Chapter Fourteen
Ramsey dispatched the missive to Heathcliff that he was returning to London, and then for good measure, sent one to Lucas’s residence as well. He wasn’t entirely certain that Lucas would have returned to London as of yet, considering that Ramsey was cutting his trip a bit short, but he wished to be thorough in all things.
And what a blessing to be through, not out of obligation but because he wished to be. What freedom he had experienced in the past week, and it was high time he moved on from this horrific past, and onward to a future that held hope.
Tomorrow he would depart from Glenwood Manor and start the journey to London. And as the sun set and he retired to his rooms, he inhaled deeply, savoring the feeling of the absent ghosts that haunted his memories. His father was still a bastard; that would never change. What had changed was the elemental foundation of who Ramsey saw himself to be:enough.
One word could carry a universe of meaning.
It was the same word that lulled him into a deep sleep that night, with the thought that tomorrow promised continued hope.
So it was with that hope that he rose, bid farewell to Mrs. White with a promise to return sooner rather than later, and departed.
The trip was just as uneventful as the one that preceded it; the only change was the atmosphere of the carriage. It was merely one night on the road, and by the second day, they approached the city limits of London. The smoke greeted him first, then the constant buzz of activity that never slept in the busy capital. When he arrived at his residence, he sighed in a relieved manner, and stepped thankfully from the carriage. He regarded his home with more affection than before, but perhaps it was simply that he could hold other emotions in his heart, and that the bitterness and anger had vacated the real estate.
Regardless, he felt lighter, as if the weight of the world, his world, was no longer resting on his shoulders as if he were Atlas.
After greeting his butler, he took the stairs to his room and refreshed himself from the long trip, and in short work he was back in his study surveying the stack of correspondence that awaited his attention.
In keeping with the new theme when he departed, there were several invitations to social events, all of which held no interest for him. He tossed them to the side and selected the more important missives that required his attention. As he was finishing the last missive, a knock came at the door. Ramsey set the missives to the side and called, “Yes?”
His butler opened the door, allowing Heathcliff to all but stomp within.
“Good afternoon to you, too,” Ramsey sighed. Whatever Heathcliff had to say, he was quite certain he wasn’t going to like it, not with his friend acting as such.
“Do you remember when I said I didn’t need your assistance with my ward?” Heathcliff said by way of greeting.
“Vaguely.” He shrugged, enjoying how the tables had turned. Normally it was Heathcliff who was calm while Ramsey was in a dither.
Heathcliff paused at Ramsey’s response, offering a quick glare. “Stop enjoying my agitation. Once I tell you what, or should I say, whom, she is associating with, you’ll be just as frustrated. More so, if I’m assuming correctly.”
“What concern do I have over whom your ward associates with? What is it to me?”
“Oh, it’s something to you.” Heathcliff sank into a chair.
“Am I to wait in suspense or are you going to tell me?” Ramsey inquired.
“Westhouse.”
Ramsey felt the blood drain from his face, only to surge to his fists as he clenched them, wanting to pound Westhouse’s face with a rounder. He wasn’t usually a violent sort, but that man brought out every combative fiber in Ramsey’s being.
“How in the hell?” Ramsey asked.
“I don’t know, the bastard already knew her at the ball the other night and they’ve been in close confederacy since. Each ball she attends, he is there paying her court. I’ve given John strict instructions that he is not to be admitted into the house for calling hours—a detail I haven’t shared with my wife or ward, but I want no part of him.”
Ramsey nodded in agreement. “Does he know? Is it possible that he knew her association with you, and in turn me?”
“I’m not sure. ’Twould be quite a stretch.”
Ramsey stood and paced about the room, the rhythmic footfalls helping him think. “What of Miss Grace? Have you tried to reason with her, let her know that he is not a man to be trusted?”
Heathcliff gave his head a shake. At first Ramsey though it meant he hadn’t discussed it with Grace, but as Heathcliff spoke, Ramsey’s blood boiled hot against that bastard, Lord Westhouse.
“I tried to inform her of his character but it would seem that he circumvented that quite well. He already had mentioned to her his ‘tentative’ relationship with you, and how he had done you a disservice, et cetera, basically bled all over her and she bought it. In her opinion, he is a changed man.”
“Bloody hell,” Ramsey swore.
“It’s a miserable mess. And my wife agrees with me, and has tried to speak with Grace as well, but, in case you hadn’t noticed, my ward can be quite . . . stubborn when her mind is set. And I’m afraid it’s quite set on Lord Westhouse.”
