A Reason to Rebel by Wendy Soliman Page B

time, and I see that you have eaten all of your breakfast. Splendid!” She beamed as though Estelle had achieved something remarkable. “How do you feel?”
    “Good morning, Lady Crawley. I feel quite myself again, I thank you, due in no small measure to your kind attentions. I am quite well enough to leave my bed.”
    “Oh, I do not know about that.” The countess shook her head, the ribbons that held her cap in place dancing in time to the movement. “It does not do to overexert oneself too soon when one has been so very unwell. You could easily set yourself back.”
    “But, dear Lady Crawley, it is such a delightful day and I am sure that a little fresh air would be most beneficial. I have spent these two days looking out at your beautiful park and long to take a turn in it.”
    “Well yes, it is rather lovely at this time of year.” Estelle could see she was wavering and smiled winsomely. “Well, I suppose, if you were to dress warmly and lean upon my arm, a half-hour’s exercise might aid your recovery.”
    “Oh, thank you. I shall dress at once.” Estelle pushed back the covers but Lady Crawley stopped her, her expression horrified.
    “You cannot dress yourself, child. Have patience and I will ring for Middleton.”
    Having got her way Estelle surrendered herself to the efficient hands of Lady Crawley’s dresser. An interminable time later she and her hostess descended the magnificent staircase arm-in-arm. Her heart gave a lurch as she heard Lord Crawley’s voice coming from behind a closed door. She was not sure if she was more relieved or disappointed when the gentleman himself did not appear to ask after her health.
    Lord Crawley was unlike anyone she had ever met before, and he rather fascinated her. He had an intelligent yet resourceful countenance and features that ought not to complement one another yet somehow managed to exist in harmony. They lent him a raffish air. He had brown curls as wayward as her own and deep-set tawny eyes that sparkled with the same good humour as his mother’s. He was taller than most of the gentlemen of her acquaintance. There was about him a suppressed energy and athletically graceful manner of conducting himself which she found strangely alluring.
    In spite of his dispassionate-seeming nature and lazy charm, she had already learned that he despised inefficiency and did not readily tolerate excuses, which was another reason not to curtail her sojourn at Crawley Hall. Lady Crawley confided that he greatly mourned the premature passing of his father. The maids answered her questions about the family with pride in their voices, making it evident that Alex Crawley was a firm yet fair-minded master, universally popular and greatly respected.
    Estelle and Lady Crawley set out in the direction of the orchard, where a veritable army of gardeners doffed caps and bowed heads as the ladies passed them. Lady Crawley addressed each one of them by name, often pausing to enquire after members of their families and dispensing advice, which was listened to attentively. Estelle soon realized why so many gardeners were necessary. The park and formal gardens were more extensive than she had detected from her chamber window. They were also magnificently maintained.
    Estelle’s spirits lifted as they strolled along the pristine gravel walks. She revelled in the feel of the soft country air on her face and breathed with appreciation the heady perfume given off by the vast variety of flowers waving lazy heads in the late spring breeze.
    Their perambulation came to an end far too soon for Estelle’s liking, and they entered the courtyard which she overlooked from her chamber. They sat on a bench to rest.
    “My husband laid this out for my enjoyment,” said Lady Crawley. “Shortly after I came here as a bride, just because I remarked once that it was a very pretty spot. That was more than thirty years ago now. My, how time flies.”
    “But the courtyard endures, ma’am. No one can take