“Uncle Rupert and Aunt Margaret place great store by wealth and material goods. This will ruin Rupert’s day, he is inordinately proud of the coach he commissioned from a coachbuilder in London with royal patronage. Except, it is still half the size of this one.”
Lionel had chuckled. “There is something disturbing about a man who feels he must prove his worth by the scale of his possessions.”
“I would say that yours are in perfect proportion,” Cecilia put in with a mischievous smile, looking up at the towering coach.
Lionel had spluttered, flushing crimson which had made Cecilia laugh gaily. He’d soon joined in.
Now they had come within sight of Hamilton Hall. Windsor lay to the south and it was as though the Sinclairs were conscious of the royal presence on their doorstep and were attempting to outdo the King himself. Hamilton must once have been a modest but dignified abode, Lionel thought. A simple structure of four stories in red brick with neat, white surrounds to its windows and elegant string courses in between. To that had been added renaissance-style wings of gleaming white stucco with stone garnishes in the shape of clusters of fruit or prancing animals. A classical frontage had been applied, presumably attempting to emulate the Parthenon but resulting in nothing more than an ugly hybridization of styles. It was ridiculously grandiose and clumsy. The park through which the carriage drove was an overblown attempt at Versailles. Fountains sparkled in the sun amid manicured lawns and hedges. The ground staff must have been kept working day and night to keep nature so twisted out of its natural state, Lionel thought.
“Good god in heaven,” he breathed, taking it all in.
He looked at Cecilia who was also gazing out of the window.
“Thankfully I was rarely afforded the opportunity to walk in the park or in the gardens at the rear of the house,” Cecilia began, “Aunt Margaret was fond of entertaining outdoors in the summer. She liked to think that her summer garden parties were the talk of the county. I was most definitely not welcome.”
Lionel took her hand in both of his, squeezing gently and feeling the pain of such cruelty. It made him all the more resolved to help Cecilia regain her rightful inheritance and punish the venal and grasping Sinclairs. But she had made him promise not to set out on a quest for revenge. She could not dissuade him from his own but she had refused to allow him to take on the burden of hers.
“They sound odious,” he muttered.
Cecilia shrugged. “I suppose they are the product of our modern society. So much emphasis is placed on status and rank. If you live by that creed, you will inevitably become someone who is obsessed with wealth and material possessions. The trappings of wealth. I don’t blame them for their flaws. They are as our society has made them.”
“Not all of us are like that though. There is a choice,” Lionel said harshly, “I choose not to be like that. As do you. As did Arthur.”
Cecilia leaned across to kiss him on the cheek. She allowed her lips to linger and he closed his eyes, savoring the touch. Her perfume was a subtle blend of summer flowers and fresh linen. It was clean and feminine. He reached up to stroke his fingers down her cheek. Her lips broke the contact and she turned herhead so that her smooth cheek rested against Lionel’s. He could have stayed in that position with her for an eternity. All too soon though, the speed of the coach was slowing and the driver calling out.
“Hamilton Hall, Your Grace!”
Cecilia gave a little regretful sigh and exchanged a rueful smile with Lionel.
“Was I a complete fool, all these weeks and months?” he asked.
“No more than most men,” Cecilia replied playfully.
“I am sorry for any hurt that I caused when I tried to keep you at arm’s length,” he continued.
“You have said that before and it was not necessary then. I understand completely and do not blame you. I simply wish for us to now take this rocky start to our marriage and make something great and beautiful out of it. Something memorable and unforgettable,” she replied. “…Even if it may not be built to last.”
Lionel nodded gravely. “But before I can do that, I suppose I must dispense with the ugly business of justice.”
They’d had long conversations on the subject of the mission that had occupied Lionel for the last five years. He could not call out Thorpe, challenge him to a duel without cause. That wouldsimply make Lionel a murderer or else a dead man. Thorpe was a soldier, skilled with a blade but a crack shot with a firearm. Lionel had not served in the military and could not due to the injury that had disabled him. Even recovered as he was, the muscles of his legs were prone to weakness and pain. Lionel had not yet shared with Cecilia the brace that he wore to strengthen his legs. She had remarked on the marks it left behind but he had always brushed them aside as welts or bruises left behind from riding or some other activity. There was something of a stigma in Lionel’s mind over the need for the brace. It made him feel less of a man that he needed it at all. He did not wish for Cecilia to think anything less of him.
“And justice must be served?” Cecilia asked tentatively. “Even if no proof can be found after all these years? Would it not be justice to live our lives in happiness, showing our enemies that they have failed to destroy us?”
Lionel shook his head fiercely. “I could not bring myself to give up. To know that he continues to live his life with no consequences for his actions. I will have vengeance. I am sorry, Cecilia, this is the one matter you will not sway me on.”
If he could not kill Thorpe and could not prove his guilt, the only avenue left was to ruin him. After years of patient work to recover his strength and the use of his legs, he had devoted himself to finding out where Thorpe made his money and how. Knowing his business affairs better than he knew them himself would help Lionel plan a scheme to bankrupt him. To see him thrown into debtors jail would be just the beginning though. Thorpe had taken a life, and Lionel wished for one in return.
Cecilia looked upset at this and he turned away, not liking the idea of causing her such pain. The coach had come to a halt and a footman was opening the door and unfolding the steps that would allow for the passenger’s egress.
Lionel went first, then turned back to offer his hand to Cecilia. She placed a wide-brimmed hat upon her hair, which was tied up in fiery coils. With her hair up, he could admire the porcelain skin of her swan-like neck. She saw his eyes linger and smiled, putting her hand through the crook of his elbow.
They proceeded along a gravel drive to a set of marble steps flanked by towering columns. Lionel wore a top hat and carried a silver-headed cane which clacked against the stone with each step. He walked with head high and the dignity and pride of his rank. If the Sinclairs put great stock in such things, then let them see him every inch the Duke. At the door, he wrapped the head of his cane sharply. A servant opened it and Lionel offered a card to the man without a word. After a glance, the servant’s eyes widened and he stepped aside, holding the door open and bowing as Lionel and Cecilia entered.
“Announce us, if you please, Christopher,” Cecilia said kindly.
Christopher bowed again and left at a brisk walk. The entrance hall was floored in black and white marble with columns that marched the length of the room. The servant’s footsteps echoed loudly as he went. Lionel looked around with distaste, liking Rupert and Margaret Sinclair less and less.
They did not have to wait long before they were being escorted to a drawing room overlooking the columns at the front of the house. The view that would originally have been provided by the drawing room’s windows was now curtailed by the pillars to either side, providing a view of mildewed stone instead of the park.
