He was, for once, almost relaxed, charming. Amusing to speak to. And then, for no reason that she could discern, as they moved about the floor, he drew away again. Rashly, she had simply asked him about the darkness that dimmed him more each time she saw him. It had been beyond foolish, for he had drawn back even further, laughing off her concern with cold mocking words. She deserved it, she supposed, for intruding, beyond what politeness allowed. But it hurt, it hurt almost more than she could bear. He did not trust her, or, perhaps, did not see her as worthy of his confidences. She should have expected it, but her natural optimism had allowed her to believe, for those few moments of madness, that simply asking would be enough.
The rest of the waltz they had been silent, a stiffness of manner in both of them, as if their ability to converse had been completely stolen by her one impetuous question. Now, standing beside her mother again, she watched him hurry away, as if he could not wait to be gone from her presence. She stifled the urge to cry, forced her best false smile onto her face, and tried to add something intelligent to the general conversation.
Hunter watched her, and watched Lord Tillingford walk away, his eyes full of questions, but said nothing. She was grateful for his forbearance.
~~~~~
Gerry sat, alone, in the private parlour of the Inn in Bridgemere village. Hunter and his family had gone out to walk about the village, appreciating the morning sun. The Dowager Duchess was, he was told, still abed, and most of the others had already departed for their various homes. He sipped his coffee, idly noting how much worse it was, than the coffee that Setford always seemed to have ready, and thought about the previous day.
The hurt expression on Lady Alyse’s face haunted him. Yet his choice was to hurt her now, or hurt her, far more, later. Still, he wished, more than anything, that it was not necessary – that he might spend time with her, might allow himself to love her – but he could not, and wishes were pointless.
The couch he was sitting on must be old, for there was something hard digging into his lower back. He wriggled about, but it did not improve things. Sighing, he stood, and turned to rearrange the cushions, in the hope of making it more comfortable. As he lifted the first cushion, he stopped, staring at what was revealed. A book. A very specific book.
Without thought of what he was doing, he reached down, lifting it gently. He recognised this book. It was Lady Alyse’s sketch journal. He sat again, cradling it, staring at the cover. He should not. It was a personal thing. But… his fingers were not listening to his thoughts – they reached out, seemingly of their own accord, and opened it, gently turning the pages. He had known that she was talented, but this… this demonstrated just how talented she truly was.
There were illustrations of so many things – things that he would never have noticed as interesting – yet here, on the page, she had made them fascinating. So many pages of tiny snippets of her life. Then, as he turned the next page, his breath left him. For his own face stared back at him from the paper.
She had drawn him as he might once have been, before the war – as she had drawn it, his face looked cheerful, kind and positive. There was no hint of darkness in the man she had drawn. He did not understand how she could possibly see him like that. It simply made him more aware of how much of a monster he had become. How he wished that he could wipe out the war, wipe away every memory, and simply be that cheerful young man again, be the man she had drawn.
Looking away from the image, he turned another page. Here were images of parts of Tillingford Castle, and he leafed through them, intrigued by her perspective. He found another few pictures of himself, which he quickly turned past, and then he came to a page which almost made him fling the journal from him. He sat, and shook, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing.
But… it was real – pages of sketches, his worst nightmares (at least without the people, thank God) perfectly rendered in intricate detail. The top of the first page had an annotation ‘Tillingford Castle – cellars below main keep, near wine cask room’.
She had been there! Been in that terrible room, by herself, or with only Mills (but surely, if Mills had been there, he would have mentioned it?), and she had not run screaming – she had sat down and drawn the terrible things that the room contained.
He struggled to reconcile the idea. How could she not have been utterly horrified? Most women he had met would have fainted dead away at such a sight. Yet she had simply seen it as another piece of history to document in drawings, another set of interesting shapes and complex construction to capture.
He stared at the drawings, and, slowly, fascination overcame horror – how did she see these things? What were such things, when viewed simply as shapes and textures, lines and light and shadow, with their purpose ignored? When viewed that way, they were not so terrible, they were simply things – built for a terrible purpose, admittedly, but simply things, not truly terrible until a man chose to use them.
At that thought, his revulsion at himself took hold again – for he was such a man. He might not have used things as terrible as most of these, but he had chosen to use similar things. That he had done so out of need, to discover information that had saved thousands, did not change the fact that he had made that choice.
He shut the journal with a snap, and dropped it back onto the couch, wishing that he had never looked. Looking at someone else’s personal journal was never a good thing – he deserved to suffer for his intrusion into her privacy. Yet… her image of him, that first image, of him, as a man not stained by war, stood clear in his mind.
Could he ever be that man again?
At the sound of the others returning, he gulped the last of his cold coffee, and stood, hurrying from the parlour to go to his room and pack for his return to Tillingford Castle. Let Lady Alyse discover her journal without him being present.
Cowardly though it might be, he did not wish her to be aware that there was any possibility that he had seen its contents.
Chapter Eleven
Another month passed, and Tillingford Castle seemed a lonely and empty place. The dreams still troubled Gerry’s sleep just as much, and thoughts of Lady Alyse filled his days, especially that look of hurt upon her face. He threw himself into the work with his farmers and estate manager, and attempted to follow the plan, but it had become obvious that he really needed to consult with both Charles and Nerissa again, if the planned works were all to be done before winter set in completely.
But… if he invited Hunter and his family back to Tillingford Castle, Lady Alyse would most likely be with them – and he had promised her, that, should she return, he would show her more of the Castle. The idea of seeing her drew him, and he knew that he should not, for that way lay only pain, yet, in the end, he could not resist. He sent a letter to Hunter, inviting all of them for another visit.
~~~~~
Alyse stared out the window of the carriage, watching as Tillingford Castle grew larger in her view. The landscape was gold, fading to grey, as winter approached and the autumn leaves began to fall. She was nervous, and fidgeting. She wanted to see him, but… how would he treat her? That last conversation, whilst they danced at Lady Pendholm’s wedding, was much in her thoughts.
The weeks since had seemed to drag, and each time she replayed the conversation in her mind, she castigated herself more for her foolishness in asking such a blunt question of him. Yet she wanted to see him again, even if he was cold and distant. She refused to give up hope. And she did still want to draw more of Tillingford Castle – she had barely begun to explore what it had to offer of interest.
At last, they turned into the long drive, the trees on each side forming an arch of reds and golds through which they travelled, as if in some magical golden hallway. The Castle seemed, somehow, even more imposing than when she had last seen it.
Shackleton opened the door, with a genuine smile of greeting, and ushered them in out of the wind. Moments later, Lord Tillingford came down the stairs, hurrying to them. She w
atched him, drinking him in with her eyes. He looked tired, and leaner than when she had last seen him, yet his eyes lit with pleasure as he took Hunter’s hand, and bowed to Nerissa. When he turned to her, however, his eyes darkened, some deep emotion flitting across his face before it became cold, closed off. His greeting was polite, and perfunctory.
Alyse felt suddenly close to tears. It would seem that she had not been forgiven for her intrusive question.
She took a deep breath, and smiled.
“It’s so lovely to be here again, Lord Tillingford. I can’t wait to get started drawing some more of this fascinating place.”
“Feel free to draw whatever you wish.”
His eyes clung to hers, full of something she did not understand, even whilst his words were simply polite and cold. She wondered what it was, that she saw there, as they all moved to the parlour. Over tea and cakes, a plan for the next two weeks was concocted, to everyone’s satisfaction.
“I want to look through the library here – it occurred to me that there may be drawings or other information on the original garden designs, which might help us decide what to do with those areas that just don’t look right.”
Nerissa was full of her usual enthusiasm, and Hunter smiled fondly at her words.
“Why did I never think of that? The library here is large, and much of what it contains is disordered, so I have not delved too deeply.”
Lord Tillingford looked a little chagrined to have not considered something which seemed so obvious, now that it had been suggested. Hunter laughed.
“Everything seems obvious once its been thought of – but it rarely is before then.”
“So true! Now, Charles, let me tell you about what’s been achieved with the farms – and about where I am completely unsure of what to do next.”
“Please do.”
As the afternoon disappeared into conversation and planning, Alyse pulled out her sketch journal and began to draw – for once, she was drawing people, rather than detail – she drew each of the people before her, trying to capture their enthusiasm, and the animation of their conversation. But all the while, she was wondering exactly where in the Castle she might start, the next morning.
In the end, she decided to ask for assistance – if he was already being cold towards her, what difference would one more question make?
“Lord Tillingford, tomorrow, might I trouble you to show me what part of the Castle you think would be of most interest to me?”
He turned to her, his expression serious, and appeared to think before speaking. What was there to think about? Surely, he knew his own home well by now?
“My Lady, I believe I know just the thing – there are some very interesting pieces that I have discovered in the attics, which I would be delighted to point out.”
He did not sound delighted, but it would be impolite to notice that fact, so Alyse simply nodded, smiled, and agreed.
“Thank you, my Lord, that sounds suitable.”
By the time afternoon had become evening, and dinner had passed, Alyse felt exhausted. No matter how she tried, she simply could not achieve a real conversation. So she’d settled to listening to the others talk, and watching him, envying the more open and comfortable way that he spoke with everyone but her. Sleep was welcome – perhaps tomorrow would be better.
~~~~~
He rushed down the stairs, annoyed that he had not heard the carriage wheels on the gravel. When he turned the curve of the staircase, and saw her, standing there at the bottom, her hair and face lit by the coloured light where the sun shone through the fan light above the door, he nearly stumbled and fell, so much did her appearance affect him. Blessedly, he did not fall – what an impression that would have made, landing in a tumbled heap at her feet!
But he watched her, as long as he could before she realised that he was coming, and looked up. He looked away before their eyes could meet. By the time he arrived at the bottom of the stairs he had himself under control. He would hold himself aloof from her, be coldly polite, and pray that she did not look too closely at his reactions, for he feared that he would not, entirely, be able to repress how he felt about her, in her presence.
The initial conversation went by in a blur, and he found himself, by early afternoon, having agreed to escort her about the house on the following day. The thought was terrifying – hours spent with her alone, during which he would need to stay as distant as possible.
By the time that dinner was done, he was exhausted, having managed, somehow, to remain distant to her, whilst actually having the conversations he wanted to have with everyone else. Both Nerissa and Charles seemed to think that the challenges which had stopped him, in their respective areas of expertise, were completely solvable – which was a great relief. He dropped into sleep, and for once, barely dreamed at all.
~~~~~
Cunningham had heard the gossip in the kitchens – finally, the girl and her family were coming back to Tillingford Castle. Once he knew the day, he had made sure to do tasks that took him either outside, near the front of the Castle, or in and out of the rooms off the main hallway, so that he would have the best chance possible to see the arrival, and to reconfirm his belief that Otford cared deeply about her.
The timing, in the end, was perfect. He had just filled the coal scuttle for the small downstairs parlour, and returned it to the room, when he heard the carriage wheels on the gravel outside. So he did some unnecessary tidying of the hearth, and waited. With the door open a crack, he watched the greeting in the entryway. He needed no more confirmation than watching Otford’s face as he descended the stairs – there was no doubt that the man was smitten. Smiling a grim smile, he slipped from the room, and out through the servants’ corridor to the courtyards.
~~~~~
The following day, true to his word, Gerry escorted Lady Alyse about the Castle, showing her the more interesting of his discoveries in the attics, and long disused rooms of the original Keep tower. He was polite, and as distant as he could be, although he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms. She looked at him curiously, and he could see the questions in her eyes – but she did not ask them.
Not directly, anyway.
“Lord Tillingford, I am yet again amazed at the fascinating character of this Castle. You must enjoy living in such a remarkable place.”
“It can be… intriguing… yet it is also, in some ways, overwhelming. There is so much history embedded in every room, that it weighs upon me. The responsibility of doing the right things to maintain it is large, and I was never trained to manage an estate, having never expected to own such a thing.”
As always seemed to happen, as soon as he began to converse with her, he somehow said more, revealed more of his true thoughts and feelings, than he had intended. She paused at his words, lifting her deep brown eyes to his, obviously considering.
“I had not thought of it that way. You are so very perfectly the titled gentleman, that I forget that your expectations in your early life were so different. Viewed from that perspective, I can see why this would seem overwhelming. Yet you manage it so well, and your plans for improvement and restoration go far beyond what many a nobleman would do for his estates.”
Her words made him flush, feeling embarrassed. How she managed to see him in such a favourable light, he did not understand. Perhaps it was simply that she had no indication of his true, horrific nature.
“I fear you flatter me, Lady Alyse, but I thank you for your kind words. Let us, today, start with the highest rooms in this tower. They have not been used for at least two generations. They contain some beautiful carvings in the stone.”
They continued up the long flights of stairs, and the further above the ground they were, the better he felt, for the further they were from the cellar room that he knew lay below. No matter where he was in the Castle, now, he was aware of where he was, in relation to that room, which haunted his dreams.
It was easier once she was drawing, absorbed in what she did
. Gerry stood at the window, staring out across his lands, taking pleasure in the visible signs of change in the gardens below, and the fields in the middle distance. Anything to distract himself from watching Lady Alyse, for she looked beautiful as always, her soft gold hair escaping its pins in fine tendrils, the morning light making it glow. He wanted to touch it, to run his fingers through the silky strands, to brush aside the curl that fell around her cheek, fluttering with her breath as she concentrated on her work.
Better not to look, not to allow himself to be tempted.
So went the rest of the day – an agony of closeness to that which he could never have, a flow of conversation where small pieces of his real thoughts and feelings slipped out, despite his best intent. By late afternoon, when they returned to the main part of the buildings, he was exhausted, mentally, if not physically.
Looking into the library, they discovered Hunter, Nerissa and Charles with a pile of very old books on one desk, and some old plans unrolled on another. It seemed that Nerissa had located the drawings from a previous garden redesign, almost two centuries before. Gerry could not help but see the resemblance in manner between Nerissa poring over the design, and Lady Alyse absorbed in drawing. He discovered that he envied them. There was nothing in his life that truly absorbed him like that.
The stack of books on the other desk were, it turned out, estate management journals and ledgers from various times in the past, which Charles and Hunter were scanning through, looking for clues to what had been most profitably done with the land in the past, and where those same things might be even better done now, with the new methods they were implementing.
Gratefully, Gerry allowed himself to be drawn into their discussion.
~~~~~
There were a few moments, during that first day, when Alyse thought that Lord Tillingford was relaxing, just a little – when their conversation flowed, and he seemed at ease. But, each time, he drew himself up and that cold mask slipped over his face again. It was so very frustrating!
Loving the Bitter Baron: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 11) Page 8