Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy

by Brianne E Pryor

  Grey inhaled suddenly and sat up with a surprised cry, disoriented from the transition. “My lord, are you all right?” Byrum asked while Grey regained his senses and buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the desk, his heart racing. “It was only a dream, my lord,” his butler tried to reassure the baron though to no avail.

  In a rage, Grey stood from his seat, the chair nearly toppling behind him, and with an angry cry, his hand crashed into a porcelain vase that sat atop the desk and soon fell to the floor where it shattered into pieces. “My lord, please. It was only a dream, sir.”

  Grey turned to face his butler, his enraged expression creased with emotions. “How dare you say it was only a dream,” he barked. “It was and is my entire life that returns to torture me each time I close my eyes! It turns me into this man I do not know and haunts me until I believe there is no escape! It is many things, Byrum, but an illusion it is not!” Grey’s hand gripped mussed hair, his heart beginning to slow. “It will drive me closer and closer to my grave until I put myself there. I wish even now I was there.”

  Byrum stood in disheartened silence, not knowing how to respond if indeed there were any words to be said. He had known for twelve years that the master of the house hated his very existence, but to hear it from his own mouth disturbed the man. And even more so in knowing that he could do nothing to lessen his suffering.

  Grey sighed and shook his head, dejection overcoming rage, “What is it you wanted, Byrum?” his inquired wearily.

  “There is a man outside, my lord,” his butler answered. “He says he has come from Covingdell at the request of Lord Alexander to convey a message from His Grace’s brother.”

  Grey huffed. “And what is this message then?”

  “He said he would tell only you, my lord.”

  “I told you I did not want to have anything to do with Alexander Vastel, and that includes all messengers he sends,” Grey snapped irritably.

  “I know, my lord, but I fear he may bring news of His Grace the Duke.”

  “You feared the very same yesterday when Lord Alex arrived and the visit had little—if anything—to do with the duke. I say, man, have you any judgment?”

  “Forgive me, my lord. Shall I send the man away?”

  Grey sighed and shook his head. “No you shall not. Where have you put him?”

  “He is still on the front lawn, my lord.”

  Without another word, Grey strode passed his butler and out the library door, bound for the manor's font where he soon found Lord Alexander’s messenger awaiting him just outside the door.

  “Lord de Grey,” the young man bowed his head in greeting to which Grey offered a stiff nod in response.

  “Now that your master has succeeded in disturbing my morning, tell me what it is worthy of such urgency.”

  “It is His Grace the Duke, my lord. He had another episode of the heart in the night and to our great sorrow never awoke. He is dead, sir.”

  Grey’s frown deepened as he heard the words he had known were soon to come and the fact troubled him greatly. “I am truly sorry,” he expressed his remorse. “The death of one such as he is indeed a grievous event.”

  “Indeed it is, my lord. Lord Alex sends me to beg once more for your immediate assistance in locating the missing Lady Eva. Time is of the essence now more than ever. She must be found.”

  Grey pursed his lips while his mind once again fought the battle between helping Alexander Vastel, whose motives were questionable, and leaving him to his own troubles as was the baron’s first instinct. Grey could not help but feel certain that Lord Alex should be in no hurry to locate his niece and wondered why he seemed to be searching so diligently for her when it was he whom Grey suspected of having done away with the girl. The baron could not help but feel as though Alexander Vastel’s motives were not so honorable as he made them out to be. “May I ask why Lord Alex seems so desperate for the return of his niece?”

  The messenger frowned, quite perplexed by Grey’s inquiry. “My lord?”

  “It seems to me that of all people his lordship would be the last to desire the discovery of his niece when he is now ensured the title of her father.”

  “My lord, Lord Alex is not the sort of man to—”

  “Never mind what sort of man Lord Alex is,” Grey interrupted. “You may tell him that I will do what I find best for my region.”

  “And that would be, my lord?”

  “That will be all.”

  “But, Lord de Grey—”

  “Need I repeat myself, sir?”

  With pursed lips and a curt bow, the messenger said no more and urged his mount forward, knowing the discourse was finished. Grey watched after him until the gate was shut, and then he turned to reenter the house, only then catching sight of a swaying curtain above him, within one of the bedroom windows high upon the rock wall. With curiosity overtaking him and a need to protect Wynthall foremost in his mind, Grey continued inside determined to find out the truth before it was too late.

  ~ 10 ~

  Reaching the library once more, Grey pulled the bell for Merek, and in a moment, his valet was present. Grey pursed his lips for a moment, still unsure of what he intended to do but certain that whatever it was he must act, and soon. “I’ve just had a message from Covingdell Castle,” Grey began soberly. “His Grace the Duke is dead.”

  Merek instantly frowned. “A grievous message indeed, my lord.”

  “Yes. I want you to inform the magistrate in Calgar to make an announcement and then have our condolences sent to Covingdell Castle. I shall all there myself in a week.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And I promised I would have those in Calgar alerted to the missing state of the Lady Eva and ask that they be vigilant in their daily duties.”

  “Yes, my lord. I shall inform the magistrate to relay your messages. Anything else, my lord?”

  Grey paused for a moment’s thought then nodded. “I want to speak with the girl as soon as possible. Bring her here at once if she is able.”

  “Yes, my lord. I shall send for her at once.” His valet left the room to fetch their mysterious guest, and Grey began to rehearse in his mind what he might say to her and how he planned to draw her out of the hiding place in which she seemed so determined to remain. Seated at his desk, leaning back in his favorite chair with his fingers intertwined, Grey began to imagine all scenarios which might arise as he confronted her. Would she cower even more to herself? Would she lash out with a hidden violence? Would she crumple under his inquiries like every other member of the province surely would? If there was one thing he did know, Grey was certain that she had not been so silent all that while only to freely give away who she truly was to anyone, including him.

  Several minutes passed before the library door was opened and Merek stepped aside to allow her who accompanied him to enter. In a moment, Grey was again looking into the oceanic blue of the woman’s eyes as she chanced a glance at the master of the house before moving her gaze back to the wood-lined floor. Her unpinned hair framed her bowed head and flowed like silk about her small frame, contrasting greatly with the black frock she still wore from their meeting that night in the upper hall. Grey examined her form, scrutinizing her timid figure before turning to his valet who still stood in the open door. “Leave us.”

  Bowing, the man quit the room, leaving his master and the mysterious guest alone. For a moment Grey watched her in silence, not raising her eyes to meet his or making the slightest move, not even a mere twitch to discern whether she were human or a statue cast in iron. Again, he realized, she was afraid, though he could not know whether it was he himself who frightened her or the thought of what he might unearth. “Pray be seated, madam,” Grey spoke, gesturing to the chair opposite him where Lord Bondeville had sat not long before. The young woman's glance moved to the chair, and then slowly she followed his instruction and seated herself carefully, her ridged posture still unmoving, her eyes finding great interest in her hands, which la
y on her lap.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you,” Grey spoke again, “but I believe we have much to discuss.” The baron expected her now to look up and meet his stare though she lacked any response. “Come now, as I have said, you need not hide your voice from me for I have heard it many times, have I not?”

  Only now did she nod uttering a very quiet murmur in agreement. “Yes, my lord.” Her voice was soft, still slightly strained and yet almost melodic when it passed her lips.

  “Then may I expect an honest reply when asking questions to which my servants seem unable to attain the answers?”

  The moment seemed as long as any one he had ever passed, Grey thought, but finally she spoke again, though it was hardly the answer he had anticipated. “May I ask you a question, my lord?”

  Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Grey gestured for her to continue. “Certainly.”

  It was then that he saw her eyes again as she looked up from her hands to examine his face for sincerity before she put her question to him, her voice steady however small. “Why did you not tell them that I had spoken to you, my lord?”

  “My servants you mean?”

  The young woman nodded, still gazing at him questioningly, in want of an honest answer.

  “I did not tell them partially because I did not know what good it would have done and partially because I knew if you concealed your voice, you must have a reason behind such a concealment,” the baron answered in earnest before adding more cautiously, “You have, have you not?”

  Again, her eyes fell away from his face, her hands beginning to fidget as she grew nervous at the inquiry.

  “Come now, I answered your question. Would it not now be a part of the bargain for you to answer mine?” This time, however, Grey received not a word from the girl, who ducked her head even more in an attempt to escape his unwavering stare. “Silence will no longer aid you, madam,” Grey warned. “It may work with my staff but not with me. Surely whatever it is you are hiding cannot be as bad as this.”

  “I am hiding nothing, my lord.”

  The girl’s answer caused Grey to huff. “No? Then pray tell me why you insist upon this stubborn silence?”

  “I insist upon nothing. I only wish to be allowed to leave.”

  “Of course. Have you a place you wish to be taken? Your home perhaps?”

  At this the young woman only shook her head.

  “Do you have anyone you wish me to send for then?”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “Then it is just as I said last night, you shall not leave when you are still unwell and quite alone. You can hardly expect me to turn you out under the circumstances.”

  “You cannot keep me here.” Her quiet voice attempted sternness.

  “You are right, I cannot keep you here, but how long do you expect to last on the road between this house and the village? You will collapse before you are out of sight of the gate.”

  “I shall not, sir,” the girl insisted, her tone betraying her displeasure at his predictions. “Please, all shall be well if you let me leave.”

  “Why do you want to leave?” Grey asked. “Have the staff not treated you well? Have you not been comfortable?”

  “On the contrary, my lord.”

  “Then why?”

  “I—I do not wish to trespass on your kindness, sir.”

  “You said as much last night, but I daresay you are not believed, there must be another reason. Something having to do with your not being willing to disclose who you are perhaps?”

  “As I said, I am from a farm near Calgar.”

  “And we established that, in fact, you are not for your hands and speech betray you,” Grey countered. “You are of noble birth, madam, of that I am certain.”

  To this the young woman seemed to have no reply, allowing Grey to continue, hoping to draw her out further. “You are of noble birth, and for reasons of your own, you conceal not only your voice but your name as well. I am quite at a loss to know the meaning behind this and to know what it is I am supposed to do with you.”

  “Let me leave.” The woman’s voice was stern, though it was apparent that she tried to keep her displeasure to herself and not offend the master of the house.

  “You want me to turn you out onto the road with nothing?” Grey meant his question to dissuade her but it had quite the opposite effect.

  “Yes! That is exactly what I want.” With this plea, her imploring eyes met his again, a nearly desperate tint to their ocean blue.

  “You forget, madam, the state of being in which I found you. A misfortune that will most certainly befall you again if you leave before you are well and refuse to tell me where I might have you taken.”

  Upon speaking these words Grey was surprised to hear an astringent chuckle as the girl cast him a glance which he had yet to see on her delicate features, a look of anger mingled with bitter despair. “Misfortune indeed,” she spoke sourly, “I daresay, Lord de Grey, it was no misfortune that befell me that night you found me on the road. Were it not for you, I could have slipped into the only place I wanted to be and been free of this terrible world! I was most certainly not out of my senses when I asked you to leave me!” The girl of few words now spoke them shamelessly with thick emotion, looking at the baron with an inward despair and hatred for what he had done to save her. “I wish now more than ever that you had done as I asked.” Rising from the chair she turned away from him, her hand clapped tightly over her mouth to muffle a cry she feared she could not keep down.

  Grey sat in an astonished silence, watching her hunched shoulders tremble with each unsteady breath she drew, her words playing over in his mind. It was true that he had saved her despite her plea to be left. He knew all too well what she meant when speaking of being set free. He himself had wished the very thing each time he awakened from past days haunting his sleep. But despite his understanding of the way she now felt he did not regret anything he had done; he could not. Not knowing anything of her troubles, he knew that she could not have been left to die alone on the road. He could doom no one but himself to such a fate.

  Rising from his chair, Grey moved cautiously around the desk to stand behind the hunched frame of his guest who straightened when she sensed his presences. “F-forgive me, my lord,” her trembling voice was again hushed and timid, her small figure refusing to turn and face him. “I—I don’t know what came over me. I—”

  “My lady…” In a moment, all was plunged into silence, Grey’s bold address ringing out as a cry in the night. Though he could not be certain that his speculations were in the right, the simplest of words seemed to have a striking effect on the young woman who stood before him. Her body stiffened and her breathing halted. Her head turned ever so slightly so that she might capture him out of the corner of her eye but still hide her shocked expression. “W-what did you say?” her voice was a whisper so soft it was barely heard, as though she feared the answer to her own question.

  “You are her,” Grey accused, resolution in his sure voice. “You are the soon-to-be Duchess of Dawcaster for whom Alexander Vastel searches.”

  ~ 11 ~

  Again all was silent, the air tense and filled with unease. The woman stood frozen in place, only her mouth stuttering with lost words she could not appear to speak until she turned her back to him fully. “I—I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

  Grey shook his head in disbelief, unable to fully comprehend what he had just unearthed. “It is true, isn’t it?” He spoke this time knowingly, finally realizing that he had been in the right. “Madam, I beg you to be truthful for I know what I speak must not be a falsehood,” he implored.

  Shaking her head desperately, the girl tried to dissuade him. “Lord de Grey, please.”

  “I must know the truth, madam. The entire kingdom is searching for Lady Eva, and she must be found. If you are her, I must know this instant. I beg you!”

  A choked cry escaped the girl’s mouth as she buried her face in her hands.

 
“I’ve no wish to upset you, only to know if what I say is the truth.”

  “You’ve no right to ask me this!” she continued to try and evade him, but it was already too late. The truth was already known to him. All he now desired was for her to admit to it so that he might restore her to Covingdell. “My lady, you can hide this from me no longer. Tell me yourself that I am right, or I shall send for Lord Alex.”

  “No!” she cried out, whirling about to face him where her face, stained with tears, was no longer hidden. “I beg you, my lord, do not send for him!”

  “Then it is true. You are her?”

  With a defeated nod, the truth was finally disclosed. “Yes!” she exclaimed bitterly. “Yes, you are right! What you say is true. I am Eva Vastel!” Now she made no venture to conceal her cries. The young heiress' shoulders shook as she sobbed bitterly, her knees weakening, causing her fragile figure to sink to the ground where she continued to cry as though she had been stripped of her very soul. Grey stood by for a moment, unsure how to act. Cautiously he approached the lady and took a gentle hold on her shaking shoulders, rising her to her feet. Supporting the girl's frame as she continued to shed her tears, he led her back to the chair and helped the lady to sit.

  “The fault was all my own,” her voice cracked, struggling to breathe as her lungs begged for air. “I caused him so much worry and now he is dead! He is dead and I shall never see him again!”

  This exclamation brought on a fountain of tears leaving Grey to standby in helplessness, knowing that the poor girl referred then to her lost father. Despite his current dilemma, Grey found relief in that he was no longer without the knowledge which he had sought. Finally he knew the girl's true identity, and with that had come an intelligence for which many had long searched.

  All remained in the depths of a haunting silence, only the girl’s bitter cries could be heard, Grey searching every corner of his mind for correct words to speak to her.

  Knowing he must first calm her cries, Grey moved to the desk and retrieved a glass of water, which he had not yet touched, and knelt to place it in the lady’s hand. Wrapping her trembling fingers around it she began to sip the water carefully. As she finished her eyes, swollen and red, filled with fear and uncertainty, looked up to meet the baron, who knelt before her, both of their hands still wrapped around the glass. In a moment, he pulled it from her trembling grasp and set it aside, retrieving his handkerchief from his vest pocket, which he held out to her. Hesitantly she took it, her weeping beginning to lessen while she examined his face a second more before beginning to dab at her own, turning her head away from him in an attempt to wipe the wet stains from her cheeks.