Someone Perfect (The Westcott Series)

One

 

England was not renowned for long runs of perfect summer days. This year so far even brief runs had been in lamentably short supply. It seemed something of a miracle, then, when the morning had dawned with the promise of being yet another lovely day. The second in a row.

 

By the middle of the afternoon, the sky was a deep indigo blue and cloudless. The air was hot without being oppressive-the merest hint of a breeze saw to that. It also caused the leaves to flutter on the trees and the water to ripple on the river. The grass on both sides of the river was green and lush after all the rain, and liberally strewn with daisies, buttercups, and clover. Birds trilled from among the thick foliage of the trees, though it was not always easy to see them. Unseen insects whirred and chirped in the grass.

 

So much life. So much beauty.

 

Lady Estelle Lamarr had been walking along the riverbank, but she stopped in order to fill all her senses with the perfection of the moment, wild nature at its most profuse and benign. Even the old single-arched stone bridge farther along seemed to be an integral part of the scene rather than a man-made intrusion upon it, just as a bird's nest or an anthill or a beaver dam would be. There surely could not possibly be anything to surpass the loveliness of the English countryside on a summer day. How very privileged she was to live here.

 

Yesterday she had fretted a little at being kept at home on a similar day by the impending departure of her uncle and aunt and cousin, who had all been staying at Elm Court for the past three weeks. Although Aunt Jane had talked of leaving early, by eight o'clock at the latest, it was actually after three in the afternoon by the time their carriage rolled out of sight down the drive and the chance to enjoy the outdoors had been virtually at an end.

 

First Uncle Charles had lingered over breakfast as though he had all day, deep in conversation with Bertrand, Estelle's twin brother. Then Ellen, their cousin, had decided she really ought to send a quick note to her betrothed to explain that their return home would be delayed because her mama had decided they must call upon friends who lived not far off their intended route, and those friends were bound to invite them to stay for a few days. The conversation finally at an end and Ellen's letter written, Aunt Jane had been hopeful of a midmorning start. But that hope was dashed when the vicar arrived from the village and was positively delighted to find that he had come in time to send the travelers on their way with a blessing.

 

The Reverend John Mott, a deeply pious man, was a longtime acquaintance of Aunt Jane's and a great favorite of hers. At her urging, the blessing had developed into extended prayers and scripture readings in the sitting room and had been succeeded by a lengthy discussion, initiated by Aunt Jane, about the deteriorating moral fiber of the nation, especially its heedless youth. And since by then noon was fast approaching, Estelle had invited the vicar to join them all for a light luncheon that she had guessed-correctly-their cook was already preparing with feverish haste for six people instead of the two she had been planning for.

 

After the dishes had been cleared from the table and their second cup of coffee had been poured, the conversation had turned to a discussion of the uncertain future of the monarchy, since King George IV was in perennial ill health and the only heir closely related to him was a young girl, Victoria, daughter of the Duke of Kent. The other royal dukes had been prolific in the production of children, it was true, but not, unfortunately, of the legitimate variety. It was all quite scandalous, in Aunt Jane's opinion.

 

The carriage had been outside the door at three o'clock, had been fully loaded with its three passengers by quarter past, and had finally rolled on its way at half past, all the last-minute thanks and well-wishes and reminders to do this and be sure to avoid doing that having been called out the window. By Aunt Jane, of course.

 

"So much for a perfect summer day," Estelle had said, turning to her brother-but with a twinkle in her eye. For of course she was exceedingly fond of her relatives and had actually enjoyed the day as it unfolded.

 

"All in a good cause," Bertrand had said. "We will miss them. There will be other lovely days to spend outdoors."

 

And sure enough, along had come the unexpected gift of today.

 

When she had left the house earlier, Estelle had intended to walk all the way to Prospect Hall to call upon Maria Wiley. The heat was giving he...