He hoped so, but failed to quell a tiny seed of doubt. Why would Randschen try to blackmail Gwyneth, and then decide to shoot her, without asking for money, as the note had suggested?
Besides which, Randschen already knew that the estate was not in Gwyneth’s name nor under her control. She had the living, and the title of Lady of Wolfbridge. But there was no fortune to be gained by either marrying her or killing her.
Could he have been so incensed at her refusal of his offer that he determined to kill her out of revenge?
It seemed highly unlikely, but then again Giles did not know Randschen, and from Jeremy’s story it would seem that there was a streak of appalling behaviour rampant in that family.
He preferred facts to assumptions. And the fact was, without question, Baron Randschen was dead. Someone had borrowed a bit of the forest and beaten the man to death with it. Specifically his face and head, and with great force.
Giles wondered what kind of man, in what kind of mood, could deliver such a violent and brutal attack.
But again, he had to remind himself that savage though it was, it had removed the threat of more violence against Gwyneth and Wolfbridge.
For this alone, he was relieved. Especially since the time was coming when he had to make some difficult decisions himself.
He emerged into the sunshine and paused for a few moments, staring at the vista before him.
To his left was Wolfbridge Manor, its warm grey stones surrounding sparkling windows which would take him into the ballroom. The decorative edgings and the softened lines of the building were appealing, as was the splash of colour offered by the fruit trees that grew on the other side of the lawns, some distance away.
Beyond that, the hills were a soft green haze. If he walked on, he would turn to see the full front of the Manor, its steps leading down to the gravel drive. There were colours there now, as well, although the azaleas had already bloomed. Other shrubs flowered, and he made a mental note to remind Gabriel that some weeding should be on the agenda, especially on the edges of the steps.
It was a natural thought, born of over two decades spent watching the life of Wolfbridge Manor. To Giles, it was almost a living thing, a building with character, flaws, strengths and beauty.
He hoped his care had kept it so, and perhaps improved it here and there.
The early summer weeding was vital, as was the autumn leaf clearing. Mr Greymarch would gather his lads and help when necessary, since he’d lived near Wolfbridge longer than Giles. The snow was rolled if it fell too deeply, and in the spring the dead wood would be collected, to dry under the summer sun, much as broken branches would be gathered all year long. Firewood was always a priority and would remain so as far as Giles could tell.
So much lay unchanged, he thought, from the time the first Lady of Wolfbridge set about creating her dictates for the estate. It had probably looked the same centuries ago, and he spared a moment to wonder if an earlier servant had walked the lawns as he himself did now.
For a man not given to undue amounts of retrospect, Giles surprised himself with his thoughts.
But he knew they were the result of many different things, some—like this morning’s unpleasant discovery—a part of everyone’s life at Wolfbridge. Others were particular to him alone.
And those were going to offer the most difficult of challenges.
He’d done his best to prepare what he could. He’d established everything in an order that satisfied both him and his needs, and he’d lived the life he’d chosen for himself while doing so.
A quote from Aeschylus darted through his mind. Something about Zeus causing ill winds to change. His classical readings had been many years before, so he couldn’t recall the exact phrasing, but it seemed oddly apt.
The winds around Wolfbridge were indeed changing. The Lady herself was becoming the leader they needed and desired. He knew she was now intimate with her gentlemen and such things bound lovers together with stronger ties than even loyalty and duty.
All was as it should be, and the demise of Randschen also took the final burden from Jeremy’s shoulders. He wondered if the lad even realised that yet. Time would tell.
Lifting his head and breathing in the unique fragrance that he would always associate with Wolfbridge, Giles picked up his pace and strode back to his office.
There was work ahead, still, and no time like the present to get to it.
ChapterThirty-One
Although it should have been a sombre moment, the residents of Wolfbridge couldn’t help the sensation of relief and gladness that the threat to their Lady had been disposed of.
The Lady herself was wreathed in smiles, announcing that of a surety she was happy the danger had passed, but also that her much-loved cook had been justly avenged. Evan grinned, demonstrating his happiness by waving the glass full of brandy in his good hand. And slopping a bit of it in his enthusiasm.
Giles had left them to their celebrations, informing them that any headaches on the morrow would be entirely their own fault, and no allowances would be made for absence or tardiness.
His words were stern, but there was a look of patient amusement on his face as he bid them goodnight.
With his departure, the brandy circulated once more, and Gwyneth made sure she claimed her share. There were times when a glass of excellent sherry hit the spot. Then there were times like these when only a finely matured brandy would do.
