Chapter 9 #2
Born and raised in London, Hugh had never seen such an expanse of green except for when the duke’s carriage had brought him to Tyneham to take up his new role.
He was used to tall stone buildings blocking out the light.
Here, the sky looked so vast, the land endless.
He wouldn’t mind being one of Oliver’s and Pip’s birds, soaring over the beauty.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Georgie murmured, gaze out Hugh’s window as Anastasia dozed on her lap. “When I first came here from London, it felt so open, as if I could sprout wings and fly.”
He stared at her a moment, amazed that their thoughts would so align, and her cheeks pinked under his regard. He managed a smile. “And what sort of bird would you be?”
“Then? A crane, wings spread wide and gliding with that grace they have. And you?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’m likely an owl, settled on a branch and watchful.”
“The wisest bird,” Georgie maintained.
“You always saw the bright side of things. I was thinking more of their reputation for unflinching diligence. That seems a good trait for a vicar.”
Her eyes were as blue and deep as the sky, and he felt himself slipping into them. He forced his gaze away to find both boys and the maid watching them. Oh, right. They had an audience. For a moment, with Georgie, he’d forgotten there was anyone else in the world.
“And what of you, Oliver?” Georgie asked as if she’d noticed their companions’ interest. “What sort of bird would you like to be?”
“A hedge sparrow,” he replied readily. “They’re quiet.”
Hugh shared a smile with Georgie. “And you like quiet,” he said.
Oliver nodded, then glanced at Pip as if expecting an argument.
“Quiet’s not bad,” Pip allowed, settling back in the seat. “But me? I’d want to be a gull. They know to come inland when a storm is brewing.”
Interesting. Is that why Pip had come to the village? Had he still felt himself in the middle of a storm in London? Perhaps he saw Hugh as his anchor against the wind and surge. Hugh could only pray he’d have the strength to live up to such faith.
They talked a while longer about birds, and then Oliver pointed out various animals to Pip.
Anastasia snuggled closer to Georgie, eyes closed.
King Saul let out a snort as he slept as well, his body pressed against Hugh’s boots.
He shifted to free his nearly numb toes, and his hand dropped, landing on Georgie’s. He stilled.
She didn’t pull away.
He couldn’t make himself pull away either. Such a little hand, yet it held the power to comfort and console. It could easily hold his heart.
He had thought the ride would take at least an hour, yet the time seemed to fly.
They crossed a river, then wound about cottages as the road began to climb.
The coach slowed, the horses straining, and the wheels bumped over rough ground.
Georgie’s shoulder brushed his. He put an arm around her to steady her.
Once more her cheeks pinked.
Towers of limestone rose on either side as the coach drew to a stop. Bailey, the footman, jumped down to open the door and let the steps free. With a yip, Anastasia tumbled out, King Saul at her heels.
“Watch them, Mr. Bailey!” Hugh called, and the footman promptly began trying to herd the dogs closer.
“I’ll help him,” Morrigan offered, exiting next.
Pip was bouncing on the seat, and Oliver was fairly quivering, but Hugh gave them a look.
“Ladies first,” he reminded them.
Oliver nodded. Pip kept bobbing, but he didn’t make to fly from the coach.
Somehow, they managed to get everyone out and together, even though Pip’s gaze was darting from the closest rugged tower of crumbling stone to the view out over the surrounding countryside to the birds darting from stone to sky.
Mr. Warden, Her Grace the First, the duke, and his party ambled to join them on the waving grass.
His Grace gazed about with as much eagerness as the boys. Sir Winfred studied the stones as if wondering who could have left such a castle to rot, and Her Grace the Third had her nose buried in a book so big it took both her hands to steady it.
“According to The History and Antiquities of Dorset, Corfe Castle was built in sections between 1100 and 1250,” she proclaimed.
“Belonged to the Bankes family,” Sir Winfred reminded them. “The descendants were perfectly willing to have us visit once I let them know of our interest.” He paused, clearly waiting for approbation.
“That was very kind of them,” Georgie supplied. “Thank you for making the arrangements, Sir Winfred.”
He nobly inclined his head. “Anything for my girls.”
Her Grace the First raised a platinum brow, and Her Grace the Third scowled at the baronet before returning her gaze to her book.
“Unfortunately, the members of the Bankes family were Cavaliers during the war with Cromwell and were punished for it.” She smiled suddenly.
“It seems the lady of the castle led in its defense against the Roundheads! Brave Dame Mary kept them out for years. But one of her men betrayed her and let in their enemies, and the castle fell. Parliament sent sappers to destroy it!”
Pip tugged on Hugh’s sleeve. “What’s a sapper?”
“Soldiers skilled at the use of explosives,” he explained. “Particularly when it comes to taking down the walls of fortresses. Wellington used them to great effect on the Peninsula.”
Pip scrunched his face as he glanced around. “So someone came and blew their house apart?”
“Exactly,” Her Grace the Third told him.
“And then their neighbors looted what was left. When the monarchy was restored, the family had to petition the Crown to have their lands returned to them and their neighbors to give back some of the larger pieces.” Her gaze traveled out over the uneven stones.
“But they decided to rebuild on other land they owned. You can hardly blame them.”
“I wouldn’t want to clean up this mess,” Hugh heard Morrigan mutter to Bailey.
Pip grabbed Oliver’s hand. “Who knows what sorts of birds live here. Let’s go look!”
Oliver resisted, eyes on his father and Her Grace the First. “May I?”
“Yes,” Mr. Warden said.
“But no climbing on the rocks,” his betrothed added.
“That goes for you too, Pip,” Hugh told him. “These ruins cannot be stable. Keep your feet on the ground.”
“Right you are, guvnor,” Pip said before pulling Oliver onward.
Morrigan had already taken Anastasia’s leash. Bailey came forward with a nod to Hugh. “Would you care for me to walk him, sir?”
That would certainly give Hugh more time to converse with Georgie. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, offering the leash.
Bailey’s gaze was following Morrigan as she ambled along, letting Anastasia sniff her fill. “No trouble at all.” He took King Saul’s leash and started after the maid.
They all split up then. While the coachmen saw to the horses, Mr. Warden and Her Grace the First went one direction, and the duke, Her Grace the Third, and the other maid went another, with Sir Winfred wandering after.
Once again, Hugh found himself alone with Georgie.
She was frowning as Her Grace the Third’s yellow skirts disappeared behind an outcropping.
“They’re doing it on purpose, you know,” Georgie said.
Hugh glanced after them as the breeze tugged at his greatcoat. “Doing what?”
“Giving us time to ourselves.” She sighed. “His Grace is matchmaking, you see. He did that with Claudia and Ben, so he thinks he can do it with me.” Her gaze met his. “And you. If you aren’t careful, Hugh, he’ll be encouraging you to propose.”
And would that be the most terrible thing?
He shook the thought aside. By her sighs, she did not consider it a good thing.
What sane person would trade the position and wealth of a duchy for a vicarage beside a graveyard?
She’d married the son of a duke. Likely she could find another aristocrat if she chose.
Yet the fact that she’d gone to half-mourning lately in her lavender gowns suggested she might be reconsidering her future.
Dare he think she might be considering him?
“Will you ever marry again one day?” Hugh murmured as he helped her onto an upper portion of the ruins.
They appeared to be scattered in several concentric squares, each one higher than the other on the hill.
Hard to imagine them connected into a vast complex of buildings designed to withstand a prolonged siege.
“Very likely not,” she allowed, and part of him shriveled. “I loved Freddie. It doesn’t seem right to think about marrying again so soon after his death.”
“How did he die?” Hugh asked gently. “I never heard.”
She dropped her gaze, hiding her face from him. “It’s hard for me to talk about it.” She stopped, and her soft moan tore into his heart.
“Georgie, I’m so sorry.” Without thinking, he gathered her in his arms. “To lose him so young. It is not to be borne.”
She leaned against him as if taking strength. “Oh, Hugh, it was horrible. And I feel so guilty!”
He rubbed her back with one hand. “Sometimes those left behind feel guilt for having survived a tragedy, but that is false guilt.”
She raised her head to meet his gaze. “That’s not it. I…”
From somewhere among the piles of stones came a thud that shook the ground. A woman screamed.