The Stanforth Secrets by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

into the Hall she speeded up again but changed course to use the conservatory door. She could make her way to her room from there without any chance of bumping into the new Lord Stanforth.
    How strange the words “Lord Stanforth” had become. She had always associated them with her warm-hearted, feckless butterfly of a husband. Then they had designated fat, greedy, sneaky Uncle George. Now they described Justin, an enigma to her.
    She shook her head at her woolgathering and hurried up to her room. A sharp tug on the bell-rope brought Agnes, her maid, and soon Chloe could soak her bruises in a bath and get rid of the sand and mud. When she was clean she surveyed her wardrobe.
    She was not long out of mourning and had not yet bothered to order new gowns. Her choice was between the somber colors of half-mourning and her old clothes. Never having been a slave of fashion, she cheerfully selected a pink silk gown which was fully two years out of date. It had always been her favorite, though, and if she couldn’t dress up for the arrival of two of the most handsome men in England, what could be a cause for celebration?
    From the fashion magazines Chloe knew the styles were becoming more elaborate than when this gown had been made in London. Perhaps, she thought, it could be refurbished by the addition of some lace or beads, but for all its simplicity she was not dissatisfied with her appearance. Her maid had dressed her dark curls high on her head and threaded them with pink and white ribbons. Chloe had chosen a pearl necklace and eardrops as her only ornament other than her wedding and betrothal rings. It was a simple ensemble, suitable for country dining, and yet she knew, with satisfaction, that she wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen at the most fashionable affair.
    She left her room and went first into the north wing, to the Dowager Lady Stanforth’s rooms, to check on that lady’s health. By the time Stephen’s mother had become a widow in ’02, she had already been failing, given to spells of forgetfulness and anxiety. Her beloved husband’s death from cholera had been a further blow to her mental stability, one from which she had never recovered. She had been given a companion and a suite of rooms in the north wing, over the conservatory. There was a veranda opening off her boudoir, where she could sit in the sun. The Dowager was generally content to spend her time in her rooms with her companion Miss Forbes, inhabiting whichever strange version of reality occurred to her each day. Chloe hoped the poor lady had not been too upset by her afternoon’s adventure.
    Miss Forbes admitted Chloe. She assured her that the Dowager was feeling well and intended to go down to dinner.
    Chloe’s heart sank, but she made it a practice not to interfere with her mother-in-law unless the lady’s actions seemed hazardous. This had, after all, been the Dowager’s home far longer than it had been hers. The oldest Lady Stanforth was smiling happily, dressed in wide-skirted green satin.
    Chloe went to kiss her on the cheek. “How are you, Mama?”
    “Very well, my dear,” said the Dowager brightly. “Isn’t it delightful to have young men in the house again?”
    “Very.”
    “We should have a party.”
    Chloe thought this was a surprisingly good idea. It would be a way to introduce Justin to the local gentry.
    “Don’t you be naughty, though.” The Dowager waggled a finger archly. “Remember Stephen.”
    Chloe had never decided how far the reality of the death of her only child had penetrated the Dowager’s mind. She had spoken of it, even cried a little, but since then had often seemed to expect him to visit her, write to her.
    “I will, Mama. I see you are ready to come down tonight.”
    “Oh yes. It would be so rude not to. How is the prince?”
    Chloe ignored the latter question and looked for another topic. “How sweet a smell there is in here, Mama. It must be one of Belinda’s blends of potpourri.”
    “Yes,” said