A Stranger at Castonbury(30)
‘I do miss them sometimes,’ she said. ‘But my parents and my poor brother have been gone now for many years. And they would have been terribly unhappy about what has happened to our country if they could see it.’
‘What of your husband? Do you miss him?’
For one startled instant, Catalina thought she meant Jamie. Her throat tightened and she could only stare at Lydia in silence.
‘Do you not miss Mr Moreno?’ Lydia asked.
Of course. Her first husband. As far as anyone knew, her only husband, and it would have to stay that way. The opulent history of Castonbury, the weight of family and tradition, seemed to press in around her, and she realised again how foolish she and Jamie had been to ever think they could make a future together. She could not have belonged here. They would have made each other unhappy and their passion would have faded. She would have remembered his work in Spain, and he would remember how she opposed him.
‘He has also been gone a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘He was much older than me, and we were not married long. Our families had wanted an alliance for many years.’ And when her brother died opposing the king, that alliance had seemed even more important.
‘How dreadful,’ Lydia declared. ‘I shall not marry like that. I shall only marry someone I love.’
Catalina smiled at her. ‘I do hope so, my dear. Only you must fall in love with someone who can also take proper care of you.’
They reached the main hall, and a balding man with protuberant eyes and a black coat stepped out of the shadows to bow to them.
‘Miss Westman, Mrs Moreno—I am Lumsden, butler here at Castonbury,’ he said in a stentorious, deeply important voice. ‘The others are gathered in the drawing room, if I may show you the way.’
‘Thank you, Lumsden,’ Catalina answered. Lydia seemed struck silent again.
Lumsden bowed again and led them down another series of grand corridors. Castonbury seemed full of such spaces, lined with fine objets d’art and paintings, with jewel-like carpets on the floors and a few old tapestries on the walls. But Catalina couldn’t help noticing that here and there were empty spaces, as if whatever had sat there for years and years had been taken away. Some of the draperies and upholsteries were worn, and a few patches of plaster on the moulded ceilings needed to be repaired.
She glanced at another faded square on the wallpaper where a painting had once hung. It could just have been taken down for repair or restoration, of course, but—was Castonbury in some kind of trouble after losing its heir?
Catalina looked at the girl beside her. Lydia had a fine but not exorbitant dowry. But perhaps any amount of money would be useful enough here for her to make a match with one of the Montagues? If there were any unmatched males left, that was. Perhaps the girl’s dreams of true love would have to be replaced by ducal strawberry leaves if that was the case.
She could hear the buzz of voices and laughter before Lumsden even opened the drawing room door. They stepped into a vast chamber with soaring ceilings decorated with elaborate white plasterwork and walls papered in blue silk and hung with landscapes and portraits. A fire burned in the white marble grate, and gilded blue damask sofas and chairs were scattered in groupings around the room, interspersed with tables laden with figurines and enamelled boxes and vases. A pianoforte and a harp sat in the corner.
But the elegance of the room was overshadowed by the people who gathered around the space. They were all laughing and talking exuberantly, the gloomy silence of the house banished.
Lydia gave Catalina a look that seemed distinctly frightened. Catalina smiled and gave her arm a little squeeze, but she had to admit she herself felt a little nervous faced with so many Montagues.
A lady broke away from the crowd and came towards them, her green silk gown shimmering.
‘You must be Miss Westman,’ the lady said with a kind smile. ‘I have been looking forward to meeting you. I am Lily Seagrove.’
The bride. Catalina studied her with interest, this lady who was marrying into the family she herself had once so briefly dreamed of joining. She seemed kind and welcoming, her eyes warm as she smiled.
‘How do you do,’ Lydia said, and gave her a small curtsey with a poise that made Catalina proud. ‘I am happy to meet you as well. This is my companion, Mrs Moreno.’
‘Of course,’ Lily said, turning her friendly smile to Catalina. ‘We have heard so much about you. My brother-in-law Lord Harry and his wife, Elena, have talked of nothing but how they look forward to meeting you. They have recently returned from Spain themselves for the wedding, though soon they will be off to their new posting. He is in the diplomatic service.’