The responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders. He needed to win the case back in London more now than ever. It was critical. Taking another deep breath, he straightened and prepared himself to talk with the vicar. The weight of his family’s situation on his ever-weakening shoulders.
Chapter Four
WALTER HAD ONLY BEEN home three days, and already he was desperate to get out of the house. He thought of Patience, who was only two miles down the road. He wondered if she grieved the loss of her relationship with Lord Seton more than her relationship with him. He shook his head, putting Patience from his mind. He’d done a good job of keeping her from his thoughts since having arrived. He hadn’t the desire to make a habit of thinking about her now that his time was his. The arrangements were made for the funeral.
He left the house to wander the grounds, deep in thoughts of his next move. Henrietta had been playing the pianoforte non-stop the past few days. He reasoned it was her way of grieving, but the solemn music dampened his mood. He hadn’t seen much of his mother. He imagined she remained in her room or the library to hide away from the reality of having her eldest ripped away from her comfort.
He made his way to the fishing pond just off his property, walking among the cattails, watching the sunlight glisten on the surface. He spotted the little shack at the edge of their property where the groundskeeper kept their fishing and boating equipment.
Vividly, he remembered pulling Patience inside the shack. He was only twelve, she ten. They’d used it as a headquarters for their imagined investigator bureau. They’d find some small, insignificant mystery to solve and meet up in the small building to discuss clues and theories. He remembered the way her hair frizzed out in the red highlights of her auburn hair, a tangled mess she had never been able to control. Her nose had been spattered with many more freckles when she was young. Though they’d dimmed considerably as the years had gone by.
Walter was drawn out of the memory when he spotted a stable hand disappear into the stables visible from the pond.
He remembered the faulty carriage. If anyone knew where it was now, it would be the stable hand. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Walter moved to the stables.
When he entered, the hand was busy cleaning out the stalls. He remembered the aging Benjamin, a loyal servant who had been with them since before his father’s passing. When the man turned, he spotted Walter.
He rested his arms on his shovel, wiping his brow before speaking. “Apologies for your loss, sir.”
Walter looked around the stables. They were noticeably empty without the carriage, though all the horses still stood in their stalls. He wondered how they had survived the accident.
He pushed past the thickness in his chest to discover his purpose. “I came to ask about the carriage my brother was in. Did you happen to see it... after?” He cleared his throat, pulling in his emotions.
Benjamin nodded, his face drooping. “Some of the other servants and I dragged the pieces to the blacksmith the day you arrived.”
“What did the blacksmith want with it?”
“Well, ‘twas no use to us, sir.” Benjamin grabbed a pitchfork and began stabbing hay bales, sending fresh hay over to the horses. “I reckon he’d want to use some of the parts for his work.”
Anxiety clutched at Walter. Had he been too late in inquiring? Had the blacksmith destroyed all the clues tied to his brother’s death?
“How did the carriage look?” he asked. “It was missing a wheel, I was told.”
“Yes, sir. Missing the right wheel, and the top had caved completely in. All underneath was bent up, it was.”
“What do you suppose caused it to break down so suddenly?” Walter mused.
Benjamin shrugged, tossing in a last pitchfork full of hay. “Heaven only knows. Could’ve hit some boulder of some sort. Or maybe the wheel was coming off already. I suppose we’ll never know for sure.”
Walter clenched his jaw. “Thank you for answering my questions.”
He strode out of the stable, his mind on the business of knowing the truth. He needed to go to the blacksmith’s and investigate the carriage, but it was getting late and tomorrow would be a busy one with Daniel’s funeral to attend. He’d likely not have time to make any more inquiries.
He moved back to the house, a new weight sitting in his chest.
WALTER STARED FIXEDLY at a nearby headstone, scowling at it as the vicar quoted the Bible, offering little comfort.
A tidy crowd surrounded him, Henrietta, and his mother. Many of them had approached him before the service began, offering their sympathy and condolences. He wasn’t sure what to do with them. They wouldn’t bring Daniel back or lessen the blow of his loss. He heard the constant mutterings, the repeated phrases, “Gone too soon.”
“He was so young.”
Walter hadn’t bothered to search the crowd for Patience. He told himself he didn’t care if she was here. If she were, she only showed her support for his brother and family.
Henrietta sobbed quietly into his shoulder. His mother stared with empty eyes at Daniel’s casket, poised to be lowered into his eternal rest.
It would have pained Daniel to see his family so dismal. He had his flaws, but Daniel never liked to see his family unhappy. He had been the rock after their father left this world.
Now that responsibility fell to Walter... and he wasn’t sure if he was up to the task.
The vicar ended his sermon, and the casket was lowered into the earth. Watching it descend twisted Walter’s insides into an unsteady resolve. His brother would forever remain under the ground, never to resurface. Emotion caught in his throat, but he refused to let it show. He had to remain strong for his family.
The vicar invited the family to say their final good-byes. The vicar’s wife handed Walter and each member of his family a rose. He stood at the edge of the grave site, his sister on one arm, his mother on the other. They stared down at the gaping hole with Daniel inside.
His mother gently kissed the top of her rose then let it fall. It landed softly on the casket. Henrietta followed suit. Walter clenched his jaw. Good-bye, brother, he thought. May I be half the man you were.
He let his rose go, and with it, his brother.
Neighbors and friends turned to leave as Walter fixed his gaze on familiar blue eyes. He froze as he noticed Patience, standing across from him, in the shade of a willow tree. Alone, like a statue, the black of her dress accentuated the pale pallor of her fair skin. She watched him, the white of her eyes pink from crying. Walter wanted to go to her, find comfort in her from what he had lost. Her standing in the distance meant she still cared. The sadness in her eyes told of her loss. Every instinct in him told him to rush to her so that they might share this burden together.
Instead, he bridled his emotions and kissed the top of his mother’s head. “Return to the house. I’ll be along shortly.”
His mother nodded as his sister clung to her, heading for the carriage he’d rented for the occasion. As soon as they were safely inside, Walter turned to face Patience again. She hadn’t moved. He pulled his cloak of indifference around him like a shield. Patience might feel for his loss, but her actions time and again proved her inconstancy.
He walked around the men burying his brother in the ground and stood tall in front of Patience, the woman who had taken up his thoughts and focus for the past few months, perhaps without even realizing it.
“Walter...” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Everything about her was soft, comforting. But he wouldn’t be pulled in by her charms again. Not today.
“I hope you are well, Miss Hawthorne.”
Her eyes fluttered in surprise at the formality before she looked away from him. “Are you angry with me then?”
With harsh breath and steel in his words, he made a cutting remark. “I have other things to occupy my time. I do not have time to feel resentment—or any feeling—toward you.”
Patience’s brows drew together as her bottom lip
trembled. “Did you not receive my letter?”
Walter remained as firm and unfeeling as possible. “I never opened it,” he admitted. “It was used as kindling for my fire.”
“Oh.” Patience’s eyes became glossy, a film of tears forming over them. “I wish you would have read it,” she said softly.
At times, so had he. But she had done enough to toy with his emotions. He didn’t need to read a letter full of overdone apologies. Lord Seton had rejected her as she had rejected him. It was in the past, and he would keep it there to save his sanity.
“You have not forgiven me,” she said softly with defeat in her voice.
“You are incorrect. I’ve done my best to forget you.” Walter tipped his hat in her direction. “I wish you health and happiness.”
“Walter...” Patience stopped. The tears had escaped the corners of her eyes. “I wish I could express how sorry I am about your brother.” She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “But if this is to be the last we speak to each other... then I want you to know I wish you the happiest life attainable. A man as good as you deserves only the best.”
She turned from him, her black dress rustling as she walked briskly away, her shoulders held high. She was being strong for his sake, too much spirit to grovel. The thought made him proud despite his best effort to keep himself neutral. As he watched her go, he felt hollow inside. Without her support he was but a shell of the man he could be.
Chapter Five
PATIENCE DIDN’T BELIEVE Walter would be so cruel as to forget her, not for a moment. He was hurting from the loss of his brother and was lashing out because of his perceived betrayal by her. He hadn’t even read her letter explaining everything, so he didn’t know she had not gone against her word to him.
When they had failed to gain permission from her parents, she had made a vow to him that she would find a way to be with him. She had naively thought it would be easy to sneak away from her mother and steal moments alone to be with Walter. But she had miscalculated the sheer vastness of London, and the fact that they ran in different circles now that he was a barrister with little income and no status.
She had adamantly denied Walter’s insistence that she would soon find another to claim her heart. He let her go with his last kiss, freeing her from any obligation to him. The tables had turned. She had been constant in her affection while it seemed he held resentment with her for supposedly doing the very thing he wished her happy to do.
She was determined to prove she still cared deeply for him, and that she had been as constant as the stars. He was stubborn, but so could she be. She had let her mother control her life long enough. If she continued in this manner, she would turn into the shell of a person that her father had already become.
Attending the funeral yesterday had been difficult, but it strengthened her in a way she had not been expecting. She no longer feared Walter’s rejection. Though his words said otherwise, she knew by the stiffness of his posture and the anger in his eyes that he still cared for her deeply. Pain changed people, and she would not let Walter be changed for the worst without attempting to soothe him. She owed him that at the very least since it was her shameless trick that had caused the pain.
She wandered the village now, strolling past the small dress shop and bakery, letting her mind wander as to how to fix the mess of their hearts.
She had already decided she would solve the mystery of the broken carriage. She enjoyed mysteries—it reminded her of her youth with Walter. If she could discover what caused the carriage to malfunction, perhaps Walter would appreciate her efforts and consider forgiving her.
Perhaps.
It was worth a try.
Patience made her way down the street until she reached the blacksmith’s shop. She had inquired after the funeral with Walter’s groom as to the whereabouts of the carriage when the family was inside mourning with a few close neighbors. She hoped it hadn’t been scrapped for parts yet. She entered the shop, feeling the sweltering heat from inside and inhaling the scent of iron and sweat. Mr Tate greeted her in the entryway.
“Miss Hawthorne! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Mr Tate’s round, balding head and missing teeth did not distract from the kindness that emanated from him. His friendly demeanor had made him a favorite amongst the village.
She smiled at him, knowing he would not deny her request. “I was wondering perhaps if you were in possession of the carriage Mr Daniel Longman had been in during his accident.”
Mr Tate’s brows furrowed together. “Indeed, I do.”
Patience’s spirits brightened. “Could I see it, perchance?”
Mr Tate shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in it. I was going to strip it for scraps, but Mr Walter Longman sent me a letter asking me not to touch it until he had inspected it. I imagine he suspects faulty manufacturing.”
“Indeed.” Patience let Mr Tate lead her towards the back of his shop where dingy scraps of iron littered the floor. A fresh breeze filtered through the open shop, bringing with it the scent of horses and flowers along with a welcome breeze.
“Here we are. Not much to look at.” Mr Tate pointed to the pile.
Patience stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at the mess in front of her. She had not imagined so much destruction. The object in front of her hardly looked as if it had once been a carriage. It lay crumpled on its side, missing too many pieces. The top was caved in and mangled. She forced herself not to think about Daniel’s crushed body trapped inside it.
“What do you think happened?” she asked in a whisper.
Mr Tate scratched at his jaw. “I reckon something was faulty, but I haven’t had the chance to properly examine it to know if that is true. It’ll be hard to narrow down exactly what caused the accident now that the carriage is in shambles.”
Patience stepped closer, examining the carriage. It was a mess, indeed. She didn’t know where to start looking for clues. Had the wheel fallen before or after the tumble? Was the underside of the carriage that bent out of shape before?
She straightened, disheartened at the lack of information it gave her. “Thank you, Mr Tate,” she said, turning to him. “I trust you’ll examine the carriage for defects that might have resulted in the accident?”
Mr Tate nodded. “It’s certainly intriguing.”
He escorted Patience to the front. As she was exiting, she nearly ran into a man who quickly turned into the shop. “Oh!” she gasped just as the man muttered, “Pardon me!”
She looked up and caught Walter’s surprised expression. “Patience. What are you doing here?”
She stumbled back, blinking up at him. “I... I wanted to see the carriage.” She straightened, trying to carry more confidence. “I wanted to help discover the cause of the accident.”
To her surprise, Walter’s face fell into a scowl. Grabbing her upper arm, he pulled her away from the blacksmith, dragging her behind a merchant’s building before he faced her, placing both hands on her shoulders.
“Miss Hawthorne,” he said, his voice low. “I do not appreciate you meddling in my private affairs.”
Patience shook away his hands, returning his scowl. “I’m not trying to meddle. I only wanted to help.”
Walter growled under his breath. “Let me handle this. Besides, I highly doubt your parents would approve.”
Patience winced at the venom in his voice. “I don’t let my parents control every aspect of my life,” she snapped. “If I want to see you, I shall. Just as I always have.”
She watched as Walter shook his head then bowed quickly and turned on his heel to walk away. She caught his arm, turning him back.
“You may have forgotten me, Walter Longman, but it hasn’t been as easy for me. Not a second goes by that I don’t think of you.” She searched his face, trying to find some tenderness in his stern gaze. “Tell me you think of me. Tell me I don’t suffer alone.”
Walter stared at her in silence as she held her breath.
Finally, he
sighed, looking away from her. “I’ve tried to forget you, Patience,” he said quietly. “Tried and failed so many times I’ve nearly driven myself mad. But I still harbor resentment that you paired up with a newly rich bachelor only months after your parents denied me. You’ve lost my respect, and I’m not certain how to capture it again. Even if I feel we can move forward in a relationship, I could not in good conscience until I can have more respect for you.”
Patience let her lips part at his words. The pain she felt stirred her anger towards their silly misunderstanding.
“Perhaps if you had read my letter, you would know the reasons behind my faux courtship with Lord Seton,” she said, seething.
Walter opened his mouth to reply, but caught his breath as he whispered faux?
“Yes! You insufferable lout! As if I could be so inconstant in my affection toward you. It had only been a year! You think I could not stand the temptations of society for a measly season?”
“Then why did I see you in the arms of Lord Seton? Why the scandal when he turned his affections to another? I wanted to throttle the both of you for your lack of discreteness and propriety!”
Patience took a step closer to him, so they were only a breath apart.
“Walter,” she said. “Please. Let me tell you my side of the story. Then perhaps you’ll understand that I never meant you any harm.”
Walter’s rich eyes flickered from her eyes to her nose, her hair to her lips. His body relaxed, and his eyes softened as he took her in.
Patience pulled in a deep breath. “Lord Seton and I—”
“Oh, Mr Longman, there you are!” a voice called from behind them.
Patience clamped her mouth shut, pulling away from Walter to give them a respectable distance apart. Mr Scott, the owner of the general merchant approached them.
“I haven’t seen you since the funeral. Your brother ordered a piece of jewelry for your mother but was unable to pick it up before his—” The man stopped mid-sentence, probably only now realizing the awkwardness of the situation. “Would you care to take a look at it?” Hope danced in his eyes.
The Barrister's Challenge: A Regency Romance (Heirs of Berkshire Book 2) Page 3
