It Happened One Autumn

  “Mother,” Lillian protested, “if there is a duller spot in the civilized world than Stony Cross, I’ll eat my shoes. What possible trouble could we get into?”

  “You create trouble from thin air,” Mercedes said, her eyes slitted. “Which is why I am going to supervise the pair of you closely. After your behavior on our last visit here, I am amazed that we were invited back.”

  “I’m not,” Lillian rejoined dryly. “Everyone knows that we’re here because Westcliff has an eye on Father’s company.”

  “Lord Westcliff,” Mercedes corrected with a hiss. “Lillian, you must refer to him with respect! He is the wealthiest peer in England, with a bloodline—”

  “—that’s older than the queen’s,” Daisy interrupted in a singsong tone, having heard this speech on a multitude of occasions. “And the oldest earldom in Britain, which makes him—”

  “—the most eligible bachelor in Europe,” Lillian finished dryly, raising her brows with mock significance. “Maybe the entire world. Mother, if you’re actually hoping that Westcliff is going to marry either of us, you’re a lunatic.”

  “She’s not a lunatic,” Daisy told her sister. “She’s a New Yorker.”

  There were an increasing number of the Bowmans’ kind back in New York—upstarts who could not manage to blend with either the conservative Knickerbockers, or the highly fashionable crowd. These parvenu families had garnered massive fortunes from industries such as manufacturing or mining, and yet they could not gain acceptance in the circles that they aspired to so desperately. The loneliness and embarrassment of being so thoroughly rejected by New York society had fueled Mercedes’s ambitions as nothing else could have.

  “We’re going to make Lord Westcliff forget all about your atrocious behavior during our last visit,” Mercedes informed them grimly. “You will be modest, quiet, and demure at all times—and there will be no more of this wallflower business. I want you to stay away from that scandalous Annabelle Peyton, and that other one, that—”

  “Evie Jenner,” Daisy said. “And it’s Annabelle Hunt now, Mother.”

  “Annabelle did marry Westcliff’s best friend,” Lillian pointed out idly. “I should think that would be an excellent reason for us to continue seeing her, Mother.”

  “I’ll consider it.” Mercedes regarded them both suspiciously. “In the meantime, I intend for you to take a long, quiet nap. I don’t want to hear a sound from either of you, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother,” they both chorused.

  The door closed, and the outside key turned firmly in the lock.

  The sisters regarded each other with a shared grin. “It’s a good thing that she never found out about the rounders game,” Lillian said.

  “We would be dead now,” Daisy agreed gravely.

  Lillian fished a hairpin from a small enameled box on the vanity table and went to the door. “A pity that she gets so upset about little things, isn’t it?”

  “Like the time we sneaked the greased piglet into Mrs. Astor’s parlor.”

  Smiling reminiscently, Lillian knelt before the door and worked the pin into the lock. “You know, I’ve always wondered why Mother didn’t appreciate that we did it in her defense. Something had to be done after Mrs. Astor wouldn’t invite Mother to her party.”

  “I think Mother’s point was that putting livestock in someone’s house does little to recommend us as future party guests.”

  “Well, I didn’t think that was nearly as bad as the time we set off the Roman candle in the store on Fifth Avenue.”

  “We were obligated to do that, after that salesman had been so rude.”

  Withdrawing the pin, Lillian expertly crimped one end with her fingers and reinserted it. Squinting with effort, she maneuvered the pin until the lock clicked, and then she glanced at Daisy with a triumphant smile. “That was my fastest time yet, I think.”

  However, her younger sister did not return the smile. “Lillian…if you do find a husband this year…everything’s going to change. You’ll change. And then there will be no more adventures, or fun, and I’ll be alone.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lillian said with a frown. “I’m not going to change, and you won’t be alone.”

  “You’ll have a husband to answer to,” Daisy pointed out. “And he won’t allow you to be involved in any mischief making with me.”

  “No, no, no…” Lillian stood and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not going to have that kind of husband. I’m going to marry a man who either won’t notice or won’t care about what I do when I’m away from him. A man like Father.”

  “A man like Father doesn’t seem to have made Mother very happy,” Daisy said. “I wonder if they were ever in love?”

  Leaning back against the door, Lillian frowned as she contemplated the question. It had never occurred to her before now to wonder if her parents’ marriage had been a love match. Somehow she didn’t think so. They both seemed entirely self-contained. Their partnership was at best a negligible bond. To Lillian’s knowledge, they seldom argued, never embraced, and rarely even spoke. And yet there was no apparent bitterness between them. Rather they were indifferent to each other, with neither evincing any desire or even aptitude for happiness.

  “Love is for the novels, dear,” Lillian said, trying her best to sound cynical. Easing the door open, she peeked up and down the hallway, and glanced back at Daisy. “All clear. Shall we slip out the servants’ entrance?”

  “Yes, and then let’s go to the west side of the manor, and head into the forest.”

  “Why the forest?”

  “Do you remember the favor that Annabelle asked of me?”

  Lillian stared at her for a moment of incomprehension, and then she rolled her eyes. “Good God, Daisy, can’t you think of something better to do than carry out a ridiculous errand like that?”

  Her younger sister gave her an astute glance. “You just don’t want to because it’s for Lord Westcliff’s benefit.”

  “It’s not going to benefit anyone,” Lillian replied with exasperation. “It’s a fool’s errand.”

  Daisy responded with a resolute stare. “I’m going to find the Stony Cross wishing well,” she said with great dignity, “and do as Annabelle asked of me. You may accompany me if you wish, or you can do something else by yourself. However”—her almond-shaped eyes narrowed threateningly—“after all the time you’ve made me wait while you browse through dusty old perfume shops and apothecaries, I should think that you owe me just a little forbearance—”

  “All right,” Lillian grumbled. “I’ll go with you. If I don’t, you’ll never find it, and you’ll end up lost in the forest somewhere.” Looking out into the hallway again, and ascertaining that it was still empty, Lillian led the way toward the servants’ entrance at the end of it. The sisters tiptoed with practiced stealth, their feet noiseless on the thick carpeting underfoot.

  Much as Lillian disliked the owner of Stony Cross Park, she had to admit that it was a splendid estate. The house was of European design, a graceful fortress made of honey-colored stone, cornered by four picturesque towers that stretched toward the sky. Set on a bluff overlooking the Itchen River, the manor was surrounded by terraced gardens and orchards that flowed into two hundred acres of parkland and wild forests. Fifteen generations of Westcliff’s family, the Marsdens, had occupied the manor, as any of the servants were quick to point out. And this was hardly the full extent of Lord West-cliff’s wealth. It was said that nearly two hundred thousand acres of England and Scotland were under his direct control, while among his estates were numbered two castles, three halls, a terrace, five houses, and a villa on the Thames. Stony Cross Park, however, was undoubtedly the jewel in the Marsden family crown.

  Skirting the side of the manor, the sisters took care to keep close to a long yew hedge that sheltered them from view of the main house. Sunlight glittered through the canopy of interlaced branches overhead as they entered the forest, populated with ancient cedars and oaks. r />
  Exuberantly Daisy threw her arms into the air and exclaimed, “Oh, I adore this place!”

  “It’s passable,” Lillian said grudgingly, though she had to admit privately that in this full-flowered early autumn, there could hardly be a more beautiful part of England than this.

  Hopping onto a log that had been pushed to the side of the path, Daisy walked carefully along it. “It would almost be worth marrying Lord Westcliff, don’t you think, to be mistress of Stony Cross Park?”

  Lillian arched her brows. “And then have to endure all his pompous pronouncements, and be expected to obey his every command?” She pulled a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  “Annabelle says that Lord Westcliff is actually much nicer than she originally thought.”

  “She would have to say that, after what happened a few weeks ago.”

  The sisters fell silent, both reflecting on the dramatic events that had occurred recently. As Annabelle and her husband, Simon Hunt, had been touring the locomotive works that they owned along with Lord Westcliff, a horrific explosion had nearly claimed their lives. Lord West-cliff had dashed into the building on a near-suicidal mission to save them, and had brought them both out alive. Understandably, Annabelle now viewed Westcliff in a heroic light, and had actually said recently that she thought his arrogance was rather endearing. Lillian had replied sourly that Annabelle must still be suffering the aftereffects of smoke inhalation.

  “I think we owe Lord Westcliff our gratitude,” Daisy remarked, hopping off the log. “After all, he did save Annabelle’s life, and it’s not as if we have a terribly large array of friends to begin with.”

  “Saving Annabelle was incidental,” Lillian said grumpily. “The only reason that Westcliff risked his life was so he wouldn’t lose a profitable business partner.”

  “Lillian!” Daisy, who was a few steps ahead, turned to view her with surprise. “It’s not like you to be so un-charitable. For heaven’s sake, the earl went into a burning building to rescue our friend and her husband… what more does the man have to do to impress you?”

  “I’m sure Westcliff couldn’t care less about impressing me,” Lillian said. Hearing the sullen note in her own voice, she winced, even as she continued. “The reason I dislike him so, Daisy, is that he so obviously dislikes me. He considers himself to be my superior in every possible way; morally and socially and intellectually… oh, how I long for a way to set him back on his heels!”

  They walked along in silence for a minute, and then Daisy paused to pluck some violets that were growing in thick clusters on the side of the path. “Have you ever considered trying to be nice to Lord Westcliff?” she murmured. Reaching up to tuck the violets into the pinned-up garlands of her hair, she added, “He might surprise you by responding in kind.”

  Lillian shook her head grimly. “No, he would probably say something cutting, and then look very smug and pleased with himself.”

  “I think you’re being too…” Daisy began, and then paused with an absorbed expression. “I hear a sloshing sound. The wishing well must be near!”

  “Oh, glory,” Lillian said, smiling reluctantly as she followed her younger sister, who was scampering along a sunken lane that was sided by a wet meadow. The swampy meadow was thick with blue and purple asters, and sedge with its bottlebrush flowers, and rustling spikes of goldenrod. Close to the road, there was a heavy thicket of St. John’s wort, with clusters of yellow blossoms that looked like drops of sunlight. Luxuriating in the balmy atmosphere, Lillian slowed her pace and breathed deeply. As she approached the churning wishing well, which was a spring-fed hole in the ground, the air became soft and humid.

  At the beginning of summer, when the wallflowers had visited the wishing well, they had each thrown a pin into its frothing depths, in keeping with local tradition. And Daisy had made some mysterious wish for Annabelle that had later come true.

  “Here it is,” Daisy said, producing a needle-thin metallic shard from her pocket. It was the metal filing that Annabelle had pulled from Westcliff’s shoulder when exploding debris had sent bits of iron flying through the air like grapeshot. Even Lillian, who was hardly disposed to have any sympathy for Westcliff, winced at the sight of the wicked-looking shard. “Annabelle told me to throw this into the well and make the same wish for Lord West-cliff that I did for her.”

  “What was the wish?” Lillian demanded. “You never told me.”

  Daisy regarded her with a quizzical smile. “Isn’t it obvious, dear? I wished that Annabelle would marry someone who truly loved her.”

  “Oh.” Contemplating what she knew of Annabelle’s marriage, and the obvious devotion between the pair, Lillian supposed the wish must have worked. Giving Daisy a fondly exasperated glance, she stood back to watch the proceedings.

  “Lillian,” her sister protested, “you must stand here with me. The well spirit will be far more likely to grant the wish if we’re both concentrating on it.”

  A low laugh escaped Lillian’s throat. “You don’t really believe there’s a well spirit, do you? Good God, how did you ever become so superstitious?”

  “Coming from one who recently purchased a bottle of magic perfume—”

  “I never thought it was magic. I only liked the smell!”

  “Lillian,” Daisy chided playfully, “what’s the harm in allowing for the possibility? I refuse to believe that we’re going to go through life without something magical happening. Now, come make a wish for Lord Westcliff. It’s the least we can do, after he saved dear Annabelle from the fire.”

  “Oh, all right. I’ll stand next to you—but only to keep you from falling in.” Coming even with her sister, Lillian hooked an arm around her sister’s slim shoulders and stared into the muddy, rustling water.

  Daisy closed her eyes tightly and wrapped her fingers around the metal shard. “I’m wishing very hard,” she whispered. “Are you, Lillian?”

  “Yes,” Lillian murmured, though she wasn’t precisely hoping for Lord Westcliff to find true love. Her wish was more along the lines of, I hope that Lord Westcliff will meet a woman who will bring him to his knees. The thought caused a satisfied smile to curve her lips, and she continued to smile as Daisy tossed the sharp bit of metal into the well, where it sank into the endless depths below.

  Dusting her hands together, Daisy turned away from the well with satisfaction. “There, all done,” she said, beaming. “I can hardly wait to see whom Westcliff ends up with.”

  “I pity the poor girl,” Lillian replied, “whoever she is.”

  Daisy tilted her head back in the direction of the manor. “Back to the house?”

  The conversation quickly turned into a strategy-planning session, as they discussed an idea that Annabelle had mentioned the last time they had talked. The Bowmans desperately needed a social sponsor to introduce them into the higher tiers of British society …and not just any sponsor. It had to be someone who was powerful and influential, and widely renowned. Someone whose endorsement would have to be accepted by the rest of the peerage. According to Annabelle, there was no one who fit the bill more than the Countess of Westcliff, the earl’s mother.

  The countess, who seemed fond of traveling the continent, was rarely seen. Even when in residence at Stony Cross Manor, she chose to mix very little with the guests, decrying her son’s habit of befriending professional men and other nonaristocrats. Neither of the Bowman sisters had ever actually met the countess, but they had heard plenty. If the rumors were to be believed, the countess was a crusty old dragon who despised foreigners. Especially American foreigners.

  “Why Annabelle thinks there is any chance of getting the countess to be our sponsor is beyond my comprehension,” Daisy said, kicking a small rock repeatedly before them as they walked along the path. “She’ll never do so willingly, that’s for certain.”

  “She will if Westcliff tells her to,” Lillian replied. Picking up a large stick, she swung it absently. “Apparently the countess can be made to do something if West-cliff
demands it. Annabelle told me that the countess didn’t approve of Lady Olivia marrying Mr. Shaw, and she had no intention of attending the wedding. But Westcliff knew that it would hurt his sister’s feelings terribly, and so he forced his mother to stay, and furthermore, he made her put on a civil face about it.”

  “Really?” Daisy glanced at her with a curious half smile. “I wonder how he did that?”

  “By being the master of the house. Back in America the woman is the ruler of the home, but in England everything revolves around the man.”

  “Hmm. I don’t like that much.”

  “Yes, I know.” Lillian paused before adding darkly, “According to Annabelle, the English husband has to give his approval of the menus, the furniture arrangement, the color of the window hangings… everything.”

  Daisy looked surprised and appalled. “Does Mr. Hunt bother with such things?”

  “Well, no—he’s not a peer. He’s a professional man. And men of business don’t usually have time for such trivialities. But your average peer has much time in which to examine every little thing that goes on in the house.”

  Leaving off her rock kicking, Daisy regarded Lillian with a frown. “I’ve been wondering… why are we so determined to marry into the peerage, and live in a huge crumbly old house and eat slimy English food, and try to give instructions to a bunch of servants who have absolutely no respect for us?”

  “Because it’s what Mother wants,” Lillian replied dryly. “And because no one in New York will have either of us.” It was an unfortunate fact that in the highly striated New York society, men with newly earned fortunes found it quite easy to marry well. But heiresses with common bloodlines were desired neither by the established blue bloods nor by the nouveau riche men who wanted to better themselves socially. Therefore, husband hunting in Europe, where upper-class men needed rich wives, was the only solution.