Chapter Two
Toby felt eyes on him as he walked, but no one approached. The cobbled road opened to face the sea. To the right and left were little cottages and small gardens with an abundance of flowers. They soon gave way to shops as he walked down the road. A sign caught his eye.
He’d never entered the Gill, and it was a whim that made him do so now. Besides, he could do with a shot of something to dislodge the lump in his throat after seeing Harry. Opening the scarred wooden door, he stepped off the cobbles and into the dark interior of the tavern.
It was early afternoon, and the place had a few patrons, all of whom looked at him as he entered, and then just as quickly away.
He recognized some, but others were strangers.
As a boy he’d peeked in the mullioned windows, but never entered.
The scent of wood smoke and alcohol hit him as he made his way to the bar.
“Good day to you, my lord,” the large man behind it said solemnly.
Toby studied him, and the recognition came as he saw a scar just under his right eye. He’d received that one day from his sister, who was fighting him with a branch.
“Liam?”
He nodded. “What would you like, my lord?” The words were cool and had every right to be.
What bothered Toby was that it burned deep in his chest. Since when had he cared what people thought about him?
He’d hardened himself to that long ago, and yet there was no doubting he was feeling something for how he’d treated the people of Bidham. Regret?
“Do you work here now?”
“I own it,” Liam corrected. Once, he’d been a skinny boy, all elbows and knees, who liked to get Toby into trouble.
The nobleman’s son had been a prime target for the village kids, but Toby had been up to the task, and soon won their respect.
He and Mathew had played here often before Toby had been sent away to school.
“Congratulations,” Toby said.
The man nodded, but his face remained emotionless.
“How can I help you, Lord Corbyn? Seeing as you’ve not stepped foot in Bidham for many years.”
“I thought it was time,” Toby said, and the words sounded lame to his ears. “I’d also like a whiskey, please.”
While Liam filled his order, Toby let more memories of his childhood spent here come and go. He’d been innocent then, and unaware of the hell that had been about to descend upon him.
“Will there be anything else, Lord Corbyn?” Liam asked after lowering a glass to the bar before Toby.
“No, thank you,” he said, picking it up and taking a sip. The liquid slid down his throat. “This is excellent,” Toby added, looking at Liam.
His old friend had no wish to speak to him, but he owned the local tavern, and chances were he knew exactly what was going on in his village, so he was a good place to start.
First, he had to soften him up a little.
Toby was usually excellent at getting people to talk.
“Can I purchase some of this whiskey from you?”
Had he not been looking at Liam, he wouldn’t have seen his eyes shoot to the left, but he did. Toby resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder and see who he was looking at.
“I’m unsure who the supplier is.”
Which was odd. How could he order more if he didn’t even know who he’d bought it from in the first place?
“So, this is not your usual supply of whiskey?” Toby lifted his glass.
Liam looked nervous now.
“No, it’s not.”
“Can I ask you a question, Liam?” Toby leaned closer as he lowered his voice.
The man nodded, but his eyes shot behind Toby again.
“Is everything all right in Bidham?”
If he’d asked the man to dance with him, the shock would have been the same. Liam reared back, eyes wide.
“Not sure why you would ask such a thing, my lord, seeing as you’ve not cared about us for years.”
“I understand that, but—”
“Everything is as it was in Bidham since you last visited, many years ago.” Liam cut off Toby’s words.
“I’ve just heard a few rumors—”
“Rumors?” This time it was Liam who leaned in closer so only Toby could hear his words. “Not sure why you would. Everything is well here, my lord. You can leave again with the knowledge we need nothing from you and your family, Lord Corbyn.”
He was panicking, Toby was sure of it.
“If there is ever any need for me, you’ve only to send word and I will come,” Toby said.
“I won’t have need of you,” Liam said quickly. “It’s best you just leave now, my lord.”
Toby drank the last of the liquid in his glass and lowered it to the bar gently. “Good day to you, Liam.”
“Lord Corbyn.” Liam nodded.
Turning, he saw a table to his right. Seated there were two men. Both looked at him. Toby nodded and left the Gill. Who were they, and had he been imagining that Liam was nervous around them?
Once he was back on the street, he studied the scene before him. Where were the children? He saw none running about the place shrieking. Nor people milling or laughing. His father used to say Bidham villagers were the jolliest he’d ever met, yet not today.
Why did I leave it so long to come back here? Toby had no answer for that, other than he’d wanted to shut out his past. He’d drawn a line between before he’d left to live in Blackwood House, and after.
He shouldn’t have come here. It was opening him up and making him feel. Looking around, he thought about leaving, but then what did that say about him? Nothing good, that was for sure.
Toby went into the blacksmith’s next. Heat from the forge slapped him in the face as he searched for whoever was running it. He found a man seated on a three-legged stool.
“Good day to you, sir.”
The man lowered the file he held, and rose to his full height, which was a few inches above Toby’s.
“My lord,” the man bowed.
“Good Lord, Mr. Bentley?”
“Indeed, it is me, my lord,” the man said in a solemn voice. From memory, he’d rarely smiled but had been kindhearted. “Is there anything I can help you with, my lord?”
“Just reacquainting myself with Bidham, Mr. Bentley. How have things been?”
The man rocked back on his heels, still clutching the file in one hand. “Well now, Lord Corbyn, it’s been a good many years since you were here, and much has changed.”
More guilt. “I shall make sure to return often then,” Toby said.
The man looked from left to right, and then directly at Toby. “We’d be grateful, as things are not as they were, my lord.”
“What has happened, Mr. Bentley?”
He clamped his lips together, looked right and left again, then shook his head, which told Toby precisely nothing. But he knew he would learn no more here today.
Toby left the blacksmith’s. He got nothing from the grocers and only hostile stares from the apothecary, so he decided it was time to visit Potter’s bakery. Some food may sweeten his mood, although he very much doubted it. In fact, he couldn’t rule out someone putting something in it at this stage.
Moving to one side, he watched a cart roll toward him.
The man who drove it looked at Toby, touching the brim of his hat.
The eyes beneath then widened in shock… or was that horror?
He searched his memory for the name to go with that face but couldn’t find one.
The cart rolled by. Looking at the back of it, he saw a cover tied over what was beneath.
Barrels was his guess by the shape of them. Toby wondered what was inside?
Shaking his head for no other reason than he felt a need to, he walked on as another memory slid into his head.
He’d been seven when his father had given him some money to buy a treat for him and Mathew.
They’d run down to the bakery, eager to get a wedge of warm gingerbread.
A group of children had been outside. Four boys and two girls.
The boys were teasing a girl about how ugly she was.
She was crying. The other girl had stepped in front of her, drawn back her fist and punched one boy hard in the nose.
Toby felt a smile tug his lips at the memory. The boy’s rage had him charging at her. Toby had stopped the boy and demanded he apologize. It was the first day of his friendship with Liberty. A friendship born of two children from the same world of privilege.
Looking to the bakery, he watched two women walk out the door laughing, and he suddenly couldn’t move.
Her.
Lady Liberty Talbot was with her maid, Helen, who had been the girl the boy had been teasing that day.
Toby watched as she pushed her glasses up her nose.
When had Liberty started wearing eyeglasses?
She certainly hadn’t when he’d seen her in society.
As if sensing him, her head turned, and their eyes locked on each other.
Liberty was a duke’s daughter, and she’d once been his best friend. The shock of seeing her had him stopping right there in the middle of the narrow street, his eyes taking her in.
Dressed in soft mint, over which she wore an emerald velvet pelisse, she was every inch a lady now.
Her bonnet was matching, the ribbon tied in a bow to one side.
Under that would be hair the color of burnished copper.
Hair she’d always passionately disliked.
He couldn’t read the expression in her cool glacier-blue eyes, but knew it would be empty.
After Toby had walked away from their friendship, he’d not seen her again until she’d entered society, many years after she should have.
He’d wondered what stopped her from coming to London when she came of age to do so, but had not asked after her.
Toby had ensured he had no rights to this woman ever again.
This was her third season, with no engagement forthcoming. He wasn’t sure why, as the girl he’d known had a sharp wit and intellect. She’d drawn people to her, and he’d been one of them until leaving to attend school.
Once, Liberty had been his best friend, and someone he’d believed would always be in his life. Now they were strangers.
He’d watched her from afar and this Liberty was nothing like the hoyden he’d known. Toby knew age had to have changed her like him, but she’d seemed almost a different person. He knew why he was now like he was, but not her, and hated that she may have suffered as he had.
They’d not spoken, just a nod occasionally, but for the most, they’d avoided each other.
Toby watched as she said something to her maid, and then they were walking toward him, which was the only way out of the village. Reaching him, both women dropped into a curtsey.
“Lord Corbyn.” Liberty’s voice was so cold it was amazing he didn’t turn into an ice sculpture.
“Lady Liberty, Helen,” Toby said, bowing. “I hope you are well?”
A flash of pain, which she quickly masked, accompanied the surprise on her face.
“I am, thank you.” There was a tense silence before she added, “I’m sure the villagers are as shocked as I to see you here, my lord.”
Before Toby could answer, she’d walked on leaving him feeling raw and exposed. He’d heard the anger in her words, and they were justified. He resisted the urge to watch her walk away from him.
Toby kept his expression blank and entered the bakery to purchase a wedge of gingerbread from a young woman he didn’t know, thankfully, so there was no censuring look accompanying his purchase.
He then walked slowly back up the street, eating it as he took in everything around him. Of Liberty, there was no sign.
Reaching his carriage, he climbed inside and began the long journey back to London, knowing he now had many hours to think about seeing her again, and the flash of pain on her face.