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“Yes, you should have.”
“Especially when you hear about the letter she sent,” Sarah said.
Scott had nearly forgotten about the as-yet-unexplained “mischievous” letter. “The one the ‘doddering old lady’ sent out?”
Mater laughed. “I’ve been thinking ever since our supper here what a shame it was that Sarah hasn’ttrulymet your Gillian. And considering I think of you as one of my boys, it is entirely unthinkable that you should have a beloved out there whom you plan to marry but whom I haven’t come to know very well.”
“I can’t argue with any of that,” he said.
“So I’ve written to Mrs. Brownlow and asked that she and her ward come visit me at the dower house and plan to stay for a time.”
Gillian was going to come to Nottinghamshire? To this very neighborhood? “Truly?” The emotion that surged caught him off guard enough that he couldn’t entirely keep it out of his voice. “Soon, do you think?”
“There’s not been time to hear back, but I did implore them to make the journey soon.” Mater took his hand and squeezed it. “Being apart from her for years is not something I want you to be forced to endure.”
“I had resigned myself to it,” he whispered.
“I know, butIhadn’t.” She smiled at him. “I suspect your Gillian will be here in less than a fortnight. And the dower house is nearby, so you’ll see her every day if you wish.”
“I wish I could host them here,” he said. “But even with available guest chambers, I can’t afford it, something that will be obvious when she sees the state of this place.”
“What she will see is how hard you are working to claim the future you want.” With a hint of devilment in her eyes, she said, “And she will discover you have a few too many family members here about who will be eager to meet her and tease her likely more than she is accustomed to.”
Family. They really did feel like family to him.
“They will have to wait their turns,” Sarah said. “I declaremyclaim the most significant. After all, she is contemplating the possibility of being my sister.”
“I believe you mean the possibility of beingmy wife,” Scott said with a laugh.
Sarah assumed a posture and air of pretended offense. “On the contrary. Being my sister is the real draw. A life with you would be a bit of a benefit, is all.”
“Agreed,” Harold called from across the room.
Everyone laughed. This was what he’d imagined life at Sarvol House would be: laughter and togetherness. And family. Soon Gillian would be here with him, for a time at least, and she, too, would have family, something he knew she longed for as much as he did.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Scott was learning to bepatient.
Between the two of them, Mater and Mr. Layton seemed to know almost everyone. They’d put Scott in contact with a trustworthy gentleman who could facilitate the selling of the books in his library. Another of their associates would help him sell the furnishings in the unused rooms of the house. One of Mater’s sons had arranged for the sale of Scott’s horses and had sold him a healthy and hardworking pony at a more than reasonable price as well as a plain but well-made cart. Philip had, at his own expense, sent the Lampton Park estate manager to consult with the Sarvol House groundskeeper to formulate a plan for preparing the land to be cultivated again and the abandoned cottages ready for eventual tenant farmers. Sarah and Harold had issued thrice-weekly invitations to take supper at the vicarage, with Mater inviting him for two other evenings per week. Scott was saving money, reducing expenses, and feeling far less lonely than he had in years.
Yet he felt anxious, antsy. He was certain Gillian would be journeying to the area soon. He wanted to see her. He wanted the house to be as presentable as it could be under the circumstances. He wanted a miracle that would turn their yearslong wait into mere months or weeks or days.
Patience might have been a virtue, but it was also a struggle at times.
And at times, patience paid dividends.
He was in the midst of cataloging those books he felt would fetch him the best price, a necessity he was not happy about, when Mr. Tanner stepped into the library and handed him a letter.
“Thank you,” Scott said.
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Sarvol.”
How grateful Scott was that the small number of staff he’d been able to retain treated him with kindness and seemed to enjoy still being at Sarvol House. It helped in those moments when he heard, clear as a bell, the echo of his uncle’s declaration that he was and always would be a failure. Scott might have more debts than assets and years of retrenchment ahead of him, but Uncle Sarvol had been despised by his staff. That seemed a far greater failure, as it was one of character and not circumstance.
Scott glanced at the handwriting on the newly arrived letter and knew it immediately. He’d been away from Gillian for nearly six weeks. This was the third letter he’d received from her. He himself had sent five.
My Dearest Scott,
