“Who?” Lionel asked, looking back over his shoulder at her.
“My uncle. He is the owner of Penrose,” Cecilia frowned.
“He is? Not you?” Lionel frowned too. “Well, that explains why you didn’t know of its condition. I had assumed that you lacked the means to care for it, once death duties had been paid. Arthur was never the best with money.”
“I was not his heir,” Cecilia sighed, gazing out in the direction of Penrose, now rendered invisible by distance again.
Lionel shifted his seat to sit next to her and she put her hands through his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Being close to him comforted her, made her feel safe. A month had passed since their wedding, three weeks since she had finally begun to win Lionel’s trust. Now, they shared a bed every night and spent much of their time together during the day. Cecilia knew it would not always be so. Lionel had business interests in London to take care of, disliking entrusting too much to any one agent or solicitor. And then there was the matter of his revenge. She knew little of it or the documents he kept in the safe at thederelict mill. Respecting his privacy, she had not pried. Lionel would confide his secrets to her when he was ready. Now, she felt sadness at the thought of her childhood home being so neglected.
“How is it that you were not?” Lionel asked, sounding surprised.
Cecilia lifted her head and he looked down at her.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, “I am not because… I am not. He did not name me as heir. Perhaps he thought a man should be lord of Penrose.”
“No, I mean that I bore witness to his will. He gave everything to you,” Lionel added.
Cecilia looked at him dumbly, unable to take in what he was saying.
“You are mistaken,” she said slowly.
“I am not,” Lionel replied, resolutely, “my signature is on Arthur’s will. I was named executor but I waived that position in favor of Arthur’s solicitor in light of what happened, of what peoplebelievedhappened. I did not gain anything from his will but it was felt that it was not entirely appropriate. I can assure you, Arthur left house and lands to you.”
Cecilia looked out over the countryside, hazy with sunshine. Penrose was out there, crumbling and being subsumed byexuberant nature. It was hers. Had always been hers. All the time that she had endured living in an old storeroom at Hamilton Hall, she could have been at Penrose. All the time enduring her uncle’s frequent malice and her aunt’s casual cruelty, she could have been among halls that were alive with happy memories of childhood. Of her parents and of Arthur. She felt cheated.
“My uncle once told me that I was left nothing. He claimed it as evidence of the fecklessness of my brother, that he had made no provision for me. Claimed that my father was equally worthless. They did not get on as brothers, Rupert and my father. There was bad blood between them.”
“He lied,” Lionel declared with implacable coldness.
It was the voice of justice, cold and hard, casting judgment over Rupert Sinclair and promising revenge. Cecilia felt an echoing feeling deep within her. It came with the need to make her aunt and uncle suffer, to take from them all that they had, to watch them cry and beg. For too long had she been taken advantage of by them… Then she shook herself.
“No,” she said with vigor, “I will not.”
She made to stand, rubbing hands up and down her arms as though chilly. Or perhaps cleansing herself of something. Lionel stood also, watching her with concern.
“Cecilia? What is the matter? To whom are you talking?”
She whirled. “To myself. I’m sorry, I suppose I’m not making much sense. I found myself thinking how lovely it would be to get revenge on the Sinclairs of Hamilton. To make them pay…”
“As was I. And we will. Now we both have a cause of revenge to pursue,” Lionel stated, face dark.
“No! I won’t do it,” Cecilia replied, moving to him and catching him by the arm. “Don’t you see? It will consume us. I do not take pleasure in the misery of others. Not even the Sinclairs. Penrose was stolen from me and I will get it back. And that will be enough. I don’t need revenge.”
“But they deserve to pay for what they’ve done to you,” Lionel insisted, brows furrowing as if it was the most unusual thing he’d ever heard.
“No. I want my home restored to me and I want nothing more to do with them. They can continue their lives, and I, mine. Will you help me?”
Lionel looked at her with utter confusion. Cecilia thought she knew what was at the heart of that. He had been obsessed with the idea of revenge for so long that it was inconceivable to him that she would not want the same for the hurt done to her.
“Of course, I will help. We will go and see your aunt and uncle as soon as we may. Give them the chance to put this right. If they do not, we will see my solicitor in London. We will get your home back.”
CHAPTER 17
Lionel could not help but laugh at his first sight of Hamilton Hall. He and Cecilia rode in Lionel’s town coach, painted in the green and silver livery of Thornhill. The family crest was adorned on the doors of each side of the vehicle, a green hill surmounted by a spreading tree and encircled with a ring of silver thorns.
“It is childish, I know,” Lionel had said to Cecilia as he ordered the huge coach brought out of the stables, “to wish to bludgeon Rupert Sinclair with evidence of my wealth. But, I feel that the bounder deserves it.”
Cecilia had giggled in response, looking up at the coach which had to be pulled by no less than six horses.
