“I tried to hate you,” Lucas replied quietly. “I couldn’t. I made a life for myself, a good life, but there was indeed something missing. And now I know who it was.”
In that moment, the brothers finally sealed the rift that had kept them apart for so long, and they smiled at each other across the table.
“Right then.” Silas rose. “I live down here, as you’ve probably found out. Thea and I go up to Ashcombe Place when we have to, formal functions, business matters, stuff that we can’t do from down here, even with our PCE.”
“I’m in the Cottage,” nodded Lucas.
“Don’t tell me. Edgar’s still there? I never thought to look.” He sighed. “Actually, I couldn’t. Too many memories.”
“I understand. When I walked in they flooded my mind.” Laughing, he shook his head. “Edgar gave me a good lecture and then asked if I wanted something to eat.”
“Bless him. I was always a little jealous that he was yours. That beak...those eyes.”
“Don’t let Nelson hear that, brother. You do still have Nelson, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’d be lost without him. Although I’ve noticed that since my wedding, he seems more in tune with Thea than me.”
“I’mreallylooking forward to meeting her, Silas. She must be quite extraordinary, because how any woman could willingly offer to put up with you for the rest of her life is quite beyond me.”
The ensuing burst of male laughter brought smiles to the two forge workers walking past the door.
“In a good mood, then, ain’t he?”
“Rumour ‘as it ‘is brother’s back.”
“Back? Where’s ‘e been, then?”
“Long story, mate. I’ll tell yer over a Red Rivet ale after shift’s done.”
*~~*~~*
While the Ashcombe brothers spent the rest of the day together at Lucas’s underground residence, Verity Turner-Yardley was looking forward to a relaxing evening with a good book. Something to clear her mind of all the business matters she’d handled today.
It wasn’t unusual, since the days after donations had been received were always—for Verity anyway—busy ones, devoted to managing the money.
Many times she’d been scolded for doing it herself. Some of her acquaintances thought it ‘un-womanly’, others just could not understand why she didn’t have an accountant (male), or banker (also male), to take care of such matters for her. Thus far, she had been completely unable to make them understand how much she actuallylovedthis part of her life. They stared at her in horror when she spoke of shifting the allocation of assets, ormoving some of the funding into a sheltered account for greater growth.
Thus Verity had given up trying to explain, completely stopped even mentioning such matters to anyone at all, and kept her most important questions and concerns for the one person who listened intently.
Alastair Pembroke.
A gentle man in the truest sense of the word, Alastair had seen past the public surface of Lady Verity Turner-Yardley the moment they’d met at some evening event, before she was widowed. And he’d been kind enough to listen to her casual questions about an estate matter that her husband had no interest in dealing with.
A strong friendship had grown from that pleasant conversation over wine and lobster patties, one that deepened as the years passed.
On becoming a widow, she had immediately contacted Alastair, and he’d spent time with her, reviewing the will, the estate, and all the associated business that comes with such a life-changing event.
As a result, together they ensured Verity’s future, and established the basis for her charitable work. The two of them had passed many happy hours poring over sheets full of numbers, various reports on this or that fund, and sometimes simply discussing the world in which they had immersed themselves.
She had learned of the rough patch Arcvale had survived a few generations ago, when war had been one step away. Thankfully, it had been avoided, but the financial world had changed because of it.
Stories like that fascinated her, and of course she’d been equally fascinated when the Ashcombe system had been installed in Arcvale’s banks. Her husband had been very ill bythen, so between that and taking over the reins of the Yardley portfolio, she’d had little spare time to devote to seeing what was happening with the PBIC system.
Once a widow, and expected to enter deep mourning for at least six months, she followed tradition with alacrity. Nobody realised that this time for her was a joy, a respite from sadness, and a chance to immerse herself in the new and updated financial processes now running in Arcvale banks.
It had been a considerable time from that period of seclusion to where she found herself today. An acknowledged patron of several worthwhile charities, the instigator of events during which she could pry donations out of the hands of those who had more money than they knew what to do with, and now—she realised—an experienced financial expert.
One who was more than ready for a glass of wine.
