Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy

by Brianne E Pryor

  “Let me go, please!” the voice cried again, pushing against the baron with little strength.

  Immediately Grey’s strong hand loosened its hold, though not enough that the figure might have any hope of breaking free of him. Despite the small hands that pushed against him and the body that twisted to try and escape, Grey only took hold of the figure’s arms to restrain her, determined that she would not get away.

  “Madam, calm yourself!” he commanded, trying to keep all audible tensity out of his voice, though he knew that he had failed. Upon hearing his command, however, the young woman stopped her thrashing and looked up at the tall, masculine body which now loomed over her as he had in the woods the previous night. Though her face was cleaned of the muck and her eyes considerably more aware than during their previous meeting, Grey knew instantly that it was the young woman whom he had happened upon on the road from Calgar!

  Her features were just as he had seen in the passing light of the lanterns when she was whisked away though the color had slightly returned to her still very pale cheeks. Now unhidden by filth, bruises on her brow and cheek bone were much more prominent, their black and blue shades in great contrast to the rest of her face that bore nothing but a striking beauty, the same handsomeness that had so drawn Grey’s attention the night before. The only difference now was that he could finally see the bright blue eyes that had looked at him for but a moment as she huddled against the tree in the woods, the same eyes that now looked up at him filled with emotions he could not read and an inward weariness he did not know the source of.

  All remained silent as the young woman tilted her head with intrigue, examining the face above her own, seeming to scrutinizing each of Grey’s features carefully before her hoarse voice spoke haltingly. “You—you are him. The man who—who found me on the road.”

  Grey nodded, his hands still gripping her arms, her much smaller ones still pressed against his chest from her attempts to push him away. “I knew you had a voice,” he finally said, surprising himself by the quiet tone of his own speech when he was so accustomed to hearing its thundering commands and angry bark.

  The young woman looked down, only then seeming to realize their close proximity. In an instant, she tried to step away. “Please let go of me, sir,” she implored.

  Though hesitant, Grey released the young woman’s arms, allowing her to take several steps back where she leaned a hand on the wall to steady herself. It was then that he noticed her attire, one of the servant’s work dresses and what appeared to be his own cloak which he had laid over her in the rain. Her blond hair was tucked under the hood, hidden from sight except for a loose strand that framed her face. The young woman’s breath was labored and her face very obviously losing its color as she laid a rather shaky hand to her forehead.

  “Madam, you are unwell,” said he, stepping closer.

  “No, I—I am quite well,” she attempted to argue, withdrawing her hand from her head though she made no move to look up at the man who stood before her.

  “I tell you, you are. Let me help you back to your room.”

  “No, please, sir. I want only to leave and—and trespass no more on your kindness.” Again she pressed her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes tightly as though she willed a headache to subside.

  “You are in no condition to leave and certainly not in the middle of the night unaccompanied.” Taking her shoulder in one hand and her elbow in the other, Grey began to guide her back down the dark corridor, but she quickly moved away from him. “Please, sir, I must leave.”

  “How can you?” Grey questioned. “You are barely able to hold yourself, madam. How do you imagine making it to the front door much less back to Calgar?”

  “I—I don’t know…” Again she closed her eyes only now her small figure swayed, causing Grey to again take hold of her frame. “You shall not leave tonight, I forbid it. Come.” Very slowly, he led her back down the corridor, leaving her no choice but to allow him. They moved with little speed, her weight leaned more and more in his hands as she weakened. Grey’s private quarters were quite nearer than the Orange Room where the lady had been installed prompting him to make the decision to sit her in the front of his quarters before the dim fire to rest rather than force her to walk back through the drafty halls. When they reached his chamber door, Grey opened it and led the young woman to a chair in front of the very small glow emanating from the last of a fire, then moved to pour her a glass of water from the tray that he had neglected at bedtime. Silently he held it before her, waiting for her slim rather unsteady hand to take hold of it. Clasping the cup in both hands, she brought it to her lips for but a moment before returning it to her lap, her gaze focused wearily on the dying embers within the fireplace. Grey stood none too close, knowing he made her uncomfortable especially as they sat alone in the front of his own room.

  For a long moment all was silent, she looked not at him though he was certain she could feel his questioning stare encompassing her. Finally he broke the silence, “I do not believe we’ve been introduced, madam. I am James Nightten, the third Baron de Grey.”

  The young woman looked up at him, again seeming to examine his face before nodding in acknowledgment. Though he waited, she made no reply, not one word passing her lips as she looked back to the fire. “You’ll not tell me your name?” he spoke.

  Still silence.

  “Come now, I know you’ve a voice. I’ve heard it have I not?” The young woman remained still and spoke not a word. “If you will not tell me your name, then might I at least know where is it you come from? Who your people are?”

  “I am—I am come from a farm, my lord. On the outskirts of Calgar.”

  “A farm?” Grey raised a skeptical eyebrow. Reaching out his hand toward her he commanded, “Give me your hand.”

  The girl’s eyes suddenly widened as she clutched the glass tighter. “Excuse me?”

  “I said give me your hand,” he demanded more harshly then he had intended.

  Though she seemed startled, the young woman refused to relent. “Please let me leave, my lord? I-I’ve no desire to trouble you any longer.”

  “You know I cannot allow such a thing. You are unwell and quite alone. I cannot send you out in the night under such circumstances.” Grey attempted to persuade her but received no reply.

  The young woman only looked to the carpet, then, very hesitantly, she lifted her hand from the glass, holding it out to Grey who took hold of it gently. As her skin touched his, he felt a chill run through her, obviously not used to the feeling, yet another reason Grey supposed her to be much more than the commoner she portrayed; a lady would have not thought to touch a man’s hand without a glove, a fact which was of obvious discomfort to the girl.

  Grey turned her hand over to examine her palm, running his fingers along her smooth ones. “There are blisters but your hands are not rough like a farm girl’s. You are not used to labor to cause your skin to object like this,” he stated, allowing her to retract her hand. “You are no commoner as everyone supposes,” he continued. “Go on, speak to me. Tell me I am right.”

  “My lord, I beg you to abandon your scrutiny,” she implored timidly. “I wish only to leave and no longer trespass on your kindness. Please, sir, do not make me say more.” Her voice was so strained and filled with such fear that Grey relented for the present, deciding to let her have her way at least until morning, but he had no intention of allowing her to leave before he discovered the entire truth. “Fine. I shall not force you to tell me. Not until I’ve unearthed the truth, that is. But you shall not leave in the middle of the night and most certainly not in my favorite cloak.”

  At this, a very discernible heat rose in the young woman’s face, and she lowered her head even further in an attempt to conceal it. Grey ignored this and continued on. “You’ll stay here tonight and give yourself a chance to overcome whatever illness you’ve contracted before you take your leave. I insist upon it.”

  “But, my lord—”

 
; “Forgive me, ma'am, but I have no alternative. Promise me you’ll stay until morning and then we shall discuss the matter further. Do I have your word?”

  After a moment’s pause, the young woman relented with a slight nod.

  “Good. Now as soon as you are feeling better I’ll show you back to the Orange Room.”

  There was another quiet moment before she spoke again. “Thank you, Lord de Grey, but I believe I can find my own way.” Carefully she stood, setting the glass on the table beside her. Grey made no move, not knowing how to act—if he should insist upon accompanying her or let her have her way as he had already forced her to accept his services many a time.

  “Are you certain you are up to the walk, miss?” he finally inquired.

  The young woman nodded. “I am quite revived now, thank you, my lord.” Reaching up she slowly removed the hood from atop her crown of blond, revealing her unnatural allure all the more. Then she unbuckled Grey’s cloak from round her neck so that she might pull it off her shoulders, revealing her long waves of hair. Without a word, she extended the garment to him, keeping her eyes on the floor. Grey reached to retrieve it, holding it in his hand as he watched her turn away to open the door. Without a moment’s pause, she exited the room. Grey stood in the doorway to ensure she made no move toward the front hall. Despite his suspicions, the mysterious visitor walked slowly toward the Orange Room and disappeared into the gallery, leaving Grey’s mind racing with learned facts and questions that plagued him all the more.

  ~ 7 ~

  The remainder of the night passed at a grueling pace for Grey who lay awake in the midst of his pillows and rumpled sheets. His mind entangling itself with thoughts of what had occurred in the halls that night. Finally he had gotten to speak with the young woman whom he had saved from what was sure to be a most undesirable death on the roadside. Grey knew not why he was suspicious of her or why he imagined that she told not the truth when there appeared no reason for her to concoct any type of ruse. But he knew that what she had said could not have been true; the smooth surface of her hands was proof enough. There was something she concealed, something of great magnitude, and he vowed to find it out.

  Shortly after the morning dawned, a knock disrupted Grey’s musing, knowing immediately that it was his vallet at the door, the baron called for Merek to enter.

  “Good morning, my lord.” he offered a quick bow, crossing the floor with a pitcher of fresh water for his master to wash. “I trust you slept well, sir.”

  Grey huffed as he stood from the edge of his feather mattress. “Hardly. Bring me some fresh clothes for my meeting with Lord Bondeville.”

  “Yes, my lord. Will you come down for breakfast?” Merek poured the water into the basin.

  “No, I want no breakfast.” Grey pulled up his sleeves and dipped his hands into the cooling liquid, plashing it onto his warm face, feeling the coarse bristles of a growing beard run across the palm of his hand.

  “But, my lord, you had neither dinner nor luncheon yesterday,” Merek reminded.

  “I shall eat when I am hungry,” Grey declared. “Now fetch your razor and cut this beard before I become a shaggy dog.”

  Merek nodded. “Yes, my lord.” As he made way to leave the room, Grey called out to stop him. “Wait. Have you any news of the girl?”

  “I have none, sir, but I shall inquire directly.”

  Grey nodded stiffly and waved his valet away. Only a moment’s time elapsed before Merek returned to help his master dress, saying that the housekeeper was with the young lady who had just awoken. “Lord Bondeville is due on the hour, my lord,” Merek reminded.

  Grey nodded as he slipped his arms into his coat sleeves. “I shall be in the library then. Tell Byrum to come to me as soon he has news of the lady.”

  “Yes, my lord, I shall,” Merek bowed as his master left the bedchamber.

  Grey weaved his way throughout the manor to the library where he planned to meet with the Earl of Bondeville per his request on matters concerning their adjoined lands. Sitting himself at the desk, Grey ruffled through papers requiring his signature and proposals from house staff and authorities from Calgar. Though his mind was preoccupied, Grey still felt the ever-present remembrance of the young woman lingering behind his foremost thoughts, him finding this a rather pleasant change from the musings that would usually overtake him the moment he attempted to focus his mind elsewhere.

  Grey had been seated some time, when the door was opened and Byrum appeared, bowing to his master. “Lord Bondeville, my lord.”

  The distinguished earl strode in, his prestige manor immediately enveloping the room as he removed his tall black hat, shaking the hand of his friend gladly. “Grey, it is good to see you.” The elderly man’s cheerful disposition caused his lined face and eyes a bright contentedness which Grey had long envied.

  “And you, my lord,” the baron greeted him with less enthusiasm, though out of all the surrounding regions, it was Lord Bondeville of whom he was the most fond. The only man who still found pleasure in Grey’s company, his lordship had been the best of friend with the late Lord de Grey and was well informed of the current baron’s unruly past and lonesome ways. “Forgive me for intruding on such short notice, but I fear it could not wait,” Bondeville apologized, handing his hat and cloak to Byrum.

  “It is no intrusion,” Grey assured. “Do take a seat. I trust your family is in good health?”

  “They are, they are. And yourself?”

  “I am well.”

  The earl sat opposite Grey and raised his eyebrow. “Well, are you? That is not what the lines beneath your eyes intend to convey.”

  The baron leaned back in his chair, “I am not a sleeper, as surely you know.”

  Bondeville nodded and said no more on the subject. “I’ve come to discuss a rather interesting report brought to me at the beginning of the week. Surely you have heard of the missing daughter of His Grace the Duke of Dawcaster?” Bondeville began.

  Grey nodded. “Almost the moment she disappeared. I dare say the entire country heard of it.”

  “And you know very well of the duke’s failing health?”

  Again Grey nodded.

  “Well, I’ve come because there was a report only two days ago that the young woman was seen in the area between Lochson and Calgar.”

  This revelation caught Grey's full attention, quite shocked that the missing lady might have been seen after so long a time without any trace and in his own region. “And who was this report from?” he questioned.

  “Ah, you are surprised, as was I. Apparently someone saw her just outside the Lochson village. I know not how reliable this source is as the news was brought to me by one of the farmers who insisted he had laid eyes on her. I, of course, set out to tell you the tale so that you might encourage those in this area to be on the lookout.”

  Grey’s frown deepened. “I had a visit from Lord Alexander yesterday asking for men to aid in the search.”

  Bondeville raised his eyebrow. “I take it you refused?”

  “I did. I have hardly any notion of helping that man accomplish anything.”

  “I understand you. Alexander Vastel is as egotistical and garish as they come, but for the good of Covingdell, the lady must be found, and now that she has been seen, I daresay she will be if Lord Alex has anything to do about it.”

  Grey huffed. “Indeed.”

  “You think Alexandder Vastel is not in a hurry to discover his niece?” Bondeville deducted.

  “Were I in his position, being the sort of man he is, I surely would be in no hurry. I harbor my own doubts that he is completely innocent of her disappearance.”

  “Indeed? You believe him the source of it?” the earl sounded surprised.

  “What I believe is hardly significant. The welfare of Covingdell is in the hands of the duke, and I have nothing to say in regards to it. I am not His Grace.”

  “Nor am I, but the welfare of his province could very well effect those of us in surrounding areas
. Should Lord Alex become duke—”

  “Yes, yes, should Lord Alex become duke, Covingdell would be doomed to his authority, but all of England is hardly going to desolation because of it. I dislike Alexander Vastel and have no intention of assisting him in any matter that concerns him, whether it be for his brother or no.”

  “But as you say, Lord Alex might not want Lady Eva discovered, so surely aiding in the search would prove his undoing.”

  Grey sighed at the older man’s pointed statement. “You are right of course, but when Alexander showed up at my door quite unexpectedly yesterday, demanding that I assist him in the hunt for his niece, I found it quite odd that he suddenly, after three months, decided my help was invaluable to him.”

  Lord Bondeville shrugged. “Perhaps he heard that she had been seen in this area?”

  “Perhaps. But then why did he not say as much?”

  The earl’s brow furrowed. “What are you saying, Grey?”

  “I am saying that I believe for one reason or another he did not want me to know she had been seen near here.”

  Bondeville frowned questioningly. “But why not? Why should it matter to him?”

  Grey shrugged a bit. “Perhaps he did not want to tell me that he knew in which county she could be located. Perhaps he did not want me to know how close she was seen to Wynthall.”

  “I know of it,” said Bondeville, “Where is the harm in that?”

  Grey drummed his fingers on the desk as his mind turned. “You learned it from a man in Lochson. Perhaps Lord Alex’s source was not so innocent?”

  Bondeville frowned all the more. “I do not understand you, Grey. What do you suspect him of beyond not conducting a diligent search?”

  The baron shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Alexander Vastel is a crafty, underhanded sort, Bond. I suspect him of nothing less than doing everything within his power to gain his brother’s title.”