Miles Burke, Earl of Hilgrove, regretted his decision to accept his friend’s invitation to visit Brockhall Manor. He had no desire to smile and pretend all was well. He just wanted to be alone. Yet, somehow, Bennett had convinced him otherwise.
Perched atop his horse, he trailed his coach down the winding gravel driveway lined with ancient trees. The sun bore down on him, beads of sweat tracing a path down his spine. Though uncomfortable, the open air was a welcome alternative to being cooped up inside of the coach.
In the distance, a grand manor emerged on the horizon, a sprawling brick residence adorned with dormer windows, a steeply gabled roof, and ivy gracefully climbing its walls. The picturesque scene was completed by the meticulously tended garden encircling the manor, where vibrant flowers and precisely trimmed hedges added to its idyllic charm.
Miles had the strangest urge to turn his horse around and leave this place. It was perfect, almost too perfect. The manor’s flawless façade triggered memories of his late wife’s countryside estate, casting a shadow of sadness upon him.The very air around him seemed to grow heavy and he found himself struggling to catch his breath.
Why had he thought this was a good idea, he grumbled to himself.
The coach rolled to a halt in front of the manor, and Miles guided his horse to a stop nearby. Footmen swiftly emerged from the main entrance, hastening towards the coach to retrieve his trunks. With a dismount, Miles handed over the reins to a waiting footman.
Bennett exited the main door and descended the steps to greet him, a triumphant grin on his face. “Well, as I live and breathe, you did come,” he exclaimed. “I had my doubts, but I remained optimistic.”
“You are too blasted optimistic,” Miles retorted.
Undeterred, Bennett’s grin shifted into a smirk. “In this case, I was right,” he said. “How was your journey from Grimsby?”
“Tolerable.”
His friend’s smirk persisted. “I see you are your rather pleasant self this afternoon,” he observed, gesturing towards the manor. “Come, let’s get you settled. Perhaps you require a rest from your travels.”
Miles found Bennett’s remark to be rather absurd. He was not one to waste the day away in bed. “I do not require a nap,” he said. “The journey here was hardly perilous.”
“A drink, then?”
“Yes, a drink would be much more preferable,” Miles replied.
As they made their way towards the main entrance, Bennett said, “I had one of the guest bedchambers readied for you. Did you, by chance, bring your valet with you?”
“I did,” Miles informed him. “He was my batman in the war.”
Bennett nodded. “Very good.”
Once they arrived in the opulent entry hall, Miles dreadedthis visit already. Bennett’s perpetual cheerfulness had always grated on his nerves, and it seemed to have only intensified since their carefree days at Cambridge.
Miles’ gaze roamed over the entry hall, lingering on the Corinthian columns that adorned the entrance with intricate golden motifs. The polished marble floor beneath his feet expanded the grandeur of the space, while a sweeping staircase graced the far wall.
Bennett’s voice broke the silence, filled with a quiet reverence. “It is grand, is it not?” he asked. “My grandmother worked with the architect to design this hall.”
“It is rather impressive,” Miles admitted.
“Come, let me show you to the study,” Bennett said, holding his hand out. “We will have that drink I promised you.”
While they walked towards the rear of the manor, Miles inquired, “I know you were close with your uncle. How have you fared since his death?”
Bennett shrugged. “The pain still lingers, but it gets easier with time.”
Miles fell silent. He understood the lingering pain but couldn’t fathom the idea that time could bring any reprieve. If anything, his grief seemed to only intensify with each passing day.
They entered a masculine room adorned with dark wood paneling and walls lined with bookshelves. Bennett approached the drink cart, picked up a decanter, and poured two drinks. Walking over to Miles, he handed his guest a glass.
“Thank you,” Miles acknowledged as he accepted the glass.
Bennett eyed him with concern. “Dare I ask how you are faring?”
“I have been better,” Miles admitted. “But I do not wish to talk about that.”
“You never do.”
