Page 57 of An Enchanting Dare

Biddy grinned at her, looking far too pleased with herself.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the woman said, chuckling, though Aisling could not imagine what she found so amusing.

At least she would see Evie soon. She needed a friend to confide in about Sylvester for if she didn’t tell someone soon, she would burst. Feeling vexed and impatient, she wished Biddy a pleasant afternoon and made her way back to the castle.

23rd August 1841, Marcross Manor, Monmouthshire.

“Sussex?” Sylvester’s elder brother, Raphe Cootes, Baron de Ligne, regarded him with a frown from his position by the French doors. A delicious little breeze whispered into the room, stirring the sultry air. It had been a long day, and the brothers had gathered, as was usual, in the library, one of the few finished rooms at Marcross to date. “Why the devil do you want to go all the way to Sussex?”

“Because I know the quality of these horses. They’re the finest I’ve seen, and I know Lambert will give me a good deal because he owes me a favour.”

“Oh, I remember Lambert,” their youngest brother, Oliver, piped up, raising his head from the sporting journal he’d been perusing. “Big, jovial chap. His wife like to stuff one with cakes whenever possible.”

Sylvester snorted. “Not that you ever objected.”

Raphe sighed. “All the same, Sy. It seems an awful lot of bother when the county is teeming with fine horses, and half of anything you’ll save on the deal you’ll pay out on accommodation and travel, and the time and hassle of bringing them….” He sighed. “I’m talking to the wall, aren’t I?”

“No,” Sylvester said, frowning, though he could not fault his brother’s argument. It was a lot of bother, and he wasn’t quite certain what had put this notion into his head, but something had, and he couldn’t shake it. His gut told him the best horses were Lambert’s, and they needed strong, reliable beasts to work the land. Lambert was a good man, he was trustworthy, and he was in Sussex. So, that’s where he’d go to get them.

“I suppose there might be a detour to Trevick Castle on the way there?” Raphe asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Sylvester felt a familiar pain bloom in his chest and had to breathe through it. “No.”

Oliver looked up again, his brows drawn together in concern.

“No?” Raphe repeated, staring at him. “Sylvester, don’t go getting the fool notion I would begrudge you the time to visit your beloved, for I shan’t. I’d far rather you go about the place with a spring in your step than the morose, woebegone face you’ve been showing the world of late. You’re obviously pining for the girl, and I understand. Believe me, I do. But don’t feel the need to trudge all the way to Sussex if you need an excuse to see her. I can spare you for a few days.”

Sylvester sat down and put his head in his hands. “What’s the point, Raphe? I shall have to go soon, but only to admit to her I can’t marry her. She must forget about me and find someone else. It’s the only option and I know it, but I’ve been putting it off because I can’t bear to. I ought never to have allowed her to consider me at all. It was idiotic to think I could make it work.”

Raphe moved to sit beside him, his big brother watching him with regret in his eyes. “Sy, don’t say it. Surely, there’s something we can do. Marcross is coming along nicely. I know it’s hard to wait, but in a couple of years—”

“In a couple of years it will bring in a tidy income for you and your growing family, Raphe,” Sylvester said, knowing he must say it because he could not hide from the truth a moment longer. “It can’t support an estate manager who earns five times the going rate, and even then, I’d not be worth her notice. Don’t you see? It’s hopeless.”

Raphe’s eyes filled with sorrow, for he was no fool, and he would not recite platitudes when the truth was staring them in the face. “Perhaps I’d best call in at Trevick on my way home,” Sylvester said, his voice bleak. “I can’t ask her to waste any more time on me.”

“Sy,” Raphe began, reaching out to take his arm, but Sylvester shrugged him off.

“Don’t be kind, Raphe,” he said gruffly, heading for the door. “It’s about the last thing I can stand right now.”

And he hurried away, trying to figure out how a man was supposed to explain to the woman he loved with all his heart that he’d let her down.

25th August1841, Swan Hall, East Sussex.

Evie flopped back on the bed with a sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re here. It’s been an age since you visited me,” she said, grinning at Aisling as she settled beside her. Evie turned onto her side, leaning her head on her hand, her eyes wide. “Tell me everything,” she demanded.

Aisling raised her eyebrows and did her best to look innocent. “I don’t know what you can mean?”

“Little liar,” Evie said with a smile. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand there are things you either can’t or don’t wish to share with other people.”

“Are there things you can’t share, Evie?” Aisling asked. Evie was always kind and understanding, but there was something in her words that made Aisling believe a similar dilemma troubled her friend.

“Of course. We all have our secrets, don’t we?” she said, making light of it with a smile.

“Certainly, but you know you could trust me with yours, Evie. I’d take any confidence you gave me to my grave, I swear it.”

Evie nodded. “I know that. I-I’m just in a bit of a muddle so it won’t make any sense and… Oh, ignore me. I’m talking nonsense and, besides, I asked first.”

Aisling laughed. “So you did, and perhaps if I tell you my secret, you will feel more confident in sharing your own, for you can trust me, I swear. Oh, Evie. I'm in love, and you’ll laugh your head off when you realise who it is.”