a larger-than-life-sized Triton ruled over a shoal of marble porpoises. Even the front drive was spectacular; the crushed seashells that they drove over were pink and gold. It was more than the obvious money the mansion signified that impressed Julianne. The place was gracious and beautiful. Now she could understand Sophie’s despair at the thought of losing it, and even her fury at what she thought was her fiancé’s less than vigorous defense of his rights to it. She could even begin to see why a man would lie and cheat to attain it.
    “We’ll take you through the house, then walk though the grounds,” Hammond said, as the carriage stopped in the front drive.
    “I don’t understand,” Julianne said, when she took his hand and stepped down. “Are you allowed just to roam here? I mean,” she added, when she saw Sophie’s affronted look, “since the place isn’t lived in, can just anyone come visit?”
    “The place is lived in,” he said. “The staff’s still here to keep the place running; a house of this size can’t just be abandoned. The estate pays their wages while ownership is in dispute. I have access, as does the man who claims to be Christain Sauvage. But no one lives here but the staff. Come, this way.”
    A butler met them at the door, and Julianne was led through the interior of the treasure house that was Egremont. She was glad she’d worn her best straw bonnet and her prettiest walking gown, a confection of fluttering patterned yellow, because she’d have felt like a peasant in anything else. This house demanded the best of its guests.
    She paced down shining corridors and gaped at ornate carvings, goggled at frescoed ceilings, climbed up one of the magnificent twin staircases and down the other. She saw state bedrooms and family quarters, studies and offices, a vast library that held books up to its domed and skylit ceiling, major and minor music rooms, withdrawing rooms and salons, great chambers and long galleries, and a kitchen the size of a barn. She saw masterpieces in gilded frames and mantelpieces carved from marble and mahogany over the many hearths. The artisans who had constructedthe place had played with stone and wood, making them into exquisite shapes. She saw