AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes,” said Joseph abruptly. “The sooner I can get rid of the house and leave this district, the better, old chap. There is nothing but ghosts here for me now.”
Fredrick looked sad. “I completely understand, my friend. And now that you are the earl, you must be eager to take up residence at the old manor in Kent. I was always surprised that your late father held such a fondness for the house here. It is rather out of the way. Such a small town in the middle of nowhere.”
“He liked Somerset,” said Joseph quietly. “He said the people here were honest and didn’t kowtow to him all the time. They didn’t care that he was a grand earl. He liked being treated like just another country squire, said it was refreshing. But that was Father.” His heart contorted with pain, thinking he would never see his father’s face again. They had their differences, God help them, but he had still loved and respected him.
“Your father was a good man, Bedford,” said Fredrick slowly. “I always liked him. How is the dowager countess coping?”
“You know Mother,” said Joseph lightly. “Always trying to put on a brave face. The show must go on and all that. But inside, I think she is devastated. She refuses to leave the London townhouse and go to Kent.” He hesitated. “She is subtly pressuring me to find a new wife.”
Fredrick nodded. “I suppose that is to be expected. It has been three years since Cassandra passed away, and now that you are the new earl, she wants grandchildren for the line. An heir and a spare.”
Joseph laughed wryly. “Yes. It is always all about the line.” He frowned. “But the thought of marrying again leaves me cold, Knightley. I honestly do not think I can do it, not even for Mother. Not even for the continuity of the Bedford earldom.”
Fredrick raised an eyebrow. “Why is that old chap?”
Joseph hesitated. He felt disloyal even thinking it, felt disloyal talking about it. But the truth couldn’t be denied, and Fred was his best friend, after all.
“I did not like marriage overmuch,” he replied eventually. “Cassandra and I were never close. We led separate lives, really. The marriage was as cold as a blizzard. And the thought of entering such a union again unnerves me.”
Fredrick nodded slowly. “I see. I did suspect that you and Cassandra were not overfond of each other. I had hoped you would grow to love. But it never happened.” He hesitated. “I suppose it was hard for you after what happened here, Bedford. Very hard to open your heart again, even to your wife.”
Joseph’s heart started pounding. “Yes, it was. I was willing to try, but it never worked. Cassandra was always so frail and disinterested. We never bonded. Not for a moment.”
“It does not have to be like that a second time around,” said Fredrick, staring at him with sympathy. “Just because you and Cassandra were never a love match does not mean you shall never find one. Or at least a lady with whom you are more compatible.”
Joseph sighed heavily. His friend meant well, but how could he explain that he just didn’t have the will or the desire for love or marriage any longer? Or perhaps that his heart had been so badly bruised the first time he had fallen in love that he wasn’t willing to risk it again?
It wasn’t only the fact that he feared another abysmal attempt at marriage. It was that he feared he could never open his heart again at all. Was that why he and Cassandra had never found affection? He thought he had tried his hardest to make his marriage work, but had he? Did his wife ever suspect that he could never give his heart to her, no matter how hard he tried, and thus gave up on their marriage as well?
He would never discover any answers to the questions that constantly dogged him. His wife had been cold in her grave for three years. A baffling, sudden illness had taken her when she was only four-and-twenty. He still mourned for the loss of her young life and all that she had never done, even while admitting to himself that he was secretly relieved that he didn’t have to go through the charade forever. That he was free of it.
How could he take the risk that he wouldn’t enter another union like that? He would be trapped anew. He didn’t know how he could bear it, even if he got the longed-for heir to the earldom. Something that his mother would never understand.
Best to leave well enough alone.
They had reached the town. The main street was busy, and Joseph noted there were several new shops. Acton-on-Rye had prospered in his absence, expanded. They strolled along its streets, peering into shop windows. He stopped at a tall building with a gilt-edged sign attached to the wall that readNewcombe & Sons, Solicitors,and turned to Fredrick.
“Well, here I am,” said Joseph. He checked his fob watch. “Mr Newcombe senior is expecting me at three. It is almost that time. What shall you do?”
Fredrick smiled. “Why, I shall keep browsing the shops, old chap. One never knows what one may find, even in a small town like this. How long is your appointment?”
“Half an hour at the most,” said Joseph. “I just need to run over the details of the house deed, so I am in a position to offer it immediately for sale if I find a potential buyer.”
Fredrick nodded. “Very good. I shall meet you here in a half-hour. Good luck.”
Joseph smiled absently, opening the door. He had never been inside this solicitor’s office before, but then, he had never had cause to. Bartok House had belonged to his late father. Now it belonged to him, along with all the properties in his father’s portfolio. There were quite a few. Their ancestral manor home, Lethbridge Manor, in Kent. The London townhouse on Grosvenor Square. A rambling manor house in Scotland, which was only used for grouse season. And this house, in Acton-on-Rye.
The office seemed empty. He sat down on a wooden chair while he waited, staring at the bare brown wooden wall opposite. He was starting to feel a little odd now. As if something was pressing upon him like a vice. A memory was swirling in his mind, gathering force, like a grey fog sweeping along a road, that he could not avoid no matter how hard he tried …
He was walking along this street. It was the height of summer, and the sun was blazing. He had seen her before she saw him – only the second time he had ever laid eyes upon her. He still remembered the gown she was wearing – lavender muslin, with a very high empire line and short puffed sleeves as befitted a hot day. She was twirling her parasol, laughing, and walking with a friend.
He had stopped abruptly in his tracks, taking her in. Her sheer beauty. She was like a radiant star, making everyone around her disappear into shadow. Her long neck. The tumble of honey gold curls falling from her chignon. Her skin was almost the same colour, the shade and velvety texture of a ripe peach. And then, the shock of those light green eyes, turning towards him …
“My Lord?”
Joseph jumped. An elderly man with thin silver hair and a stooped gait was standing in front of him, gazing at him expectantly.
“Mr Newcombe?” He stood up, alarmed to discover his voice was shaking slightly.
