Sera’s heart swelled to hear it – these were good people. All of her past beliefs around the Pendholm family had been built on the deeds of one man, one evil person amongst the good.
And she had not only damned them by association, without knowing anything of it, but she had pushed Raphael away as a consequence. How wrong she had been! How foolish. But… what if he had succeeded in forgetting her, as she had demanded, what if he had met someone else whilst in America?
What if she lost him, as a result of her foolish pride and assumptions?
All she could do was pray for a second chance. But… how would she ever admit to him how wrong she had been?
They talked for many hours, each telling their parts of the story, each understanding the others a little more as they spoke, until the day darkened into evening, and Lady Galwood sent to ask Cook to do her best to produce an unexpected dinner party.
They continued to talk over their meal, and a peace settled upon all of them. Grief shared became lessened, pain understood became easier to bear.
By the end of the long evening, Sera was quite certain that these people, whose name she had reviled for so long, would be her friends for life.
~~~~~
The following few weeks were quiet by comparison, as Sera became increasingly busy with managing the production of the Christmas favours. Evenings were often spent in wonderful companionship and conversation, whether at the Morton’s, or at Sera’s house, or even, at times, at Pendholm House, until the point where the Pendholms removed to Pendholm Hall for the Christmas period.
Lord Geoffrey also departed for the countryside, having recently been granted the ownership of a large estate, called Witherwood Chase, which was located near Pendholm Hall.
Sera wondered if the Morton Prosperity had reached America yet, and how soon she might return. Manning had informed them that he did not think it likely that she would make the passage and turn around fast enough to be back by Christmas, and they had settled, a little sadly, to accepting that Raphael might not be home until late in January.
Not long after Lord Geoffrey had departed London, they received a letter from him, seeking, at whatever time it might become available, assistance from Raphael in the matter of engaging an art valuer.
It seemed that his new residence contained a rather large number of paintings and other items of art, all of which Lord Geoffrey describe as ‘ugly, and not to my taste at all’ which he was considering selling, should a valuer think it worth it. He wished assistance first with finding a suitable valuer, and then with actually selling the paintings.
Jenkins, upon reading this, wisely made the decision that attempting to send it to Raphael would be pointless, and simply introduce a delay of many months in providing assistance to Lord Geoffrey. His discussed the matter with Mrs Morton, and, with her agreement, engaged the valuer that Raphael had used in the past, a Mr Featherstonehaugh, on Lord Geoffrey’s behalf, and sent the man off to Witherwood Chase immediately. Briefly, Sera wondered what the paintings might actually be like, and what ‘other art’ pieces might include, as well as who they might sell them to, before forgetting the whole thing as the rush of the business accelerated into the Christmas season.
~~~~~
The Morton Prosperity had docked in Yorktown in the first few days of December, having had a good passage for the time of year. Her cargo sold quickly, and her hold was soon filled with the contents of Raphael’s warehouse, leaving Raphael’s newly employed agent and Mr Bradbury to collaborate on filling it again, before the next ship of Raphael’s arrived.
Oliver packed up his possessions a little sadly – he loved Georgiana dearly, and could not wait to see her again, but he had rapidly come to also love Greenridge Hall. Perhaps Georgiana would like to see it, one day?
Raphael also faced the trip home with somewhat mixed feelings. He had come to appreciate this place, its independent and enterprising people, and the beauty of the landscape of the area, but he missed England. He missed his family, and if he were honest, he missed Sera more than anything else. Would she ever speak to him again? His mother’s last letter suggested that she was still trying to change Sera’s mind, but there was nothing definite.
Once he was home, he would have to face the truth – either she would speak to him, or she would not, and this pain of not knowing would be over. He had weeks ahead of him on board, with little to do but think – he wondered if he might go a little insane in the process, for he was sure that things would go around and around in his mind, every day of the passage. He resolved that, no matter what it took, he would find a way back to the comfortable state of affairs which had existed between them, before the day that she had heard him mention Charlton.
In mid-December, the Morton Prosperity was ready to sail, their personal goods were loaded, and Raphael and Oliver stood on the dock with Bradford.
“Fair weather to you, I wish you a fast voyage, and as pleasant a Christmas Season as one can have, aboard ship. Good trading when you reach England, Raphael.”
“And to you here, Bradford – the trade we do together can only benefit everyone. I look forward to increasing your wealth and mine over the next few years.”
“Indeed! Give my greetings and Christmas wishes to that new wife of yours, Oliver, and be sure to bring her to visit in the next few years.”
“I thank you, again, Bradford, for all that you did for me – especially for Greenridge Hall. I fully intend to bring Georgiana to visit – perhaps you need to find a good wife yourself, before I see you next?”
Bradford laughed, and they boarded the ship.
They stood at the rail, watching the town get smaller in the distance, as she put out from the dock with the flow of the tide, and caught the wind, turning her prow towards home.
Christmas Day dawned bright, with a soft snowfall, and the ringing of bells in the city’s churches.
Sera lay abed far longer than was her usual wont, luxuriating in the warmth of the house, and the knowledge that there was good food for the table, both here, and at the Morton’s, where they would be taking Christmas dinner that evening. So much had changed in the past year! She still missed James’ presence at times like these, but the thought of him was no longer quite so bitter, now that the Pendholms had become friends, and she knew more of the things that had led to his death.
There had been a letter yesterday, from Lady Pendholm – a letter which was perhaps the best Christmas gift that Sera and her mother had ever received. It had contained a simple note, which said little more than ‘a beginning to putting things right’, and a document. The document was the deed to Rosehill Grange – a small manor house in the countryside, a few days journey from London, a house which had been one of Sera’s favourite places as a child.
A house which James had gambled away. Both Sera and her mother had cried – at the kindness of a woman who was in no way obligated to help them, and at reclaiming a part of their life which they had thought lost for ever.
The only thing dampening Sera’s pleasure was Raphael’s absence, and her fear that, when he returned, she would discover that it was too late – that she had, through her foolishness, lost him. It was a consistent aching fear that underlaid her every day, and which could not be allayed by anything other than his return. She shook off that sadness, resolving to take full pleasure in the day, and the company, and rose to dress.
~~~~~
The eastward passage was always faster, and the winds were kind. The captain declared them halfway home when they celebrated Christmas Day. It seemed odd to Raphael – Christmas day with no sign of snow, or rain, or anything to indicate the time of year. The sea went on forever around them, the same in every direction, and, beyond the few bottles of good wine that they opened for the occasion, and a few added luxuries in their meal, it was much the same as any other day on board.
He was most glad of Oliver’s company, for this was the first Christmas season that he had spent, in his entire life, without either his family, or t
he Hounds around him. There was a sort of emptiness to that knowledge. He would miss the gathering at Meltonbrook Chase on Twelfth Night, but at least he should be home in time to see them at Charlton’s wedding in February.
But how would he speak to Sera, if he had that chance, if he could not mention such things as Charlton’s wedding? The question pulled him back into the gyre of troubled thinking again.
Each day, he looked for distraction from his thoughts, from the ache when he thought of Sera, from the certainty of how deeply he loved her, and the equal certainty that he might never resolve things – that she might never return his love. He spent long hours talking to Oliver, their conversations wide ranging and always interesting.
“I have to assume, given that we’ve not heard much back, that Setford is happy with what I’ve told him. He should be – it all bodes well for getting that treaty in place soon. But I’m glad to be going home – I’ve had my fill of gossiping. I could go without that sort of talk for years, I’ve heard so much these last few months. Bradford’s a good man, but his capacity for rambling discussion is remarkable!”
“I’d have to agree, Oliver. Perhaps he’ll find a wife whose ability to talk exceeds his?”
They laughed, imagining what that would be like, before Oliver spoke again.
“It’s so long since I have even had a letter from Georgiana. I can’t help but wonder how she’s getting on – I do hope that she spent Christmas with Philip and Cordelia. And then there’s Dartworth Abbey. I keep imagining what it may look like now, if the renovation work has been going as well as I hope. To see it restored to its proper condition will be wonderful. I want it perfect – I want Georgiana to love it as much as I did, as a child, so that she will be happy there, part of each year.”
“I’m sure it will be well along. Bart’s a good organiser, and he won’t take any laxity from the workmen. I am so glad that you gave him this chance to get away from his family. Sad to have to say it, but he really needed to!”
“Yes, you said that before, as did Setford. But, if I may ask, why? It is sad indeed if a man needs to avoid his family – although I can understand – getting away from my father is what sent me to America in the first place, all those years back.”
“Ah. It’s a little hard to explain, in some ways, but I’ll try. In Spain, Bart’s specialty in our little unit was all around the horses – how to get the best out of them, under terrible conditions, how to make sure that the enemy had a hard time getting the best out of their animals, all that sort of thing. Where that matters most is not the cavalry, or the officer’s horses, nor even the horses pulling the supply wagons, although all of that matters – what’s most important, is the horses that move the artillery into place. A cannon’s no good to you if it’s not able to be moved so that the enemy lines are in range of your cannon shot.”
Oliver nodded, seeing how that made sense.
“Well, Bart would insist on going with the men, studying the ground they had to cover, finding the best ways to get horses and the limbers and caissons, which carry the cannon and ammunition, where they needed to go, over the roughest terrain. He was responsible for many small innovations which saved lives, and prevented broken axles and wheels. He also went on missions to see what the French were doing with their designs, and their horses. It put him directly in the line of fire many times.”
“Not a place I would want to have been. I have a great deal of respect for all of you, who went to war.”
“Well… I think sometimes that we were all mad to do so. But what else could we do? Before we went, it seemed likely to bring honour and glory, as well as to protect our country. We soon learned that it was more mud and death than anything else. For Bart, it was also being close to where the enemy cannon shot landed, when they shot at us. For our cannon, and especially our ammunition, were their prime targets, as theirs were for us. He’s lucky to have come back whole in body, so many times did enemy cannon shot shatter men, horses and cannon right beside him. But all of that had an effect on him nonetheless.”
“In what way?”
“It affected his mind. Oh, not in the sense of making him mad, although for a while there he wondered if he was, but in the way that it’s changed his reactions. He can’t stand loud noise, and sudden noises make him flinch, badly. If the sound is big enough, it’s as if he’s back there, on the battlefield for a second – he feels a kind of panic. Then, when he recovers, he’s embarrassed by it. Its changed his attitude to life, too. He can’t stand hunting any more, hates killing anything. And that’s where the problems with his family start. His father and brothers all hunt – foxhunting, shooting grouse – whatever is on offer, they’ll do it. And they don’t understand why he refuses to accompany them.”
“I can see how that would make his life unpleasant. Family have a way of nagging you about things they think you should do.”
“Indeed – that’s exactly what they do. Bart just wants to breed horses – good quality horses, to race, or as mounts for the aristocracy – he’s not particular, so long as it’s a peaceful purpose. He’s seen enough horses shot to pieces to never want to see an animal damaged again. So, some time at Dartworth Abbey has got to be good for him. When he asked you about using the stables and fields, I suspect he has quite a plan for breeding - and that it starts at Dartworth Abbey.”
“That’s a plan I can respect. If he needs investment in those plans, I’d be happy to be involved.”
“Good to hear – we’ll see what he’s already achieved, when you get home.”
Their conversation drifted from topic to topic, but Raphael was glad they’d had that discussion – quietly, he had been worried about both Bart and Gerry, since their return – both of them seemed less happy, less sure about how to move on in their life, than the others.
~~~~~
It was Twelfth Night, and for the first time in months, almost all of the Hounds would be together – with their families and some new wives and fiancées.
As they swept up the drive of Meltonbrook Chase, Lord Geoffrey felt a little ridiculous. Here he was, arriving in his own new carriage, with a groom, two footmen and a valet. After all of those years at war, this entourage seemed excessive, yet he had no choice. With him, he had Peterson, his valet Hurst, Ashley as the second footman, and Jobs as groom and driver.
His thoughts were brought back to the present as the house came into sight through the winter bare trees – magnificent, and imposing. And a scene of mild chaos, with multiple carriages vying for space before the doors. It would seem that everyone had arrived at once.
When he alighted from the carriage, he was swept up into exuberant greetings and laughter, leaving poor Peterson and Hurst to deal with unloading and managing the distribution of his belongings to the appropriate places. He tried to keep straight all of the new faces and names through a whirlwind of introductions, which only slowed down once they were all ensconced in the parlour with refreshments.
With a few exceptions, they were a far happier group than they had been a year ago. The year had wiped the outward traces of war from the lines of their faces, had softened the edges of their bodies a little and removed the gauntness of years of hard living, and, most importantly, had brought love and family back into their lives.
Hunter Barrington, Duke of Melton, was a transformed man – he had returned grief stricken and lost in so many ways, yet here he was with his delightful new Duchess and obviously very happy. Charlton was equally happy, and was seated beside his betrothed, Lady Odette, who, with her aunt, Lady Farnsworth, had been invited to their gathering as well.
Bart and Gerry were tucked away in the corner, probably talking horses – but, whilst they were the quietest in the room, and perhaps still carried the strongest after effects of the war in their minds, they too looked cheerful. Hunter’s sisters, Lady Sybilla and Lady Alyse, had joined their conversation and appeared to be holding their own on the topic of horses.
The Dowager Duchess of Melton and Lady Sylv
ia had settled with Lady Farnsworth, and seemed deep in discussion of the plans for Charlton’s wedding.
The only others in the room were Lady Harriet and Miss Carpenter, Hunter’s brother Charles was away, apparently dealing with estate matters elsewhere, much to his mother’s displeasure.
It seemed wrong that Raphael was not there too. A pity that he had not been able to arrange the behaviour of wind and wave to bring him home from America in time for this. The thought was fleeting and Lord Geoffrey found himself drawn into conversation with Hunter, Charlton and their Ladies, and the afternoon disappeared into the flow of discussion.
He found himself, drifting, distracted at times, as he relaxed. With a start, he realised that one of the others had addressed him – had possibly spoken his name more than once.
“My apologies – I am a little… distracted.”
“So I see.”
Hunter laughed good-naturedly and returned to the topic.
“I must show you Nerissa’s plans for the grounds – come spring, you won’t recognise the gardens. We will have the most beautiful park of any estate in the county. But enough of us – what have you to tell us about your new estate? How goes your restoration of Witherwood Chase? I hear that it’s a huge rambling place that needed quite a bit of maintenance.”
“That is an accurate, if rather understated summary! There’s five or six hundred years of rambling additions to the building worth of unmaintained mess.”
Hunter laughed at his expression, whilst Charlton added his own commentary.
“It is, at least, an elegantly proportioned building – through all of those additions, and no matter how tangled the interior layout is, at least they managed to keep the exterior attractive!”
“True.” Lord Geoffrey turned to Lady Nerissa, “I believe you would enjoy the gardens, my Lady, for the front between the wings of the house is a lovely formal pattern, and the rear, enclosed between the other wings, has been a well-designed herb and scent garden. They appear to have had little good care for some years, yet retain the evidence of their design. I would be honoured should you be willing to apply your skills to helping me plan their restoration and improvement.”
Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 10