“Indeed.”
A log popped in the hearth as if punctuating Dal’s statement. Hecate turned to the next letter.
“Ah, this is from Kitty. She’s well, Max is apparently hovering over little Margaret—she describes him as a fatherly presence that barely leaves the baby’s cot. There will be more soon, I’m thinking. Which is probably a good thing, since the Seton-Mowbray line needs a son as well.” She read on. “Ah…London news, none of which is really very interesting for us down here. Aunt Venetia has a beau.” She giggled. “Oh my goodness, how lovely for her. Kitty says he’s a handsome elderly gentleman who is completely smitten.” She looked up. “That is quite delightful. Aunt Venetia is such a wonderful person. She deserves every bit of happiness she can get.”
“I am most pleased for her. She seemed very caring when I met her briefly in town.”
Hecate nodded, not caring to recall that period of time. She’d been unconscious, unaware of the events taking place around her. It had been immediately after the accident that had shattered her leg, her life, and killed Dancey Miller-James.
As if in response to the memory, she stretched out that limb, rubbing it absently.
“You are in pain?” Dal noticed her movements.
“Not at all,” she shook her head. “I think what I most need is a walk. No exercise for several days is most trying. But to go on…” she returned to the letters. “This last one is from Edmund. Hmm…”
It was lengthy, full of practical advice and business details.
“Well, he is very thorough,” she commented, after five minutes of deciphering his handwriting. “Apparently Ridlington Chase and the village are feeling the effects of the weather. He’s worried about their harvest and their tenants, so he thanks me for my advice about stocking up. Which, God bless him, he took.” Hecate glanced at Dal. “At least someone listened.”
“Your brother knows you and is aware that you are to be heeded when you offer advice, Miss Hecate.”
“Good thing too.” She folded Edmund’s letter and set it on top of the pile. “Other than that, all is well. Hugh grows apace, Simon and Tabby’s daughter Helen is the perfect child, according to everyone who has met her, and Letitia is busy on a new book and most often in London with James.”
Silence fell for a few moments when Beelzebub, as was his wont, strolled in and surveyed the room. Finally, he decided to take up his position at his mistress’s feet, rubbing against her briefly, then settling himself into a black brick, paws neatly folded in front of him, between her feet and the fire.
“Do you miss them, Miss Hecate? I know they will always have a place for you at Ridlington.” Dal voiced the question he’d asked several times before.
“Yes, as I’ve said every time you ask me that, I do miss them.” She shrugged. “But I will also repeat what I say next. This is my place, Dal. I knew it as soon as I saw it. This little patch of land, Doireann Vale, the fields around it and the families who depend on it, it’smine. It called to me in a loud and undeniable voice.”
“Why?”
She paused. “I wish I knew. Something…someone…I can’t explain it, even to myself. But the moment we stopped here, in spite of it being rather dilapidated, I had this immediate sense of belonging. That I had comehome.”
“Could there be a family link, perhaps?” Dal wondered.
She blinked. “Um…well…that’s an interesting thought, but since my mother was from Ireland and Papa was Baron Ridlington…I don’t see how.”
“Ah well.” A gust of wind rattled the trees outside. “I am glad we are here, Miss Hecate. And indoors by the fire.”
“As am I.” She smiled back at him.
A tap on the door heralded the entrance of Winnie Trimmer, their maid. She tended to Hecate’s needs as necessary, and the rest of the time made herself useful around the house, mostly at her mother’s direction.
“Come in, Winnie,” beckoned Hecate.
The girl dropped a curtsey. “I’ll be headin’ off to m’sisters, then, Ma’am, unless there’s aught else yer be wantin’ me fer?”
“I can't think of anything. You told your mother?”
“I did, Miss. She’s all set wi’ yer dinner an’ everythin’s cleaned up.”
“Good.” Hecate stood. “I think it would do us good to walk with you. I know I need the exercise, and you’ll have company on the way to your sister’s house.”
“All right then, Ma’am. I’ll get yer coat.”
“And I’ll need my boots.” Hecate followed Winnie out into the hall and together they prepared for their walk out into the miserable afternoon. For Dal, it was much easier. His choice of footwear was always sturdy boots, and all he needed was a thick hooded cloak to protect him. Hecate joked that he resembled a monk from some mystery tale, but he merely shrugged and said that being warm and dry was more important than how one looked.
He was right, of course. But she slid her arms into her woollen pelisse, fastened the front, and then covered herself with her own cloak, one that her brothers had bought her as a Christmas surprise. It was deep green wool, lined with the softest fur, and the hood featured a large ruff of it around her face. She thought it might be sable since the pelts were light but amazingly warm. Whatever it was, she always felt like a fairy princess when she snuggled into it. As long as it wasn’t raining too hard, this cloak was her customary outdoors attire. As was her cane.
