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“I believe,” Mrs. Brownlow said, “we are crossing over the Trent.”
Gillian looked up from her letter and out the carriage window. They had only just rolled onto a bridge, one that spanned a wide river. Its banks were lined with luscious trees and shrubbery. She suspected that in the summer months, the area was filled with birdsong and wildflowers. The autumn leaves had already begun to fall, and many of those beautiful and stately trees would soon be bare.
“This is a lovely area,” Mr. Walker said.
It was such a shame how much pain the sound of her father’s voice caused her. Seven years of forced indifference were colliding with an anticipated lifetime of it. She felt, in many ways, the same ache she had when grieving her mother.
She and her father had once laughed together and teased. They’d lost so much when they’d lost their home. They had lost each other.
The carriage continued past the river. After a time, they reached a small lane branching off the road toward a very grand estate in the distance, one with tall towers made of stone. Though her view was obscured, she knew it wasn’t Sarvol House, as Scott hadn’t described it that way. This house, she would wager, was Lampton Park, the seat of the Earls of Lampton.
The coach turned onto the gravel lane.
Gillian carefully refolded her letter, placing it once more in her reticule. She didn’t know how long they would be at the dower house before Scott visited or they made their journey to Sarvol House. She hoped she wouldn’t be made to wait too long. She missed him so very much.
As she, Mrs. Brownlow, and Father alighted from the carriage, they were met by a kind-faced woman, no doubt the dowager’s housekeeper. A stablehand assisted their coachman in seeing to the team and carriage. Her father—Mr. Walker—hung back, taking on the task of tending to the luggage.
The dowager herself stepped through the door in the next moment. She offered a heartfelt welcome to Mrs. Brownlow, then smiled rather maternally at Gillian. She insisted they step inside and rest from their journey.
The housekeeper and a maid saw them divested of their coats and bonnets.
“You will think me the oddest sort of hostess,” the dowager said, “but while Mrs. Brownlow is shown to her bedchamberto rest and settle in, I would ask Miss Phelps to join me for a moment in the sitting room.”
It was, perhaps, a little unconventional but not objectionable. After a moment, they were alone in the entryway.
The dowager walked with her to the door of the sitting room and opened it without a word.
Scott stood within.HerScott.
Her heart leaped at the sight of him. He smiled when he saw her, genuinely and delightedly smiled.
“I have a few things to attend to,” the dowager said. “You will have to occupy yourselves for ten or fifteen minutes.” She offered her estimated timeline with a pointed glance at the two of them before stepping back out of the room and very nearly closing the door, offering them privacy without true scandal.
Scott immediately crossed to her. He took her hand and gently kissed it. “I’ve missed you, Gillian.”
To her horror, she simply burst into tears.
His strong arms were around her in an instant. “I wish I could say these were tears of joy, but I can tell they’re not.”
“Joy to see you, yes. But . . .” She leaned against him, weeks of worry,yearsreally, spilling over. “Everything has gone wrong since you left.”
“I’m here now,” he whispered. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”
“Don’t let go.”
He kissed her temple. “I won’t. I promise.”
Chapter Thirty
Scott had envisioned this reunionmany times since he’d last seen her. Not once had he imagined her weeping. He felt as helpless as he had when their uncle had locked Sarah in her bedchamber at Sarvol House with the vow to never let her out. Scott had been desperate to free her, to save her from further misery at the man’s hands, but had been unable to do anything.
He didn’t know what was causing Gillian’s anguish in that moment, but he would have done nearly anything to alleviate it.
“I talked with my father a few weeks ago,” she whispered.
Her father. “Was he unkind to you?” Scott asked through a tight jaw.
“No.”
