The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) Read online

  “You don’t care about my physician’s abilities?”

  Giles had to be honest. “Those are an added bonus. You weren’t a physician last time we met.”

  “I never planned on being one,” said Royce, in a moment of unguarded emotion. “But war will change a lot of things and force you into learning new skills, whether you want to or not.”

  Silent for a moment, Giles heard the edge of pain in the quiet tones. “Waterloo?”

  Royce nodded once. “And others. Too many battles to remember, not that I want to. Most, however, were too terrible to forget.”

  “I can offer a quiet haven, Royce,” said Giles. “Wolfbridge is nothing if not quiet. As estate manager, you will have to acquaint yourself with the locals as necessary, but we keep ourselves to ourselves, unless it’s to help others.”

  “Ah yes,” Royce’s lip curled. “The angels of Wolfbridge caring for those less fortunate.”

  “And why not?”

  “No reason. It’s just out of the ordinary, that’s all.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” frowned Giles. “Help should never be out of the ordinary. Or unexpected.”

  “I’m not arguing.” Royce held up his hand. “So other than managing the crops, doing charitable things and making friends in the villages, what else am I to do?” He stared at Giles. “Fuck the Lady of Wolfbridge?”

  “If she desires it, yes.”

  *~~*~~*

  Several days passed before Giles could return to the inn.

  He’d stayed with the Sydenhams, who always welcomed him with open arms, excellent food and the best brandy in London.

  He allowed himself a moment of pleasure as he watched his ward take a husband and approved of her choice. Sir Ragnor was a solid young man with his feet on the ground, even if they seemed to take flight every time he looked at his new bride.

  That was as it should be, and Giles left London with no concerns about Judith’s future. He would keep in touch, of course, since there were financial matters still to be resolved, but she was in happily in love, and with a husband who would care for her, protect her and give her the life she deserved.

  He had celebrated the New Year in a modest fashion; a few old friends, another of the Sydenham’s excellent meals and—to his delight—a few hands of piquet at which both he and Sir Laurence excelled.

  For Giles, it was a rare opportunity to set aside his duties and simply enjoy some warm companionship.

  But all too soon he knew he must return to Wolfbridge.

  The weather had been fretful, snowing, raining and promising more of the same. So he packed his bag, bid a fond farewell to Sir Laurence and Lady Maud, and began the journey home.

  For him, it was home. He’d lived there for long enough he rarely thought of any of the other places he had resided, for none could compare to Wolfbridge. His heart was there, in the house, in the land, in the people to whom it offered a living and protection.

  There were those who never fully understood the function of a manor, mused Giles as he watched the grey landscape blur through the carriage window. It was easy for them to assume the occupants led a life of ease and comfort, with hearty fires, parties, and nary a worry about where the next meal might be coming from.

  There was some truth in that idea, but it was tempered by the duties and responsibilities that came with the title and the house. He’d once heard it said that the aristocrats of England were merely caretakers of history. He believed in that, wholeheartedly, since he worked hard keeping Wolfbridge successful for the next person who would assume the role he now held.

  And for the next Lady of Wolfbridge, and all those who followed, no matter who they might be.

  His mind turned to that very person, the Lady. He knew who she was, since his mail had been quite busy recently after Lady Adalyn had declared her intent to wed Daniel.

  Selecting the new Lady was easier than selecting a replacement for Daniel, in so many ways. There was a limited list of candidates for the Lady’s position, while many men were well qualified to replace an estate manager.

  But Giles hadn’t hesitated. Royce had never truly been off the list of potential gentlemen. He had what it took to accept and adopt the unique concept that was Wolfbridge. Would he find it easy? Most likely not. He had a military career behind him now, a familiarity with discipline and order. That, coupled with his natural tendency for remaining aloof, would make the next few weeks interesting, to say the least. And Giles expected fireworks, since it could well be said that Royce was the exact opposite of Jeremy and Evan, who were rule-breakers, preferring a laugh and a gentle word to an order or a sharp rebuke.

  Yes, it was going to be a challenge. But Giles wanted that discord, that edge. It brought an added dimension to what the gentlemen of Wolfbridge could offer their new Lady.

  Adalyn had been the perfect woman for what Daniel, Evan, Jeremy and Trick had to offer. She had bloomed at their loving and kind attentions, having received none before her arrival. She had shed her fears, raised her chin and learned to walk as the woman she was, not as the tentative shadow she’d been for too long, believing she was not worthy of kindness and love.

  The next lady would be quite different.

  Giles sighed. That was the understatement of the year, and it was only January.

  The first leg of his journey brought him back to the inn—and Royce. It had stopped snowing when he arrived, though the light was fading and he’d have to spend the night.

  Royce was in the taproom, nodding as Giles walked over to him, removing his gloves.

  “Have you decided?” he asked, wasting no time on the formalities.

  “Yes.” Royce looked at him, his face revealing none of his thoughts. “I’ll go to Wolfbridge and serve your Lady.” One eyebrow quivered slightly. “In whatever way she desires.”

  Giles heaved an inner sigh of relief, but kept his own emotions well-hidden. “Good. We’ll leave early in the morning.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  And it was done. Just before dawn the carriage was made ready for the last leg to Wolfbridge and Royce was standing beside it as Giles emerged from the inn.

  Pleased at his punctuality, Giles began to cross the courtyard to the coach, but a distant sound resolved itself into a clatter of wheels and hooves, and another carriage tore onto the pavement at a reckless rate of speed.

  Giles darted backward out of the way, and Royce leapt to the horses’ heads, grabbing their reins as the fools who drove so carelessly yelled and hooted, slowing down for a few brief moments.

  During that second or two, a body was flung out, dropping, rolling and tumbling onto the bricks, and ending up at Giles’s feet.

  Catcalls, whistles and yells of “buggering cull”, “dirty sodomite”, “molly”, rang through the morning air as the carriage rolled out of the inn and on down the road.

  Giles gulped, and then bent to the heap of bloody rags at his feet.

  It moved.

  “Royce,” he shouted. “He’s alive. Help me.”

  The driver and the postilions were already calming the horses, so Royce let go of the reins and hurried to Giles’s side, bending down to join him as he looked over the man who lay there, his eyes closed, his face mottling with bruises.

  “He’s taken a beating, all right,” said Royce, finding the man’s pulse. “But he’s alive. And breathing.” He leaned forward toward the face. “Bloody nose, probably two black eyes, I’d say maybe…” he gently opened the man’s jacked and touched his shirt.

  The man groaned and whimpered.

  “Yes, broken ribs, I think. Can’t tell much else here.”

  The man’s eyes opened and fixed on Giles’s face. They were as green as the spring grass at Wolfbridge. “Help me…please…”

  His voice was low, rough, but his words were well-spoken. This was no yokel, or bully-boy. Giles looked at the hands, long-fingered and elegant, and the clothing spoke of a good tailor with an eye to style.

  “What is your na
me, sir?” He pushed the hair away from the man’s face. It was white-gold where it wasn’t bloody or dirty.

  “Gabriel,” he answered, choking down a cough and wincing. “Gabriel Parr.”

  Royce lifted his head and looked at Giles. “You heard those insults.”

  “I did. We can’t leave him here. I don’t know if they’d even tend him.”

  “True.”

  Giles sighed and trusted his instinct. It had yet to let him down. “Let’s get him into the carriage. We’ll take him to Wolfbridge with us.”

  Chapter Five

  All the lights were on at Wolfbridge as the carriage pulled up to the front steps, and Giles was thrilled to see the door fly open even before they’d stopped.

  They would need all the help they could get.

  Royce scrambled out, as did Giles, then they bent to the man they’d all but carried on their laps for the last long hours of the trip.

  “Evan, Jeremy…we need help here,” called Giles.

  In an instant they were there, at his side.

  “What the hell…” Jeremy blinked at the sight of the bloodied figure sprawled on the carriage cushions.

  “Giles, who is this…” Evan reached in, lifting one leg. “He’s wounded. We must get him inside.”

  “A very good idea,” drawled Royce, coming around the back of the vehicle. “A carriage is not a good place to die.”

  Giles clenched his teeth. “He’s not going to die. Make yourself useful and help Jeremy and Evan get him inside.”

  Between them, they manhandled the young man into the hall, and then stared at Giles. “Jeremy, get a room ready for him. And Evan, Royce will want hot water and we both could use something to eat. I suppose we could put him in the parlour…”

  “Top of the stairs, third right,” said Jeremy. “I set that up this morning. Always good to have backup accommodations ready to go.”

  “Efficient,” commented Royce, picking the body up by the shoulders and frowning at the moan his move elicited from the man he held. “I’m Royce, by the way. I suppose we’ll get formally introduced soon, but for now, this man has multiple bruises, possibly a couple of broken ribs, and I don’t know what else. Let’s put him where Giles suggested so I can take a closer look.”

  They carried Gabriel carefully up the stairs and Jeremy pulled the linens away. None of them knew the extent of his injuries, or even if he was still bleeding anywhere.

  Royce bent over and checked the pulse once again. “Still with us, are you, Gabriel? I’d say you were one hell of a fighter, my lad.” He looked at Gabriel’s left hand, and the broken and damaged skin. “A left hander, by the look of it. And you fought back too, didn’t you…”

  Jeremy started the fire as Evan walked past. “I’ll get you that hot water right away,” he said, a worried look on his face.

  “You’ll need to get him out of those clothes. I’ll get a knife and a robe for him.” Jeremy looked down at Gabriel, also worried. “He’s the look of an angel about him, right enough. Gabriel’s a good name for this one.”

  Royce was bending over the bed, feeling the lad’s limbs. “Let’s see if we can keep him earthbound for a bit longer.”

  “Right.” Jeremy nodded and left to take care of his assigned tasks.

  Royce glanced at Giles. “You’ve got them well trained.”

  Giles narrowed his eyes. “Not at all. They’re fine men who do the right thing. Don’t sneer at them, Royce. I won’t allow that under any circumstances. You don’t have to be their brother, just act like a normal human being.”

  Royce huffed out a snort of what might have been laughter. “Don’t even know what that is.” He eased away what clothing he could, and then felt his way down Gabriel’s leg. He paused. The thick wool sock that was so typical for country gentlemen walking through fields, was thicker than it should have been. “Hmm. What do we have here?”

  Giles neared the bed, watching Royce’s fingers as they gently eased the sock down, freeing it of the blood which had dried and stuck to the skin. It revealed a tight bandage.

  “Another wound? An earlier one?”

  “Possibly,” muttered Royce, struggling to untie the knot. “There. Got it.”

  He unwrapped the length of cloth that had been bound around Gabriel’s leg, just above the ankle, and as he did so, a very small dark red velvet pouch fell out.

  “Ah. Seen these before. My men would do this with letters from home, the odd coin, little treasures,” said Royce. “An easy way to keep such things with you at all times.”

  Gabriel picked it up and weighed it. “Very light.”

  “You can’t carry much, that’s for sure,” agreed Royce, continuing to examine Gabriel.

  Intrigued, Giles moved to a small table and lit a couple of candles, since the sun was well hidden and the day definitely on the dark side. He gently loosened the ribbons that held the pouch closed and emptied the contents out onto the shining wood.

  A slight gasp of surprise attracted Royce’s attention. “What?”

  “A piece of jewellery. A locket perhaps…” It was flat, oval in shape, and probably gold, but it had aged to a darker glow. Giles managed to open it.

  Inside was a tiny portrait, a miniature, of a beautiful woman with fiery hair and ivory skin. She was dressed according to a fashion not seen in generations, and Giles couldn’t even guess at how old this delightful piece might be. “A lovely image of some ancestress, I’d assume,” he said. “And the locket looks like gold.”

  He snapped it closed. “There is some engraving on the front…” Nearing the candle, he brushed his thumb over the writing, polishing it up so that it became clearer.

  He was silent for more than a few minutes.

  “What does it say? Can you read it?”

  Giles nodded. “It says Illuminabit ad te.”

  “My Latin is rusty. What does that mean? Something about light?” Royce took off the man’s shoes and shot a glance at Giles.

  “It means…that we have a very intriguing mystery on our hands. Illuminabit ad te. Bring light unto thyself.” He returned Royce’s gaze. “It’s the motto of Wolfbridge Manor.”

  *~~*~~*

  Once back in the familiar surroundings of the Manor, with Gabriel still unconscious, Giles was able to gather his wits and start reorganising the household.

  Their arrival had been chaotic, to say the least, and it was late in the afternoon before everyone could meet in the parlour for formal introductions.

  “This seems redundant,” remarked Royce, standing by the fireplace, his arm resting casually on the mantel as he stared at the flames.

  “It’s not been done formally, so bear with me.” Giles held his temper in check. He was tired, concerned about the problem of Gabriel and knew that without a Lady of Wolfbridge everything fell on his shoulders.

  It usually did anyway, but he’d found Adalyn an excellent listener, and sometimes that was all he needed to work out whatever issues might arise. Now he was on his own, with two new men, one of whom was silent above them, and the other cocooned in his own personal armour.

  “Jeremy, Evan, this is Royce. Royce, Jeremy is our footman, and has been here going on six years now. If there is anything you ever need to know about this house, the rooms, the way it all works…Jeremy is your man.”

  Jeremy nodded. “A pleasure, Royce. Welcome to Wolfbridge.”

  Giles noted with interest that the usually open and friendly Jeremy didn’t smile. He had perhaps sensed that air of aloofness Royce carried with him.

  “Evan, given your gifts in the kitchen, I’m sure Royce is going to find your meals as excellent as the rest of us do.” He turned to Royce. “Evan has been at Wolfbridge for nearly three years, I think…” He glanced at Evan, who smiled and nodded. “If you have any foods that you detest, or that might make you ill, please tell him? Otherwise, you may look forward to some very enjoyable dining experiences.”

  Royce gave Evan a brief smile. “I’ll need to speak with you about our
patient upstairs, I suppose. If he stays here to recover?” His eyes turned to Giles.

  Who sighed. “Yes,” he said, sitting down on the couch and crossing his legs comfortably. “That is a question we should all consider.”

  “What happened to him, do you know?” Jeremy sat across from Giles. “It’s easy to see he’s taken one hell of a beating.”

  “And he has a certain look about him,” frowned Evan. “Almost a familiar one. I cannot place him, but there’s something…”

  Royce looked at Giles. “You recognised him?”

  Giles shook his head. “No, I didn’t. But like Evan, I’m finding something familiar about that face. That colouring.”

  “I believe the lad is of the Halverston line. The almost white hair, those green eyes…and his surname. Parr.”

  “God, yes.” Evan looked up. “That’s it. The Parr family lived not far from where I grew up. Or a branch of it, anyway. I recall a woman by the name of Marguerite Parr from my childhood. I always thought she was a fairy with her white hair.”

  Giles took a few moments. “I cannot say I know the Parrs, but I have heard of the Halverston estate. The Duke had more than a few children, I believe?”

  “By several wives,” answered Royce. “I had a couple of them in one of my divisions in Spain. But neither had the look of our Gabriel. He must have been from another mother.”

  “So what are we to do with him?” Jeremy asked.

  “Get him healthy first,” Giles shrugged. “How badly is he hurt, Royce? Can you tell?”

  “It’s more difficult since he’s unconscious, but I would guess he has at the very least a cracked rib. He’s breathing pretty well, so it’s to be hoped none are broken. But he will be in pain when he wakes up. The rest…bruises and superficial wounds. I could find no obviously broken bones, but I will wager the lad won’t be up and running around for a couple of weeks at least.”

  “No head wounds?” Jeremy’s expression conveyed his worry.

  “Not that I can tell. Again,” Royce spread his hands wide. “Until he wakes, we cannot know if he has escaped that kind of damage.”