Chapter 40
Dunsby Hall was nothing like those bright and gleaming modern structures, stuccoed and plastered to feign age and dignity. It carried the weight of its centuries in every beam and cornice, its foundations laid long before a Hanover stepped foot on English soil.
And a Voss had been its master from the very first.
The Great Hall loomed around him, hollow and echoing, its emptiness magnifying every sound.
The walls stood bare, the portraits of those who bore his name now spirited away to some London storeroom or collector’s wall.
Hooks gaped where tapestries had been, and outlines marred the floors, showing where rugs and furniture had sat for generations.
Frederick’s gaze drifted across the room, lingering on the pale square where his mother’s portrait had hung. The nail still remained. He could almost see the ghost of her smile, the painted silk of her gown, the careful tilt of her head. But the subject, too, was gone, leaving only her memory.
A touch brushed his shoulder, and Frederick reached behind to take Thea’s hand as she leaned into him.
Warm and reassuring. The ache of parting throbbed deep in his chest, and the loss of Dunsby Hall settled into his bones like a fracture that would not heal, yet as her fingers closed around his, the world righted itself.
The sting dulled, and the hollowness faded.
Light slanted through the high windows, catching the motes that hung in the air—tiny, swirling remnants of all that had been dismantled. The house was stripped to its bones, standing with quiet resignation as it surrendered itself to the final will of its master.
He prayed that its new one took better care of it.
Hand in hand, Frederick moved slowly through the corridor, their footsteps marring the silence.
He had walked these same floors since boyhood, running ahead of his father’s stride, laughing with his siblings as they escaped their nursemaid and rode the banister.
His family and memories were imprinted upon every corner.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, he rested his hand on the polished wood and gazed one final time at the grand ceiling and its intricate plasterwork.
Drawing in a steady breath, Frederick’s hand fell away.
Dunsby Hall had new masters now, and the walls that had sheltered the Vosses for centuries would echo with unfamiliar voices, and every remnant of his family would be scrubbed from its memory.
Frederick turned on his heel and led Thea away. Lingering here did no good. Dunsby Hall was no longer theirs, and the front door stood open, as though eager for him to leave, though Frederick stopped long enough to retrieve the portmanteau waiting in the entryway.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the weight of lineage and expectations, of duty and ruin, slipped from his shoulders like a cloak cut loose.
For a breath, Frederick faltered. The world felt thinner, as though some essential part of him had been left behind within those dim halls.
The air outside was too bright, too open, and Frederick forced himself to breathe, though the air scraped his chest like being dragged along a gravel road.
But Thea’s hand tethered him, holding him fast when it felt as though the wind might blow him away.
Turning to her, Frederick lifted their joint hands to his lips.
The sunlight gathered about her like a veil of gold, and the certainty of his love filled the hollow left by the loss of his family and Dunsby Hall.
Drawing in a long, quiet breath, her scent steadied him, and when he looked at her, a faint, weary smile touched his mouth.
Whatever waited beyond the gates, they would face it together.
Glancing down at his solitary bag, Thea’s brows rose. “Where are your trunks? Is that all you have?”
Frederick tugged on their joined hands and drew her close, his arm fitting around her as he leaned in, and borrowing her words, he whispered, “I have your heart, Thea Keats. That is all I require.”
And with that, he pressed his lips to hers.
*
All the fear, the uncertainty, the ache of parting and change, and everything else that had weighed her down vanished beneath Frederick’s gentle touch.
It was as though his kiss had gathered up all the broken pieces of her and set them to rights again, and Thea leaned into him, accepting the calm that filled every hollow space.
When they parted, the ache in her chest was gone. What remained was stillness. And certainty.
But Frederick ruined it by saying, “We must get you to the coaching inn.”
Letting out a heaving sigh, Thea nodded and shifted to slip her arm through his as they strode away from Dunsby Hall. She held tight to him, offering the strength he needed in that moment—just as he would do so for her in the coming months and years.
Their old life was gone, but they would build a new one together. One that lacked the grandness of the world they’d known, but it would be all the more beautiful because it would be theirs.