Ravenworthe

by Ginny Hartman

  Colin and Bridget looked at each other and shrugged before leading him inside. Once ensconced in the drawing-room, Bridget offered to call for tea, but the man declined, so she took a seat on the settee where Colin joined her and reached for her hand.

  The stranger remained standing, though he set his hat on a wing-backed chair before setting his satchel down and rummaging through it. Retrieving some papers, he turned and stood before them and cleared his throat. “My name is Bartholomew Harrington. I was your father's solicitor until his death. Before his passing, he gave me strict instructions to contact you upon your marriage and deliver you some items he wanted you to have.”

  Colin stiffened next to Bridget. “I don't want any of it,” he hurriedly said in clipped tones. “I wish to have no reminders of him in my life.”

  Mr. Harrington's face remained impassive. “I suggest you at least take a look. There is value in what he left you.”

  Bridget fully understood Colin's resistance but urged him nonetheless. “It wouldn't hurt to see what it is, would it?”

  “It might,” he snapped, clearly perturbed by the whole ordeal.

  “Well, my duty is to deliver it, that is all. What you choose to do with it is up to you. I will leave it for you then and bid you a good day.”

  Mr. Harrington set the papers down on the coffee table in front of them before retrieving several boxes from his satchel, which he also set down next to the papers. “There you have it, Mr. Ravenworthe,” he said before handing him a calling card. “If I can ever be of any assistance to you, please do let me know.”

  Colin stood to show him out, but Mr. Harrington stopped him. “Do not bother, Mr. Ravenworthe, I can see myself to the door.”

  Bridget waited for Colin to resume sitting before asking, “What do you think it is?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted, staring at the offensive items before him.

  “Well, why don't you start by reading the papers?” she asked sensibly.

  Colin reached for the document, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly. He hesitated before finally reading it silently to himself. When he was finished, he exhaled loudly before cursing his father beneath his breath.

  Bridget laid her hand gently on his arm. “What did it say?”

  “I thought I couldn't despise him anymore after learning what he did to mother, but I find I do so now. He confessed everything; his illegitimate son, his manipulative tactics that killed mother, and his deep regret for what he did. He said the knowledge of his sins plagued him until the very end of his life.”

  “I can imagine they did, and rightly so. But why does the knowledge of his suffering cause you such contempt?''

  “'Tis not that at all,” he said, flicking his hand towards the boxes stacked on the table. “'Tis this...this attempt to pay me off in the hopes I will someday forgive him and hold his memory in high esteem.”

  “Is that what he suggested?”

  “No, but why else would he give me everything of value he owned?”

  “Cause you're his son, his heir,” she pointed out matter-of-factly. It was the way things went, and Bridget failed to see why that would bother him so.

  “And why wait until I'm married to give it to me? Is it his twisted attempt to mare my happiness like he marred my childhood with his cruel sins?”

  Bridget couldn't blame his contempt, but curiosity got the best of her, and she timidly reached for one of the boxes. She half expected him to snap at her and tell her to stop, but he didn't. Instead, Colin looked straight ahead, ignoring her as she opened the lid.

  Inside the box was a framed painting of a little boy and a little girl playing in a meadow, bright flowers surrounding them in the glade. Bridget recognized the resemblance to Colin at once and asked reverently, “Is this you and Lily?”

  Colin's head snapped towards the painting, and the hardness of his features softened immediately as he reached for it and held it in his lap. “Lud!” he exclaimed softly. “I forgot about this. Mother painted it shortly before she died. It hung in her bedchamber right next to her bed.”

  “She was very talented; I recognized young Colin right away.”

  Taking a sudden interest in the other boxes, he said, “What other treasures did he send?”

  Bridget didn't comment on his choice of wording, merely reached for another box. A soft gasp escaped her throat as she stared at a stunning diamond and sapphire parure. There was a piece of parchment folded and sealed with wax lying beneath it. She quickly handed it to Colin, feeling unworthy even to hold such a valuable set of jewels.

  Colin laid aside the portrait and broke the brittle seal on the yellowed parchment. Unfolding the letter, his eyes misted with tears as he recognized his mother's sprawling penmanship. He decided to read it aloud for Bridget to hear, though emotion filled his voice:

  My dearest boy,

  You've always been such a treasure to me. From the moment I first looked into your eyes, I had the feeling I somehow knew you before, and our meeting was merely a re-acquaintance of sorts. If I could, I'd give you the world, but I know it's not mine to give. Instead, I want to give you the most valuable earthly possession I own.

  I do hope to give it to you myself someday, God willing, but if that cannot be, I want it given to you upon your marriage so you may give it to your wife. Remember that she should always remain your most priceless possession, far more valuable than diamonds or gold, than accolades or achievements, or anything else you could possibly acquire during this lifetime.

  If I know you as well as I believe I do, I know you will choose a companion wisely and that she will be a true gem, and your life will be richly blessed because of it.

  I love you, my dearest boy, and am proud of the child you are and the man you will one day become.

  All my love,

  Mama

  Colin wasn't the only one with tears in his eyes. By the time he was done reading the letter, Bridget had to reach for her handkerchief to dab at her cheeks as well. Without saying a word, Colin reached for the necklace and slid it expertly around her neck then proceeded to adorn her with the ear bobs, bracelet, and broach. By the time she had the entire set on, she felt like the Queen of England in all of her finery.

  “My mother would have adored you,” he whispered. “And I shall endeavor to live up to her sage advice and always treat you as the jewel that you are.”

  “And I will do likewise, for you are no less valuable to me.”

  Colin leaned his forehead against her own, their warm breath mingling together as they stared into each other's eyes. “Are you going to open the final box?” Bridget asked him softly.

  “No, I already know what it contains. The letter stated he was giving me his life savings, which is what made me most angry. I don't want his money.”

  “Then give it to charity,” she suggested.

  “I think I will.” A few minutes passed before he admitted quietly, “I'm still angry at him, even if he did give me these valuable treasures of Mother's. As meaningful and special as they are, they are no substitute for her presence. I would give anything to have her meet you to have her meet her grandchildren someday. She was robbed of her life, and we were all robbed as well.”

  “Yes, but she's not far from us. Remember the visions she gives you? It's her way of letting you know she's still with you. I wish I had something of my father besides his fortune to remind me he is near.”

  Colin gently kissed her lips. “Please forgive me for being selfish and forgetting your pain.”

  “There's nothing to forgive. We are not in competition with one another over who has experienced the most grief, we are partners in our sorrow helping each other through, and someday we will awake and discover we've been healed.”

  “I can already feel it happening,” he confessed.

  “So can I love, so can I.”

  The first thing Colin saw upon waking was the beautiful painting of his mother's. Bridget had insisted they hang it in their bedchamber, and he hadn't
complained. The second thing he saw was the peaceful, sleeping face of his beautiful wife. Her dark hair was splayed across the pillow, and he couldn't resist reaching out and touching it. He gently stroked it and smiled when she smiled in response to his ministrations, though she slumbered on.

  He could wake up next to her every day for a million years, and it would still never be enough. He thought back to every encounter he'd had with her and could remember well how smitten he was with her right from the start. That she would ever become his wife was still a miracle he couldn't quite comprehend.

  Colin pressed a kiss to her smooth cheek right as someone burst into their bedchamber, causing him to startle. Bridget snapped awake, pulling the sheets tightly around her body as they both turned to look at who dared intrude in their private space.

  “Bridget, I'm home!”

  Colin laughed as an exuberant Beatrice skipped into the room and jumped right on top of their bed, oblivious to the fact that they were both indecent.

  Bridget, however, was less amused. “Beatrice, you cannot under any circumstances, barge into our bedchamber. We are married now, and married people need their privacy.”

  Beatrice's face fell. “But I missed you,” she explained with a trembling lip.

  Bridget dropped her stern visage and reached for Beatrice. “I missed you too. Come, give me a hug.”

  With Beatrice snuggled between them, Colin took the opportunity to ask her, “Have you been good for Ruth?”

  “Do I get sweets if I say yes?”

  “I can always ask Ruth for the answer,” he pointed out sensibly.

  “Me always good,” Beatrice said, snuggling into Bridget and looking intently into her sister's face. “Mama is bad though, very, very bad. And so is bad man Dan.”

  Bridget looked at Colin over Beatrice's head and mouthed, “Bad man Dan?”

  Colin shrugged while holding back a chuckle; it was an appropriate nickname, much better than one he'd choose for the vile creature.

  “Let us not think of them, Bea. We are safe here at Rottborne, and you'll forevermore have Colin and me to take care of you.”

  “But I want Ruth, too,” she exclaimed before turning her head towards the door and calling for her.

  “Hush, Beatrice, Ruth does not need to come barging in here and see us like this. It's apparent we need to set some ground rules. First, you will not ever be allowed in our bedchamber unless you are personally invited.”

  “Never?” Beatrice asked, this time directing her question to Colin.

  “That sounds reasonable,” he admitted. “Would you like it if we hastened into your room whenever we wished without so much as knocking?”

  “But what if I knock first? Then I can come in, right?”

  “No,” Bridget explained, exasperated. “You may knock if you need something, but you must not enter unless invited. You must try to remember that.”

  “And we must always remember to lock our door,” Colin added, winking at Bridget.

  “And secondly,” Bridget interjected, trying to pull Beatrice's attention away from his comment so she wouldn't dwell on it overmuch. “You must always obey Colin and me. With Father and Mother gone now, we are your guardians and will expect you to treat us with respect.”

  “Should I call you Mother now?”

  Bridget cringed. “No, that won't be necessary.”

  Beatrice turned to Colin and smiled, her nose scrunched up and her eyes wrinkled, “But I will call you Papa.” Colin laughed and tweaked her nose. “Papa Colin.”

  Bridget looked at him apologetically, but he was quick to note, “If that is what you wish, that is fine by me.”

  It took another quarter of an hour and a promise of breakfast to convince Beatrice to leave their bedchamber. When she was finally gone, Bridget shook her head and said, “We are starting our marriage with a grown woman-child. It might be best to wait to add our own children to the mix until we learn how to manage her.”

  “She's easy enough to manage, but whether we have children of our own is not quite so easy to control. You may very well be with child already.”

  Her hands slowly went to her belly as her eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”

  Colin went and took her into his arms. “Would you truly be disappointed if that were the case?”

  After some introspection, she admitted, “No, just a bit overwhelmed. My mother wasn't a glowing example of motherhood, and I fear, if only a little, that I'll follow in her footsteps.”

  “Hell's bells!” he exclaimed. “Don't even suggest such a thing. You're so far opposite your mother; it's preposterous even to suggest there could be similarities. I wouldn't have fallen in love with you had there been.”

  “But what if I change?”

  Colin looked into her face, noting there was a genuine concern there. He exhaled softly, pulling her even closer. “It's inevitable you will, as will I, but we must strive to foster the good in ourselves as well as each other, and then we will never go astray. I vow I will never allow myself to turn into my father and if I see you turning into your mother I will—”

  “Banish me to the country?”

  “We're already in the country,” he pointed out. “No, I will simply turn you over my knee and spank you!”

  Bridget's laughter rumbled against his chest, lightening the mood between them. “Very well, I'll try my hardest to be a good girl then.”

  By the time the pair arrived in the breakfast room, the food was nearly gone as were Beatrice and Ruth, but Finch shortly appeared, a delightful smile on his expressive face. “By Jove, I find the new residence quite to my liking and surmise the rest of the staff does as well. They are currently below stairs familiarizing themselves with the workings of the house. Shall I send for them, or would you rather speak with them later?”

  “Later is fine,” Colin said, trying to scrape the last bit of eggs from the silver serving dish before picking up a cold piece of toast and sitting at the table to pour himself some tepid coffee. “Perhaps tomorrow we can enjoy some warm food to break our fast,” he grumbled lightly.

  “Perhaps tomorrow we should come down at a decent time,” Bridget chided with a sly wink.

  Finch patiently stood against the wall, waiting for them to finish breaking their fast before saying, “I bring word from Walter and Nash with me.”

  Both Bridget and Colin gasped, their eyes meeting across the table. “What is it?” Colin asked, reaching for Bridget's hand.

  “Both Mrs. Godwin and Mr. Townsend appeared at Magistrate Court and were found guilty of the crimes they committed. They've both been sentenced to hang. The punishment is expected to be carried out the following week.”

  Though the news was expected, it was still hard to hear. Bridget's shoulders slumped while her eyes went downcast.

  “There's one other thing,” Finch added.

  “I'm uncertain we can handle any more news right now.”

  “I understand, sir, but this you will want to hear. Nash somehow wrangled the whereabouts of Mr. Godwin's body from Mrs. Godwin. It appears they hid him in the cellar at Ravenworthe Manor. Walter and Nash were making it a point to travel to Kent to retrieve him and bring him to you.”

  Bridget's eyes met Colin's as he asked, “Where shall we bury him?”

  “Here, with us,” she insisted without hesitancy.

  “Of course.”

  Finch, in a mood to talk, continued prattling on, “And sir, you do realize that with the hanging of Mr. Townsend, Ravenworthe Manor will revert back to you, it's rightful heir, do you not?”

  Colin groaned. He honestly hadn't thought of it, nor did he want the manor full of painful memories. “I will sell it,” he insisted without emotion.

  “But what of your mother and Lily? Shall we have them moved here as well?” Bridget asked with interest and concern.

  Colin thought about her suggestion, very much liking the thought of them being where he could visit them anytime he liked, where their children could someday go pay their respe
cts to their ancestors. And someday, hopefully very far in the future, where he and Bridget could be buried alongside them.

  “Yes, we shall. I will arrange it at once.”

  Rising from the table, he helped Bridget from her chair. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me, as do you. Go find Mrs. Tibbets, the new housekeeper, and introduce yourself as lady of the house. There will be much for you to arrange with her for you to make Rottborne your own.”

  Bridget nodded. “Colin, dear, do you think we will ever return to London?”

  “Honestly, I've no desire, unless it's for a brief visit on occasion.”

  “But what of your work?”

  “Do you not think there are cases to be solved here, in East Sussex? I can assure you, a detective's work is always in demand. I will just have to acquaint myself with the community and offer my services as needed. That shan't be hard to do.”

  “Oh, Colin, thank you. Since arriving at Rottborne I've wished nothing more than to stay forever. I feel safe here like I can thrive and find joy again, and our future seems bright.”

  “It is bright,” he promised her, a sudden vision filling his mind of a passel of children running through the halls and laughter filling each room. In the vision, there were three girls that favored Bridget in appearance, two boys who were a good mixture of them both, and an energetic Beatrice right in the throws of it all. “Chaotic, but bright,” he added with a chuckle. “And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

  The End

  About the Author

  Ginny Hartman has always loved writing, and when her love for the regency era blossomed, she decided to combine the two, resulting in her first published novel, Deceiving the Duke of Kerrington, which became an Amazon Historical Romance bestseller. After completing her first Regency Romance Trilogy, she decided to venture into other eras of historical romance, enjoying the journey back in time.

  Ginny's favorite thing about writing is the escape it gives her and the people who read her stories. To be among the first to be notified when her new books are released, sign up for her newsletter at http://ginnyhartman.com/newsletter-sign-up. As an added bonus, you will also receive Mrs. Tiddlyswan's Gossip Column, an exclusive addition to Ginny's newsletter that will feature periodic updates on all of your favorite heroes and heroines. You can also like her Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/authorginnyhartman.