“Thank you”
He kissed her again, crying inside at his hopelessness, but revelling in her closeness, and loving her all the more for her patience. Soon after, they mounted again, and returned to the stables, slipping inside again before most of the house had awoken. The day would be busy, as they prepared for departure.
~~~~~
Two weeks later, having finally convinced her mother, Sybilla and Miss Millpost again watched Greyscar Keep approach as their carriage rolled up the valley road.
It was beautiful, with flowers and spring grass everywhere, so different from the stark and ominous place that they had first come to, just six months before. She was impatient. She could not wait to see Bart, no matter whether he had asked her yet or not. She had reached the point where, if he did not ask soon, propriety be damned, she would ask him.
Once they arrived, and she alighted from the coach, she turned back for a moment, to speak to the coachman.
“Tom, don’t go to the stables yet, I will be back in a few minutes – I want to go straight down to Gallowbridge House.”
Miss Millpost, disgruntled, gaped at her, then, seeming to think for a moment, just nodded. Ten minutes later, once their luggage had been deposited in the house, they returned to the carriage. Sybilla’s impatience had her fidgeting on her seat as they drove back down through the valley, and rattled over the bridge. Turning in through that gateway seemed strange, yet somehow very right.
They drew up on the newly gravelled and raked area before Gallowbridge House, and she stepped from the coach, looking up at the house. It seemed warm and inviting, so different from its previous forbidding aspect. A moment of nervousness assailed her, but she pushed it aside, and went to the door. She knocked, and the door opened. His smile took her breath away.
Bart clasped her hands, and drew her inside. The house was transformed, its ghostly haunted feel gone, from what she could see, in the few seconds before he pulled her to him, swept her off her feet and swung her around, laughing with the joy of her presence.
“Come to the stables.”
He gave her no chance to reply, simply pulling her along, out through the rear door and across the yard. Miss Millpost, a satisfied smile on her face, simply stood in the hallway, and looked around her. He had done a good job of it. The house would suit Lady Sybilla well.
At the stables, Sybilla, breathless, leant against him for a moment as he opened the door. Then he pulled her inside, and she stumbled along with him, feeling suddenly blind as she went from the bright outside light to the dim filtered light of the warm interior. The comfortable smells of hay and horses greeted her.
Leading her after him, he went down the row of stalls to the end, and halted, opening the door. Then he tugged her again, and pushed her in front of him. She stood, staring into the stall, as her eyes finally adjusted to the light. His hands came to rest on her waist from behind, his warmth palpable, even through their layers of clothing. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke, close against her.
“I have tried to ask, so many times, and failed to find the words. This time I will say it – however inelegantly. I want so much for you to marry me, I love you, please say yes. I am presumptuous enough to have already got you a wedding gift. She stands before you.”
Sybilla stared, her mind slowly catching up with what she saw, and what he had said. In front of her stood the most perfect mare that she had ever seen, fine yet strong, well put together, the colour of old gold, with a rich dark brown underlayer to her coat. And by her feet stood a foal – perfect, in that ungainly way that foals had. It could not be more than three or four weeks old. And he had said… he had said…
She spun in his arms, flinging hers around his neck.
“Yes, oh yes, I will marry you, as soon as it can possibly be arranged!”
She stretched up, bringing her lips to his, and the first touch turned into a deep kiss, full of months of their longing for this moment. A kiss which lasted far too short a time, before being rudely interrupted. The foal, having determined that her mother was not alarmed by these people, had wobbled forward, and thrust herself between them, all curiosity, snuffling at them, and nibbling at clothing to see what it was.
They staggered a little, pushed apart, and Sybilla landed, ungracefully, upon the straw of the stall floor. The foal nosed her face. She laughed, causing it to jump back, startled, and hide between its mother’s legs. Her laughter was clear, bright and full of absolute joy. Bart offered her his hand, and pulled her up from the straw.
She coaxed the foal forward again, stroking its nose before speaking to the mare.
“Soon, I will come back to talk to you, but for today, I think that we need to go back to the house.”
The mare whickered, as if understanding, and turned back to her feed.
They walked back across the yard, hand in hand, and into the house. Miss Millpost raised an enquiring eyebrow, considering the straw on her skirt. Sybilla flushed. Lord Barton simply smiled at Miss Millpost and announced:
“Lady Sybilla has just done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife.”
“Good.” Miss Millpost sounded most amused. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get up the courage to ask her.”
Bart looked startled, and then they all burst out laughing, he most of all, for he should have expected such a comment from her.
Some weeks later, Oliver Kentworthy, the Marquess of Dartworth, finally arrived at Dartworth Abbey, with Lady Georgiana, his Marchioness. Miss Millpost was overjoyed to see them again, and Bart conducted a grand tour of the Abbey, showing Oliver not just how well the repairs had been done, but all of the new surprises that they had uncovered in his childhood home.
The crypt drew many exclamations of wonder, as did the painted walls. But the part of the house that everyone loved most was the grand ballroom. For a long time, Oliver simply stood in its centre, gazing about him, before turning to Bart.
“It is magnificent. Even more so than I remember it as a child. I can never thank you enough – what has been achieved here is astounding.”
“Thank you. I do have a favour to ask you, with respect to this room, in particular.”
“Please, ask.”
Bart actually blushed, and reached for Sybilla’s hand, drawing her forward.
“Lady Sybilla has recently done me the honour of agreeing to be my wife. We would be most grateful if the wedding breakfast could be held here, in this room. We were thinking to be wed in the local church, for the vicar has been much involved in matters here as well, all of which have led us to this point in our lives.”
“I suspect that any function we hold for your wedding will become a grand affair, with all of your friends and family, and every one of any significance in the district wishing to attend. Your wedding is an excellent reason to let this room see its first grand Ball in more than twenty years.”
“Thank you!”
They settled in the parlour, not long after, and spent long hours talking – telling Oliver and Georgiana of all the events of the time that he had been away.
“Perhaps the most interesting discovery that was made in your absence was not made here at all.”
“Oh? That sounds intriguing.”
“It is. I am going to come right out and tell you the most important point, first – then we can tell you the tale of its discovery. You have second cousins that you did not know existed, although born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“I… what!!?”
“It’s rather amazing as a concept, isn’t it? Sybilla was equally shocked, for they are her second cousins too.”
Sybilla nodded, amused by the expression on Oliver’s face.
“Please, tell me the tale of this discovery – I thought that I knew every detail of my rather lamentable family tree!”
“Indeed, so did Sybilla, of hers, although it is perhaps not so lamentable as you tell me yours is. I am glad, by the way, that neither you, nor Georgiana hold great store by formal
ity and convention – that will most likely make all of this easier to accept.”
They spoke at length, Bart and Sybilla intertwining their words, finishing each other’s sentences, in the way that only those deeply in tune can, starting from the day that they had discovered the gravestone at Gallowbridge House, and going through until the Barrington siblings’ discovery of the chest with the deed and the journal.
“And so you see, we decided that Feltonbury Manor should be given to Isabel and John. It seems only fair, as it was purchased with the intent of being given to their mother, in the first place. They have spent their whole lives, as their mother did hers, without the advantages that they might reasonably have expected. Even the illegitimate children of the nobility are usually raised in good conditions, if the families are at all decent people. We wanted to wait until you were here, for they are your relatives too. If you agree, we will invite them to Gallowbridge House, in a few days’ time, and present it to them, with all of us there.”
“I most definitely agree. I am rather disgusted with my great grandfather. For, whilst it was acknowledged in the register that Genevieve’s father was Stanford, technically, as his wife’s child, he had some degree of responsibility for her care.”
“Yes – but we both know that many amongst the nobility would act, even today, as he did then – casting off his wife and ignoring the child. It is the way of the world.”
“Indeed. In this, as in most other things, I choose to be different – I am used to the disapprobation of the ton by now – what is another matter to add to it?”
“We are agreed then.”
~~~~~
The Westbys were uncomfortable, being driven down to Gallowbridge House with their employer and her companion, all in the Lady’s carriage, but she had insisted, so they sat, puzzled but compliant, as they rolled down the road. As they turned in at the Gallowbridge House gate, Isabel saw her brother’s carriage standing on the gravel, and turned to Sybilla in concern.
“Why is John here? Is there some problem?”
“No, not a problem, Mrs Westby. More of a surprise. Please, come inside and all will be explained.”
They entered the house to find Oliver and Bart chatting with John Titchworth and his wife, Margaret, over tea. Bart looked up and smiled, standing to greet them.
“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Westby, please do take a seat – can I offer you some tea?”
Looking confused still, they sat, allowing the habit of politeness to guide them.
“Thank you, yes.”
Once tea was in hand all round, and the requirements of politeness had been served, Sybilla rose, impatient. Everyone looked at her, and she spoke.
“Mrs Westby, Isabel, if I might presume to call you so, you know that I discovered, back before Christmas, that your grandfather was my great grandfather. I am making the assumption that you told your brother of what we had discovered, and that you showed him Ella and Stanford’s letters?”
John nodded, looking interested, but confused. Sybilla continued.
“What neither of you know, is that, upon returning to Meltonbrook Chase for the Christmas season, I discovered something more, about what happened after Stanford left Ella, and married my great grandmother, so that he might get an heir. Whilst my great grandmother lived, Stanford was faithful to her, and made no attempt to contact Ella and Genevieve, even though he would have wished to know what was happening in their lives. But once my great grandmother died, he did try to find them again. By then, Ella was dead, and Genevieve had married, and moved to another parish, with your father. No one here would tell him where they had gone. He was devastated, for he had truly wished to meet his daughter again, before he died. He never found them. But he did do something, in the hope that he might. It seems that he never gave up hope. In the end, age defeated him.”
John and Isabel looked at her, with shocked expressions.
“You say that he did something? What? I don’t understand.”
Isabel’s face echoed John’s confusion.
“He bought a property, with the intent of giving it to Genevieve, to ensure that she had a home, and some financial security, no matter what else happened in her life. And he left his journal, telling us that, in a locked chest, with the deeds to that property. My brother has managed that property, as he does all of our estates, as did our father before him. It has never been lived in, but the two tenant farmers and their families care for the land and the houses. We decided, as a family, that you should have it – it was bought for your mother, and, if she had received it while she lived, then it would have been yours now.”
“An estate? With more than one house, and an income from farms? That is…” John gulped, and Isabel clutched Mr Westby’s hand. “That is greater wealth than I ever expected to hold.”
“And to know that our grandfather cared enough to do that, even if far too many years too late – that is good – that changes my thoughts on him, even more than his letters did.”
Tears shone in Isabel’s eyes. Sybilla handed her the small chest which had sat on the mantelpiece whilst they spoke, and she opened it, staring at the papers and the journal within.
“The papers in there are the original deed, and all of the papers which transfer it into your names. You own it, now. Stanford’s journal is with them, for I felt that you should have it.”
As John and Isabel sat, speechless, Oliver stood, and came to them. Bart and Sybilla smiled at each other, pleased to see all of this happening as planned, healing the hurts of generations past, between two families. Sybilla sat, and reached for Bart’s hand.
“Isabel and John, you have not seen me for many years, you may not even remember me, for I was still a boy when I left here. I am Oliver Kentworthy, the Marquess of Dartworth.”
John and Isabel looked startled, rather overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Oliver continued speaking.
“Lady Sybilla and Lord Barton have told me all of the story behind this, and I am here because you are my relatives too. You are as much my second cousins as you are Lady Sybilla’s. I am rather unconventional in outlook. I am not the least concerned by the rather improprietous circumstances of your mother’s birth, truth to tell, I am more disgusted by the fact that my great grandfather chose to leave his wife in isolation, all those years, and to provide so little towards her, and her daughter’s survival. He may have had cause, by the letter of the law, but his actions were not those of a charitable man. I choose to act to provide a better ending to this generations old story of ill-fated love, as has Lady Sybilla. I have established, for each of you, an annuity, which you may use as you like, which will continue for the rest of your lives. You need never fear being without a home, or without funds, again.”
Isabel burst into tears, overwhelmed by their actions. Some hours later, once they had recovered from the shock, a time was arranged, a few days hence, to take them to Feltonbury Manor, and introduce them to their tenant farmers. As they all left Gallowbridge House, only Bart remaining, it was as if the house breathed a sigh of relief, its old timbers creaking. It felt as if the lingering presence of Ella’s despairing love had finally departed, leaving only peace behind. A peace that would be the cocoon for Bart and Sybilla’s love, for the rest of their lives.
~~~~~
The wedding did not happen, in the end, until July, for, whilst planning had been happening at Gallowbridge House, events had moved on elsewhere, and Raphael was now not only raised to the peerage as an Earl, but about to be married. For the Hounds, it was the year of weddings, it seemed. That would leave, once they too were wed, only Gerry as a single man. Bart hoped, for his sake, that he would find his match soon.
They chose, for the sanity of all concerned, to wait the extra month after Raphael and Sera’s wedding. Sybilla’s mother had forgiven her for hiding away for so long, when presented with a wedding to arrange. She had even forgiven her for wanting to hold it somewhere other than Meltonbrook Chase, once she had seen the newly refurbished ballro
om at Dartworth Abbey.
The day arrived far sooner than seemed possible, and the church overflowed with people. For two who had each thought that they would spend their life alone, their world had become full of company. Once the words were said, and they went out into the sunshine, Sybilla finally allowed herself to believe that it was real.
Back at Dartworth Abbey, the ballroom was soon full to overflowing and, as Oliver had predicted, their wedding celebration had become the event of the year in the county. They drifted through the crowds, talking and laughing with everyone, and Bart was delighted when he realised, as the evening was coming to an end, that none of the loud noises and sudden movements inherent in a crowd of people had affected him in the slightest.
They stepped out onto the terrace, the warm summer air wrapping around them, laden with the scent of flowers from the gardens, intermingled with the scent of horses and hay from the stables. Sybilla looked up at Bart, her face serious for a moment.
“My love, I have finally decided what to name my wedding present. It came to me today, that her name should be Courage – for she helped you to gather up enough courage to ask me, finally, to be your wife.”
He laughed, surprised and pleased. For now, every time he saw the horse, he would be reminded of the rewards that came from having courage - in the apparently small things in life, as well as on the field of war.
“Perfect.”
He pulled Sybilla to him, and folded her into an embrace, which soon became a kiss.
The End
Arietta Richmond has been a compulsive reader and writer all her life. Whilst her reading has covered an enormous range of topics, history has always fascinated her, and historical novels have been amongst her favourite reading.
She has written a wide range of work, from business articles and other non-fiction works (published under a pen name) but fiction has always been a major part of her life. Now, her Regency Historical Romance books are finally being released. The Derbyshire Set is comprised of 10 novels (7 released so far). The ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ series is comprised of 14 novels, with the ninth having just been released.
Healing Lord Barton: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 9) Page 14