A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (35 page)

The undertaker, Mr. Giles Brookes, had been sent for. He was in Manchester, and it would be several hours before he could arrive. Already the staff had begun draping Mrs. Trent’s parlor in black bombazine, although Nathaniel doubted many visitors would come to pay their respects.

Nathaniel retreated to his office, adjusting the black mourning band around his arm. Since the day he had learned of his true parentage and that he would inherit land, he had thought of little else. But he did not expect to feel so affected by it.

Melancholy washed over him. The fact that he was obtaining his birthright by the death of another made him uneasy. Her final words to him echoed in his mind.

I
apologize.

He had poured his life into Willowgrove. His very soul into the daily intricacies of running an estate—both the main house and overseeing the tenants. Willowgrove was as much a part of him as the air he breathed. It ran thick in his blood, given to him by both his biological father and the father who raised him. He had friendships. Alliances. History. With the exception of Miss Faire,
Mrs. Trent was taking the truth about him to her grave. He was free now.

Or was he?

He had read the will when Mr. Trent died. It had been subtle, but clear. The wording had been carefully crafted by Mr. Trent himself and gave no indication that he was Mr. Trent’s son, thereby protecting his mother and sisters. It simply left Lockbourne to his trusted steward upon his wife’s death.

Now he could openly prepare to leave Willowgrove and begin a new life at Lockbourne. He had anticipated this day. He had always imagined his sisters and mother would accompany him. But now Rebecca was pledged to another. She would not be leaving. Would his mother choose to stay with her eldest daughter?

He moved to the locked trunk and removed the box containing the will. It had been housed here, untouched, since Mr. Trent’s death.

Mr. Moreton would be coming to Nathaniel’s office momentarily, no doubt, to confirm what everyone knew to be true . . . that he would be the new master of Willowgrove, as well as all of the land and businesses associated with it. There were other matters to tend to, such as personal gifts for the longstanding servants, items that were to be sent. But for the most part, everything would remain the same at Willowgrove, unless Moreton should choose to make changes, and all would belong to Moreton and any sons he may one day have.

The only surprise to Moreton would be that Lockbourne was coming to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel did not have to wait long, for not fifteen minutes had passed when Moreton came in the door without knocking.

If Moreton had been pretending sorrow at his aunt’s passing, he knew better than for such charades with Nathaniel. He entered the steward’s office clad in black, his expression stern.

Nathaniel reached for the box. “I can guess what you’ve come for.”

Nathaniel pulled a small key from his desk, unlocked the box containing the will, and lifted the folded parchment. “Effective today, legally, you are the master of Willowgrove Hall and all that goes with it. And I congratulate you. You will find everything else in here.”

Andrew took the will, gave a crooked smile, and stepped over to the light filtering through the window.

Nathaniel studied the inlay of his desk, waiting. He knew Andrew’s main interest was the building and the estate itself. He doubted that he was even aware of the land to the north.

“Oh.”

Nathaniel lifted his head but said nothing.

“It appears that a bit of land is being left to the steward on record and a few other things.” Moreton pinned him with a pointed stare. “But I daresay you were already aware of this fact.”

There was no need to hide anything. No need for pretense. For he had done nothing wrong. Undoubtedly such an inheritance might raise an eyebrow or two, but Nathaniel did not care. “Yes, I am.”

Moreton lowered the will, stepped away from the window, and handed it back to Nathaniel. “It appears my uncle thought very highly of your father.”

Nathaniel took the will and folded it neatly, then placed it back in the box.

“Well then, I suppose congratulations are in order. Does this mean you will be leaving Willowgrove?”

“Only once a suitable replacement can be found.”

“Waiting for a replacement. That is very noble of you.”

The tone with which the words were spoken irked Nathaniel.

Moreton, young and unobservant, probably had little knowledge
of what it was that Nathaniel actually tended to on a daily basis. And in that moment, even though it was not recognized, Nathaniel felt pride in what he did. Most estates this size would have a house steward and a land steward. He had successfully overseen both. He would like nothing more than to leave the pretentious twit out on his ear, but he cared too much about the work he had spent his life doing. About the people who had worked alongside him. And yes, oddly enough, even about the memory of Mrs. Trent.

“I have a responsibility to Willowgrove,” Nathaniel stated. “And I will see it through.”

He knew Moreton to be prideful and half expected him to relieve him from his duties on the spot. But instead, the younger man pushed his fingers through his hair and nodded. “Thank you.”

Moreton headed toward the door but then stopped. “Will you see that the other servants are notified of anything that may have been left to them?”

Nathaniel nodded. That would be one task he would find great pleasure in doing. “Of course.”

32

N
athaniel closed the ledger and extinguished the candle on his desk. He yawned, adjusted his cravat, folded his arms over his chest, and sighed.

He dragged his hands over his face, then pushed himself back against the chair. The weight of grief pulled on him. Never had he thought he would be so affected by Mrs. Trent’s passing. He wanted to go home to Laurel Cottage. Go someplace light and happy. He’d seen death before. Whether it was someone as close to him as his own father or a stranger, it was always hard.

He checked his timepiece. Again. He had asked Miss Faire to come by the office, and she hadn’t. He had things he needed to give to her, provisions from Mrs. Trent. These were important, but there was another matter entirely that he needed to discuss with her.

He thought again, for the thousandth time, of their stolen moment in the corridor earlier that day. It had started out as an innocent gesture that turned into the moment that he was certain he would always look back on as a turning point. Miss Faire
had been grieving. But there was something else that transpired between them in that silent corridor. He had never held a woman in his arms in such a manner. The memory of the softness of her, the tickle of her hair as she tucked her head beneath his chin, the warmth of her hand on his chest—all threatened to undo him.

And what’s more, he trusted her. The realization pulsed through him, urging him, pushing him. She knew the truth about him. It did not faze her or shock her.

His plans to reestablish Lockbourne as a thriving estate had never been in doubt. And he had always planned to do it as an unmarried, untethered man. But now he knew . . . it would all be worthless without Miss Faire.

He gathered his things and tucked them in his satchel, imagining their future spreading before him. But as he reached for his hat, he saw Miss Faire from the window. She was walking to the east garden. She had changed into a gown of dark gray or black, making her skin appear even paler. Her head was uncovered, unusual for this time of day. Energy surged through him. He knew what he wanted and he needed to tell her. He flung the satchel over his shoulder, grabbed the letter and pouch given to him by Mrs. Trent, and hurried from Willowgrove’s tradesmen’s entrance, taking the steps two at a time. The grounds were more active than the average late afternoon. He jogged around the east drive and crossed the lawn. “Miss Faire!” he called. “Please wait.”

When Miss Faire noticed him, she stopped short. The wind had pulled her hair free, and long, auburn tendrils flew about her face. The breeze tugged at the charcoal dress, highlighting her form. As he drew closer, her eyes glowed red with tears. The sight slowed him.

He stopped a few feet from her. Now that he was here, so close to her, he was not sure what to say. He glanced upward to the sky thickening with late clouds. “You should be inside. It looks like rain may be coming.”

Miss Faire only nodded.

Her silence was unnerving.

“I-I saw you from the window and thought I might catch you. You never came by the office today.”

“I apologize.” Her voice was weak. “I had things to attend to. The hours slipped by.”

He pulled the letter from his waistcoat. “I have something for you.” He pulled the letter from his coat. “Mrs. Trent wanted me to give this to you . . . in the event of her death.”

Miss Faire flipped the letter and read the inscription. “This is not her writing.”

“No, ’tis mine. Mrs. Trent spoke it and I captured it on paper. She did not want to ask you to do such a task, and Clarkson’s hand is such that she can barely write anymore.”

“May I ask what it is?”

“It is a letter of recommendation. She knew you had plans to look for your sister, but she wanted to make sure you were able to get a good post. She also wanted you to have this.” He retrieved the small velvet pouch from his coat.

The coins jingled as he transferred it to her outstretched palm.

Once Miss Faire realized the pouch contained money, she shook her head and tried to give it back to him. “No. This is not necessary. I cannot take this.”

“Take it, Miss Faire.” He gently pushed her hand away. “It will do much better in your control than leaving it here.”

She looked down at the small purse. “Mrs. Trent was a very generous woman. I am sure it will help me in my transition.”

The word “transition” caught him off guard.

He licked his lips and shifted his weight.

But even as he planned what to say next, she brushed her hair from her face. “I can hardly believe she is gone.”

He thought he noticed her chin tremble. How he yearned to
ease her pain. His arms ached to pull her into his embrace once again, to soothe away the day’s grief.

But she jutted her chin into the air. “I wanted to tell you again how grateful I am to you and your family. Rebecca and Charlotte were by to see me earlier today. I do not know what I would have done without the kindness your family has shown me. Seeing your sisters today, however, reminded me I ache to see mine.”

He leaned close to avoid being overheard by two passing stable boys. “I take it you have not heard back from any of the addresses Mr. McGovern sent you?”

She shook her head. “But I did receive a letter from an old friend indicating that Leah is in Manchester.”

He did not like where this conversation was going. Manchester was hardly a place for her. She was independent, but also headstrong. Going there alone would be insanity. “You must let me help you.”

“I cannot impose any longer.”

“It is not an imposition.”

She drew a shaky breath, her words growing more pointed. “This is something I must do on my own.”

“Why must you? You need not do everything alone.”

Miss Faire looked slightly offended. “I know that there have been times since my arrival that could make you doubt it, but I really am quite capable.”

“Of course you are capable. No woman could be more so. It is your safety I am concerned with.”

“Leah is all I have left. You must understand.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “She is not all you have.”

At the words, her eyes fixed on him, her expression brimming with questions. He realized what he had let slip. He quickly backtracked. “That is to say, there is no need for you to continue alone.”

She lifted the letter and the pouch in her hand. “You asked me about my past before, Mr. Stanton, and I would not tell you anything of significance. But now, especially since I know so much of your own history, I feel it only fair that you should be apprised of mine. I am not who you think I am, not exactly.”

She waited for a footman to pass the far side of the yard before continuing. “I mean no disrespect, but your situation was not of your own making. You were a victim of circumstance. But I-I have made mistakes and decisions that affected my entire family, and they will haunt me until I make them right. And that starts with finding my sister.”

“I know you are responsible for Mrs. Trent’s apology to me. I appreciated it. I didn’t realize that I needed to hear it. But you must trust me. It is your turn for people to be there for you.”

How arrogant he must sound. What right did he have to know anything about her? And to his knowledge, she had never asked to know anything about him. It had all been handed to her, whether or not she had any interest. He studied her, from the twitch in her cheek to the wince of her eye. Had he gone too far?

“This has been a difficult week, one that has tried me beyond . . .” Miss Faire’s words faded, and then she paused, as if selecting another direction for the conversation. “We must each of us look to the future.”