B008AZB1XW EBOK (2 page)

“Well, it is home.”

“It was once.”

They lapsed into a tired, but comfortable, silence as they made their way through the darkness and early morning traffic. Elizabeth snuggled into Simon’s side and let her mind wander.

Simon’s life in England was a bit of a mystery to her. She knew he’d moved to America shortly after Oxford and that his parents had died in a car crash about fifteen years ago. He didn’t talk about them very often. Estranged in life and in death. Their passing meant that Grey Hall and the title of baronet was his. He seemed almost ashamed of both of them. If she’d been a Countess or something, she’d be counting all over the place. Or not. Class systems and titles weren’t something she understood. All she knew was that for Simon, going home meant visiting ghosts of a life he’d tried too hard to forget.

Between the cloud-like suspension of the Bentley and the warmth of Simon’s body, Elizabeth felt herself drifting on the edge of sleep. She tried to stay awake, but the next thing she remembered was Simon brushing back her hair and kissing her temple.

“Wake up, love. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Elizabeth sat up and rubbed her eyes. It took her a moment to shake the sleep from her brain. “Are we there?” All she could see outside the window was a big, dark hedge.

“Almost.” Simon got out and came around to her side of the car. “You don’t mind a bit of a walk, do you?”

Elizabeth shook her head and took Simon’s offered hand as she stepped out of the car. The cold morning air helped her shed the last remnants of sleep. She arched her back and stretched, admiring the enormous hedge that appeared to run the length of England.

“We’ll walk from here,” Simon told the driver. “Please take our bags up to the house.”

“Of course, Sir Simon,” acknowledged the driver, touching his cap.

After the car pulled away and disappeared down the lane, Simon took Elizabeth’s hand and led her to the other side of the road.

“Sir Simon,” Elizabeth said with a giggle. “That kills me.”

When they reached the far side of the road, her laughter died. Her breath caught in her chest. She’d heard of breathtaking, but this was the first time she’d actually experienced it. Grey Hall was breathtaking. Beneath the still-lifting fog of morning, gentle, rolling hills spread out as far as she could see. A blanket of lush pastures with small thickets of trees and hedges created a patchwork quilt of different shades of green. A grove of trees formed a crescent around the glassy water of a pond at the base of a grand sloping lawn. At the top of the lawn was a manor house right out of “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shaka Zulu,” Elizabeth muttered. “You really grew up here?” She wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming or not. This couldn’t be real. People, real people, didn’t live like this. Mr. Darcy lived like this. Royalty lived like this. Okay, maybe Madonna lived like this, but people she knew did not.

“I spent more time at school and Grandfather’s, but yes, I did. This is my favorite view. Close enough to see its charms and far enough away to be free of them.”

“Was it really so bad?”

Simon smiled and shrugged. “Is any childhood as terrible or as wonderful as we remember it to be?”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “There must be some good memories.”

“There are,” he conceded and then smiled down at her. “This will be one of them.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with such aching gentleness that she suddenly wondered if something was wrong.

“Are you ready?” he asked, making it sound as if they were about to storm the beaches of Normandy.

“I guess so.” Elizabeth nodded and Simon turned to face the road home.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chapter Two

Every muscle in Simon’s body tensed as they neared the house. He felt like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Just the sight of Grey Hall made his entire being clench in preparation for some potential battle, some cutting remark, some painful disappointment. The past hung like an albatross around his neck. Molting.

He pushed out a bracing breath. “All hope abandon, ye who enter in.”

“You know, for a comedy, The Divine Comedy is not a lot of laughs,” Elizabeth said.

Simon smiled and then looked at the front door. “No, and you won’t find many in there either, I’m afraid.”

Elizabeth took his hand. “That’s all right. Better a comedy than a tragedy. At least that way, we get a happy ending, right?”

How he hoped so.

Simon opened the large doors and let Elizabeth precede him inside. The butler hurried toward them, apologized needlessly and took their coats. Simon had always appreciated the servants as a boy. He’d spent more time with most of them than he had with his own family. However, the faces had changed through the years and they were strangers to him now.

Simon guided Elizabeth further inside. “This is the Great Hall.”

“Wow.”

It was an impressive, if not oppressive, room. An enormous gold chandelier hung down from between the large dark beams and decorative white plasterwork panels of the coffered ceiling and hovered over the intricate wooden parquet floor. Vases and painfully tasteful flower arrangements covered polished tables. Louis XIV chairs sat like thrones on either side of a ridiculously over-sized flower arrangement. Gilded clocks perched on enormous mantles. Porcelain and silver posed in small alcoves of deep mahogany. Every inch of it served to remind the visitor of the owner’s wealth and power.

“It’s beautiful. You know, if you like that sort of thing,” Elizabeth said as she sat down in one of the chairs.

“That is William the IV’s Coronation chair,” Simon said.

Elizabeth sprang out of it with an eep.

Simon laughed and it echoed through the Great Hall. “Don’t let it intimidate you. A chair is just a chair.”

“If you say so.” She nodded toward a row of portraits on the far wall. “Are you in here anywhere?”

“No. Not here. There is one very unfortunate Gainsborough-esque portrait of me as a child complete with blue silks and stockings around here somewhere unless they’ve burned it.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“If there’s a God—” Simon started, but was interrupted by the sound of voices and footsteps from above.

“I am not in the habit of repeating myself,” Aunt Victoria said as she appeared through the doorway of the minstrels’ gallery at the far end of the Great Hall. With that one sentence, all of the air left the room.

“Yes, ma’am.” The workman who trailed along behind her bobbed his head with vigorous agreement.

Simon looked up at the gallery. She hadn’t changed at all. A bit older, a bit greyer and, if possible, a little harder.

“There is a crack, just there, in the plaster. If you cannot see it please provide me with someone whose vision hasn’t been compromised with drink or incompetence.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

“Fasten your seatbelt,” Simon said quietly before calling out to the woman on the minstrels’ gallery. “Aunt Victoria.”

“Oh,” Aunt Victoria said, somehow managing to infuse disappointment, disinterest and distaste into the single syllable. She looked down at Simon before her glance flicked to Elizabeth. “You’re here.”

Simon gritted his teeth. Even though he was the master here, she always made him feel like a small and unwanted child. “It’s good to see you too, Aunt Victoria.”

“You should have had one of the servants let me know that you’d arrived,” she said. “Quite rude.”

With one last glare down at them, Aunt Victoria spun around and left the balcony.

“That was chilly,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

“I think she has ice for blood.” His Aunt appeared in the doorway to the great hall and Simon plastered a tight smile onto his face.

Aunt Victoria tilted her head back and narrowed her eyes as she gave Elizabeth an appraising look. Apparently, she didn’t like what she found and sniffed in disapproval before turning away and ignoring her completely. Simon felt his blood pressure rise.

“Simon. It’s been too long,” she said with forced politeness.

“Has it?” Simon said. “Aunt Victoria, this is Elizabeth West. Elizabeth, this is my aunt.”

Aunt Victoria’s expression soured.

Elizabeth ignored it and smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yes,” Aunt Victoria said. “I’m sure it is.” She turned her attention back to Simon. “How long will you be staying?”

“We haven’t decided yet.” He had intended to spend at least one night here, but now he wasn’t sure that was wise. Elizabeth was too good for this place.

Aunt Victoria made a small sound signaling her disapproval. She preferred everything to be planned, predictable, and controllable, preferably by her. It was one of the reasons she so disliked his grandfather Sebastian, her uncle, and one of the very reasons Simon loved him so.

“As you wish,” Aunt Victoria said, conceding the battle, but not the war. “Tea is served in the drawing room at four. Please try not to be late.”

Simon had a riposte ready, but felt Elizabeth’s hand squeeze his.

Aunt Victoria took his silence as assent and glowed in victory. She smiled tightly at Elizabeth. “Welcome to Grey Hall.”

~~~

After their frosty reception, Simon gave Elizabeth a tour of the estate. She peppered him with questions about every garden and outbuilding. He played the knowledgeable tour guide, but he knew she could tell he was counting the hours until they could leave. After he’d shown her the portrait gallery, including the abomination of him as child where Elizabeth had tried to keep a straight face and failed miserably, he led her to a small, rather unimpressive parlor no one ever used. It was his favorite room in the house.

“I used to come here as a boy.”

“It’s nice,” she said, clearly not seeing the attraction.

Simon held up a finger and grinned. He hadn’t shared this secret with anyone. Ever. “Not everything is as it seems. This is my favorite spot in the whole of Grey Hall. “

Lifting up the seat in the bay window, he folded it back like the lid of a trunk. He reached under the edge of the seat and undid a hidden bolt. He pulled the bottom of the cabinet up to reveal a spiral staircase chiseled out of the stone.

Elizabeth’s face lit up with delight. “Oh, a secret passage!”

“It’s a priest hole,” he said as he swung open the front panel to make it easier to enter. “In the 16th century, Queen Elizabeth persecuted Catholics, including passing laws with severe punishments for anyone practicing the faith.”

“Recusants.”

“Exactly. Many refused to give up their faith and worshipped in secret. Priest holes were hiding places for traveling priests or even used as small chapels. Ours is a bit of both.”

Elizabeth leaned forward and tried to see into the darkness.

“It’s a wonderful place for hiding things. Very secret,” Simon said.

“Did you hide things down there when you were little?”

“Just myself.”

Her face fell and he could tell she was probably imagining him suffering through some sort of horribly Dickensian childhood. Growing up in Grey Hall had been far from ideal, but it was hardly the life of Oliver Twist either. “Every boy needs his own secret kingdom to rule over.”

“Can we go in?” she asked.

“It’s a bit dusty and cramped.”

“I live for dusty and cramped,” she said as she started down the stairs.

“Careful,” he said grabbing on to her arm. “Let me get a light.”

He rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out a flashlight. He checked the batteries. The light was faint. He thumped it on his palm and the light brightened.

“Better let me go first,” he said. “Stay close.”

The passageway down was narrow and rough. His flashlight danced along the rough-hewn walls as they descended down into the cold, darkness. A very small chamber had been carved at the foot of the stairs. Simon shined his light down a low, arched tunnel that had been chiseled by hand.

Simon felt oddly at home in the bleak little cavern. The boy he had been still lived inside the man.

“Amazing,” Elizabeth whispered, gently touching the stone walls. “Imagine how much work went into this, how much they risked to do it.”

Most people would have been frightened in a dark, enclosed space like this, but not Elizabeth. She saw it with the same wonder, the same fascination she saw the rest of life.

Simon shined his light toward the far end of the tunnel.

“What’s down there?” she asked.

“Dead end.” He tried to keep the melancholia from his voice, but failed miserably. Being in Grey Hall again brought back feelings he thought he’d long buried in the past — his guilt over leaving and turning his back on history and heritage, and his anger at himself for feeling guilty at all. He’d run away from this life, but he’d never really been free of it.

Elizabeth stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Maybe we can sneak down with spoons and keep digging.”

Simon laughed and the sound of it echoed in the small chamber.

“I wonder what these walls have heard?”

“I don’t think they’re giving up their secrets.”

Elizabeth tilted the flashlight up. “Are you?”

Simon shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, trying to see his face in the dim light. “You’ve been acting weird for the last few weeks. What’s your secret, Mr. Cross?”

The words he’d been carrying in his heart for the last few weeks almost came out of their own volition, but this wasn’t the place. He’d asked her to come to England to show her his past, but more importantly, to ask her to be part of his future. He wanted it to be perfect. She deserved perfect.

His eyes caressed her face and drifted to her cheek. “You’ve got a little…” He brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek to wipe away a bit of dirt.

“Better?” Elizabeth said turning her head for inspection.

He nodded and ran his hands down Elizabeth’s arms; they were cool to the touch. “You’re cold.”

He started to rub some warmth into them, but Elizabeth stopped him. She tilted her head up and grew serious. “We don’t have to stay here. In Grey Hall I mean.
You
don’t have to stay here.”