by Esther Hatch
“You didn’t—” Mrs. Hiddleson stopped mid-sentence. It obviously wasn’t the housekeeper’s place to question her employer, but still the question hung in the air. “I suppose it is so far in the past, and with both his parents gone, it wouldn’t hurt anyone to talk about.”
“No, it wouldn't, and what is more to the point, it may help me understand Lord Farnsworth better.”
“Poor thing.” Mrs. Hiddleson mumbled softly under her breath. “I don’t think the young master would like me telling…”
“He is no longer your employer. I am. And while I cannot force you to tell me, I would appreciate it, and I don’t know that Lord Farnsworth would mind. We are, after all…” She stumbled over the word. “Friends.”
“You are friends?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t allow him in the library.”
Sally gritted her teeth. She needed a reason that would make sense to her housekeeper. “I am a woman living alone in the country. I cannot allow a man to roam about the manor; it could do terrible things to my reputation.” Sally didn’t care a fig for her reputation, not now that she had no business to worry about. But at last Mrs. Hiddleson seemed to understand.
Because what kind of woman would deny a man entry to a library just because she was in a foul mood?
A vindictive one.
“I suppose that makes sense. But you really should allow him some time in the library. If you are worried about rumors, I can show it to him when you are out of town. Poor boy. Every night his mother would read to him in that room.”
Sally’s mother had read to her, but she didn’t hang her hopes on revisiting those times.
Of course, her mother was still alive. And she had had years of memories with her to overshadow the ones of her being read to.
“That is why he wants to visit the library?”
Mrs. Hiddleson looked to her left and then her right as if a servant or someone else could have come upon them and overheard what she was about to say. They were nearly to the library. Sally hadn’t even realized that was where she was leading Mrs. Hiddleson. “It is more than that. The young master only visited here in the winter, when his father was sitting in parliament.”
“I believe I heard him say something of the sort. And during the summer the family would be off to one of their other homes.”
“Not the whole family.”
They had reached the library. Sally opened the door and stepped in. It was a beautiful library with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. An oversized fireplace was the focal point across from them as they walked into the room. Mrs. Hiddleson closed the door behind them and then leaned forward. “After their first few years of marriage, Lady Farnsworth never left with them. And her husband never set foot in Greenwood Manor. They would pass that boy back and forth like a shuttlecock, never seeing each other in the process. I never heard what it was that tore that family apart, but it wasn’t good, and it never healed, and even after her ladyship died, Lord Farnsworth wouldn’t allow the boy to come back, not even to look at the place.”
Sally reached for the door handle behind her and held herself upright. She should have waited to ask. This was too much in one day. She had already hurt Lord Farnsworth; she didn’t want to hear any more about his past. There was nothing she could do about it now. She couldn’t write to him and ask his forgiveness, but perhaps she could catch him before he left. Her mind raced. It wouldn’t take her more than five minutes to walk to the hunting lodge. Surely he hadn’t left yet.
She could tell him to come see the library before he left, and also tell him he didn’t have to leave. She couldn’t agree to marry him, not without knowing him better, but he didn’t need to leave.
Mrs. Hiddleson was still talking. For all her hesitancy, it seemed once the dam was broken there would be no pulling back the water. “There used to be a portrait of Lord Farnsworth, Lady Farnsworth, and the young master above the mantel. It was a large portrait, and though I never saw him smiling while he picked up his son, he was smiling in that portrait. One night I was passing by the library while the young master and Lady Farnsworth were reading and I heard her say, ‘Here in the library, we can always be together. The three of us, whenever we come here, we are all together: your father, me and you. And your father...he is smiling.’”
Sally closed her eyes. She had been wrong about Lord Farnsworth. Terribly wrong.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hiddleson.” She turned and pulled on the door handle. She had to try to reach Lord Farnsworth before he left. Of course he could spend some time in the library. She wasn’t cruel, or at least, she hadn’t been until today.
“So you will let him see the library the next time he stops by. He is always stopping by. If I didn’t know better, I might say he was taken with you.”
Another dagger to her heart.
“Yes. Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Hiddleson. Had I known of his past, I would have allowed him some time here. Now, if you will excuse me, I just remembered somewhere I need to be.”
Mrs. Hiddleson stepped away, giving her more room to open the door. “Of course.”
Sally kept her steps moderated while she was in sight of Mrs. Hiddleson, but as soon as she turned the corner, she lifted her skirts and ran to the back of the house.
She threw open the glass door that led to the balcony and ran down the steps. Was it really only a little more than an hour ago that she had climbed these same stairs while Lord Farnsworth watched her?
Why couldn't the fool man have told her at least a little bit about himself before proposing?
The ridiculous idea of banking everything on the fact that she would marry him simply because he was a baron—didn’t he see his own worth?
Mrs. Hiddleson’s ‘poor boy’ echoed in her mind. A boy who was passed from parent to parent, never truthfully having a home or a safe place. He didn’t know his value.
And whatever value he thought he had had just been debased by her harsh rejection.
She ran through the garden, past the winter garden where they had boxed and Lord Farnsworth had slid his fingers down her hair. The way he had held his breath each time another lock of hair would tumble down to her waist had given her such a feeling of power. She had thought only to lord over the poor man, and then she had judged him for using her.
Sally came to the statue in the middle of the garden and started around the curved path, only to bump into Victoria on the other side of the statue.
Victoria clapped her hands at the sight of her. “Sally!”
“I can’t speak now, Victoria. I’m sorry, I will be back in just a moment.”
“Are you going to Lord Farnsworth’s lodge?” Every nuance of Victoria’s voice was edged with excitement. “Did he ask you, then?”
“Yes, he asked me.”
Victoria sat back in her chair, obviously satisfied. “I like him so much better than Mr. Harrison. Mr. Harrison hardly ever said a word to me when he would visit.”
Sally rubbed a hand down her face. She liked him better than Mr. Harrison too. Mr. Harrison had done everything properly and in order, but it still hadn’t ever felt right. Lord Farnsworth had rushed and bumbled about, but it had never felt wrong—not until he proposed. But would things have been different if she hadn’t been disillusioned by her first engagement? It didn’t matter, really. “I told him no, Victoria. I hardly know the man.”
Victoria’s mouth hung open. “You told him no? But…”
“But what?”
“You seemed so happy when you were with him.”
There it was again—the comment that had sent Lord Farnsworth rushing over to propose. “Things like this take time, Victoria. A man and a woman are often happy when they first meet. It is exciting, and perhaps there’s some pull toward one another, but marriage is for a lifetime. You have to investigate and get to know each other better before making such a monumental decision. You must understand that.”
“But he loves you.”
“
No, I don’t think he does. How could he? There has not been enough time for something like love to develop.”
“Maybe not everyone takes as long as you do for things like that. I’ve only known him for a few weeks, and I can tell you, I like him better than any other man I have met.” Victoria’s face grew slightly red. “Not for me, of course; I’ve always known he liked you. When he talked about you his eyes would light up. It didn’t make me like him less, I’ll tell you that. I think every man should be in love with my sister.”
“Oh, Victoria, of all the silly things to say.”
“Well, it is true.”
“Regardless of what is true, he is leaving and I need to speak to him before he does.”
“He is leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Because you rejected him?”
“Yes.”
Victoria pushed her wheeled chair to one side, making room for Sally to pass. “Go talk to him. Tell him you need more time, and that you don’t fall in love as quickly as he does.”
“That is not—” Sally started, but then she wasn’t sure what she was going to say. If she allowed him to visit the library, would he stay longer? Would it be appropriate? How would he even court her? Mrs. Merryweather had left not long after bringing Victoria here. Sally had no chaperones, and there were no balls or teas to attend. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eye. If Lord Farnsworth wanted to court her, he would find a way to do it without all those things. As it was, he might not want to.
Sally sped past Victoria. Whether he stayed or not would be his choice. The main thing she needed to do was to make certain he saw the library before he left; otherwise she would have a very hard time living with herself.
She ran past the rest of the garden and the pond. She was now on Lord Farnsworth’s property. It was silly for the property to be split so. Honestly, a marriage between the two of them would make sense as far as property lines went. Everything could be combined into one estate again.
She shook her head. She still hardly knew him. And he had come here for the manor, not for her.
The path was less worn after she left the pond behind her, but she could see that Lord Farnsworth or one of his servants had recently cleared some of the overgrowth away from the path.
It didn’t take long before the path opened up to a clearing, and the two-story lodge stood in front of her.
It was quiet.
She stopped running and listened, her breath and heartbeat loud in her ears. She heard nothing but the sound of birds—no horses, no men stomping around and packing.
She rushed forward, hoping she was wrong.
She knocked on the heavy wooden door and was met with silence.
She was too late. Lord Farnsworth was gone.
Chapter 19
“I don't know what else to do with you, Farnsworth. Getting you drunk was my last resort.”
Jonathan looked up from his cup. He had been staring at the amber liquid in it for the past half hour. If Riverton had wanted to get him drunk, he was failing miserably. If that was his plan, he should have picked some shady alehouse, not the Horse and Hound. “Your last resort for what?”
“To get you over that trip to Greenwood Manor. I finally understand why you never visited. I don’t remember you being this depressed at Eton after your time there as a child.”
Well, at that time his mother had been alive.
And he hadn’t had his dreams of a wife and children running about the manor squashed before they could even completely form.
He gritted his teeth together. Now he was lying to himself. His dreams had formed. They had been complete with dark, curly-haired daughters, for heaven's sake. No, he hadn’t simply dreamt of marrying Miss Duncan, he had planned on it, and planned on it so fully, that he wasn’t simply disappointed in her rejection. He was lost.
A vision of a dark, foreboding future empty of any family opened up before him every morning. It was the same future he had faced before meeting Miss Duncan, but now it weighed on him like a collapsed tunnel, stealing away his light and his ability to breathe.
Riverton had no idea what that kind of emptiness did to a man. He had enough family to populate half of Scotland.
“Greenwood is gone.”
“What do you mean gone? Was there a fire?”
“No, I sold it.”
“You sold your mother’s estate?” The way he said it made Jonathan sound like some sort of unfeeling wretch.
He might be a wretch, but he was far from unfeeling. Unfeeling would be easier.
“It was Oliver’s fault. He put the idea into my head. It did save what is left of my father’s estates, but I feel so blasted empty without it.” That was the truth, even if it wasn’t simply the home he was missing.
“It is gone, then? All of it?”
“I kept most of the lands, and a hunting lodge.”
Riverton slapped him on the shoulder. “That isn’t so bad, then. Let’s plan a hunting trip. What kind of game are we likely to get in Dorset?”
Jonathan swirled his drink. “The only game I ever had luck with was squirrel.”
Riverton was already nodding his head, a smile on his face as if the trip was fully planned and the two of them were already on their way. His smile dropped and his eyebrows pulled together. “Did you say squirrel?”
Did Riverton honestly think he knew anything about the sport? “Have you ever seen me hunt?”
Riverton’s face sunk. His happy hunting trip must have been evaporating before his eyes. He sighed and looked down into his drink. “Come to think of it, no.”
“That is because I don’t. And it is only thanks to a blessed miracle and a muzzle full of bird shot that I got even that one small animal.”
“Even in all my days of hunting, I’ve never bagged a squirrel. Seems to me it would take some talent. Or at least a very lucky shot.”
“Can it be lucky if it took hours of shooting to hit something?”
A chair dragged behind them; whoever was sitting behind them must be leaving. They might as well leave too. If Riverton’s plan was to get him drunk and make him forget about Greenwood Manor and everything he had left behind there, it was never going to work.
Jonathan pushed his liquor away from him and shoved his hands against the table, but before he could stand, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Did I hear Family Man say you shot a squirrel?”
Jonathan slid his lower jaw to the right. Only one man in London called Riverton Family Man. He had enough on his plate tonight. Did he really need to deal with Chatterton on top of everything else? Jonathan crossed his hand over his body and flicked Chatterton’s hand off of him, then rose.
“His name is Lord Riverton.” Chatterton had his regular goons with him. Robert Gowen and Mathew Harrison flanked him on each side, both with stupid grins on their faces. “And you know it. And yes, I shot a squirrel, but not on my first try nor my fiftieth. I’m better with my hands than with a weapon...a fact you well know.” Jonathan nodded toward the scar on Chatterton’s left cheekbone.
“Ah, Flower Boy. You never did understand, did you? Using your hands isn’t the way a gentleman fights.”
“Then you must be a true gentleman. Every time I’ve seen you try to pick a fight, you don’t know how to throw or even block a punch.”
Bowen lurched forward, but Chatterton’s arm shot out and held him back. “We aren’t going to start some pub fight like riff-raff.”
“Not with Farnsworth, you’re not,” Riverton said, still sitting with his neck craned up and a guileless grin on his face. “He would pummel all three of you. I might have the chance to land a facer or two—you know, for old time’s sake—but he would have you on the floor before you even knew the fight had started.”
Jonathan pulled his hand back. If he was going to prove his friend right, he needed to get this fight started right away. Chatterton wouldn't know what hit him. How long had it been since he had been in a good, old-fashioned brawl?
Too long.
A deep part of him that had been sleeping ever since he left Greenwood Manor awoke and rose to the surface. He was still alive.
Jonathan rocked back on his heel and then thrust his fist forward. But something barreled into him from the side. Arms snaked around his middle and sent him crashing to the floor. His head hit the dark floor of the pub and he spun to see who had taken such a cheap shot.
Oliver.
Who had invited him? Oliver righted his spectacles. “We aren’t at Eton anymore, Farnsworth.”
Chatterton had stepped back, away from where he had been standing, his eyes wide. “Looks like I caught you on a bad night.”
Jonathan shoved Oliver off of him. “If it weren’t for Oliver, it would have been the perfect night.”
Chatterton bent over him—a dangerous position when all it would take was a jerk of Jonathan’s hand at his cravat to send his head crashing into the wooden floor. “Most of us have grown up and left these childish things behind us.”
“Really, Chatterton? You have never left your childish game behind. Not once.”
Chatterton’s face drained of color. He swallowed and straightened, then turned on his heel.
“Well, that was a disaster,” Riverton said with a smile that belied his sentiment. He put a hand out to help Jonathan up. “But at least you got a bit of your spark back. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.” After Jonathan was standing, he lifted Oliver as well. “Good to see you Oliver, but a few minutes later would have been much more fun.”
Oliver brushed the dust from his trousers. “It seems to me I arrived just in time.”
Oliver was an interfering oaf. He was the reason Jonathan was in this mess in the first place, and now he had denied him the one spot of entertainment he might have enjoyed in weeks. Jonathan punched him in the shoulder harder than he needed to.
He owed him a sore shoulder at least.
Chapter 20
“Must you sigh quite so dramatically?” Sally was trying to read and the sound of Victoria’s heavy boredom made it quite difficult to ignore her own.
