‘Come near me, mine, or my land, threaten me again, and they won’t even find a hair of yours to bury. I know as well as the next person how useful such animals as are plentiful here can be,’ Hypatia warned him, with a touch of chilling sweetness that wiped that smile right off his face.
Not once did she lose sight of him as he rode off, Henry on his heels, and though she knew she had to go begin taking care of those poor animals—and all those she hadn’t seen but could hear in the other buildings—she couldn’t move.
All she could do was stand there for a long while, getting her breathing and heart back under control, getting her emotions back where they belonged, and returning to her more useful self.
Badly done, Hypatia. Badly done. You should’ve gone to the magistrate first, or waited for Thorn, not let your emotions cloud your judgement…
What is done is done. So be still, and clean up this mess.
Finally, she turned around, ready and stable enough to do what she must, only to be confronted with a sight she hadn’t expected: that of her husband, standing right there, by her horse, looking at her with something so utterly confounding and for which she had no name; something that held her completely frozen in place, her heart so mightily struck as it was.
And feeling somehow utterly relieved that I am no longer alone.
‘You’re back.’
Chapter Six
Having known what little he did of Hypatia, Thorn hadn’t precisely expected to find her sitting prettily at Gadmin Hall, waiting like some manner of potted plant for his return. He wasn’t entirely certain what hehadbeen expecting; his expectations had floated in the back of his mind whilst he was away, but he’d not brought them to the forefront, nor considered too hard, justwonderedgenerally what his wife might be up to, just as he wondered generally at what he might find Gadmin Hall, the legacy and duty entrusted to him, to be.
What he could say in all certainty, however, was that he’d not expected to find her thus, nor indeed had all he found so far in the hour or so since he’d arrived featured in any manner in his casually floating expectations.
He’d expected to find a derelict house—though admittedly perhaps notsoruinous, rather more than he’d been advised, leading him to wonder if some message had been misunderstood or if someone had tried to spare him such grimness—and so he had. He had thought to himself as he’d ridden up that it was a nice enough place, with good bones—or so he hoped for already the tally of the rest was adding up in his mind, and he cringed.
He’d not expected a shining turquoise blue door to be the centrepiece of the place, but then, he’d thought he could handle one surprise, and it seemed really like an old door—or doors—had been patched together to form a new one, and really, a coat of paint couldn’t but help to make that seem a little more charming than desperate.
He knew only two members of the house staff remained, so he hadn’t expected a hero’s welcome, but he had expectedsomeoneto greet him—he would say even after he’d rung the bell; however, that attempt had failed since the rope had broken off in his hand, and the bell itself had no clapper. He’d knocked, thinking perhaps even his wife might come to the door, or a servant she might’ve engaged in his absence—with what funds, you dullard—only no one had, so he’d let himself in, calling out ‘Hullo?’, wondering if perhaps he’d gotten the wrong long-neglected mansion after all.
And he’d had to revise that thought quickly enough, for dilapidated though it was in many ways, it was no longerlong neglected. He’d expected dust, and mould, and unbreathable air; damp and festering—and he meant that as no insult to those who’d chosen to remain with the house, it was a large place to tend to without proper staff nor funds. Instead, he’d found a sharp scent of wax, polish, lemon, andfreshness; not a speck of dust, and it wasn’t just that the place lacked furniture or adornment.
He’d wandered about, still crying out hishulloswith less verve as his astonishment grew, finding room after room having undoubtedly been touched by some manner of cleaning sprite. It was in the library—bare of anything save for empty bookshelves and a vase full of Michaelmas daisies on the windowsill looking out onto the overgrown gardens—that Langton, the cook, had found him toying with those daisy petals.
‘We did what we could this past year but hadn’t much heart nor direction, my lord,’ Langton had told him once he’d realised Thorn was no intruder, but rather his new employer.The new earl. A title I fear will take longer to get accustomed to thanhusband.‘Her ladyship hasn’t stopped since she’s come ’ere, up before dawn and if she sleeps I’d be surprised. She’s got lists upon lists of things to be done, and Henry and I’s been helpin’ all we can,’ he’d told Thorn, an unmistakable smile of pride in his voice, and Thorn had understood the sentiment; shared the smile. Even if part of him felt very badly indeed that he’d sent his new wife to this place, without…anything.That I sent her to such a place at all.‘If I can say so, my lord, she’s a clever one the mistress, makin’ those funds you gave her carry farther than the meanest miser could. And ye should’ve seen ’er on the roof, milord!’ Langton had chuckled as Thorn’s eyes had grown the size of saucers, not that Langton had noticed. ‘’Er book on patching roofs in one ’and a ’ammer in the other! Henry and I thought we might die of fright, but she weren’t to be dissuaded.’
‘No, I don’t suspect she would,’ Thorn said uneasily, somehow finding it not at all surprising to learn his wife had been climbing rooftops to repair them herself.And what are these funds he speaks of that I apparently sent?A question for his wife, which prompted his next question to Langton. ‘And where is my lovely countess?’
Langton’s face had fallen then, making Thorn frown, concern flooding his heart.
‘She’s gone to the farm, with Henry.’
‘A direction for it, if you please.’
Langton had given it, though he might’ve only said:go through the woods and follow the stench.
It had been sickening, distressing, and infuriating, and had he not heard raised voices—including a woman’s which could only be Hypatia’s—he might’ve ridden into the farm’s courtyard like some berserker of yore. Instead, he’d dismounted, and approached quietly, but rapidly on foot, listening to the conversation—or disagreement at hand—and finally gotten close enough to spy the scene, without being seen.
Hypatia in the middle of the courtyard, flaying whom he knew to be the farm’s bailiff as she called him by what he knew to be the man’s name, another standing at her back, ready to defend—Henry, he presumed. He heard Warren mentionher husband, and was about ready to make himself known, as he didn’t like at all how the man dared to speak or even look at his wife, but then he heard Hypatia proclaim herself Countess of Gadmin, with such force, magnitude, and strength he knew he couldn’t interfere.
This was her battle, that she was fighting valiantly, for him, for his pigs, who he’d gathered had been most ill-treated, for his name, for his lands, for his everything, and so he wouldn’t diminish her by interfering, and presuming she needed a man. She’d done…so much already without him, he wondered briefly if she even required him at all; something which might’ve been a relief, had it not provoked an odd twinge of fear. One which vied for attention for the briefest second with the flash of envy that traversed his heart; Hypatia unmistakably bore the title, the responsibility, the duty, with more ease and grace than he could ever hope to. Quickly, all that washed away however, fascinated, blessed, and proud as he was; so much so that he couldn’t move nor even breathe. All he could do was stand there and watch her take down the miscreant, with more grace and fortitude than he’d ever witnessed in one single person before then.
He watched as the bailiff and the footman finally left, and as his wife gathered herself, and then, finally, he found he could move again, so he began to go towards her, because he could see she was upset, and—
‘You’re back.’
Smiling, feeling… Relieved wasn’t quite the word but then he couldn’t find the one to describe how he felt—at home, welcome, at ease, happy that she appears relieved I have returned—heclosed the few remaining steps dividing them, and searched her flushed face, and eyes full of turmoil.
‘I’m so sorry, Thorn, I should’ve waited for you, or at least gone to fetch the magistrate, only I didn’t know when you’d be back, and I just thought to come and find Warren, not confront him, but when I saw those poor creatures, I don’t know what came over me, I’m never one to let emotions run away with me thus—’
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for,’ he said, slightly confounded, for it felt as if she thought he’d be angry, and she must’ve, for when he said that, she relaxed further, and he dared to brush his fingers against hers, clasping them gently and loosely. ‘What you’ve done… I’ve no words, Hypatia. Are you all right?’ She searched his own gaze, pondering her response, before finally shaking her head. ‘Let’s back to the house. A cup of tea will always set one right. We can discuss…everything.’
