Amanda Scott Read Online Free Page B

you mean to say that Thunderhill dates from the days of the Conqueror? I hope there are carpets, and glass in the windows.”
    He smiled. “You will be comfortable, I believe, although part of the castle does indeed date from the eleventh century, when the Conqueror conferred the earldom of Côte de Tonnere on my ancestor, the Norman knight Simon de Tonnere. Simon was expected to help defend the south coast, of course, for the chalk spur on which the castle stands overlooks the Channel at a point where, in time of war, one must always anticipate possible attack from France. After Earl Simon built his castle, he and his descendants lived there uninterrupted for four hundred years.”
    Chalford’s attention was diverted just then, and he said, “Look to your right. We are passing through Eltham, and those are the ruins of an old palace belonging to Henry the Seventh. The great hall’s magnificently carved roof is in a particularly fine state of preservation even now.”
    Adriana eyed him with suspicion. “See here, Chalford, I hope you aren’t thinking of dragging me about to look at old ruins. We shall never reach Maidstone before dark if you do.”
    “Perhaps another day,” he said. “I’ve no wish to stop before Foot’s Cray. I’ve arranged for changes at every stage, but even so it will take the best part of four hours to reach Maidstone even if we don’t dally along the way.”
    “I heard that the Prince of Wales once drove all the way from London to Brighton in under four hours,” she said demurely.
    “His highness actually took ten hours to accomplish a journey from Carlton House to Brighton and back again. That was in ’84,” he told her, “and he rode; he didn’t drive. Three years later his record was broken by a certain Mr. Webster, who traveled from Westminster Bridge to Brighton on one of his own phaeton horses in three hours and twenty minutes. No one knows the fate of either horse, but if they survived, you may take my word for it that they must have suffered lasting injury. As I’ve no wish to kill any of my horses, we will travel more sedately.”
    She sighed, wondering if Chalford realized she had been baiting him. He wasn’t looking at her now, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his voice was even and calm, as indeed it always was. At other times when she had made some quip or other, she thought she had seen a gleam of warm amusement in his eyes, but now she could tell nothing about his mood. She would, she decided, have to learn more about him before she would know the best way to go about convincing him that he would enjoy a visit to Brighton. Turning in her seat, she said, “What happened in the fifteenth century?”
    He looked puzzled for a moment, then his brow cleared and he said, “You mean with the de Tonneres?” When she nodded, he smiled. “The line died. One of the daughters married into the Blackburn family, who anglicized the castle’s name. We have held it ever since, with the brief exception of a time when Cromwell’s forces took over. That Blackburn very sensibly left the country, returning only when Charles the Second restored the family’s ranks and properties. It was necessary for the family to restore a good part of the castle as well, since the Parliamentary forces did not behave as one generally hopes one’s guests will behave.”
    Adriana nodded understandingly. “The Duke of Norfolk is one of Papa’s friends,” she said, “and he has said much the same thing about Arundel Castle. Only no one did anything to repair Arundel until he began to work on it twenty years ago. The Fitzalan-Howards simply lived elsewhere in the meantime.”
    “I know Norfolk,” Chalford said amiably. “He sponsored me when I took my seat in the House. But his example aside, we Blackburns live at home. And home is Thunderhill.”
    With an effort Adriana refrained from grinding her teeth. The conversation was not encouraging, and belatedly she remembered how little her friends