Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk, England
September 1893
Wiggs, the usually calm and stately butler, came running down the steps to meet Asher as he rode up to Woodclyffe Manor. “Welcome home Master Asher! I beg your pardon, Lord Wyndclyffe,” he bowed low, showing Asher Hammersleigh, the new Earl of Wyndclyffe, his due respect.
Exhausted from the day and a half ride from London, Asher Hammersleigh, now the eleventh Earl of Woodclyffe, wiped his brow and looked worriedly at the older Wiggs. He’d known the butler from the time he was a young boy in short coats and had never seen Wiggs as anything other than unflappable and stoic. There was nothing that Asher could remember during his years growing up here in Bury St Edmunds which had ruffled the man, although it had been at least six years since he last saw him. Asher was astonished at the almost entirely full head of white hair the man now had.
“Wiggs, it is good to see you. Please dispense with the title, you are always welcome to call me as you always have. I am still the same boy who grew up here and I will always be Master Asher to you and Mrs. Hendricks.” Asher dismounted his chestnut and handed the reins to the young groom waiting to take them. He walked over to the bottom of the sweeping marble staircase where the butler stood.
“Oh no, your lordship, we can do no such thing. You’re now the Earl and must be addressed as such.”
Asher chuckled at the older man and patted him on the back, “As you wish, Wiggs.”
Together, they ascended the marble stairs leading up to the door, “How are things here at the Manor, then? I just came from the townhouse in London. Uncle Fred left a mess of the books and I’ve put one of my best men on getting them sorted. He should be here in the next day or…”
Asher stopped completely as he walked into the entry of his childhood home. His eyes traced the perimeter, from one end of the vast open area to the other, in shock and disbelief. The walls here were bare, the priceless paintings gone. All that remained were the wires from which they’d once hung and the large bright squares and rectangles on the walls which contrasted with the darker, exposed areas, outlining just how long the paintings had once hung there. The loss of the many landscapes in their gilt frames made the area appear sterile and cold. His boots echoed on the black and white tile as he walked in a circle and rubbed his eyes to make sure he was truly seeing things as they were.
“Wiggs? What in the bloody hell happened to all of the paintings in the entry?”
Wiggs lowered his head and his posture slumped. “My Lord, may I suggest a drink of brandy in the library? You’re going to want to sit down for this.” Wiggs marched down the hall, not with his usual confidence and straight back. Asher knew he was about to hear something he probably didn’t want to know. Arriving at the large double doors, Wiggs flung them open and paused for Asher to catch up with him.
As Asher followed through the hall, he peeked into the drawing room and up the ornate staircase. The statues, the paintings, the vases, the figurines were all nowhere to be found. Thoroughly confused and concerned, he entered the library to find it to be void of the roman busts which were once clustered in the corners and the large ormulu urns, which were his grandmama’s favorite and had once stood in front of the fireplace. The remainder of the room, however, seemed to be just as he remembered. Walking to the large desk which held pride of place in the room, and where he remembered his uncle always sitting to handle estate manners, he slid his fingers along it’s surface and veered to the tantalus to pour himself a glass of brandy before settling into a chair by the fireplace. He wasn’t anywhere near ready to assume the seat at the desk.
Wiggs cleared his throat, “Everything was sold off during the years you’ve been gone, my Lord. There’s nothing left here. Not in the attics, not in the hallways, nor in any room. I am sure he would have sold the china and silver too, possibly even the stones off the Manor if he had a mind to.”
Asher looked at Wiggs, absorbed what he’d just been told and downed the entire glass of brandy he’d just poured. “Bloody hell, Wiggs! What do you mean sold off? Why?”
Wiggs sighed, “After you’d left for Cambridge and later sailed to India, your uncle was either in this room with a bottle of brandy passed out on the chaise,” he pointed to the red damask Louis XIV chaise across from where Asher was sitting, “Or he was out until all hours of the night, sometimes gone for several days at a time with no word of his whereabouts.” Wiggs paced in front of the fireplace, his hands behind his back, contemplating his next words.
“The removal of the paintings started about a year after you left for India. It was mainly the ones up in the nursery, those in the hallways and the bedrooms upstairs, as well as the other lesser-used areas, including the attics. Eventually he ran out of those and began removing the Masters down here in the drawing room, dining room and entry. When those were gone, he removed the statues, the vases and everything else until there was nothing left, not even the gilt mirrors.
There was a man here a few times over the years. He was an agent I suspect, and went by the name of Morris, from America. He was a nice man, very polite, but he had no idea that what he was buying were family treasures and the legacy of the Wyndclyffes dating back for centuries. I certainly couldn’t tell him, now could I? And no one else was here to speak up for them.”
Asher ran his fingers through his dark auburn hair and shook his head. He wanted to rage, scream and yell, but reigned his temper in. His entire family’s collection of paintings, sculptures and various other forms of art, collected over the span of centuries, had been sold off while he’d been away. He knew that the coffers of the estate were low, all too aware that his uncle had run it into the ground from frequenting gaming hells and drinking too much. The non-entailed properties had been sold when Asher was a young boy, after his parents were killed in a horrific carriage accident in France. He’d become Frederick’s ward at the age of five. And now all that remained of the once great family fortune was Woodclyffe Manor and the townhouse in Mayfair. “I am sorry you were in such a tough position. I thought that moving to India to work for the Railway and investing what I earned as an engineer into the English, Indian and American railways would help keep everything afloat. I’ve rebuilt the funds. Christ, the estate is worth more now than it was before Uncle Fred inherited. I had no idea he would pilfer everything with his habits. It seems I should have come home to keep an eye on things.”
“Master, er, my Lord, if I may speak frankly?”
“Of course, Wiggs. Please, continue.”
“Had you stayed here, you would not have been able to accomplish what you did. You needed to go to Cambridge and on to India to use your skills. Your handling of things kept us all employed and for that we’re all grateful. There wasn’t anything you could have done to stop your uncle. We’re all happy to have you back home with us. And, perhaps what has been sold could be recovered and restored?” Wiggs bowed and left Asher to his thoughts.
“Fuck.” Asher stood and poured another glass of brandy. He stood in front of the windows which faced the sprawling gardens and followed the line of the property out to the woods between Woodclyffe and Waterbury Park, the country estate owned by his friend Eric Danvers, the Marquis of Woodbury. He tapped his fingers on the windowsill as he sipped the smooth, dark liquid.
He hadn’t expected to be back in England to take on the mantle of the Earldom so soon. He’d built a wonderful life in India as an engineer with the East India Railway. He was friends with the Viceroy and the other nobles who made their homes there on behalf of Queen Victoria, or the Empress of India, as she was called there. Lavish parties, decadent food, enjoyable work that kept him busy. And the women! Every single want and desire could be fulfilled. The women in India, regardless if they were Indian, English, or another nationality, were all open, sensual and adventurous. He’d found his happiness and contentment thousands of miles away and hadn’t thought about anything here. He left behind the grief of losing his parents, of losing his aunt, Lady Melinda, who had stepped in to raise him with Uncle Frederick all those years ago. Melinda died when he was fourteen, and away at Eton. From that point forward, he stopped wanting to come home. Fred was always drinking or in London gambling, it was easier to focus on his studies and forget that he was alone.
Until that day in early June when he was handed the telegraph about the writ-of-summons and called back to London to take his place in the House of Lords as the Earl of Woodclyffe. Damned Uncle Fred. He should’ve had at least another twenty years before he passed.
Once back in London, he’d met with the Lord Chancellor and accepted his new title with a late Parliament session. Asher had escaped Town as fast as he could, knowing how quickly the word would spread. Society would expect a wedding and an heir very soon: He was thirty years old and the last of the Hammersleighs; if he didn’t have a son to inherit, the two-hundred year old Earldom would revert back to the Crown. It would be impossible to stay in London once the dragons of the Ton got wind of his changed circumstances. They would have been knocking on his door and parading their charges, incessantly reminding him to find a bride and do his duty.
Leaving the library, his boots rang out on tile as he headed toward the stairs to change from his dusty traveling clothes and plan his next step. Jergens, Asher’s valet, came into the room Asher always used when he stayed at Woodclyffe. “Jergens?”
“Yes, my Lord?” Jergens placed fresh water in the basin and turned to help Asher from his well-tailored jacket and waistcoat.
“Do you know if Lord Woodbury is in residence next door?” Astor shrugged out of the bespoke jacket and replaced it with a deep green riding jacket.
“Indeed, he is,” Jergens responded as he smoothed out the cloth on Asher’s shoulders and retrieved the discarded garments. “Lady Bea is expecting again so they are spending as much time away from London as they can.”
“How did you find that out so fast? We’ve not even been here for an hour.” Asher was always amazed at the information his valet was able to gather at a moment’s notice.
“My Lord, it is my job as your valet to perform reconnaissance no matter where we go,” Jergens’ eyes danced in humor as he replied. “And anyways, everyone here at the Manor is very happy to have you home. They made sure to fill my ears with all the latest gossip and tales.”
“Ah, well then. Thank you for retaining all of the dribble you heard. I have no doubt it will come in handy sometime,” Asher chuckled. “I am going to ride Lucifer over to Eric’s. I need to sort out the estate issues that have suddenly become even worse than I ever thought they could be.”
Once changed and freshened up, Asher descended the stairs and headed toward the stables. It was time to visit Waterbury Park to speak with the Marquis, his old friend might know how to get in contact with the American agent Morris through his American cousins. If he couldn’t track this Morris gent, no one could.
Ophelia Billoughs sat in the carriage gazing at the familiar vista of the road from London to the country estate of her cousin, the Marquis of Waterbury, near Bury St Edmunds. The steady clopping of horses’ hooves lulled her into a welcomed restful state after the weeklong trip across the Atlantic aboard her father’s yacht, Filly’s Fire. The only daughter of John Billoughs, Ophelia traveled everywhere with him, even at her advanced age of twenty-four. Her mother passed away when Ophelia was only eleven and from that point, with the exception of attending Miss Catterskies Finishing School in New York City, Ophelia had learned to manage the houses her father owned, play hostess and settle into the role of being an American heiress from an old New York family while traveling all across the world.
The last time she had been to Waterbury Park had been about eight years ago when she was only sixteen. Too young to go to any of the dinner parties her father attended, and too old to be kept in the nursery with the younger children, she busied herself with the beautiful stables and the many horses within. The Marquis’ lands were covered with beautiful forests and well worn paths that led to the ruins of an old abbey or to the waterfalls. She’d spent five summers at the Park and they had been her favorite; her sixteenth summer was the last time she had felt fully free before her introduction to New York Society.
Ophelia was excited to return to that idyllic place once again and race one of her cousin’s beautiful arabian mares over the many fences and hedgerows. She wished to fly with her hair blowing all around her and forget all of her worries. It would all be too soon that she would again be back in America and within New York’s season once again; forced to engage in small talk with arrogant men who had no interest in her, only her father’s money.
“Oh Miss, it’s just as I remembered!” Hattie, Ophelia’s maid, exclaimed as they pulled into the long drive that would lead up to the grand estate that was Waterbury Park. Hattie had been with her from the time she was a baby, and in many ways was a surrogate for the mother she’d lost. In her mid-fifties, Hattie had remained with the family and was also Ophelia’s companion and confidant, traveling with her and her father everywhere.
Ophelia, perched on the edge of her seat looking out both windows of the coach, wholeheartedly agreed. “Yes, Hattie, indeed, it is just as beautiful as it was all those years ago. I feel like I’ve aged a million years since then and yet, Waterbury Park is just as it has been for centuries.”
The Park’s drive was lined with tall oaks bordering open green lawns on either side. As the carriage neared the Hall itself, the drive turned into a circle surrounded by topiaries with a marble fountain in the middle. Waterbury Hall itself had been built over three hundred years ago, its sandstone walls shining bright in the afternoon sun. Elizabethan by design, its two outer wings flanked a center wing, with multiple mullioned windows, creating the symmetry that defined the architecture of that time. Lord Eric Danvers, the Marquis of Waterbury and Lady Bea, his beautiful Marquess, came out to greet her carriage as it pulled around the fountain to stop at the entry.
“Ophelia! It’s so wonderful to see you again. Here, my dear, I’ll give you a hand down from the carriage. I hope the ride wasn’t too troublesome.”
“Oh no, not at all Eric, thank you.” Ophelia clasped his hand as he led her from the steps of the carriage. She shook out her skirts and smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse and jacket.
“Ophelia, oh my goodness, how you’ve blossomed into a beautiful woman!” Bea exclaimed, “It has been far too long since we’ve seen you.”
Bea enclosed Ophelia in a warm hug before her husband grabbed her hand and held it up as he whirled her in a circle. “How those New York men have not swept you off your feet yet, is a mystery to me.”
Ophelia blushed and laughed, “Oh Eric! You know those New York men only want my family’s money. That’s all any man ever sees when he wishes to court me. I’m happy just being with Papa and traveling. I’ve been to so many lovely places, but Waterbury always feels like home, just like Walnut Grove. Thank you for inviting us to visit.”
“My pleasure, my pleasure, my dear. Come inside and we’ll have Marie show you to your rooms. I’ve kept you in the west wing, just like the last time you were here. I remember you said you loved waking up to the view of the rolling hills out your window.”
“How kind of you to remember! That room was beautiful.”
Ophelia glided to the arch of the entry’s doorway, her eyes drawn to the large iron griffons in the center of the large wooden door. They’d been a bit intimidating the first time she was here as a young girl, but now it was as if they were greeting her with welcome protection. She smiled at Eric’s butler, Curry, as he bowed before her. “Pleasure to see you again Miss Ophelia. It’s been too long since you’ve visited us.”
“Oh Curry, it’s wonderful to be back at Waterbury. Thank you!” she smiled brightly and passed him to step into the entry.
This visit was her time to enjoy and relax, a getaway from New York Society and even the London one, as the season here in England was still several months away. There would be no arrogant men here, no one vying for her attention, no one to shield her emotions and annoyance from. She truly could just be herself and she was looking forward to that simple luxury.
Marie, Waterbury Hall’s housekeeper and head of the maids, greeted her in the entry, “So good to see you again Miss Ophelia. You’re a beauty for sure! Won’t the new Lord Wyndclyffe be surprised when he sees you,” she clucked. Marie was a short, large bosomed woman with mousy brown hair that was always worn in a severe bun. Her hair was the only severe thing about her though. With a rosy face and bright green eyes, Marie had always been jovial and quick to smile.
Ophelia sucked in her breath, “The new Lord? Do you mean Asher Hammersleigh? What happened to Lord Frederick?”
“Aye, he’s the new Lord. He came home from India just a few months ago when Lord Frederick passed. Unexpected it was. The last I knew he’s been at the Mayfair house handling the estate. Such a sad situation he be in right now. No family of his own and no hope for one. The whole estate has been pilfered away by that drunken lout of an uncle. Listen to me gossipping! I’ll let his lordship and ladyship fill you in on the rest after you’ve freshened up. Come along dearie, let’s get you settled into your room.”
Marie led Ophelia up the ornate carved stairs to the second floor and down the corridor to the yellow room in the west wing. Ophelia walked through the door Marie held open for her and smiled. “Nothing has changed here! It’s still the same gorgeous room it was all those years ago!”
“Aye, that it is Miss Ophelia. Please meet Lady Bea in her ladyship’s parlor for tea once you’ve had a few moments to get unpacked and refreshed. Let one of the girls know if you or Hattie needs anything.”
Ophelia gave her thanks to Marie and walked around the room. She felt the pale yellow damask that covered the walls, so soft and bright. The large canopied bed sat across from the ornate fireplace and was covered with pale purple, blue and green flowers, and the bedposts were carved with a delicate leaf motif. She laid on the bed to take a moment and absorb her surroundings. Peace… at last!
Hattie bustled in shortly after Marie left. “Well Miss, looks like everything at the Hall is still in tip top shape. Let’s get you out of your traveling dress and into something less heavy for tea with Lady Bea. While you’re in her rooms catching up, I’ll unpack your things and get you settled right in.”
“I think I’ll wear the yellow sprigged muslin this afternoon. At least for tea. I do want to get out for a ride this afternoon as well.”
“Aye, Miss. There should be plenty o’time for a ride. I’ll lay your habit out on your bed for when you’re ready to head to the stables. I am looking forward to catching up with Marie on the goings on here in Bury St. Edmund. Eight long years, hardly seems possible that we’ve been away so long!”
“Indeed Hattie, and what adventures we’ve had in all that time! Still, I’ve longed to be back here almost as much as I’ve missed home and Walnut Grove.”
After changing, Ophelia made her way down the hall and into the east wing where Bea’s set of rooms was located. As Ophelia crossed the threshold into the suite, she stepped into a gloriously bright room which had been redecorated since she was last here. The room she remembered as a young girl was dark, set in jewel tones with large ornate furnishings in deep mahogany; very masculine decor. It seemed Bea had put her stamp in the room and made it full of light. It suited her friend well, as Bea was always smiling and full of laughter. Bea’s letters regarding the redecorating hadn’t done the reality of the changes any justice. Bea smiled at Ophelia as she turned in a circle and took in all of the changes. “Much different here, isn’t it? Those dark woods and paneling didn’t belong in a room that gets so much outside light. It was always so depressing.”
“It’s marvelous Bea!” Ophelia flitted around the room, touching the walls and marveling over the new chairs and settee. “I love the white wainscotting with the lavender damask. Oh! And the furniture is so lush and bright. It’s like a totally different room now. It’s amazing how much natural light is here.”
High ceilings and lighter walls adorned with gilt edging and sconces made the room appear larger.
“Come, sit on the settee with me. Let’s have tea and talk like old times. I know from your letters you’ve been traveling a lot as your father conducts his business. Have you met anyone who’s caught your eye?”
Ophelia frowned and sank into the plush rose velvet settee next to her friend. “Why is it that most men see us as commodities? As something to possess? I’m just so jaded to romance anymore. Men, I’ve learned whether they are young, middle-aged, or even older, take one look at me and see what they can own, what they can grasp in their hands. There’s plenty of handsome men out there, but they don’t hold my attention. They look at me as if I’m a morsel and they’re starving. They don’t see me, and have no interest in the woman beneath the fortune and fancy clothes. I’ve seen so many of my friends, you and Lucinda being the only exceptions, that succumb to a man’s charms, only to be placed upon a pedestal and all but ignored except to create the next generation.”
“Oh Ophelia, the right man will find you. Not all men are after a fortune or beauty, not that you don’t have those in abundance. You need someone who gets under your skin and cherishes you. Someone who doesn’t take the gifts you offer for granted.”
“Bea, I’ve resigned myself to being a spinster at this point. I’m almost five and twenty, and completely on the shelf. Do you know that in New York they call me the “Ice Princess” because I’ve turned down every offer I’ve received? I absolutely abhor most of New York society, they all aspire to flaunt their wealth and seem to be little more than a facade. Very few are real and those that I’ve found that are truly themselves have become dear friends. But, enough of my melancholy courtships, what is new here in Bury St Edmund since we last talked and when do I get to see little miss Madeline?”
“Ah, well let’s see, Maddy is up in the nursery taking her afternoon nap, and as soon as she wakes, I’ll have her brought down to visit. And we have exciting news that I purposely waited to see you in person for,” Bea’s face lit up with the pending announcement, “we are expecting our second child! I’m only a few months along, but the morning sickness has passed, thank goodness!”
“Oh what lovely news Bea! I’m so happy for you both!” Ophelia clasped her friend’s hands and squeezed. Eric and Bea were a love match and one that Ophelia envied a bit.
“Marie mentioned Lord Frederick passed and Asher Hammersleigh is now the Earl.”
“Indeed, and I don’t know the whole story. I’m not even sure Eric knows the whole story. Lord Frederick died unexpectedly in June. As you know, Asher has been living in India since he graduated from Cambridge, I believe it’s been about six years or so now. He was hired by the East India Railway as an engineer and has never come home for a visit in that time. The bits of gossip I’ve heard when we’ve been to London for the Season is that he had a very good life for himself there and that Fred was doing a lot of drinking and gambling the last few years. I imagine it was a shock when they tracked Asher down in Calcutta with the Writ summoning him to London. There’s been some rumors of the status of the estate, but I can’t confirm or deny anything. Asher hasn’t been to the Manor yet as far as I can tell, at least not that he’s stopped in to see Eric anyway.”
Ophelia was shocked to learn that in all that time, Asher hadn’t come home to England at all. “It must be very difficult to be back here. Especially if things are as much of a mess as it seems.”
“Indeed. Asher is now the very last of the Hammersleighs and will desperately need an heir, otherwise whatever remains of the Earldom will revert back to the Crown. It’s all been very hush hush of course, so I’m not exactly sure how bad it is. Now that he’s the Earl, the matrons of the Ton will be hounding him to marry quickly. And then there’s the issue of his sexual proclivities which I’ve heard tend toward the very wicked and debauched. He’s going to have an issue finding a bride who is willing to be married to someone with his reputation and an estate with little funds. I know he’s made sound investments and is wealthy in his own right, but with all the complications of what Fred seems to have done and Asher’s rumored amorous preferences.. Well it doesn’t look good for him to find a way out of the mess he’s in. Even though he’s not been out in the Ton in years, whispers of his activities behind closed doors still seem to be a popular topic in certain circles.”
“Are you speaking of the same Asher Hammersleigh I remember? Wicked illicit activities? What exactly has he been doing Bea? Marianne used to tell me that he was a profligate rake in her letters before he left, but of course, she didn’t give me the details.”
“Well,” Bea paused and sighed as she tried to word her response delicately. “I always forget you’re still innocent even though you’ve become rather worldly with your travels. The simplest way to put it is that he’s known for his darker passions with women, and has quite the reputation for his dominance in certain circles.”
“That’s much better than what I thought you were implying Bea. I thought you were going to tell me he enjoyed being with men! Now that would be a sure way to not be able to carry on the Earldom of Woodclyffe!”
“Ophelia Billoughs! And how would you know of such things?!” Bea tried to suppress a giggle and chastise her friend but found she couldn’t. “Yes, I suppose that would definitely put an end to the line!”
“As you said Bea, I’ve traveled all around the world and have been exposed to a great many things that would scandalize the Ton and even New York Society.”
“Well my dear, I hope you don’t mind if I leave you to your own devices for a little while. It is time for my rest before Maddie awakes for her feeding and a bit of playtime. Please make yourself at home, I’m sure you are dying to go for a ride across the countryside.”
“I don’t mind at all Bea and yes, I am looking forward to going out on one of Eric’s fine horses. When I get back, hopefully I can play a bit with Maddie.”
“Of course. Go enjoy your freedom my dear.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ©️Evelina Wood
Evelina Wood 