by Sahara Kelly
He read the sheets again, taking time to consider the contents after each one.
There were ten pages, containing the names of ten men that Giles considered suitable for a position at Wolfbridge.
Each had strengths—and more importantly, each had weaknesses. It was a matter of finding the right combination, of combining those factors within four men, so that the whole would indeed be greater than the sum of their parts. Aristotle had the right idea as far as Giles was concerned.
Having Evan and Jeremy already in residence made the job a little easier. Evan’s gentle nature, and Jeremy’s humour were strengths he need not seek in a new candidate. But Evan might easily be overlooked at times since his nature was also somewhat shy and retiring.
Jeremy, on the other hand, was like a bright light. And sometimes one needed to shield one’s eyes from the dazzle.
Both fine young men, both excellent members of the Wolfbridge family.
For such was the way Giles viewed the men under his direction. They were family, they would care for and protect the Lady of Wolfbridge, and she would draw from them whatever she needed to become the complete woman she was destined to be.
That was the directive of Wolfbridge Manor. Illuminabit ad te.
Bring light unto thyself.
He had often wondered what the inscription scrawled beneath the large mantel in the hallway meant. And he wondered who had patiently crouched before the fire and carved it. It was Jeremy who had noticed his curiosity and attacked the ancient smoke-stained beam with cloth and wax, cleaning it up enough to be legible.
Giles had served in loco parentis at Adalyn’s wedding, and walked her down the aisle with the knowledge that he had indeed fulfilled the directive of Wolfbridge. Adalyn had brought herself to light, and she shone with that knowledge as she took Daniel as her husband.
Now it was time to close that chapter of Wolfbridge and look ahead. To begin re-staffing with new faces and preparing to welcome a new Lady.
As far as that matter was concerned, Giles had another list in a different drawer of his desk; one that he added to now and again, as information arrived on various matters from diverse places around the country.
He believed he knew who he would seek out when the time came, but for now his priority was to find replacements for Trick and Daniel. More Daniel than Trick, since managing an estate was not a trivial matter and he knew himself to be poorly qualified for the job.
The morrow would see the departure of the Fitzroys, and that would be difficult. After that, a few days to celebrate the Christmas season, though it would be a quiet time this year. The weather was cold, snow could be expected at any moment, and he predicted he would be delayed by the weather, if nothing else, on his anticipated journey.
But it must be made, and soon.
Sighing and rubbing his eyes, Giles put aside the papers. He’d made his decision and having done so knew where he must go to pursue it.
There was time to put travelling arrangements together, but not a lot. He wanted this done, and done soon. Pulling the blanket around him, he blew out the candles, settling down by firelight to catch a few hours’ rest.
A chill danced across the back of his neck and for a moment he thought he felt the touch of icy fingers. He shivered.
Yes, he must not delay. There was a woman out there who would have need of everything Wolfbridge had to offer. A sense of urgency nagged at his mind and he fell asleep on the thought that he must not put off finding her any longer than necessary. He wasn’t sure why, but perhaps it would come to him…
*~~*~~*
Many miles away from the man sleeping in his warm study, a woman shivered and drew what was left of an old quilt around her shoulders.
She was tucked into a chair that had seen better days, but at least it was dry, now that she’d drawn it close to the fire. Everything seemed infused with a lingering damp that ate at one’s bones. There’d been little sun to warm the place since she had moved in, and her alleged housekeeper did nothing to earn that title.
Gwyneth, the Dowager Countess of Kilham, had been brought low, as low as she could be, by the spite and hatred of her stepson, but damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of letting him know about it. She missed a decent meal, a clean bed, a change of clothes and she really missed her maid, Dorothy, who’d been as much a friend as a servant. She prayed that Ernest had enough decency to provide for her, but couldn’t be sure.
Cold, damp and disgustingly filthy rooms notwithstanding, she’d carved out a small but habitable area for herself. A week of hard cleaning had turned what was to be her room into a place she could sit without fear of finding rodent droppings beneath her feet.
Tireless forays outside when the weather permitted, allowed her to drag firewood near to the door, and into a modicum of shelter. On the rare days when the sun shone, some of it dried, and thus there was a bit of warmth and light from the fireplace come bitter winter evenings.
Mrs. Ashe ignored her, so Gwyneth returned the favour. It was easier for both of them, since they occupied different areas of the rundown house.
Food appeared at random intervals during the day—when Mrs Ashe felt like cooking something, apparently—and sometimes they passed each other with a nod. Now and again, Gwyneth used her own fireplace to heat water, thanks to an oversized set of andirons upon which she could balance the old cooking pot she’d found and filled from an outside pump.
It was makeshift, but there was hot water for tea, or washing, both herself and her clothes. She’d had to ask for the tea and a cup, but had done so while staring the older woman right in the eye. She refused to be intimidated, but kept their few interactions on as impersonal a level as possible.
All these things were time-consuming, but Gwyneth realised that time was the one thing she had in abundance. So keeping busy with awkward chores like these took her mind off her plight. Otherwise she might have driven herself to the edge of madness.
Nights were the worst, since her mind would not tire as easily as her body, and she lay beneath whatever covers she could find, reliving her past, going over and over her mistakes, and trying vainly to make a plan for her future.
Being cold and most often hungry did not produce inspiration, and having no means of support, no horse, nothing to call her own except a useless title…she always ended up in the same bleak spot.
Leaving, packing everything she owned and setting off on her own—common sense told her that that idea lacked merit in so many areas it was an impossibility. Even if she found shelter, she had no way of keeping herself safe, nor would anyone willingly help a wandering penniless woman. She’d be more likely to end up in a house of ill-repute or worse. And that was if she survived the ten-mile walk through bitter cold.
There was no future for her. She would wither away here, in this godforsaken rundown house, forgotten by everyone.
She missed her husband at times. He’d been kind to her, although she knew he’d married her out of a desire for more children. They’d tried to accomplish his needs for five years, during which they’d come to know each other better, and find pleasure in each other’s company.
It was no great love affair, and there was little passion, but it was a good relationship that brought them both a measure of contentment. Their age difference had not been an impediment; she had been twenty-two when they married, and he just turned fifty.
His face, that gentle smile, often floated into her dreams. He’d not meant for this to happen, she was sure of it. But her stepson had rendered her powerless within days of his funeral, taking over with a savage burst of vicious energy, banishing her from Kilham Abbey as soon as he could.
He’d have killed her if he could, she thought, amazed that she could incur such hatred from someone she barely knew. His arrival at Kilham, scarcely a year ago, had galvanised her husband’s illness. There was little love lost between them anymore; a fact made plain by their constant arguments. She truly believed that her husband had deteriorated more ra
pidly after his son took apartments there. It was as if life had conspired against the Earl.
Gwyneth sighed again. There was little point in constantly going over and over what had been. And since there was nothing she could conjure in her mind to represent what might be, the only alternative—as had been for many a night now—was to take a few sips from the latest bottle of brandy she’d found in a small room behind a rusted lock and a fallen mound of plaster and woodwork.
She guarded it fiercely, creeping to it when Mrs Ashe was out of the house, hiding her bottle carefully behind a piece of wainscoting, and disposing of the empty ones by burying them outside under the pretence of seeking some vegetables that she might have missed.
The brandy helped her sleep.
As her eyelids drifted lower and she pulled her cold feet up closer to her body, she wondered for a brief moment if it was worth ever waking up again.
Chapter Four
Wolfbridge was eerily silent as Giles made ready for his journey, putting his necessities in his bag and carrying it downstairs. His travelling coat and an extra cloak were where he’d left them last night, by the front door.
The carriage from Little Maddington had been awaiting his word, and with the current run of calm but cold weather, he’d taken a chance and sent a note yesterday requesting the vehicle and the driver for this ungodly hour.
His intention was to slip out before the others awoke and had said as much last night as he bid them farewell.
“We cannot do it, Giles.” Evan and Jeremy strode down the stairs, robes flapping around bare limbs.
“Do what?”
“Let you leave without wishing you a safe journey.” Jeremy walked up to him and held out his hand.
Giles looked at it. “I’m not hugging either of you.”
“Well, thank God for that,” chuckled Evan. “But a handshake isn’t too much to ask, is it?”
Giles couldn’t help a grin as he shook Jeremy’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “No, it’s not.” He did the same to Evan.
The two faces gazed at him, and for a few moments he felt a bolt of pride rocket through his body. These were admirable men; their backgrounds were different, troubled and could easily have turned them into something else.
But here they were, warm-hearted, generous to a fault and standing together in—and for—Wolfbridge.
Evan inclined his head, as if he heard those thoughts. “Bring us back a good man, Giles. One we can make into a Wolfbridge man.”
Giles nodded. He understood what Evan meant. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do not spare a moment’s worry about us, Giles. You know Wolfbridge will get the best of care while you’re gone,” said Jeremy, his voice sober.
Again, Giles nodded. They’d said much the same last night, but it did no harm to hear it repeated.
The sound of hooves and wheels outside distracted him, and he went to the door, opening it as the carriage drove up smartly, the breath of the horses steaming in the cold air and the driver well muffled against the chill.
“Mornin’, sir,” he touched his hat respectfully. “Ready ter go, are we?”
Giles put on his coat and picked up his cloak and bag. “Yes, we are.”
“Good luck,” said Jeremy, following him to the door.
“Let us know your progress if you can,” added Evan.
“Goodbye. And thank you. I’ll see you both soon.” Giles bounded into the carriage, eager to begin the journey and turning his back on those pangs of regret he always felt at leaving Wolfbridge.
“Our best to Miss Fairhurst,” called Jeremy as the horses picked up speed.
Giles stuck out a gloved hand and waved in acknowledgement, then withdrew it, pulled the window back up and settled himself for the long ride ahead.
The cold had hardened the roads, and the ride was smoother than he’d anticipated. They were well past Little Maddington and on the way to Deepmere when the sky lightened, and a few hours later, Giles surprised himself by waking up to find they were at their first posting inn. He seldom slept in a carriage…he must have been more tired than he realised.
The horses would be changed here, he could refresh himself, and then continue his trip.
The weather continued dry, the sun shone briefly, and Giles was most pleased with the progress they made. His first scheduled stop was at a small inn, nestled in the hills not too far from London.
This was where he had arranged a very important rendezvous, and he alighted just as one of the London coaches arrived, spilling its passengers out into the well-lit courtyard, and sending them inside for refreshments.
He waited, quietly, away from the hustle and bustle, watching the postilions take care of their business, and the ostlers change out the team that looked weary from the trip.
Some passengers would remain here, others continue on to their destination. At this time of year there were fewer travellers moving around the countryside, but even so, this was an arduous journey for both human and horse.
As the last of the crowd walked toward the Inn, one figure remained, standing quietly near the door. A sliver of light caught him as people moved in and out.
Giles crossed the courtyard. “Hullo Royce.”
“Giles,” answered the other man, nodding at him. “You’re here then.”
“As are you. I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Giles looked around. “I’m ready for a meal. Join me?”
“Of course.”
Few words were spoken after that, since Giles wanted to arrange for a room and freshen up before dinner; it appeared the man he’d called Royce had already done the same.
So it was an hour or so later when they met once more in the taproom and agreed to take their ales to a table in the rear where it was a little quieter. Once settled on the hard benches, they ordered food from a tired-looking servant, and then sat back to observe each other.
Giles had his first real chance for a good long look at Royce.
“It’s been…what…at least half a dozen years?” He tilted his head on one side. “You’ve not changed much.”
Royce snorted. “More than that, I think. I’ve aged, Giles. In more ways than I can tell you.”
“Still wandering?”
“Not so much these days.”
Giles squelched down a well-remembered flare of impatience. Talking to Royce was difficult at the best of times, impossible if he didn’t wish for conversation. “You still tending to the sick?”
Royce’s shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “If they come my way. I don’t seek ‘em out, but it’s wrong not to help if one is able.”
“A noble sentiment.”
“An honest one, at least. Not much that’s noble about it. I don’t like that word. Never have.” He sat back and pushed his ale aside as the serving girl brought their meals. Simple fare—beef, potatoes, vegetables and a loaf of bread. However, the bread was warm from the oven, the beef tender and both men were hungry, so for a while they remained silent as they filled their bellies.
Replete at last, Giles ordered them both a brandy.
Royce sipped. “I take it now’s the time you tell me why you asked to meet me here?”
“It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, Royce. I have made this request once before.” He sighed. “Neither of us knew at that point you’d choose the military.”
“What else could I do? The Peninsula War. It seemed the right thing, especially given my family situation.”
“I will allow that.” Giles nodded. “Yes, it was a logical choice.”
“And your offer was…unusual, to say the least of it.”
“Wolfbridge is unusual. It was then, and it still is. Even more so, since the intervening years have worked well for us down there. It’s a thriving estate, not wealthy as some would measure it, but holding its own. We survived that terrible summer a couple of years ago, and with some excellent management recovered more quickly than I’d hoped. And that is a good introduction into my reason for asking to see yo
u.”
“Wolfbridge. I knew it would be about Wolfbridge.”
“I will always be about Wolfbridge, Royce. Like you, I know where my duty lies. Unlike you, I am thrilled to take its burdens onto my shoulders and work for its betterment.”
“That’s a low blow.” Royce’s eyes darkened. “I fought alongside my men, Giles. I never shirked a single engagement.”
“I know. I wasn’t speaking of your military career.”
“Ah.” He turned away and stared into the fire that was now burning merrily at one side of the now-quiet inn. “That was another time and another place.”
Giles acknowledged the truth of that statement with a nod. “And I was unwise to bring it to mind. I apologise for my poor timing and probably less than complimentary expressions.”
“Accepted.” Royce sipped his brandy, and Giles felt the intensity of that pure blue gaze. “So. You are here to invite me to be one of the Wolfbridge servants.”
It took a moment of deep breathing for Giles to find his control. Royce was one of the few who knew exactly how to rouse both temper and anger. He’d just done both.
“We do not have servants, as you call them, at Wolfbridge, Royce. You are under a misapprehension.”
“Really?” One eyebrow rose. “Enlighten me, then. Because the last time you suggested I come to Wolfbridge, it certainly sounded as if I were to become no more than a well-dressed servant.”
“That’s more what you heard, than what I said, but that time has passed and I would prefer we deal with the here and now.”
“Very well.” Royce inclined his head, his gaze watchful.
“Wolfbridge has just lost its estate manager. Daniel has married our current Lady of Wolfbridge, so both must be replaced at the earliest opportunity.”
“So not a servant, then?”
“Definitely not. But a position that will require work, good management skills and solid financial acumen. All of which I know you have.”