She gave herself a mental shake. It would not take long to mow the grass or weed the gravel. A little care would soon restore its appearance. Yet she could not ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach growing colder and heavier the closer they came to the house itself. It was not quite as large as she remembered, the columns over the portico not quite as towering as they had seemed when she was a child. She frowned. Many of the windows on the first floor were broken. The house looked like a lonely old crone. Not for long. She had come home. A rush of happiness filled her. Home at last.
They stood at the bottom of the steps to the front door, looking up into the two-storey portico standing grandly on its Doric pillars. Paint hung in shreds from the wooden trim above their heads and rust had eaten away at the impressive wrought iron lantern. She glanced at Niall. His face revealed nothing. Yet there was a grimness about him she did not like.
‘Naturally, it requires some repairs,’ she said blithely. ‘It has been empty for quite a while.’
‘Aye.’
So taciturn. But then this was not his home. He did not have the warm and welcoming memories she had carried with her all these years. The fact that her father would not be there to greet her was the cause of her hesitation, that was all.
She took a deep breath and strode boldly up the steps and tried the door. It swung open with an ominous creak. Oil would take care of that. She stepped into the entrance hall.
Time fell away. It was just as she remembered it. The carved staircase. The cavernous entrance hall with its tiled floor and panelled walls. The carved ceiling. The doors leading off it to the formal rooms.
Joyfully, she stepped inside and turned around slowly, beaming. ‘It is just as I remembered. Oh, the outside needs sprucing up. The windows. But—’ she opened her arms wide ‘—is it not just the most magnificent place you ever saw?’
There was no doubt that he was impressed as he gazed around him. ‘It’s a beautiful auld place.’
‘It needs some dusting and polishing.’ She ran her gloved hand over the balustrade and it came away black. ‘I will hire a couple of women from the village.’
He was frowning. His gaze fixed on the staircase.
‘Where shall I go first?’ she murmured, hardly able to contain herself. ‘I have this craving to see my old room. It has a wonderful view of the gardens and the glen.’
‘Lady Jenna,’ he said. ‘Wait.’ He stepped towards her, but she already had one foot on the bottom tread, which was covered in spider webs. She put her weight on it. The wood crumbled and her foot disappeared. She lurched forwards and the railing beneath her hand broke away and hung drunkenly.
Niall grabbed her and pulled her back.
‘Wh-what happened?’ she said, staring at the jagged hole in the step and the bits of crumbled wood lying on the black-and-white tile.
‘Some sort of rot, I am thinking. I have read about it, but not seen it.’
‘I don’t understand. It looked so perfect, just as I remembered it.’
‘The wood dries from inside. It might be why no tenant ever moved in.’
‘Or it happened because no one cared for it these past ten years. Still, I suppose the staircase can be replaced.’
He had a look on his face that she didn’t like. Sympathy. Worry.
‘What is it?’
‘I know only what I have read, but if it is in the staircase, it might be all through the house.’
She shook her head. ‘No. It can’t be. I can understand why this part would need work. The hall and the staircase are the oldest parts of the house. The rest was refurbished by my grandfather.’
‘I’m no expert, but from what I have heard and read about ships that have gone the same way, all the wood must be replaced. The beams and joists and floors.’
Her stomach fell away. She felt sick. As if the roof had caved in right before her eyes. It could not be true. This house had been her lifeline. Her way back to the family she had lost. The only constant in her life.
‘I’m sorry,’ he was saying.
‘No. I am sure the rest of the house is fine.’ She would not accept that time would be so cruel to the home she loved.
He turned back to Kitty, who was lingering wide-eyed in the doorway. ‘Wait outside. We will be but a few minutes.’
The little maid looked relieved and scuttled out into the sunshine, leaving the door open behind her.
Taking a deep breath, Jenna strode to the door into the front parlour. It only opened a crack, pressing against some obstruction on the other side. What she saw through that small opening was a knife to all her hopes. A large piece of the panelled ceiling had fallen and now blocked the door. Horrified, she backed away, shaking her head. ‘I don’t believe it. I won’t.’
He caught her by the arms. ‘Jenna. Love. It’s just a house.’
She shrugged him off. ‘It might be just a house to you, but it is everything to me.’
She went from door to door: the drawing room, the dining room, the library. In every room the story was similar. Some were in better shape than others, but all showed signs of neglect, and wherever Niall applied pressure to window frames or doorways, they disintegrated in his hands.
The pain inside her was almost unbearable as the true enormity of the damage became clear.
When they came to the back of the house it was an overwhelming relief to see that the kitchen and servants’ quarters, all built of stone, were in good shape. The servants’ stairs showed no sign of rot and one or two of the smaller bedrooms at the back of the house, her own included, were solid. This was the extension added early in the eighteenth century and was nowhere near as old as the rest of the house.
The public rooms at the front of the house were on the verge of falling down. Like this one. Her father’s stateroom.
Niall stared up at the ceiling. ‘I’m nae so sure it is only dry rot,’ he said. ‘The roof seems to be leaking.’
Pride came before a fall, they said. And this had been her pride and her joy. She had bragged about this house to her suitors. She flushed hot, then froze from the inside out. She would have to tell Murray.
Unable to stand any more, she fled down the stairs and out the front door. She sank down on the stone steps where she had sat when her father lay dying, looking out over the glen, dreaming of knights on white chargers who would somehow put the world back the way it belonged.
It wasn’t going to happen.
Kitty approached her. ‘Are you all right, my lady?’
All right? Jenna stared about her.
Had her father known? He had fussed about repairs being needed. Had even sold some of the furnishings to pay for repairs in the attic. Had Lord Carrick known? Was that why he had seemed so reluctant to find her a suitor? And would Mr Murray be willing to spend what would be a fortune to put right a decaying house? While he might be the easiest of her three suitors to manage, he wasn’t a complete fool.
Nor would she want him if he was. Not really. But he would have to be told that there was no grand house in the country, no crofters. Nothing but sheep belonging to some as-yet-unknown tenant.
Niall sat down beside her. ‘The stone walls are good,’ he said. ‘The inside can be rebuilt.’
‘It would cost a fortune.’
‘Aye,’ he said softly, regretfully.
Ever since the day she left here, she had dreamed of coming back. Of coming home. A bright light in the darkness of loss that she had nurtured deep in her heart. The one thing she had always thought she could do to make up for not being the hoped-for son was to continue the Aleyne name here at Braemuir, just as her father had asked. She took a deep breath. ‘It will be up to Mr Murray, I suppose.’
‘Aye. I suppose it will.’
And what if he refused? What then?
She got up and began walking, wandering through what had been the formal gardens, the hedges overgrown and untidy, the roses struggling to push through the weeds. Niall and Kitty trailed behind her.
Sh
e had the oddest feeling that the house and the grounds were trying to tell her something. That there was a story here she was missing.
She strolled through the hedge and out into the park where once the magnificent lawn had swooped down to a planting of trees.
None of it was unfolding at all the way she had envisaged. And it was not what she had described to her suitors with such pride. She felt like an idiot. A complete and utter fraud. She turned to Niall, who was following her at a distance, his face grim. They had left Kitty behind in the gardens. Jenna could see her through a gap in the hedge sitting on a stone seat.
‘Do you think the boy at the tavern has left with that letter yet? We need to get it back.’
He stared at her. ‘You have to let them know where you are, Jenna. It is wrong to let them worry.’
‘Yes, of course I do. But there is something I have to change. Quickly. Before it is too late.’ She trotted back towards Kitty. She had to stop that letter.
‘What is going on in that head of yours?’ he asked as Jenna beckoned Kitty to follow and quickened her pace.
‘I am going to tell Mr Murray the truth.’ And give him a chance to change his mind. It was only fair. And for some ridiculous reason, it made her feel a whole lot better. She picked up her skirts and ran.
* * *
Niall paced the inn parlour. The letter was before her, and twice she’d hushed him, but the confusion inside him would not be silenced. ‘You aren’t going to wed Murray?’
She looked up. ‘No. Yes.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘Unless he is prepared to make the repairs required, which I am describing in detail, I am releasing him from his promise.’
‘And if he is no prepared?’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Then I will have to seek someone who will.’
‘McBane? Oswald?’ Just the thought of either of them made his blood boil, because he certainly wasn’t in the running.
‘Not them,’ she said scornfully. ‘Someone I can trust. Someone who will care.’
For one blinding moment he wanted to say marry me. But care or not, there was nothing he could do to help her restore the house she loved.
‘Mr Murray might not mind.’ She bent her head over the paper.
‘If he wants the title badly enough, you mean.’
She must have heard the chill in his voice, because her clear green eyes met his again. ‘Of course. But he should know what is required in order to gain it. What else would you have me do?’
There was no room for discussion. He could see that on her face.
‘Then I will hire a carriage and take you back to Carrick Castle. There is no sense in remaining.’ He would leave her at Carrick and set out for America to look for Drew. It would take his mind off her and Murray.
‘No.’
He recoiled at her vehemence. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I will stay until either Mr Murray arrives to wed me, or Lord Carrick sends his carriage.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t go and leave the house to rot.’
‘What can you do to stop it?’
The haughty wee faery was back. He could see it in the way she looked down her nose at him. ‘I can make it look presentable in case Mr Murray arrives. A little less derelict.’ She tapped her pen against her lower lip, gazing through him. ‘The back of the house is mostly sound. I could tidy up the rooms at the front.’
Nothing but a fortune would make it look presentable. He didn’t want her near the place. ‘You canna go poking around in there. It will fall down around your ears.’
‘This is my home, Niall. I’ve waited years to see it again. There are things in there that have belonged to my family for centuries. Perhaps some of it can be salvaged. I can move them into safer parts of the house.’
‘Where will you live?’
‘Here, if the Hugheses will have me.’
And short of bodily carrying her back to Carrick Castle, he could see he could not move her. He had no choice but to stay and help her prepare for Murray’s arrival. And be there, in case Murray changed his mind.
It would all depend on how badly the man wanted that title. ‘I’ll help you, then.’
She shook her head. ‘I really don’t expect it.’
Another rejection. He ignored the pain of it. ‘I am paid by your cousin to act in his stead in his absence. I can’t believe he would want me to leave you here alone.’
‘I won’t be alone.’
‘No, you won’t.’ He gave her a hard smile. ‘I will be here.’
‘As you wish.’ She folded the letter and sealed it. ‘Please have the landlord take this to the post as soon as possible. Now I must find Mr Hughes and tell him of my decision.’
The best he could hope for was that the vicar would refuse to house her. Somehow he didn’t see that occurring.
It seemed he was going to take up a new career. Labourer.
* * *
Since coming to her decision the day before, she’d stopped calling him Niall. She was strictly formal in all of their dealings as if their friendship and...and, well, what had happened in the gypsy cart, had never occurred. He couldn’t help resenting the loss of closeness. But he understood. After all, he was the one who had pointed out that by staying, he was only doing his job.
And since the Hughes had no room for him in their small house, he had made an arrangement at the inn for room and board in exchange for chores. He’d risen at first light, helped the innkeeper with his barrels and mucked out the stables and then come to the vicarage. Jenna was waiting for him in the garden. Dressed in a practical blue-cotton gown of a country lass and a white kerchief covering her bright hair, she was admiring a trellis covered in yellow roses arched over a garden seat. The scent of roses filled the air.
‘I see you are ready, my lady,’ he said.
She spun around with a smile. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’
‘We said nine, did we not?’
Somewhere in the house a clock struck the hour.
‘I am anxious to get started.’ She picked up the basket sitting at her feet covered by a white cloth. ‘A little sustenance, though I am expected back for dinner. Dear Mrs Hughes. I had to dissuade her from sending the maid along. I assured her I’d be perfectly safe with you.’
Safe was not a word she should be using with respect to him.
* * *
They followed the same path as they had taken the day before. The birds were singing, the sky was clear of all but a few fluffy clouds. The air was clean and mild and scented with spring. He could almost imagine they were just a country couple on their way to work in the fields. Almost.
He resisted the temptation to tuck her arm within his and kept a respectable distance. A challenge. Even so, it was impossible not to enjoy the morning.
At the curve in the drive, she stopped, staring across the overgrown lawn at the house. ‘I thought it was so beautiful when I was little. I recall it as much bigger. Now it looks small and sad.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I should have come back sooner.’
‘Things always seem bigger and better when you are a child,’ he said softly, wanting to fix things and knowing he could not.
The look she gave him said he didn’t understand. And perhaps he didn’t. ‘Where do you want to start?’
‘Perhaps we should look at the stables. Mr Murray seemed quite keen on his horses and keeps a large stable. It would be an advantage if we had decent accommodation in that quarter.’
They strolled around the back of the house and into the long, low, red-brick building a short walk from the back of the house.
‘They look fairly new,’ he said. ‘And clean.’
‘Father had them built not long after he married my mother. She loved her horses and insisted on proper stabling. I think he spent a bit more than he could afford.’
The stalls were clean and empty. ‘My father’s stable master was a good man. The building is in bett
er shape than the house.’
In the last stall was a pile of rotting sacks. He pulled one apart. ‘Mouldy fleece. It will have to be disposed of.’
‘It smells awful.’
‘Yes. It’s too bad. It would have been worth some money.’
They walked around to the back of the house and into the kitchen. Jenna pulled a bunch of keys from the basket. ‘The housekeeper left them with Mrs Hughes.’ She unlocked the pantry and some of the cupboards. There were pots and pans and china on the shelves. Everyday china used by the servants. ‘The good china was all sold, Mr Hughes said.’ Her voice was a little shaky. ‘Carrick never told me about the debts. Apparently they were significant.’ She forced a smile. ‘But at least I can make a cup of tea.’ She pulled a wooden box from the basket and placed some cloth-wrapped packages inside the pantry. ‘Now to see what we can do in the drawing room.’
* * *
Three hours of hauling out lumps of plaster and pieces of wood and it didn’t look much better. Each time they cleared something out, something else fell. And the carpets had mildew. He doubted if they could be saved. The roof had to be leaking.
Jenna picked up another armload of bits of plaster and carried them outside. He followed with a pile of oak panelling that ought to have been too heavy for one man to carry. And was not. She’d found a few treasures, too: a couple of pictures, some figurines. Those they had locked in one of the cupboards in the kitchen.
She dropped her armload on the growing pile on the lawn and dusted off her hands. ‘Will you join me for a bite to eat and a cup of tea?’
Surprised by the visceral surge of pleasure at her invitation to sit down with her, he hesitated. He wanted to say yes. Desperately. He wanted to recapture the companionship they’d shared on their journey. If that had been all he wanted, then he would have said yes at once. But he wanted so much more. And that was impossible.
He clamped his jaw on the surging sensations and shook his head. ‘Mrs Hughes meant the food for you.’
‘There is enough in that basket to keep an army marching for a week. And I owe you something for all your help.’
Ann Lethbridge Page 19
