Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6)

by Arietta Richmond

  She paused, sobbing now, her hand clutching his as if he were the only solid thing in her world. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it gently.

  “He was so angry, he drove too fast. There was ice amongst the snow, as the evening was closing in, and the carriage slid – so badly that the horses could not halt it. It went sideways a long way, until it crashed amongst the trees. Richard was thrown from the box, and his head smashed on a tree. My father was on the side of the carriage that hit the trees, and the force of it broke his bones, and broke his neck, so hard did it hit. My mother was saved because she fell against my father, then tumbled around against the seats – but she did not face the full force of the impact. If I had not argued, he would never have driven so recklessly. I killed them.”

  She met his eyes, hers desolate, and he saw in them a reflection of his own fears. She expected, in that instant, rejection. Yet she was not responsible for her brother’s hot-headedness, any more than he was responsible for the canon shot which had landed near him, scarring his mind, if not his body. He could never reject her for such a thing.

  He reached for her, and pulled her against him, as close to in his lap as possible, without tumbling them both into the snow. She stiffened, sobbing, and he waited, stroking his hand over her back, gently, until she relaxed, and let herself be held. The sobs came harder then, and he kissed her forehead where it rested against him.

  Sybilla cried for some time, emptying years of guilt and self-recrimination.

  When her sobs slowed, he extracted his handkerchief, and wiped her face dry of the tears, kissing the path they had followed as he went, until his lips met hers.

  The kiss was a gift that they gave each other – full of the love that had not yet, truly been put into words.

  When their lips eventually parted, her eyes were filled with wonder.

  “Sybilla… I love you. My heart aches that you have carried the burden of that feeling of guilt for so long, but it is certainly nothing that could make me turn aside from you. You did not kill them! It is not your fault. From what Hunter has told me of Richard, he was always hot-headed, always more confident in his abilities than perhaps they warranted. He was quite capable of being a fool, with no help needed from anyone else. If anything, what you have just told me makes me love you more, for it shows your courage, and the depth of your care.”

  “How… how can you say that? I have been the biggest coward, unable to speak of this, convinced that I would always be alone, for no-one would want someone who had done something so terrible. I do not understand how you can say that you love me, knowing that.”

  “Because I do love you. It is as simple as that. You are wonderful – you are the light in my days, you have dragged me out of my blue devilled isolation and given me hope. Can you see yourself as I do? Can you try to believe that you are good, that you bear no guilt in your brother and father’s deaths?”

  “I.. I am not sure that I can so easily believe that. I will try, but it will take some adjusting to, after more than two years of feeling this way.”

  “I will be there – whenever you need me. Whatever I can do to help you change that belief, I will do. For I know that kind of fear, the fear of being forever alone. I am still afraid – afraid that I am only part of a man, and that I may never be whole. But I could not go on not knowing how you felt about me. Even being rejected outright would be better than not knowing.”

  “I could never reject you for such a thing. Never believe that you are broken. You are strong – there are things that are difficult for you, but they are the scars of your meritorious service – wear them with pride – you are a better man for having the ability to deal with life regardless. You have strength, humour, kindness and courage. There is no courage without fear – courage is what happens when we overcome fear. I have just learnt that – and I learnt it from you. I love you – all of you, for you would not be as you are, if you had not suffered as you did.”

  Bart felt tears begin in his own eyes, for those were the first words of true acceptance he had heard, since his return from Spain. He knew that the other Hounds accepted his issues, but they had never spoken the words. To hear it said, and from her lips, was almost more than his heart could encompass. He gathered her against him again, his lips finding hers, and they lost themselves in each other for quite some time, exploring what had previously been forbidden, full of the new knowledge of each other’s love. They broke apart with a sigh.

  “I think that we will both need time to adjust. Can we… keep our feelings to ourselves, until I, at least, have tried to change how I see the world? I will return to Greyscar Keep once the last of the Christmas season is done, to finish my novel. But also, if you will have it that way, to allow us to spend time together, discovering how we truly feel, without your fears or mine colouring everything that we do. I would like us each to be sure of ourselves, before we let others see what we have between us.”

  “If that is your wish, it is my command. Any time that I may spend with you is a gift. I believe that you are right – for whilst I am certain that my feelings for you will only grow stronger, I will also need time to change how I feel about myself.”

  “Then we are agreed. We should return to the house. The others will likely be awake by now, so best not to arouse their interest too much, if we are to keep this between us for now.”

  They slipped down from the fence, and mounted the patient horses, turning to ride back, close against each other, with their hands entwined. The poor groom, who had lingered, back in the trees, out of earshot, looked relieved to be moving again.

  Bart was grateful for his discretion.

  The warmth of her hand in his was eclipsed by the warmth in his heart. She had not rejected him. It did not feel real yet. But they had time – the coming months, with Sybilla back at Greyscar keep, would allow him to learn to trust that it was real.

  ~~~~~

  The following few months were a time of delight, discovery, and recurring doubts. Sybilla surprised herself by how much returning to Greyscar Keep felt like a kind of coming home. This time, as they drove up the valley, the light of the late afternoon sun seemed to paint the stone of the Keep gold, making it glow warmly amongst the greys and whites of the snow-covered landscape.

  In her luggage, apart from all of her precious writings and research notes, was a most important small chest. Charles had managed, even with the Christmas Season, to have all of the papers drawn up, which transferred ownership of Feltonbury Manor to Isabel and John. Sybilla looked forward to presenting it to them.

  Even Miss Millpost was happy to be returning – for three libraries awaited her attention. As they had driven past Gallowbridge House, the changes were already apparent. The trees around the house had been trimmed, no longer scraping against the building, and the repairs to its roof had been completed. The sign on the gate hung straight, the name newly repainted. Its renewal was a symbol to her – of the renewal that was happening inside her, and, she hoped, inside Lord Barton.

  The Westbys greeted them with cheerful friendliness, and they settled back into their rooms – it was almost as if they had never been away. Sybilla tucked the chest away in a drawer, until such time as it could be arranged for John Titchworth to be available, so that she could present it.

  The following morning, as they drove down to Dartworth Abbey, she felt happier than she had for some years. The prospect of seeing him, of going riding up onto the ridge, without either of them being haunted by the ghosts of their past, was wonderful.

  At the Abbey, it was immediately obvious that the vast majority of the renovation work was now complete – the building was beautiful – the older parts and the newer merged seamlessly into one elegant whole. She wondered when the Marquess would return from the Americas, and if all would be done in time for his arrival.

  Graves opened the door to them with a smile, and showed them into the parlour, where they were soon joined by Lord Barton. When he entered the room, Sybilla felt her breathi
ng catch and her heart beat faster – he looked happier than she had ever seen him, and his smile transformed his already handsome face into something beyond that. He came directly to her, and bowed over her hand.

  “Lady Sybilla, it is delightful to see you.”

  “I am delighted to be here.”

  Miss Millpost observed them being inanely happy with each other, and smiled, pleased.

  “I will just be off to the library. I will see you once you return from your ride.”

  They barely noticed her departure. Lord Barton offered Sybilla his arm, and she placed her hand upon it, savouring the moment of touching him again. When they reached the stables, Ghost whickered loudly, stretching her neck over the stall door, and nudged Sybilla hard with her nose once she was in reach. Sybilla laughed, and caressed the mare, scratching where she liked it, and running her fingers over the soft skin of her muzzle. Templar whickered too, jealous, and looking for his share of the attention.

  “They missed you. Almost as much as I did.”

  “I missed them, even if that makes me feel a little disloyal to Windwish.”

  “Then let us reassure them that all is normal – let us ride up along the ridge, as we used to.”

  “Yes – but it will not be quite as it used to – for not so many ghosts haunt either of us as once did.”

  He smiled, and they stepped back as the groom came forward to prepare the horses for them. Soon, they were out in the bright morning. The air was crisp, the wind was light, and the sun reflected from the drifted snow. A sparrowhawk soared above them, gliding effortlessly across the sky. They followed their familiar path, a companionable silence wrapping around them. When they reached the ridge top, they stopped, looking out across the valley to Greyscar Keep.

  “Everything seems so different, now that I am trying to believe that I did not cause their deaths. It is as if there was a greyness over everything, which has been removed, like polishing the dust from a window.”

  “I feel somewhat similar – when I consider the possibility that I am not irrevocably damaged, it is as if a weight has been removed from me.”

  “It is difficult, though. For they still haunt my dreams, just not so often as before. And in one dream last week, I found myself arguing with father, denying his insistence that I was at fault. I woke shaking from it, yet feeling stronger as a result. Am I mad, to argue with the dead in my dreams?”

  “No. No more than I am mad, to try to protect myself from the ghosts of enemy soldiers, when I have an attack. For I am beginning to believe that to be truth – I am not mad, even though I have doubted my sanity so much, this past year and more. What happens to me is like an echo of the past – and the further I get from it, the fainter the echo is becoming. Since that day at Gallowbridge House, when you held me as I shook, each attack has been a little easier to bear than the one before it. And they have come less often.”

  “That is wonderful!”

  “Yes, although there are days when everything seems dark, and I fall back into my gloom.”

  “We share that too, then.”

  “Indeed, but I would far rather share things of a more positive nature.”

  He edged Templar sideways, closer up against Ghost’s side, and leant across to kiss her. A gentle touch of his lips to hers, which became something more, in an instant.

  She returned the kiss, her body heating through, and wished that the moment might last forever. They drew apart again, looking at each other with wonder, savouring the sensation of kissing without their fears making it bittersweet. They rode on, letting the wind push them, until, eventually Sybilla spoke again.

  “Dartworth Abbey looks almost completed – will the works be done before the Marquess returns, do you think?”

  “They will, unless he should appear within the next few days. All that remains is interior work – the fitting of the last of the new panelling, the restoration of some wall paintings that we have decided not to cover over again, the new chandeliers in the ballroom, wallpapering, painting, some more new plumbing – that sort of thing. They will be done within weeks. And the vicar has almost finished cataloguing the finds from the crypt. Oliver will have a full accounting of his unsuspected wealth when he returns.”

  “And Gallowbridge House?”

  “It too, will be ready soon – not all of the interior updating, not for some time, but everything external, everything important to make it suitable for me to live there. And the stables are complete. I have been arranging the purchase of some more horses – once the snow thaws, I will have new fences built around the fields closest to the house, and bring the new horses here. If all goes according to my plan, I will be living in Gallowbridge House by early February.”

  “I am glad that it will become a home again. One full of happiness, we must hope, for it saw too much sadness in the past. Oh! I have not told you! There was no real chance whilst we were both at Meltonbrook Chase, and I did not think earlier today – I was too caught up in enjoying simply being here.”

  Sybilla blushed as she spoke, knowing that he full well understood the implication of her words – that she had been enjoying being with him, again.

  “Oh? And what is it, that you have not told me?”

  “At Meltonbrook Chase, I told my brothers and Alyse about Ella and Stanford, and what we had discovered here. They were as astounded as I, to know that we had second cousins, whom we had never known of, even if they were born on the wrong side of the blanket. I asked them if they thought that we might find anything at Meltonbrook Chase, of Stanford’s, which might tell us more about what happened, after he married. For the implication we have from here was that he never saw Ella or Genevieve again, but we did not know. At first, they thought it very unlikely, for Hunter had never seen anything from Stanford’s time except the paintings in the gallery.”

  “At first? That implies that you did find something?”

  “We did! Charles had been sitting there quietly while we spoke, with that expression which means that he is trying to remember something, and is annoyed with himself because he can’t.”

  Lord Barton laughed at the accuracy of her perception of her brother – he understood – his brothers also had some very distinctive habits and expressions.

  “I gather that he did, eventually, manage to remember?”

  “He did. He leapt up, and rushed off to his office, to return with a small chest. When he unlocked it, it contained the deeds to one of our properties, and a small journal. The journal was Stanford’s.”

  “From the time after he married?”

  “Yes, from about the time when his wife, my great grandmother, died. Apparently, once his wife was gone, and could no longer be hurt by gossip or his actions, he came seeking Ella and Genevieve. But Ella was dead by then, and Genevieve married and moved from the parish. The villagers and the vicar of the time refused to tell him anything. But he held the hope that he might find them. And, in anticipation of that day, he purchased a property not all that far from here, with the specific intent of giving it to Genevieve. He could not give her back years of his presence, but he could at least give her something that would provide financial security. Except her never found her.”

  “I pity the man, to lose what he loved so many times in his life.”

  “I do too. Charles had never read the journal – it had just sat in the box, with the deed to what was one among many of the ducal estates. He had not thought that a journal written so long ago could influence things today. But when we read it, he told us about the property, about Feltonbury Manor. He knows almost everything about each of the estates – he is an excellent manager. It is of reasonable size, with a main house and a large Dower House. There are two tenant farmers, who work the land, and who also care for the houses and gardens. None of our family have ever lived there, and it has not been rented out. It is as it was when Stanford bought it – empty and waiting. We discussed it, and we decided to give it to Isabel and John. For the Barringtons, it is a small thin
g, in the scheme of our lives, but we would like to see Stanford’s wishes fulfilled, and see Isabel and John receive their rightful inheritance.”

  “That is wonderful! When will you tell them?”

  “I thought to wait until the Marquess’ return, for they are his cousins too.”

  “An excellent idea!”

  They fell into pleasant silence again, enjoying the day, and wound their way back to the Abbey.

  ~~~~~

  In the last week of January, Oliver Kentworthy, Marquess of Dartworth, returned to England, and sent a message to the effect that he would be pleased if Lord Barton continued with his caretaking of the place, until somewhere closer to Easter, for he would be at Casterfield Grange until that time. So the small chest stayed tucked away with Sybilla’s things.

  Sybilla was almost finished writing her novel, and found herself going slowly, not wanting her reason for staying at Greyscar Keep to be gone. In late February, both she and Lord Barton travelled to attend Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm’s, marriage to Lady Odette Marmont, seeing all of Sybilla’s family, and the rest of the Hounds whilst there.

  Watching Charlton and Odette together, Sybilla found herself wondering if there would come a day when she and Lord Barton would look like that – when they might be married. It was what she wanted, she now knew, and it was, she thought, what he wanted too. But he had not asked her yet. Was there some problem? Was she misinterpreting the strength of his feelings? She did not know.