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“Indeed, that is true, Mr. Mandeville,” Aunt Margaret replied. “And well-stated too. I commend you for taking such things so seriously and responsibly. It does you justice.”
“Thank you, Lady Walmsley.”
A couple of young gentlemen with whom Rebecca wasn’t acquainted appeared to be trying to get Hugh’s attention. He glanced back at them and nodded. “It appears I am being summoned,” he said. “I’m afraid I must leave you for now, although it saddens me greatly to do so.” He bowed to Aunt Margaret and then bowed over Rebecca’s hand. “Adieu. I expect I shall see you both Thursday evening at Aylesham House,” he said. “And Idearlyhope you will save that dance—or two—for me.” He left.
“Hmm,” Aunt Margaret said. “I daresay you have an ardent suitor in Mr. Mandeville.”
Rebecca didn’t respond.
“And were my ears correct when he referred to you as Rebecca while speaking to me?” Lady Walmsley said, one silvery eyebrow arched.
Again, Rebecca remained silent, but she felt her cheeks warm.
“Hmm,” Lady Walmsley repeated, nodding. “It is as I thought, then. I believe the Season finally got interesting. I’m going to see what I can learn about our charming Mr. Hugh Mandeville.”
“Aunt Margaret—” Rebecca began, chagrined that she would attempt to play sleuth when it came to a potential suitor, whether it was Hugh or someone else.
“No need to worry, my dear,” Aunt Margaret said, interrupting her. “It is all part of the routine when it comes to the matchmaking that occurs during the Season. Suitability, family, illness, history, that sort of thing, you know. The young gentlemen expect healthy dowries, and the young ladies expect family connections and, well, stability and land and good character and such.”
“I see,” Rebecca said.
Aunt Margaret nodded her approval and took a sip of punch. Her eyes twinkled. “It appears another suitor is heading your way, if I’m not mistaken.”
Rebecca glanced in the direction Lady Walmsley was looking. Viscount Whitley was walking toward them, apparently ready to continue the rest of their conversation.
The evening was not nearly over yet. Rebecca straightened her spine and smiled at the viscount.
“And even more interesting,” Lady Walmsley murmured before taking another sip of punch.
* * *
It should have come as no surprise to Ben that once he’d decided to travel to London, there would be a tenant issue that required his attention beyond that of MacKay’s station.
“John and Martha Buckle have been tenants for nigh on forty years,” MacKay informed him as he’d been about to instruct the Snows regarding his departure for London. “But John’s doing poorly, my lord. Don’t expect him to last much longer—a day or two at most. I’ve been out there, mind, but I think it would give them both a bit of peace if you were to pay a call, give your respects, as it were.”
“You’re absolutely correct, MacKay,” Ben said. He’d met the Buckles only a time or two since his arrival at Lower Alderwood, and it had been obvious that Mr. Buckle was an aging man in ill health. Apparently, he’d taken a severe turn for the worse.
And so, rather than begin his journey to London that day, he spent the afternoon with a frail man on the point of death and the man’s distressed wife.
Mrs. Buckle clutched her husband’s hand and dabbed away a constant flow of tears. “Thank you so much for calling upon us, Your Lordship,” she said, her wrinkled face puffy and red from grief. “I’m ever so grateful for your kindness in visiting during such a time.” She choked on her sentence, and Ben stood by quietly and patiently waited for her to gather her emotions. “I’m that sorry I haven’t a proper tea to offer you, Your Lordship, but things have been a challenge these past few days.”
“I didn’t come to take tea, Mrs. Buckle,” Ben said gently, his heart heavy. “Please do not concern yourself on my account.” Nonetheless, she stood and moved out of the way so Ben could pay his respects. He sat next to Mr. Buckle in Mrs. Buckle’s vacated chair and laid his own hand atop the gnarled one resting on the coverlet. “You are not to worry, Mr. Buckle,” Ben said. “I shall see to it myself that your dear wife will be provided for. I hope my words give you peace, my good man.”
Isaac Jennings, in his role as local vicar, stood quietly nearby the entire time, offering his own words of comfort along with a soothing presence. It recalled to Ben’s mind the vicar who’d arrived after Gemma’s death and who had offered such words to him. Ben hadn’t been inclined to share the state of his marriage with the vicar, not at that untimely moment. Ben had been in the throes of bitterness rather than grief.
He rose from the chair to allow Mrs. Buckle to return to her husband’s side, and Ben took a place next to the vicar for a while, assessing the situation and hoping that his presence here underscored his words of assurance.
And then he traveled home, slowly, pondering what he’d observed and the emotions that had been present in the Buckles’ small cottage.
Life had a way of bringing things full circle, did it not? It seemed to Ben to be more than coincidental that on the day he’d planned to leave for London to pledge his love to Rebecca, to right things with her and ask her forgiveness, that he’d watched an old man and woman say their goodbyes to each other. There had been love and solace in that room along with the pain and grief. Two lives lived together, a union filled with love. What amazing insight it had given him.
“Thank ye for taking the time to call on the Buckles,” MacKay said when Ben arrived back home.
“I was happy to oblige. Everything else I must leave to you, MacKay,” Ben said. “For I’m to London tomorrow. Please see that the funeral arrangements and anything you think Mrs. Buckle may need are handled properly and speedily. I wish to keep my promise to Mr. Buckle.”
“Aye, I will, milord,” MacKay said. “You’ll recall the Buckles have two sons who now work the farm, which is already a good thing for them all. Good lads too. Went to primary school with them. Them and their wives and children all live and work that farm.”
“I recall meeting the Buckle boys. I’m glad Mrs. Buckle has family close to her who will be able to see to her once . . .” His voice trailed off. Once Mr. Buckle died. Ben wasn’t able to voice the words aloud.
