“Yes. It can,” he responded. “And it’s time I saw to it. My uncle would be angry that I allowed it to remain in such a state for so long.”
“I think he’d understand,” she said with a coy smile. “What he would not understand is how a Grey and a Welbourne saw fit to even speak to one another, let alone become betrothed.”
Anthony chuckled at her playful tone. “If he ever met you, ever spoke with you, he’d be in agreement with me.”
Her cheeks flushed at the compliment.
How he loved seeing her like this—happy, carefree, flirtatious. Each day she was shedding the protective armor that had been her constant companion since their reunion.
She stepped farther into the mill, lifting her gaze to where the roof should have been. “It might be reparable, but do you not think it will be expensive? You may be marrying a landowner, but you’ve seen the ledger and the state of things. I will no longer receive money from Roland’s will, and I—”
“I will stop you right there.” He raised his hand. “We do notneed Roland Prior’s money. My pride will not allow it, and I daresay yours would not either. Besides, I am not destitute, after all. I have money from the sale of my commission and my wages for the past several years. And speaking of the ledger, I do believe that if we can save the tenants money by using this mill and implement a few practical changes, the situation will eventually right itself. The estate’s been neglected, that’s all. We’ll simply change it. We will cancel any contracts with Clarett, and given the circumstances, not to mention the unsteady state of Prior Mill, there is no way that agreement could possibly hold. Once I get Welbourne Mill operational once more, the customers will come.”
She sobered and looked down to her hands. “And then there is Hollythorne House and the estate. When we marry, it will all legally belong to you.”
He stiffened. Yes, the transfer of property was a fact that would come with marriage, and he had wondered how that would affect her. It was not something they’d yet discussed, and he knew how much pride she took in her ancestral home and her dreams for its future.
“Perhaps legally,” he offered, “but Hollythorne House will always be yours. And Henry’s. And any other children that may come. That I swear to you, because I know it belongs to you as much as you belong to it. You have fought too hard for it not to be so. I can only imagine what your father would think—a Welbourne, a lowly mill owner—taking up residence there.”
She smiled. “I loved my father dearly, but he was pretentious, wasn’t he? I don’t think that even he would deny that.”
“And you? Will you be able to bear marriage to a hardworkingman who labors in a mill? It will hardly be the elegant city life you’ve been used to.”
“The life I was used to was cruel and calculating. The man I am about to marry is opposite in every way. And I am so very grateful.”
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “I’ve seen where you were raised. Let me show you where I grew up.”
He led Charlotte to the two-story stone mill cottage, which, like Hollythorne House, was built of gray gritstone and blackened with age. But that was where the similarities ended. He lifted his gaze to the thatched roof and the overrun ivy clinging to the cottage’s humble facade. He retrieved the key from his pocket and opened the door.
The scent of damp disuse met him, and despite the shining sun, all was dark. He’d prepared himself to be uncomfortable stepping in here once again, but that was not the sentiment that dominated him at all. Instead, a peace settled over him—a peace quite different from being in Charlotte’s presence or even by being on Blight Moor.
It was the peace of coming home.
Hand in hand they wandered through the shadowed, low-ceilinged rooms, and he allowed himself to feel the memories that existed here—the moments that laid the foundations for the man he was now. The lessons learned. The disappointments endured. How he could recall running through these small chambers, past the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the open moorland. He stepped up the creaky stairs, remembering howeffortless this climb used to be as a boy, but now he had to duck to prevent hitting his head on the ceiling. This entire visit was like stepping back in time, but with the benefit of time and experience to truly appreciate the beauty of what was around him.
When they returned to the cottage’s kitchen, he stepped to the empty hearth and lifted his gaze to the rifle above it. Charlotte drew to a stop next to him and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
“That was my father’s rifle,” he said after several seconds.
“He would have been proud of you, Anthony.”
Her words sank in. For he’d shared with her how important it had been for him to fulfill his father’s request and be a soldier. Anthony only wished he would have known the price he’d have to pay to do so. “Do you think so?”
“Of course. Do you not?”
Anthony lifted the weapon from where it was hung above the mantel. The rifle’s wooden barrel, smooth with age and use, felt cool against his fingertips. Yes, his father would have been proud. But Anthony realized, perhaps too late, that his uncle’s steady influence on him was even stronger. And he wanted to make that man—the man who had given him so much—proud too.
At this, rare emotion tightened the back of his throat. The guilt he carried with him was multifaceted, and his uncle’s words rang in his mind.
“You are young. Your life is ahead of you. You don’t believe me now, but one day you’ll want a home to rest in. Permanency. Do not discount steadiness and security. You don’t have to go to war to fight to beimportant. You don’t think it, but the work we do here, now, is important to every farmer we work with.”
Uncle Robert had been right. Anthony did long for home. He did long for permanency.
He returned the weapon to its place and wrapped his good arm around Charlotte. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and then drew her close, holding her in the cottage’s silence. She, in return, wrapped her arms around his waist, and in the stillness he could hear the gentleness of her breath, feel the softness of her warmth, and sense true purpose and peace in her presence.
“I’m a very fortunate man.” He let his hand fall to the small of her back. “For I know what it is like to have lost everything and then have it restored. I will never take it for granted.”
Chapter46
