by Wilma Counts
No, what first occurred to her was the comfort, the feeling of contentment, of completion she had felt in his mere presence. She recalled their laughing together, sharing stories of growing up, talking about books and history and politics. Arguing, disagreeing, but cherishing the other’s views too. That afternoon at the beach, reading Wordsworth had been one of the most pleasant of her life; she knew she would treasure it forever. Would she ever again encounter another human being with whom she felt so “in tune,” so at peace?
You need to remember, she told herself sharply, that this is the man whose selfish indifference has created so much pain and suffering in the lives of people you love. He may have proved himself brave and courageous on the battlefield, but that war has been over for a year. What’s more, there had been that interlude from April of 1814 until Napoleon had escaped the following March when the nation had lost itself in the delirium of victory. Where had Lord Alexander Sterne been then? In London indulging himself. She’d heard the rumors and seen the newspaper gossip columns. And where had he been all those months prior to his arrival as a patient in the Whitby clinic? Nearly a whole year after Waterloo? Also in London, still unaware and indifferent.
How could she love a man like that?
Chapter 19
That afternoon Hero found the whole town abuzz with the news not only that that the amiable Mr. Wainwright was really none other than Lord Alexander Sterne, heretofore the absentee owner of Weyburn Abbey, but that he had only that morning fired his steward. She had gone into Weyburn to pay a call on Sally Knowlton’s three patients, then she stopped by the vicar’s household to deliver a book her father was recommending to the churchman. The vicar, Archibald Cooper, was not at home, but his wife, Dorothy, welcomed the break in her routine that a visit from Miss Whitby offered, insisting that Hero join her for a cup of tea in the vicarage drawing room. Mrs. Cooper was a plump, fussy kind of woman, in her midfifties, well-meaning and with a generous spirit. Her drawing room reflected her personality with its proliferation of knickknacks, framed profiles and watercolors of her children when they were young, deep-rose-colored overstuffed furniture, and hand-crocheted doilies all about. She was eager to elaborate on the news that Hero had already heard from Sally.
“I cannot tell you how surprised Mr. Cooper and I were to hear that that nice Mr. Wainwright was really Lord Alexander Sterne—owner of the Abbey, no less! My goodness gracious! Such a surprise. He’d had tea right here in this very room not a week ago. A duke’s son! And just as normal and down-to-earth as you please.” Having waited for the tea to steep, she now paused to pour for Hero and herself.
Hero accepted the proffered cup. “Yes, that news was a surprise to many of us.”
“Some folks really do not know what to make of it all. I mean”—Mrs. Cooper leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner—“why did he pretend all that time to be someone he wasn’t? Did you have no idea, what with his being at the Manor all that time?”
“I am sure he had his reasons.” Hero was determined to avoid discussing his lordship’s motives, especially since she still had so many questions about those herself. However, it came as something of a surprise to find that she did not want others thinking ill of him. “Are others condemning him then?” she asked.
“Some are. Mr. Wellman, who, as you know, likes to be first with such news, was rather annoyed that the Barkleys knew this before he did. He says now that he always suspected ‘something fishy about that fellow.’ But most folks are more tolerant, taking a wait-and-see attitude. Which I personally think to be the wiser course. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Whitby?”
Hero nodded. “Withholding judgment on another is usually a sensible approach.” She set her cup down, finding the tea too hot to drink.
The other woman prattled on. “Now that he has dismissed Mr. Teague, there is sure to be a great deal of controversy over that. Mr. Teague has quite a following in this town, as you well know. On the other hand, he does come in for his share of resentment too. People haven’t forgot what happened to the Thompsons. And his general demeanor is not exactly engaging, though some do consider him quite handsome.”
“Handsome is as handsome does,” Hero said absently, her mind still preoccupied by what Teague’s dismissal might mean for the people of Weyburn. She deliberately turned the conversation to what she knew to be Mrs. Cooper’s pet project: the establishment of a nursery school for very young children in the town.
On her way home, Hero could not stop her mind from returning to the news of Teague’s being fired. Before leaving the town, she had stopped briefly to say hello to Samuel Porter, the blacksmith-mayor.
“I’m not sure what to make of any of it, Miss Hero,” Sam had said, “but Willard Teague—he’s been drinking some over at the inn this afternoon, along with a couple of those fellows he brought in from Bristol. You know the ones I mean?”
Hero nodded. “Teague’s bully boys.”
“Yeh. Them. Teague’s been ranting about how ‘that fancy boy from London has not heard the last of this.’ Swears he will get even.”
“Perhaps someone should warn his lordship.”
“The Jacobs lad did just that. Said he don’t want his and his da’s savin’ a good man to go to waste, ’Specially at the hands of someone like Teague.”
Hero started to smile, then bit her lip. “I hope young Jacobs does not bring the wrath of Teague down on his family with talk like that—especially if Teague is feeling resentful and abused. Who knows what he might do?”
“It was just me and his da heard ’im. And he rode out right away to the Abbey.”
Hero tried to convince herself that her only real concern in this turn of events was for her neighbors, that she was actively putting behind her whatever might have been between her and Adam—her and Alexander Sterne. She would simply refuse to let one act of caring for his dependents override the fact that he had continued to live his lie far beyond any need to do so.
But late the next afternoon Diana arrived with news that set her mind in a whirl again. Michael had gone off after the midday meal to show his bride around the countryside. Jonathan was off to the beach with several friends in what Hero was certain was perfectly innocent play. Her father was busy with a footman, moving favorite pieces of furniture from the master’s suite and arranging things to his satisfaction in his new quarters. With Annabelle presumably still napping under the nurse’s watchful eye, Hero had escaped to the terrace, where the sea and her own muddled thoughts managed to hold her attention more than the book that lay on the table beside her.
“Stewart told me I would find you out here,” Diana called as she came around the corner of the house.
“Diana! You startled me! What are you doing here at this hour? Has something happened?”
“I have had a very interesting morning, dear sister mine, and I just had to share it with you.” Diana sat at the table across from Hero and folded her hands.
“I’m listening.”
“Lord Alexander Sterne—whom you may know,” Diana began teasingly, “called a meeting of the Abbey’s farmers and the shift leaders at the mine this morning. And you will not believe what he has done.”
“Dismissed Teague, is what I heard,” Hero said.
“He did that too. But he also gave us a list of things that he is going to see done immediately on Abbey properties—including our roof! Is that not just absolutely wonderful?”
“‘Gave us’? You were at this meeting?”
“Yes. He insisted that wives come too. And everyone did. There must have been fifty or sixty people in that room, what with all the servants at the Abbey proper. It was in the ballroom. I’d quite forgot how elegant that room is.”
“Is that all? He told you about improvements?”
“Heavens, Hero. Is that not enough? But, no, it was not all. He asked everyone to tell him things they would like to see done in their area of the
Abbey holdings. And he had that Mr. MacIntosh write everything down. Then he said he would take them all into consideration, though he cautioned us not to expect all this to be accomplished yesterday.”
Hero smiled at this detail, and asked, “Why did he include the women? That seems most unusual.”
“One of the men asked him that same question—that old curmudgeon, Stevens—and his lordship laughed and said he thought the wives would keep both his and their husbands’ noses to the grindstone to see that matters improved. We women all agreed with that, of course!”
“So the owner of the Abbey has managed to redeem himself in your eyes,” Hero observed.
“Well, yes. To some extent, at least. Hero, we have waited eight years—eight years!—for someone to see to the needs of this estate. Actually, more than that, for after he lost his wife, Sir Benjamin really lost interest in keeping things up, let alone making real improvements. But you know that. You saw it. And you have seen the devastation that resulted.”
Pleased to see her sister so energized and optimistic, Hero hesitated to respond.
Diana went on. “And it’s not just been the neglect of buildings and fields and crops and herds. It does something to the spirit to see that one has so little to look forward to. I wish you could have been at that meeting this morning—to see how truly hopeful people were for a change.”
Hero reached across the table to grip her sister’s hand briefly. “I am truly glad to see you so cheerful, Diana, and I do most sincerely hope that your optimism is not misplaced.”
“Why are you so negative about his lordship?” Diana asked. “I thought you liked him. In fact, I wondered if your feelings for him might be much deeper. I hoped they were.”
“Ah, Diana. Ever the romantic, aren’t you?”
“Was I so wrong, then? Be honest, Hero.”
“I—I don’t know. Maybe for a while. But, Diana—he lied. He kept from us—from me—the most basic information: who he was. I find it hard to forgive that deception.”
“Perhaps he had his reasons,” Diana said.
Hero recognized the very line of reasoning she herself had used with Mrs. Cooper, but she refused to dwell on that. She redirected the conversation. “I suppose the whole town and half the countryside will be beating a path to door of the Abbey to greet the new owner now that he is known to be in residence.”
“That will do them little good. He will not be there for the next week or so.”
“What? Why? How do you know this?”
“He told us as the meeting ended. He is going to London to find a new steward and settle other business matters, he said.”
“Hah! I should not be at all surprised if he just stays in his London playground and sends his new steward to act in his absence, just as he did with Teague all these years.”
Diana gave her a look of exasperation. “Hero—”
Hero threw up her hands in a mock defensive gesture. “All right. All right. I shall hope for the best.”
“As will I.”
* * * *
Alex had felt good about the meeting with his Abbey people. He knew this was not the best of times to be heading off to London, but he had two pressing reasons for doing just that. He really did need to find a new steward who would be able to keep track of the details of the huge business of the Abbey, someone with knowledge of logistics and experience in handling such matters. And he knew just the man: a former army captain named Alistair Gibson, who had been discharged from the army after losing an arm and having a leg severely injured in the Battle of Vitoria. The trouble was, Alex had no idea where the man might be these days, but he knew a good place to start was the Horse Guards, army headquarters in London.
His other reason was the Abbey’s urgent need of an infusion of ready cash. Alex had invested his own money wisely during his army years, but he had not nearly what would be needed. He knew—and he knew he could demonstrate—that the Abbey could be made profitable, but the people he would have to convince of that were bankers—in London.
He hated leaving Weyburn when things were in such turmoil for both the town that depended on the Abbey and for the people directly connected to the estate. Despite his assurances at that meeting of Abbey people, he knew they still felt a great deal of uncertainty. How would they react to his dashing off to London after making grandiose promises to them? There was also that unfinished business of the smugglers operating so close to home. He desperately wanted to be on the scene when that issue was settled once and for all.
And, finally, he hated leaving the area now because of the unresolved situation with Hero. He knew she was not indifferent to him, that a woman of her integrity would never have responded to him as she had without a sense of commitment—whether she was ready to admit to that or not. Somehow, he had to convince her that he truly was worthy of her trust—and her love. But he could hardly do that in London, could he?
So—best get this over with.
Knowing he could not yet endure a long journey on horseback, he traveled by post chaise, the fastest mode of travel available, but also the most expensive, what with the hire of coach, driver, and post boy at each leg of the trip. Even so, the journey would take two-and-a-half or three days, depending on the weather. No wonder so few people travel much, he grumbled to himself. He congratulated himself on having filched two books from what was now his own library to occupy the travel time.
On arriving in London the third afternoon, he was surprised to see the knocker in place on the door of Thornleigh House, and then delighted to find his parents in residence. After a quick hello to them, he went to his own room and freshened up, torn between a desire to lie down and perhaps have a nap until time for supper and a wish to greet his parents properly. The latter won out and he found them in the family drawing room, his father immersed in a newspaper and his mother doing some sort of stitchery.
“I must say, I was surprised to find you here,” he said, taking a seat at one end of the settee on which his mother sat. “I have been imagining you still soaking up the history and culture of the Roman Empire or the Renaissance artists.”
His father laid aside the newspaper. “Your mother decided three months had satisfied her desire for foreign history and culture for a while. She missed her children and grandchildren.”
“But we are going again sometime,” she said. “To Greece or perhaps Egypt. Perhaps we shall persuade some of you lot to accompany us.” She patted his knee.
“We’ve been home only a week and she’s already thinking of dragging me off again,” his father said in mock weariness.
“Pish-tosh,” she said. “You enjoyed the journey as much as I did.” She turned to face her son. “We were told you were off to Cornwall. I hope you found all well there.”
“Not exactly.” Glossing over his injury, the mere mention of which alarmed his mother, he told them of how matters stood in the Abbey and its environs.
“I am so glad that you met Dr. Whitby,” the duchess said. “He and Benjamin were friends, but there was enough of an age difference between him and me that I did not know him well. By the time he had come home from medical school in Scotland, I had gone off to school myself. But I always admired him. Had a bit of a girlish crush on him, as a matter of fact.”
“Here, now,” her husband growled.
She ignored him and went on. “And the Coopers are still there. How wonderful.”
“This business of smugglers operating so openly is a bit worrisome, I would imagine,” the duke said, changing the tone of the conversation.
“Very worrisome,” Alex replied. “And that is the big reason I need to return as soon as possible.”
“But not the only reason?” His mother raised an eyebrow.
“Well, there is always something with a large property, is there not?” he equivocated.
She gave him a knowing look, but did not pursue
whatever line of thought she was toying with.
He told of them of his intent to search out Alistair Gibson and offer him the job of steward at the Abbey, and of his need to obtain funding for his plans for the Abbey.
His father nodded his approval. “Horse Guards should be able to put you on track for locating this Gibson fellow. If that does not work out, I could send you Nelson to help until you can find someone.” The Duke of Thornleigh paused, seeming almost shy as he added, “And if you’d like, I could accompany you when you go to visit the bankers.”
Alex snorted softly. “If I’d like? I had intended to drop your name, but having you there in the flesh, so to speak, would be even better! Never hurts to have a peer of the realm on one’s side.”
“Or,” his father began in a measured tone, “I could just lend you the sum outright.”
“I appreciate that offer, Father. Truly, I do. But I’d rather do it more or less on my own. Besides, you will have a trip to Greece or Egypt to pay for.” He grinned at his mother.
He saw his parents exchange a knowing glance and then each nodded affirmation of their silent communication.
“Right.” His father rose to ring for a servant. “Tomorrow we shall go shopping for money, but for now, let us all have a drink before we go down for supper.”
They spent the rest of the evening chatting about family, and Alex went to bed later feeling more at ease with his parents than he ever remembered being since becoming an adult. He was aware anew of the intensity of the relationship between his mother and father and he thought about it with a sharp degree of envy. This turn of thought immediately brought a vision of Hero to mind. He drifted off to sleep reliving those three glorious nights he’d had with her.