The Westbys greeted them with cheerful friendliness, and they settled back into their rooms – it was almost as if they had never been away. Sybilla tucked the chest away in a drawer, until such time as it could be arranged for John Titchworth to be available, so that she could present it.
The following morning, as they drove down to Dartworth Abbey, she felt happier than she had for some years. The prospect of seeing him, of going riding up onto the ridge, without either of them being haunted by the ghosts of their past, was wonderful. At the Abbey, it was immediately obvious that the vast majority of the renovation work was now complete – the building was beautiful – the older parts and the newer merged seamlessly into one elegant whole. She wondered when the Marquess would return from the Americas, and if all would be done in time for his arrival.
Graves opened the door to them with a smile, and showed them into the parlour, where they were soon joined by Lord Barton. When he entered the room, Sybilla felt her breathing catch and her heart beat faster – he looked happier than she had ever seen him, and his smile transformed his already handsome face into something beyond that. He came directly to her, and bowed over her hand.
“Lady Sybilla, it is delightful to see you.”
“I am delighted to be here.”
Miss Millpost observed them being inanely happy with each other, and smiled, pleased.
“I will just be off to the library. I will see you once you return from your ride.”
They barely noticed her departure. Lord Barton offered Sybilla his arm, and she placed her hand upon it, savouring the moment of touching him again. When they reached the stables, Ghost whickered loudly, stretching her neck over the stall door, and nudged Sybilla hard with her nose once she was in reach. Sybilla laughed, and caressed the mare, scratching where she liked it, and running her fingers over the soft skin of her muzzle. Templar whickered too, jealous, and looking for his share of the attention.
“They missed you. Almost as much as I did.”
“I missed them, even if that makes me feel a little disloyal to Windwish.”
“Then let us reassure them that all is normal – let us ride up along the ridge, as we used to.”
“Yes – but it will not be quite as it used to – for not so many ghosts haunt either of us as once did.”
He smiled, and they stepped back as the groom came forward to prepare the horses for them. Soon, they were out in the bright morning. The air was crisp, the wind was light, and the sun reflected from the drifted snow. A sparrowhawk soared above them, gliding effortlessly across the sky. They followed their familiar path, a companionable silence wrapping around them. When they reached the ridge top, they stopped, looking out across the valley to Greyscar Keep.
“Everything seems so different, now that I am trying to believe that I did not cause their deaths. It is as if there was a greyness over everything, which has been removed, like polishing the dust from a window.”
“I feel somewhat similar – when I consider the possibility that I am not irrevocably damaged, it is as if a weight has been removed from me.”
“It is difficult, though. For they still haunt my dreams, just not so often as before. And in one dream last week, I found myself arguing with father, denying his insistence that I was at fault. I woke shaking from it, yet feeling stronger as a result. Am I mad, to argue with the dead in my dreams?”
“No. No more than I am mad, to try to protect myself from the ghosts of enemy soldiers, when I have an attack. For I am beginning to believe that to be truth – I am not mad, even though I have doubted my sanity so much, this past year and more. What happens to me is like an echo of the past – and the further I get from it, the fainter the echo is becoming. Since that day at Gallowbridge House, when you held me as I shook, each attack has been a little easier to bear than the one before it. And they have come less often.”
“That is wonderful!”
“Yes, although there are days when everything seems dark, and I fall back into my gloom.”
“We share that too, then.”
“Indeed, but I would far rather share things of a more positive nature.”
He edged Templar sideways, closer up against Ghost’s side, and leant across to kiss her. A gentle touch of his lips to hers, which became something more, in an instant. She returned the kiss, her body heating through, and wished that the moment might last forever.
They drew apart again, looking at each other with wonder, savouring the sensation of kissing without their fears making it bittersweet. They rode on, letting the wind push them, until, eventually Sybilla spoke again.
“Dartworth Abbey looks almost completed – will the works be done before the Marquess returns, do you think?”
“They will, unless he should appear within the next few days. All that remains is interior work – the fitting of the last of the new panelling, the restoration of some wall paintings that we have decided not to cover over again, the new chandeliers in the ballroom, wallpapering, painting, some more new plumbing – that sort of thing. They will be done within weeks. And the vicar has almost finished cataloguing the finds from the crypt. Oliver will have a full accounting of his unsuspected wealth when he returns.”
“And Gallowbridge House?”
“It too, will be ready soon – not all of the interior updating, not for some time, but everything external, everything important to make it suitable for me to live there. And the stables are complete. I have been arranging the purchase of some more horses – once the snow thaws, I will have new fences built around the fields closest to the house, and bring the new horses here. If all goes according to my plan, I will be living in Gallowbridge House by early February.”
“I am glad that it will become a home again. One full of happiness, we must hope, for it saw too much sadness in the past. Oh! I have not told you! There was no real chance whilst we were both at Meltonbrook Chase, and I did not think earlier today – I was too caught up in enjoying simply being here.”
Sybilla blushed as she spoke, knowing that he full well understood the implication of her words – that she had been enjoying being with him, again.
“Oh? And what is it, that you have not told me?”
“At Meltonbrook Chase, I told my brothers and Alyse about Ella and Stanford, and what we had discovered here. They were as astounded as I, to know that we had second cousins, whom we had never known of, even if they were born on the wrong side of the blanket. I asked them if they thought that we might find anything at Meltonbrook Chase, of Stanford’s, which might tell us more about what happened, after he married. For the implication we have from here was that he never saw Ella or Genevieve again, but we did not know. At first, they thought it very unlikely, for Hunter had never seen anything from Stanford’s time except the paintings in the gallery.”
“At first? That implies that you did find something?”
“We did! Charles had been sitting there quietly while we spoke, with that expression which means that he is trying to remember something, and is annoyed with himself because he can’t.”
Lord Barton laughed at the accuracy of her perception of her brother – he understood – his brothers also had some very distinctive habits and expressions.
“I gather that he did, eventually, manage to remember?”
“He did. He leapt up, and rushed off to his office, to return with a small chest. When he unlocked it, it contained the deeds to one of our properties, and a small journal. The journal was Stanford’s.”
“From the time after he married?”
“Yes, from about the time when his wife, my great grandmother, died. Apparently, once his wife was gone, and could no longer be hurt by gossip or his actions, he came seeking Ella and Genevieve. But Ella was dead by then, and Genevieve married and moved from the parish. The villagers and the vicar of the time refused to tell him anything. But he held the hope that he might find them. And, in anticipation of that day, he purchased a property not all that far from here, with the speci
fic intent of giving it to Genevieve. He could not give her back years of his presence, but he could at least give her something that would provide financial security. Except he never found her.”
“I pity the man, to lose what he loved so many times in his life.”
“I do too. Charles had never read the journal – it had just sat in the box, with the deed to what was one among many of the ducal estates. He had not thought that a journal written so long ago could influence things today. But when we read it, he told us about the property, about Feltonbury Manor. He knows almost everything about each of the estates – he is an excellent manager. It is of reasonable size, with a main house and a large Dower House. There are two tenant farmers, who work the land, and who also care for the houses and gardens. None of our family have ever lived there, and it has not been rented out. It is as it was when Stanford bought it – empty and waiting. We discussed it, and we decided to give it to Isabel and John. For the Barringtons, it is a small thing, in the scheme of our lives, but we would like to see Stanford’s wishes fulfilled, and see Isabel and John receive their rightful inheritance.”
“That is wonderful! When will you tell them?”
“I thought to wait until the Marquess’ return, for they are his cousins too.”
“An excellent idea!”
They fell into pleasant silence again, enjoying the day, and wound their way back to the Abbey.
~~~~~
In the last week of January, Oliver Kentworthy, Marquess of Dartworth, returned to England, and sent a message to the effect that he would be pleased if Lord Barton continued with his caretaking of the place, until somewhere closer to Easter, for he would be at Casterfield Grange until that time. So the small chest stayed tucked away with Sybilla’s things.
Sybilla was almost finished writing her novel, and found herself going slowly, not wanting her reason for staying at Greyscar Keep to be gone. In late February, both she and Lord Barton travelled to attend Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm’s, marriage to Lady Odette Marmont, seeing all of Sybilla’s family, and the rest of the Hounds whilst there.
Watching Charlton and Odette together, Sybilla found herself wondering if there would come a day when she and Lord Barton would look like that – when they might be married. It was what she wanted, she now knew, and it was, she thought, what he wanted too. But he had not asked her yet. Was there some problem? Was she misinterpreting the strength of his feelings? She did not know.
Bart cursed himself for a coward. With everything else, he had been able to bare his soul to her. Now, with this, the most important question he would ever ask her, he found himself unable to find words.
He had watched Charlton with Odette, and Hunter with Nerissa, and knew, absolutely, that he wanted, more than ever, to spend his life with Lady Sybilla. They had danced, and they had talked, but, each time he had thought to try to ask her, his words had dried up, and then someone else would appear, and the moment would have passed. It confounded him that speaking such a simple set of words should be so difficult.
Once they had returned to Greyscar Keep and Dartworth Abbey, the time still never seemed right, and he was absorbed in the process of moving into Gallowbridge House. He had sent for all of his personal possessions, from Hawkford Park, and had set about employing some staff for Gallowbridge House.
Each morning, he and Lady Sybilla went riding, watching the land warm as the winter gave way to spring.
Each day, he thought that he might speak, and each day, somehow, he did not. They talked of everything else, including their feelings, and their growing confidence in themselves, and each other, but somehow, those all-important words never passed from his lips. Then came a missive from Lord Geoffrey Clarence – he was going to marry Charlton’s sister, Lady Harriet. The wedding would be at Witherwood Chase, in conjunction with the Easter gathering already planned for the Hounds and their friends and families.
Bart stared at it, once he had read it, and berated himself for a fool. If Geoffrey, who had for so long been clear that he despised marriage, holding up his brother’s miserable example as a reason, could reach the point of asking the woman he loved, why was it that Bart had failed to do so?
He did not know. But he knew that he would force himself to it, and soon – for he could no longer bear this half-life with her – every moment in her company was wonderful – but he wanted more – he wanted her beside him when he woke, he wanted to know that nothing would ever take her away from him.
Perhaps, at Geoffrey’s wedding, he would find the courage?
~~~~~
They sat on the horses, up on the ridge, looking down the valley to where the creeping green of new spring growth painted colour across the hills, and the yellows and purples of flowers could be seen along the verges. Tomorrow, Sybilla would depart for Meltonbrook Chase, and she would not see him for a week, at least.
“I will miss you, until we meet at Witherwood Chase.”
“And I you. But it is a joyous season – another wedding. I am sure that my mother will look harshly at me, and mutter about going to London, soon after Easter, so that I may find a husband. She has already been to Town for a few weeks with Alyse, and will be thoroughly into planning the Season. I am not sure how I will manage to gainsay her. I have written all but the last few pages of my novel, and I have, at this point, no other excuse to use, to stay here.”
Sybilla watched his face, and saw the expression of pain, and a flickering moment of fear, that passed across it, when she spoke of her mother wanting her to find a husband in London. If that thought so distressed him, why did he not speak? Surely he knew that she would say ‘yes’? She did not understand. She was done with waiting, she was done with hating herself, she was done with guilt – and she wanted nothing more than a life with Lord Barton – but did he really want one with her? She had thought so, but his ongoing silence on the matter left her with a tiny, insidious feeling of doubt.
He leaned in to kiss her, finding that an easier way to express his feelings than words, and she knew, with his touch, that he did want her, as she wanted him. Why did he not speak, and put an end to this misery?
“I am sure that we will find a way to dissuade your mother from her plans.”
His words restored her hope, for, surely, they could mean only one thing? But he said nothing more. They rode back down to Dartworth Abbey, their happiness marred by their imminent parting, even if was to be only a week.
~~~~~
The gathering at Witherwood Chase was joyous, filled with friends and family, and Lord Geoffrey and Lady Harriet’s wedding was beautiful. Bart watched them with envy.
All through the gathering, he found himself watching Lady Sybilla, yearning to be by her side, to freely express his feelings, yet he held himself apart. He did not know how to break through the barrier in his mind, to take that last step from broken and hiding to being a full participant in a normal life.
On the evening of the wedding, he had drawn her out onto the terrace, whilst everyone else was dancing, inside, and they had stood, surrounded by the sweet smells from the herb and scent garden below. He had kissed her, and she had come into his arms willingly. After the kiss, they had stood for some time, as he held her close. The words still would not come.
Now it was two days later. Tomorrow, everyone would leave, to return to their respective homes. He had to try, had to, somehow, get the words out. Perhaps, if they went riding in the quiet of the morning, perhaps he could manage it then. As they went into dinner, he whispered quietly to her:
“Will you ride with me tomorrow? Shall we see the day in?”
She smiled at him, and nodded. Her whisper was even quieter than his.
“The stables at dawn.”
They went on with the evening, as if the exchange had never happened.
~~~~~
The sun was just creeping over the horizon, brushing the spring grass with gold, as they rode across the fields of Lord Geoffrey’s estate, towards the highest hill in the
area. So early it was, that they had decided to flout propriety and had taken no chaperone with them. They had borrowed Lord Geoffrey and Lady Harriet’s horses, having each been assured by them earlier in the week that they might do so as they pleased. It was an odd echo of other times, for Rajah and Moonbeam were of similar colourings to Templar and Ghost, and as much at ease with each other.
They rode in silence, close beside each other, until they reached the hilltop. The world was beautiful, and, after the previous year of unseasonable cold, the warmth and growth around them seemed miraculous. Stopping, they dismounted, and stood, looking out across the fields, to Witherwood Chase, and to Pendholm Hall in the distance.
Bart reached for her hands, and she twined her fingers with his. He pulled her into his arms – she came more than willingly, turning her face up for his kiss. The kiss was slow, thorough, and heated him in every fibre of his being. He wanted her, needed her, as he had never needed anything in his life before. He had to try, now.
“Sybilla… I… I love you. More than I ever thought it was possible to love. You have changed my life completely, made me more whole than I had thought I would ever be again. I…”
He hesitated, as if unsure, then he gave a little shake of his head, and dragged his eyes away from hers.
“Yes?”
“Will you come back to Greyscar Keep, just for a few weeks? Oliver will be at Dartworth Abbey soon – you can use that, and presenting Feltonbury Manor to Isabel and John, as an excuse for your mother. Please?”
His voice shook, and inside, he was screaming at himself. Why was it so damned hard to say? She looked at him, her expression a little sad, a little disappointed, but she nodded, and forced a smile.
“Bart… I love you too, and you have changed my life equally. If you wish it, I will return to Greyscar. My mother will be annoyed, but I will be glad to not go to London, and glad to finally tell Isabel and John of their inheritance. For, whilst your purchase of Gallowbridge House was enough to restore his business to some degree of success, they are not as well off as they once were.”
Healing Lord Barton: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 9) Page 13