“Indeed,” Lionel muttered. “It never quite felt right to occupy it after she left. Perhaps it was a foolish sentiment.”
Cecilia’s heart softened at his words, though she kept her expression neutral. “Not foolish. Just... human.”
Lionel raised an eyebrow. “Human, you say? Well, now that you know about the east wing’s sad history, perhaps you can put it to better use. Take up residence in there, perhaps?”
“Heavens no!” she exclaimed. “Arthur once told me the ghost of a bloodless Duke haunts that wing.”
Lionel laughed again. There was a moment of silence before he leaned closer once more. “So, you were jealous, after all.”
Cecilia rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fine, I admit. The first time we met, five years ago at your ball... I may have been a little envious.”
“A little?” Lionel grinned. “I seem to recall you glaring daggers at Arabella when she first arrived on the arm of Thorpe.”
“I did not!” Cecilia protested, laughing despite herself. “I was merely... observing.”
“Observing, indeed,” Lionel continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And what, pray tell, did you observe?”
Cecilia crossed her arms, fixing him with a pointed look. “I observed that you have a talent for infuriating people.”
She smoothed out her skirts and took a seat directly on the grass beneath the oak. Lionel chuckled before taking off his coat and putting it on the ground to sit on.
“You are a wild daughter of nature at heart,” Lionel laughed.
Cecilia nodded stubbornly. The view from the hill was pretty and it was countryside that felt familiar to her. Somewhere out of sight, to the north by three miles or more, was the town of Colnbrook, and not far from that was Penrose. She thought she could almost make out Colnbrook as a dark blur on the horizon.
“Are you looking for Penrose?” Lionel asked gently.
“I am, but it is not a tall building. There is no way I would see it from this distance. But I think it would be about… there,” she pointed at a spot on the northern horizon.
Lionel got up and walked to Thor, rummaging in his saddlebag and producing a looking glass. It was made of tough leather, bound in brass with a leather cup over the lens. He knelt and put it to his eye for a moment. Then he placed it on his right shoulder.
“Look through it now,” he said.
Cecilia obeyed and the distant landscape leaped closer.
“Do you see the square church tower to the right of Colnbrook?” Lionel guided, “Colnbrook is the town you should be able to just make out on the horizon.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Move the looking glass down an inch or so towards us and you will see a grove of trees,” he continued, “with a loop of river around them.”
“Yes, I see the trees.”
“That is Penrose.”
Cecilia looked at the cluster of trees but could see no sign of the house she remembered. It had consisted of three floors in a square shape with a central tower rising from the center. There was no sign of it.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I am. I have ridden out that way on a number of occasions since… that day. To pay my respects and to…” Lionel trailed off.
“Is it overgrown?” Cecilia asked.
“I am afraid so,” Lionel sighed grimly. “It was a fine house with a noble aspect. To allow it to deteriorate is a criminal act.”
Cecilia felt a wrench within her. The estate had passed to Uncle Rupert since Arthur’s death. She had assumed that he would be responsible for taking care of the place, paying the staff there, and ensuring the building did not fall into ruin. He clearly had not been doing that.
“What did he think he was doing?” she whispered in outrage, putting down the spyglass.
