Page 67 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“Are we close?” he mouthed.

Irene nodded and pointed out the window. There was Devil’s Hill, named not for its steepness but for some ancient associations with witchcraft. He had fallen and broken his arm running down that hill when he was younger, and he remembered Cook saying it must have been the spirits that pushed him. He always teased Elena for the many otherworldly stories she had of home, but maybe the English put more stock in spirits than they liked to admit.

Looking at the hill, he realized he likely couldn’t approach the outdoors with the same energy he had as a youth. Still, he was glad to return to his childhood home for the first time since his injury, as he had only gone to Portsmouth and London when he briefly returned to England three years earlier. Like he had told Elena, he was coming to accept himself as he was. This meant no longer comparing himself to how he was before. He ought to trust his body to know its limits, not worry about what he could or couldn’t do. The hill grew more prominent as they approached, and his heart swelled in anticipation of his childhood home. He was suddenly struck by the thought that Elena did not have the privilege of that feeling of home. Whatever nostalgic ideas she had of childhood were tied up in finding her childhood home abandoned amidst the chaos of war. As horrible as his memories of the war were, and many were awful, at least his weren’t tied to his memories of childhood.

Thinking of the war reminded him that he had not met up with the survivors from his regiment in the years since. Still, it was as he told Elena. He felt that if he looked too much into the past, he would get stuck in thoughts of the brutality of war when he had joined in the pursuit of some sort of chivalry and glory. Once he had gotten to know other men in his regiment, he had realized what a charmed life he had led, how many of them had had to join the army out of necessity or opportunity, not on an idealistic whim. How expensive a commission could be to some when it was nothing to him. When he looked too hard, he felt the guilt of almost leaving Irene alone in the world. If he had died, Grayston Park and the title would have gone to a distant cousin. While Irene would have been taken care of because of the business, she would not have been able to return to her childhood home if it had passed to someone else.

His sister’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “You should wake her so she can see it as we approach. Here, you can make Goliath do it. She won’t blame him.” Irene started to scoot against the dog.

“No, I will.” Stroking her back tenderly, he leaned to speak softly in her ear. “Wake up, my love.”

If there was an intimacy in listening to someone fall asleep, there was also one in watching someone wake up. Elena blinked rapidly for several moments as if she had to remind her brain where she was and who she was with, and he was struck again by his curiosity about her dreams. Some day he would remember to ask her what language she dreamt in and what she dreamt of.

“Are we there?” she rasped.

“Almost, look.”

As if perfectly timed, they rounded the last bend, and Grayston Park came into view, the late afternoon sun perfectly illuminating it with golden light. It wasn’t the largest estate in England by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it was sunny, airy, and undeniably home, with its Palladian exterior that brought villas of Italy to mind. His gaze scanned the columns to land on the stairs, which he had never had to think of before. Fortunately, there were only a few leading up to the main entrance, which eased his heart.

He watched Elena’s eyes widen as the estate came into view. “I know I have been here before, but it was not in this light or at this time of year. This is your home?”

“This is our home,” he corrected.

He saw the light dim in her eyes, but only briefly, and then golden warmth returned.

“Yes. I think there is much we will do.”

He glanced at Irene, but she merely shrugged and scratched Goliath’s head. Elena looked over at the dog.

“This is your new home, Goliath. What do you think?” Upon hearing his name, the dog cocked his head, and David was struck by his resemblance to a large, tame wolf. Even though he could be a regal creature at times, when he was squeezed into the carriage and partially spilling onto Irene’s lap, he looked a bit silly.

“I think he needs to run around before he can offer a verdict.” David reached across and scratched the dog’s head.

As they arrived and he helped her down, Elena’s eyes were wide and almost fearful, and he was reminded of doe lost in the forest. But she was confident and warm when she entered and met the staff in the entrance hall. He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to realize she was shy, but he hoped that she would come to feel comfortable here, and then, as she said, she would no longer feel shy. As he led her upstairs, they passed a portrait of his mother.

“Stop.” Elena looked at the portrait, holding out a hand as if to trace the face in the air. “This is your mother.”

“Yes,” he answered quietly, touched that she could recognize her without having been told.

“And this, this is your father.” She pointed to the portrait of his father, looking statelier and more distinguished than David remembered him in life. He nodded.

“Irene does look a great deal like your mother. But I can see her in you as well. You both have that sparkle of mischief in your eye.”

“A sparkle of mischief?” He chortled.

She furrowed her brow and looked up at him. “Do you think Aunt Sophie was right? That your mother would have approved of me?”

“My darling Elena.” He kissed the top of her head and inhaled that hint of amber in her hair. “You helped keep our family together. Quite simply, both of my parents would have adored you.” You make me happy beyond anything I could have hoped for, he wanted to add, but he held back as Elena gave a small bow to both portraits. He remembered her telling him about icons in her village and the power and reverence they held in her community. She glanced back at him, and he could have sworn he saw her eyes water, but as they turned to go up the stairs, her eyes were dry and curious again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Unfortunately, the weather turned sour almost immediately and prevented David from showing his wife the estate with its rolling hills and lush trees, so over the next few days, he gave her a tour of the rooms. As expected, Elena loved the music room, but even more, she was impressed by the library, and he would find himself spending hours in there reading with her.

One afternoon, as the rain pounded the windows outside, they sat in the library together, and he felt that familiar warmth of domesticity take hold in his chest again. He looked up at his wife in his childhood home, reading with her spectacles perched on the edge of her nose, and finally asked the question he had meant to ask for ages.

“Elena, what do you dream?”

She peered over her book at him, adjusting her spectacles. “As in, what do I dream of when I sleep? Or what are my desires or wishes?”