And it was with great sadness that, just two days later, Hunter found himself standing outside the manor house and watching as his valet and the other staff loaded the wooden trunks back onto the carriages; the wooden trunks they had offloaded just six months before.
Another carriage had already been dispatched, the carriage which carried the body of his father back home. Hunter could not help thinking of his father’s words when they had first talked of spending those final months in Scotland. I am afraid you would make the return journey alone.
And Hunter had felt alone, terribly alone, for every one of the many days he had spent either on the road or kicking his heels in an unknown town as his horses were well rested. Although their stay at Rosecleer Manor had helped him come to terms with the fact that his father was, very soon, going to die, when it had finally come, it had still seemed to Hunter to be a most terrible shock. It was a shock in the way that the death of his dear mother so many years before had not been. But of course, Hunter had been so young then, and the young always accommodated such things with an ease that grown men could never find.
When finally his carriage drew up to the great gravel apron at the front of Addison Hall, Hunter felt his throat tighten painfully. Tears had welled in his eyes, and he knew that his worst pain was yet to come. He had to walk back into Addison Hall as its new Earl, knowing that his father’s voice would never be heard in those great corridors again.
As his servants began to bustle about the carriage, hurriedly going about the business of emptying it and settling themselves back into their working lives at the Hall, Hunter simply sat and stared out of the window at the immaculate lawns. He was the master of it all now, and yet it seemed to mean nothing to him. He knew that he would have given anything to have remained the son of the Earl the rest of his life.
Hunter’s attention was drawn to some movement at the front of the hall when he saw the great door opening inwards. For a moment, there was a tiny frisson of joy when he realized that it was very likely Lady Felicity Morgan waiting for him. He had written to her, of course, to let her know that the worst had happened, and he was now ready to return home. She had not written back, although he had assumed that to be because her letter would pass him on the road home, and he would never see it.
Hunter jumped down from the carriage and swallowed hard, clearing the tightness and pain in his throat. If anybody could make it right again, it would be Felicity. He would marry her as soon as she would agree to it, and they would be the Earl and Countess of Addison, living out life happily in the home his father had bequeathed him.
Hunter strode purposefully towards the door, racing up the stone steps, taking them two at a time. However, before he was but halfway up, he could see that his visitor was not Felicity, but his cousin, Algernon Rochester.
“I really am most terribly sorry, my dear fellow,” Algernon said, placing a heavy and comforting arm around Hunter’s shoulders the moment he was inside.
“I thank you, Algernon,” Hunter said somberly.
“Your journey was long?” Algernon went on, but Hunter found himself suddenly impatient for news of Felicity.
“Too long,” he said with a nod. “Felicity?” he said, hoping that the single word was question enough as he raised his eyebrows and looked into the kindly face of his closest living relative.
“Ah,” Algernon said and looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I am afraid I must talk with you.”
Chapter 2
“I must say, I really am looking forward to this afternoon,” Emmeline Fitzgerald said as she once again looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I do so love a garden party, especially on a beautiful summer’s day such as this. It feels like a new beginning somehow.”
And it really did feel like a new beginning after all the sorrow of the last weeks. Her father had died three months before, and now that she was only in half-mourning, she was able to partake of society again fully and no longer wore black, as her poor mother still did.
Although Emmeline had received visitors throughout the first three months and even gone out for tea in the home of her friend and that of the young man she was courting, the garden party was to be her first social event since she, her mother, and her sister had laid her father to rest.
“And you do look so much better, my dear,” Clara Lovett, Emily’s dearest friend, spoke with care. “You are to get as much out of the day as you possibly can.”
“It will just be so nice to be out of doors and to have so much company. I loved my father dearly, but I cannot help thinking that these accepted periods of mourning do little to make things better. I wish we lived in a society where we could celebrate the lives of those we have lost, instead of being expected to wish ourselves in the grave alongside.”
“Yes, I know what you mean, Emmeline. And I am glad that you have recovered so well; your father would be pleased.”
“I do believe that he would, Clara. He was never a man to wallow in pity and sadness, even at the end when he was so unwell. Even when he knew quite what his passing would mean for the rest of us, not just in terms of sadness, but in terms of security.”
“Another part of our accepted ways which we shall not celebrate, my dear,” Clara said and looked a little uncomfortable.
Quite why Clara Lovett should look uncomfortable, Emmeline could not begin to imagine. After all, they had been friends for a number of years, and Clara knew well of the circumstances of Emmeline and her family.
Try as they might, Charles and Constance Fitzgerald had never been able to produce a son. If they had, then the last years might not have been tainted with so much worry. Their small estate of Tarlton Manor would have been safe, and the fate of Constance and her two daughters not quite so uncertain.
“Of course, I am very fortunate in many ways, and I do not forget it,” Emmeline said and smiled brightly, keen to clear the look of consternation on her dear friend’s face. “And at least when my father finally departed this world, he knew that his wife and daughters were all saved.”
“Yes, but you are still to lose Tarlton, whatever happens,” Clara said quietly.
“Yes, and it is of great sadness to me to think that we have but six months left of our period of grace before we must leave here. But really, things could have been so much worse. What if I had not had the good fortune to be courted by so wonderful a man as Christopher Lennox? What if I had no man I was sure of to marry and no means to support my mother and sister when we finally come to leave this place? But it is not so, and for that I am grateful.”
“Indeed,” Clara said and seemed to look more uncomfortable still.
“Of course, I do not relish the idea of Kent Fitzgerald taking my father’s place in this house. In truth, it feels as if a stranger will be taking our home, and it somehow makes it seem even more wrong. But I ought not to dwell on these things, or I shall make myself low again. I shall dwell only on my dear Christopher and how my marriage to him shall make all well again.”