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He tugged on the reins and brought his gelding to a stop before the dull wrought-iron that marked one boundary of the estate. Through the bars, he saw the tree-lined lane leading to the courtyard. His carriage and manservant were at least a mile behind, so Gus dismounted and pulled on the cold bars, then pushed the heavy gate aside with gloved hands. Back in the saddle, he kicked his horse into an easy canter. As he rode under the thick, sparse branches of aged oaks, he sucked in a deep breath.
The pungent scent of pine filled his nostrils as the rambling old mansion came into view. The structure had begun as a castle, with round towers on four corners and turrets that reached to the heavens. Or so it had seemed to him as a boy. Over the centuries, several more wings had been added until it was a sprawling maze of corridors and courtyards. He and his brothers had spent their summers exploring these grounds, fighting imaginary dragons, and discovering hidden passages.
The door opened, and Mrs. Willoughby greeted him. “Oh, Master Gus, er, Dr. Wharren! It’s so good to see you again.” The plump woman hurried down the icy steps, her auburn curls tucked under her white mob cap as she rushed toward him. A scrawny boy trailed behind her, a grin on his dirty face. “I didn’t know when to expect you, but I have your quarters clean and ready. I’ll send Jasper to start a fire for you.”
“Where is Will—”
The housekeeper shook her head with a sad smile. “Mr. Willoughby left this world last year, just before Her Ladyship. It’s been a long time since you’ve visited.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Gus slid from the saddle and tossed the reins to Jasper. “He was a good man.”
“That he was,” she agreed, “and devoted to your grandmother. Now, let’s get you inside and warmed up. Who’s behind you?”
“A driver and my valet.”
“Very good, sir.” Mrs. Willoughby flapped her hands and sent him up the wide veranda and into the dim receiving hall.
Gus sighed. These aged stone walls had always been more home to him than the family’s estate in Essex. A suit of armor continued to guard the entrance, a silver plate in the knight’s metal glove for calling cards. He’d slid down that banister hundreds of times. The walls still held the medieval weapons that had enthralled his imagination as a boy. Down the hall he’d find Grandfather’s study, and past that, the kitchen he and Nathaniel would raid after midnight.
“I’ll get some help from the village tomorrow. In the meantime, I have some fresh pasties made up. It won’t take but a moment to warm them.” The housekeeper chattered on. “The parson will be so happy. I’ll send word you’ve arrived.”
Gus half-listened as he wandered down the expansive hall and down to the kitchen. A basket sat on the long, scarred table, a cloth covering its content. He picked up the towel, and the scent of yeast and fresh bread made his mouth water. His stomach growled.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he chuckled, a bit embarrassed. “Do you still make that marmalade?”
The older woman grinned. “Of course, Master Gus. I remember your favorites. Why don’t you go into the dining hall while I slice some of this and fetch the jelly?”
“I’d rather sit here if you don’t mind.” Nostalgia. It fluttered in his chest, making him feel like a green boy again.
As he munched on the warm bread and sweet marmalade, he closed his eyes and moaned. “Why did I stay away so long? Not a chef in London could delight my tongue like this, Mrs. Willoughby.”
She beamed. The fire cast a glow over her skin, but Gus saw the lines around her eyes and mouth. Silver now threaded her hair. Time had not stopped at Bliss Manor.
“I wish I could have been here for Grandmama. If she’d sent word, if I’d known she was ill, I would have come. I’m a physician for Christ’s sake.” The guilt still poked at his gut that he hadn’t seen her one last time.
“Her Ladyship knew how busy you were, and she loved you so much.” Mrs. Willoughby blinked rapidly and pressed her lips together. “She was a diamond of the first water, she was.”
He nodded, remembering the proud but loving countess.
“Your conveyance has arrived.” She wiped her hands on her apron and moved toward the hall. “You finish that up, and I’ll get them organized.”
“How do you know? I didn’t hear anything.”
“I heard Pup bark.”
“Pup?”
“Jasper’s dog.”
“And whoisJasper?” He knew the lad wasn’t a grandson.
“An orphan, so to speak. His mother died long ago, and his father is in debtor’s prison. The poor boy snuck onto a mail coach, trying to find relatives across the border. They caught him in the village and turned him out.” Mrs. Willoughby shrugged. “What could I do?”
He laughed. “Exactly what you did. And he came with a dog?”
“Oh no!” she laughed. “Jasper got him from a peddler who passed through last summer. His bitch had several pups, and he didn’t want to feed them.”
“I see.” Gus stood and stretched, his fingers almost touching the low charred beams of the kitchen. “Any other news I should know about?”
