And with it the sudden longing for what had been.
Oh, if only she could be returning to the bosom of her childhood, the gentleness of her mother’s embrace, and the warmth of their family home. Here, on this land, she could almost hear her father’s booming laughter, laced with joy and good humor.
But it also revived other memories—ones that were equally as tied to this moor—ones of disappointed love and heartbreak.
She drew a deep breath, allowing Blight Moor’s pensive aura to brush over her. She would not linger on thoughts of Anthony Welbourne. He was but a piece of her history here at Hollythorne House. An entire life had existed before him, and she would dwell on that. She would remain mistress of her thoughts, of her emotions, for she could not get distracted from her goal—Henry’s well-being. Too much was at stake, and this freedom was what she’d wanted for so long.
Eager to see the house that she knew as well as any living creature, she passed Henry to Sutcliffe and adjusted the ribbons securing her wool traveling cloak. Without waiting for assistance, she stepped down. Her sturdy leather half boots sank heavy into the sodden earth, as if the land itself was reclaiming her and, as a result, filling her with confidence. This was not a new environment she had to learn to maneuver, as she had done at Wolden House. This was her home.
With Henry once again in her arms and the iron key in her free hand, she stepped toward the heavy oak door.
“A moment, Mrs.Prior.”
She stopped. She need not turn to identify the speaker, for the timbre of Anthony’s voice was etched in her memory as deeply as her own.
A part of her wanted to be happy to see him again, but a much larger part of her was far too aware of how her experiences of the past four years had hardened corridors of her heart. Now, uncertainty and the basic need to establish a safe environment for her and her son trumped any emotional inclination.
She turned in response to his request, trying to look both directly at him but also past him.
He continued. “Before you go inside, Timmons and I will inspect the building and the grounds to ensure all is secure and in order.”
She shook her head. She’d not traveled all this way to wait outside of her own house. “There’s no need. It will be dark soon, and I should like to ensure that we have at least one fire lit before night falls. I needn’t tell you how difficult it can be to see anything after the sun sets on this moor.”
“Even so, it’s protocol to assess the property before we can allow you and your son inside.”
She raised her brow at the wordallow. “I’m sure it is, but as I frankly informed both Mr.Walstead and Mr.Prior, Sutcliffe and I are quite capable of handling this situation on our own. If you feel the need to explore the grounds, then you are more than welcome to do so.”
Without giving him the opportunity to respond, she pivoted and cut her way across the muddy, leaf-strewn courtyardto Hollythorne House’s entrance. With Henry on her hip and Sutcliffe immediately behind her, she inserted the key in the lock and turned it. The lever gave way with a satisfyingclick, followed by the squeak of the heavy door swinging open on its hinges.
Relief flooded her as she stepped into the low-ceilinged screens passage and then through to the open great hall. Murky darkness and the stodgy aroma of disuse besieged her senses. She lowered her cape’s hood and turned a full circle, absorbing every visible portion of the great hall. The gray light of dusk slid through the dirty windowpanes of the southern wall, lending a somber glow to the dirty stone floor beneath her feet and the timber beams crossing the ceiling nearly two stories above her head.
She and Henry werehome.
But then, in the very next breath, the magnitude of what she’d undertaken engulfed her.
Sutcliffe stepped next to her and placed the lantern from the carriage on the long table anchored in the room’s center, the light from which further illuminated the dust-laden surfaces. Charlotte exchanged an uneasy glance with Sutcliffe. Complete darkness would be on them shortly, and the house, such as it was, was unopened. It was up to her to give direction—up to her to decide where to put their efforts first.
Mr.Timmons entered, a welcome relief to her pensive reverie. A trunk was balanced atop his shoulder. “The driver and footman are unloading the carriage now. Where would you like this?”
Charlotte, followed by both Sutcliffe and Mr. Timmons, took up the lantern and led the way to the tenebrous wooden staircase and ascended a few steps before sharply pivoting on the narrowlanding to the left. The stairs groaned beneath them and their footfalls echoed from the high ceilings and heavily paneled walls, as if in protest of being awoken from their otherwise undisturbed slumber. At the top of the steep staircase, they reached the railed minstrel’s gallery that overlooked the great hall and continued to the corridor leading to her chamber. “My chamber is to the left. Please put all the valises and trunk there for now.”
There was much to do, but unable to resist the temptation of spying a room that had been so precious to her, she paused and looked in the bedchamber of her childhood. Here, time had stood still, frozen in a tribute to a bygone era.
White cloths draped over all the furniture, the garnet curtains were pulled tight over the multipaned windows, and darkness met her: dark paneling, dark floor. And yet in this familiar space breathing felt easier. Her shoulders felt lighter. She stepped to the west-facing window that looked out toward Blight Moor, tugged the curtain aside, turned the metal handle, and pushed the creaky window open. A cool gust burst in, as if it had been waiting for an invitation, and swirled into the room’s corners, like a large inhale after a deep sleep. She then stepped to the east-facing windows on the opposite wall and pulled back the dusty window coverings to look down.
There, in the courtyard, was Anthony at the drystone wall that separated the courtyard from the main road, securing the black iron gate.
For just a moment she let herself take in the sight of him. To her knowledge, he’d never stepped foot on Hollythorne property before. A property dispute between her father and his uncle led toa bitter feud that resulted in Mr. Welbourne refusing to offer his milling services to her father’s tenants. It had been a silly, petty disagreement, but one that had a lasting effect on the community.
She let the curtain slip from her fingertips. Whatever might have been between Anthony and her at one time had ended. She’d bid her final farewell to him years ago in her heart and in her mind, and a new life had emerged. The only thing that mattered was Henry. And there would be no turning back.
Chapter10
Anthony could hardly blame Charlotte for the cool indifference of her tone when they spoke in the courtyard. He’d been hired to be here, to protect her and Henry, yet he felt like an unwanted intruder, invading a personal matter.
The sentiment dominated his thoughts as he made his way to Hollythorne House’s rear courtyard after completing his initial assessment of the property. Out of respect he’d avoided interacting with Charlotte for much of the journey. After all, her husband had just died. She was mourning, and given their history, it would be foolish to think his presence would be welcome. He could not forget he was at Hollythorne House merely to perform a task. Entertaining any thought to the contrary would stir unnecessary unrest.
By the time he reached the rear courtyard, night had fallen, and he stepped to the half wall separating the space from the land beyond. After setting his lantern atop it, he retrieved his pencil and small book to make notes to include in the assignment log that would be shared with Mr.Walstead.
