‘Answer her ladyship, or are ye both swine that should be sent down to the farm?’ Ian prompted them harshly, but not meanly.
‘Aye, I mean yes, my lady,’ called the lighter voice. ‘We are both unharmed, merely some scratches and soreness for the morrow.’
‘Have you need of assistance?’
‘No, no!’ cried the other, and with a great heave and bang, they disposed of the door keeping them in place.
‘Very well,’ Hypatia said, taking a step back and pretending to examine the inside of the portico as she waited.
In surprisingly good condition, though the ivy here too seems to keep it together.
Before long, two figures—still brushing themselves off and attempting to put some order into their appearance—climbed and slipped through the now passage, out into the somewhat crowded portico.
‘My lady,’ they said, bowing in unison as much as they could, their eyes darting around, no doubt searching for Thorne.
‘Henry Brookwood,’ Ian introduced, as solemnly as he could, indicating the younger of the two, presumably the footman given the tired and frayed old livery.
He had a pleasant face, with a small pointedness that spoke more of a fae’s delicacy than sharp handsomeness, with a litheness and meaningfulness of movement that was rather endearing.
Only his hair had a wildness, a bit longer, with a dashing clutch of it mischievously falling over his right eye.
‘And Joseph Langton,’ Ian said, of the second man.
Somewhere between Ian and Henry’s age, this was the cook presumably, one of those men seemingly caught in middle age—though he might’ve been eighty—barrel-chested, peppered with lines and silver hair, roughened by time and the land, yet with soft kind eyes, and surprisingly elegant hands that spoke of trade mastery.
He wore the attire of a simple worker—homespun coat, old-fashioned breeches, with a remarkably old yet strong linen shirt and cravat, and buckled shoes that would’ve been more at home on the feet of a country squire some twenty years ago—but then, what really did Hypatia have to comment on his choice considering she’d no idea of his life, or days, or indeed, what working at Gadmin Hall required.
And what really did she have to comment, when she doubted she looked any bit the part of the countess they expected.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you both,’ Hypatia smiled gently, and both surveyed her, likely trying to determine whether her pleasantness was affliction or affectation. ‘My husband was very disappointed not to be here today, however, business detained him, and he will be joining us in a few days.’ They both seemed to breathe easier at that, and Hypatia smiled wider. ‘Plenty of time for us all to get acquainted, find a solution for this door, and for me to acquaint myself with Gadmin Hall. I look forward to your assistance.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ they said again in unison.
‘Well now, shall we?’
‘Of course, my lady,’ Henry said, somewhat literally jumping to the occasion, by shooing Joseph out of the way, and bowing again as ceremoniously as he could, before leading her inside.
Strange though this welcome has been, I think I shall indeed like my new home.
It, like its inhabitants, has…character.
Chapter Four
With immense pleasure, I take it upon myself to announce the blessed union of Thorn William Ackerman, Earl of Gadmin, and Miss Hypatia Quincy, of the most enterprising Quincys previously of Birmingham, now Mayfair. Given that no attachment was previously noted nor rumoured, this writer can only hope that these dizzyingly rapid nuptials, and quickest of departures to the country signifies the match to be one of most passionate and fateful love. One would very much despair otherwise to believe their new favourite earl was so very desperate to see his situation improved; there is quite enough nobility to behave thusly.
Jack the Cat, Londoner’s Chronicle, May 1839
Two mornings after Hypatia’s arrival at Gadmin Hall—not that Thorn would know—and some one hundred and thirty or so miles away, Thorn was busying himself saying goodbye to his former life, his former home, his former everything, with a haste that was remarkable even to him. It wasn’t alacrity, excitement driving him, but a sense of duty, of needing it to be done, lest the melancholy and strange sense of loss take too strong a hold; particularly given that he was a man who’d never had an affinity for any of the above throughout his life.
Only he supposed he was allowed a little of the stuff—be it excitement or melancholy—for it wasn’t every day that one wasplucked from a pleasant life of work and simplicity, and thrust into a world he’d not even dreamed of, complete with a wife, title, and responsibilities beyond anything he’d ever thought to imagine he might bear the burden of. It wasn’t every day that one was obliged to relinquish the trade they’d been taught by their father; to leave behind the final pieces of that father, of that legacy he’d worked so hard to be worthy of, uphold and honour, and abandon much of what they’d been to become another altogether. And Thorn might’ve allowed himself a little of the stuff—excitement or melancholy—before he’d arrived back here, only he’d not really had the opportunity, considering how quickly everything had happened. In the end, he supposed, perhaps it was better that he was taking these little moments for himself now, as he saidfare thee wellto his previous life, and didn’t have to concern himself with anyone including his new wife discovering him indulging in such uncharacteristic emotional indulgences.
Which included too—it must be said—wondering often what his new wife was up to, and how she was adjusting tohernew life.
Though I know her not, I think Hypatia rather adjustable, so she’s probably faring better than I…
A slash of guilt struck him again at having left her as he had, perhaps he might’ve—
‘Think that’s everything, Thorn,’ Malek, his once apprentice, now successor as local smith to the high and low of this corner of the world, said, offering out a crate full of tools and other assorted trade-related items.
