Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy

by Brianne E Pryor

  ~ 19 ~

  A rush of wind from the riverbed overtook the baron and duchess, extinguishing the lamp and plummeting the two into darkness as clouds moved to cover the moon’s dim light. Grey felt Eva’s hand tighten and her body hunch against the wind. Pulling his arm away for but a moment, he reached to unlatch his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, blocking the wind from her chilled core. Then he guided them both through the trees to the servant’s door, opening it wide so that they might step into the house kitchen, where a small bit of warmth from the day’s work still lingered. “Watch your step,” Grey whispered as they began to ascend the few stairs into the corridor leading to the great hall where a single lamp burned continuously.

  As they approached the staircase to the second level, Eva looked again to Grey’s shadowed face, examining it thoughtfully, wondering what more he might have revealed to her had the wind and sudden smothering of the lamp not quieted him. Without a sound to be heard by the slumbering servants, the two climbed the stairs to the upper hall, darker still than the one below and void of any movement from their inmates. Eva walked behind Grey as he lit the way toward the Orange Room, his cloak still wrapped around her shoulders, which she clutched to her against the draft of the old manor. Silently they weaved their way to the gallery, where they approached the lady’s bedchamber to which Grey opened the door.

  “Do you still entertain the idea of departing soon for Covingdell, my lady?” his voice broke the comfortable silence which had fallen between them.

  Eva nodded, pulling the baron’s cloak from around her. “I do. I must.”

  “Then I shall accompany you,” Grey insisted as he took the garment from her outstretched hand.

  “You are very kind, Lord de Grey. I would appreciate the company. And I hope you will allow me to apologize for the way you were treated by my uncle.”

  “It was not your doing, you needn’t make apologies. Had I been able to discern his character more efficiently, then none of it would have come about as it did.”

  Eva stepped foot into her room, shaking her head all the while, “You cannot blame yourself, you were a child in need of attention. We are none of us born perfect, Lord de Grey.”

  Eva was surprised to see the corner of the baron’s habitual frown turn up a bit. “I suppose you are right, my lady.”

  A silence fell between them for but a moment before Eva spoke again. “Thank you for accompanying me back to the house, sir. Yet another favor for which I am indebted to you.”

  “You are welcome to my favors, Lady Eva. You owe me nothing for them.” Grey bowed to the duke’s daughter and they whispered their good nights before turning their separate ways.

  Grey closed the door to his room now completely darkened by the loss of the moon outside his window. With exhaustion sweeping over him, once again he found himself making his way to the bed, which had only minutes before forbidden him from lying down. Now he pushed all hesitation away to sit himself on its edge where he removed his boots before falling back into the inviting sheets and closing his eyes, feeling sleep overcome him.

  *****

  “My lord? My lord?” Grey heard first his butler calling him from afar and then nearer as his mind began to awaken. He felt the sheets beneath his head and saw the bit of light from a crack in the drapery as his eyes fluttered open. To his utmost surprise, he found himself sprawled over his own bed, his body relaxed and rested from having slept through the remainder of the night and into the late morning.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but it is growing very late, sir. Merek and I were beginning to worry.”

  Grey breathed deeply as he sat up, rubbing the fog from his eyes so that he might look upon not only Byrum but Merek as well, both men standing at the foot of the large bed with concerned, inquiring eyes. “What time is it?” Grey mumbled as his eyes focused on his butler and valet.

  “It is almost ten o’clock, Lord de Grey,” Merek answered. “And you’ve a meeting with Sir Walter at eleven.”

  “Ten o’clock?”

  “Yes, my lord, are you quite well, sir?” Byrum asked.

  “Yes I am perfectly well.” Grey frowned, riddled with confusion, realizing he had passed such a long sleep in peace without a single vision of his plaguing memories. “I did not dream,” he spoke aloud, his groggy mind still unable to fathom such a concept after twelve years of not having passed a night without days once gone returning.

  “That is very good news, my lord!” Byrum exclaimed with elation.

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “I am sorry we awoke you from such a rewarding sleep, my lord,” Merek apologized, preparing himself for his master’s ridicule.

  To his surprise however, Grey only shook his head. “It is of no matter,” the baron assured as he stood from his bed. “How does our guest do this morning?”

  “She is well, my lord,” Byrum answered as Merek poured clean water into the basin for his master to wash. “I do believe she is recovering well from her illness. She and Mrs. Byrum are in the gardens again this morning.”

  Grey nodded as he splashed the water onto his face, allowing it to cool him before taking the towel from Merek’s hand. As he dried, Grey did not miss the glance, which passed between his butler and valet before Byrum said, “That is all, Merek, excuse his lordship and I.”

  Merek turned to Grey for permission and the baron nodded, looking questioningly to Byrum. “Well, what is it?” he demanded as soon as the door was closed.

  “My lord, may I ask what you intend to do with Her Grace the Duchess?”

  Grey set the towel aside and began to unbutton his shirt cuffs. “I intend to do nothing with her. It is her choice whether to stay in safety or return to Lord Alex.”

  “But she cannot be kept here, my lord.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because if she is found here after having been missing for three months, there will be a great scandal, my lord. The name of Vastel will be ruined, as will your own.”

  “Then we shall take great pains to ensure she is not found here until she decides her own fate. I shall not be the one to return her to the hands of Alexander Vastel.”

  “I understand your feelings, my lord, but—”

  “There will be no more talk of it, Byrum. She has said that unless her uncle can be proven guilty, she will return to Covingdell.”

  “But what if her uncle discovers her here before that decision is made, my lord?”

  Grey pulled his shirt over his head and cast it aside. “Then he shall no doubt challenge me and I shall have the great pleasure of running him through.”

  “Lord de Grey, you must not talk so,” Byrum objected. “I know your feelings for the man, but he is Alexander Vastel.”

  “Yes, Alexander Vastel,” Grey spat the name with bitterness. “But it was he who caused my torment and ruined any chance of my happiness, and I shall see him on the end of my sword yet. Now fetch Merek back to acquire me a wardrobe.”

  Byrum bowed, knowing the conversation was ended. “Will you take breakfast this morning, my lord?”

  “No, I shall not,” Grey refused.

  “Please, my lord, it’s been too long since your last meal.” Byrum pressed the matter and awaited Grey’s scolding. The baron, however, cast him only an annoyed glance before giving in to his request. “Fine then, bring something to the library later.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The butler bowed and quit the room, quite overcome with joy to have found his master so rested and seemingly eased.

  After Grey was fully dressed and pulling on his boots, Merek inquired if there was anything else his master desired. The baron shook his head as he stood from his chair, pulling straight his vest of black and gray silk. “No, nothing else.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Merek bowed before his exit, leaving Grey to dawn his coat before venturing into the upper hall toward the front entrance. As he moved through the maze of the old manor, it was not the words of his butler which lingered with him but the misunder
standing of his night passed so restfully. He could not deduce what manner of his behavior the previous day might have alleviated the nightmare he had endured each time he allowed slumber to overtake him. Perhaps it had been the previous night passed by the gravestone? Or the walk back from the parish church with Lady Eva in the wee hours of the morning? Or perhaps you are forgetting, James. His mind burdened him. Perhaps it has been so long, you are forgetting her. This thought struck the baron with a violent blow. Could he really forget after a decade of unyielding grief? Could that have been why he did not dream? Because after nearly twelve years his heart was healing? Your heart no longer exists to be healed! he scolded. Were it not for you she might have lived a full and decent life. You have no right to forget her!

  Reaching the great hall Grey opened the front door and stepped out onto the grounds, beginning toward the side of the house where his gardens extended to the north. Do you dare wish all her memory to be forgotten forever, James? His mind continued to reprimand him. When you were the one to put her in the grave as if you killed her yourself? You have no right to forget—no right to be freed from the nightmares! Had it not been for you, she might be by your side now. Grey closed his eyes against his own ridicule, searching his mind for the image of her face to ensure he had not forgotten it. As he approached the path throughout the rock walls and flowerbeds, he saw it, a perfect picture in his mind, an exact image of her frame moving about her favorite spot in his father’s gardens. Her long blond hair, like the sand after the receding tide and her eyes a smooth brown filled with an emotion no human had ever had for him.

  For a moment, he could feel her hand in his, pulling him along the paths through the gardens. He could hear her voice so gentle and yet filled with a happiness he had only known when in her presence. “Why do you linger so, James? He head her voice. Come! There is an orchid!” Her smile had been so full, so wide with joy, as she bent to pluck the small flower from where it grew next to one of the garden walls. Still he could picture her, see her every feature as though she stood before him, but then it all melted away; in a moment her face morphed into new features not her own, her eyes now blue and hair a golden blond, her figure someone different yet much the same, and Grey realized who it was he now saw in his daydream.

  Ridding his mind of the image, he once again laid eyes on the empty garden path. You are forgetting her! He berated as anger and resentment of his own self took hold of him. He had no right to forget, no right to imagine he might be granted happiness when his heart and soul no longer existed. When he, too, had been buried in the very grave in which lay the being whose memory haunted him and yet gave him life.

  “Good morning, Lord de Grey.” The greeting drew Grey’s wandering eyes further down the dirt path to the spot where he and the Lady Eva had met the previous morning, the center of the garden beneath the willow tree. Walking down the path toward him was the image he had seen only moments before, the face that had taken place of the one his mind longed to picture. Her hair was curled behind her head in a mass of golden ringlets, a few falling to frame her face and cover slightly the fading bruises along her cheek. The lady's blue eyes met his and he began to forget his plaguing thoughts. “Good morning, my lady.”

  “I do apologize again for worrying you with my midnight prowling, my lord,” the lady spoke remorsefully. “I did not know anyone was awake to see me.”

  “It was no worry, Lady Eva,” Grey assured. “It is I who should apologize to you for the disruption of your privacy.”

  “Oh no, you needn’t be sorry. It was foolish of me to venture out at such an hour on my own. I was thankful for your company.”

  “I am thankful I might have aided you, my lady.”

  As a silence fell, Mrs. Byrum approached with an armful of primrose, iris, and bluebell. She smiled and curtsied upon seeing the master of the house. “Good morning, my lord.”

  “Mrs. Byrum.”

  “I hope you passed a peaceful night, sir.”

  “I did, thank you.”

  “Good, good. If you will excuse me, my lady, I shall put these flowers in some water.”

  “Of course, thank you, Mrs. Byrum.”

  As the elderly housekeeper parted their company, Grey inquired of Eva, “If you are finished with your walk, my lady, I would like to speak with you in the library.”

  Eva nodded. “Of course. Let me fetch my shawl from the bench.” Grey followed her to the end of the path where the hanging branches of the willow tree shaded the small iron bench beneath. Again his eyes inadvertently searched the base of the old tree for the markings he had failed to find the day before, but they were no longer in the place they had once been, or they had been healed over with new wood and bark. “It is such a lovely spot, Lord de Grey,” Eva commented, lifting her shawl from where it lay draped over the bench.

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “I found something most peculiar when I was seated here earlier. An engraving I believe.”

  Grey turned his eyes toward her curiously, feeling his heart begin to fill with anticipation. “Where?”

  Eva bent beneath the leaves of the willow to run her hand along its smooth bark just under a rather stout limb until she felt her fingertips touch the spot. “Here,” she said. “But I cannot make out what it was intended. A marking of some kind perhaps.” Eva moved aside as the baron took her place, running his hand over the faded mark of what he knew had once been a name, now so grown together it was indistinguishable. “It is a name,” he said as his mind was again swept away.

  “A name? Whose do you think?”

  A slight smile tugged on the corner of Grey’s lips as he beheld the marking and recalled the day, the very moment in which he himself had carved into the trunk of the tree. “Dahlia,” he answered the duchess’s question without hesitation. “It is Dahlia’s name.”

  “You mean the girl whom you told me of last night?” Eva asked, watching the baron from behind as his eyes would not seem to move from the engraving. “The one whom you rescued from my uncle?”

  Eva’s words drew Grey back from his dreaming yet again. Turning to look at her through the willow branches, he nodded, his eyes growing dim as the memory faded away. “Yes.”

  Eva looked passed Grey to the name engraved into the bark, hardly visible after more than twelve years. “Did she put it there?”

  Grey shook his head as he moved from beneath the tree. “No, no, it was I who put it there. She wanted to see her name written for she never had before.”

  The duchess looked up at Grey, her eyes seemingly searching his for the answer to a question she somehow knew dare not be asked. “It must have been a long time ago, my lord.”

  Grey nodded. “It was a very long time ago. I had forgotten it was here until yesterday.”

  “Was she glad to see her name?”

  Again a small smile uprooted Grey’s infinite frown. “She was very glad.”

  Eva smiled and turned toward the house. “Shall we go in, Lord de Grey?”

  The baron gestured down the path and followed Lady Eva through the maze of gardens toward the front entrance. “I want to thank you again for your kindness toward me, my lord,” Eva spoke as they journeyed at a slow pace. “Despite what you say I owe you my life.”

  “Pray do not think that you are indebted to me, my lady. Anyone who came upon you in such a state would have done the same.”

  “Even after I willfully and rather harshly urged them against it?” Eva’s face had become sullen as she recalled the first words she had spoken to the baron.

  “You were ill, my lady, not in your right mind.”

  “But I was in my right mind, Lord de Grey. I knew exactly what I was saying and desired the outcome of being left on the road alone. Thanks be to God that you did not see it so.”

  “I certainly could not have left you to die, Lady Eva,” Grey answered. “I do suppose we each have a time when our lives seem not worth living, but you are very young and have many years to make right anything that might
have been wrong that night on the road.”

  “Yet I shall not make it right, shall I? I shall give in to my uncle’s greediness and pray the man who took me will not come again.”

  Grey shook his head. “We will find another way, my lady. There can not only be the one.”

  “There is, I fear. But even the prospect of submitting to my uncle is better than having died alone on that road. I see that more clearly now than I did then. For that I owe you a great deal of gratitude no matter what you may say.”

  Grey opened his mouth to reply but was cut short by the sudden sound of irate voices proceeding from the front of the manor. With a look of annoyance crossing his expression, Grey quickened his pace to the front lawn with Eva in step behind him, intent on discovering the source of such a disruption. As he rounded the corner, however, he stopped abruptly and a moment later had pushed Eva back out of sight of the men who argued by the front doors. “Lord de Grey, what—”

  “Stay silent!” he urged in a whisper. “It is Lord Alex!”

  ~ 20 ~

  Eva’s hand flew to her mouth as she backed further into the concealment of the manor, her eyes wide with fear upon hearing her uncle’s enraged censure. “He must not find me here, my lord!” she cried, her exclamation barely audible.

  “Go round to the back of the house and in through the servant’s entrance,” Grey instructed. “Stay in the kitchen until I come for you.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Get rid of him. Now go and do not make a sound.” With a vigorous nod, Eva hurried away toward the back of the house. Grey watched her until she was out of sight and then turned to stride into the midst of the quarrel.

  “My lord, I mean no disrespect but I cannot violate my master’s orders,” Byrum was saying as the baron rounded the corner of the house.

  “What is the meaning of this unruly disruption of my morning?” Grey’s presence fell over the lawn as his voice broke into that of his butler’s.