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He was out of breath and plucked off his hat at the last moment, sketching a bow.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. But I was told by your head of staff to bring this to you at once and hand it over personally,” the man said.
Edward nodded impatiently and took the offered bundle of mail.
“There’s more, Your Grace. Your man had me lead back two horses from your own stables. He said he had the feeling you would need a good mount. I looked after them well, on the road, Your Grace. They are ready to go when you are.”
“Capital! I’ll make sure you are reimbursed. Excellent job!” Edward enthused, patting the man on the shoulder heavily.
He closed the door and began to leaf through the letters. One leaped out at him, bearing the handwriting of Rebecca. He dropped the other letters and tore at the envelope, almost tearing the paper within in his haste. The letter was short but made his heart sink.
“My dear brother. I must apologize for my sudden disappearance and long silence. I know you must be worried but I urge you not to be. We have been spending the last few weeks in the city of Glasgow, where Lucius holds his veterinary degree from. It is a most loud and brash city, not at all like London, but he has found us comfortable rooms in the west of the city. Between my purse and his, we have lived frugally but in no way degraded ourselves. And we have lived in separate rooms. I intend to save myself for marriage. We go now to Gretna where we will be married the day we arrive. Such is the law in Scotland. We could be married here in Glasgow but we both wish to return to England as man and wife and Gretna is such a pretty place. I quite fell in love with it when we passed through on our way north.
Lucius wanted to marry me there and then, but I made him wait. I wanted him to be sure of his love, and I of mine. So the last few weeks we have lived as man and wife in every respect except the most intimate. And now we are both certain. I wish you could be here to give me away. I am so dreadfully sorry that it has to happen this way. Lucius is a noble man in all but birth. I think you should love him as a brother. He is the best of men. I hope one day you will see that. By the time you receive this letter, we will be married and will head for the Bolton land in the Lake District, Greyhame House. If you wish to meet us there, you would be most welcome.
Yours with love
Mrs. Rebecca Worthingham”
The paper crumpled in his hand. By now, as she said, Rebecca would be married to the man. To the blackguard. To the scoundrel. He cast the letter aside, running his hands through his hair. She had sounded so happy.And promised that she had not given herself over to Lucius, becoming his lover. Rebecca had always possessed a great deal of common sense and a keen sense of right and wrong.
Have I driven her to this with my pride and my arrogance? I was so sure that I could arrange her life to suit the family. Was it really in her best interests? Or my own? She sounded so happy. I could almost hear her voice.
Picking up the letter again, he smoothed it on his knee and read it again. Then, again. The more he perused the letter, the more certain he was that she had made her own happiness. He could not bring himself to like her choice of man but nor could he deny how she came across in that brief note. Of course, a letter was not the person. He could read emotions into words on a page that were there. Genuine emotions could be disguised. It was proof of nothing.
I have to see for myself. In person. Then, if she appears to be genuinely happy in her choice…
His eyes lingered on the end of the letter.
Bolton lands in the Lake District? The Lakes? I have no land that far north. What is the girl talking about? Greyhame? I have never heard of it.
Standing, he went to the modest bureau that stood in a corner of the room. It was an old piece with a broken lock and a scarred surface. But within was a supply of paper and ink. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and then began to write. Having completed a few lines, he blotted and folded the paper, writing the recipient’s name on the back. It was addressed to Olivia. As he began to dress himself, he saw the letters that he had inadvertently discarded, so surprised had he been by the missive from Rebecca. Now, he scooped them up and gave each envelope a perfunctory glance.
One of them bore the handwriting of Aunt Olivia. For a moment, he just looked at it.
What are the chances that she would write to me now, exactly when her name is at the forefront of my mind?
He opened it and scanned the brief lines included.
“Dear Nephew,
This business with Rebecca has been tiresome and wearing. I intend to take a holiday and have a hankering for the Lakes, which I have not visited since I was a girl. I will return in a few weeks, most refreshed. Do not worry about me as I will be accompanied by my good friend, the Dowager Countess of Erdington.
Regards,
Olivia”
I wonder if Olivia was aware that Rebecca had written me telling of her intention to go to the Lakes herself? Too much of a coincidence that they are both either there or heading there.
He completed his dressing and hurried from the room in search of the library and an atlas of Great Britain.
Wherever this Greyhame House is, I will find it or some reference to it. If not here then in my own library. Unless Olivia furnishes me with the information first.
CHAPTER 43
By the next day, the bump on Harriet’s head was no more than a slightly darker, bruised path of skin marring her temple. Spurred by Harriet, Simon had proved co-operative, though grudgingly, in helping to secure a suitable carriage to which Edward’s horses could be harnessed. Thus, Edward and Harriet had their means of transport into England’s far North. Edward was glad to discover that Simon had left the library to last when it came to cost-cutting. Many of the old books collected by generations of Worthinghams were present and Simon had made some choice additions.
The first was an atlas of Britain, paying particular attention to the principle homes, churches, and cathedrals of the country. It did not reach further north than the Tweed River which marked the border with Scotland, but was sufficient for Edward to locate the mysterious Greyhame House. Simon duly produced a dusty volume of at least a century’s vintage which was a listing of English homes of the gentry, including a description of house and garden, a potted history of the family and notes that a visitor might find useful.
