Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Caspian watched Glastonbury Manor with a sense of unease and uncertainty that had steadily grown throughout the day. And dare he say… excitement?
It was late afternoon, and the sun was well into its journey toward the horizon, so the sky had turned from crisp blue to a wash of dark oranges and purples, with touches of black as night steadily approached.
The manor sat perched on its hill as if watching the carriage in which Caspian rode, gently beckoning him to come closer; welcoming him home, as it was.
Caspian rarely thought about the feelings he experienced when he returned home from a trip.
His home was simply a place where he lived, and given the terrible memories from his childhood that it held, there was no reason to look forward to going back, just as there was no reason to dread it.
It was just a building, and that was all.
This time, it felt different, somehow. Was it his imagination, or did the manor look brighter? More welcoming? Had something changed?
Absurd, of course. Perhaps I am just tired and looking forward to being in my own bed… Yes, that would make perfect sense.
If anything, he ought to have felt great reservation at returning home.
It had been three days since he left, for reasons he did not want to admit, but that were undeniable.
The ‘work’ he had in London could have been done from home, but he chose to leave for the city because he knew it was the safer option.
Even now, days later, he could not believe what had happened between himself and his wife.
He had not meant it. He had not wanted it.
But coming home from the club, a few too many drinks in, something took over him.
An animalistic desire burning hot and fierce, a sense of want and need, and that determination to prove that he was in control of himself.
Ironically, the exact opposite had been proven.
He could still feel Arabella’s lips. He could still feel the way her body had tensed and then relaxed. He could still feel that want in her, so that if he had not stopped, she would not have denied him.
Not that this was a good thing. Not even a little bit.
To further add to the irony, Caspian could not help but consider the reality of his situation.
He had fled his own home to avoid being around his wife, one he could not stop thinking about, for all the wrong reasons.
She had married him for freedom, but her marriage now felt like a trap from which Caspian could not escape.
She haunts me… She follows me everywhere. And try as I might, I cannot stop thinking about her.
So it was that Caspian’s arrival home came with mixed feelings.
Unease. Uncertainty. A determination to control himself and to prove that he was the master of his own will.
Also, and perhaps this was why the manor looked so welcoming, there was a sense of excitement because there was still that part of him that looked forward to seeing his wife.
What had Caspian gotten himself into? More to that point, what was he going to do about it? If only he knew.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” the footman asked as Caspian’s food was served to him.
Caspian very nearly told him yes, that all was well. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated.
He had arrived home just an hour ago. That hour was spent changing out of his traveling clothes, washing himself, and preparing for supper.
More than once, he wondered what his wife was doing, just as he wondered if she was going to come and see him.
He had been gone for three days, so such a thing was to be expected.
However, she did not, and he decided that was a good thing.
When Caspian made his way to the dining room for supper, he noticed without having to look that there was something different about the manor. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Am I imagining things, or do the staff seem happier than usual?
Mrs. Robertson was usually bright and bubbly, but she seemed even brighter and bubblier. His personal valet had beamed when Caspian asked for a bath to be drawn. And even the footman who served him his supper appeared to be in a transcendent mood.
Caspian was not a grump, nor was he cruel, but he had become accustomed to a way of doing things, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that things certainly felt different from when he had left.
Perhaps it was a coincidence? But he felt that the reason was more obvious than that.
“Yes, actually.” Caspian turned in his chair to look at the footman. “Have you seen my wife this evening?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the footman said.
“Where is she?”
“I believe that she is taking her supper elsewhere. She did not specify to me where exactly, but she did mention that you might wish for some privacy after your trip.”
Caspian frowned as if annoyed.
He was used to eating alone. He wanted to eat alone.
What was more, he did not want his wife’s company, nor did he want to suggest to anyone that he did.
To ask that she join him would seem strange; it would send messages he had no desire to send, and he ought to have been thrilled that she was doing as he wanted.
The urge to demand that she join him rose within Caspian. He pictured her as he had been doing these last three days. How he had felt standing in her doorway. How desperate he had been to take her as he had sensed that she wanted.
No, control yourself! That is the exact opposite of what you want.
“What of Timothy?” Caspian pivoted.
“Master Timothy has already eaten, Your Grace.”
“Send for him,” Caspian said. “I have not seen him in days, and it will be nice to catch up.”
“At once, Your Grace.” The footman bowed and hurried from the room.
Caspian nodded firmly to himself, deciding that he had made the right decision. His relationship with Timothy was strained at the best of times, and he needed to fix it. No, not needed to… He wanted to fix it.
Caspian was not his father, nor would he ever be. To prove it, he needed to do what his father had never done with him, which was to build a relationship. Seemingly simple, but for Caspian, it was incredibly hard.
He waited patiently for Timothy, only for Mrs. Robertson to come hurrying into the dining room instead.
“Mrs. Robertson?” Caspian frowned. “Where is Timothy?”
“There is no need to be alarmed, Your Grace,” she began without her usual cheer. “But it seems that Master Timothy has…” She clicked her tongue. “We are unable to find him at present.”
Caspian groaned. “Of course you cannot.”
There was a brief moment when Caspian thought about being worried, but that was quickly dismissed because this was just like Timothy.
“I have the staff looking for him,” she hurried. “But you know how he is. When he gets into one of his moods, he likes nothing more than to vanish for a couple of hours. He will turn up soon.”
“One of his moods…” Caspian grimaced. “Brought on by my return, no doubt.”
“No, Your Grace!” Mrs. Roberston said. “That is not it at all.”
“There is no need to placate me, Mrs. Robertson,” Caspian said with a sigh. “I know that Timothy and I are not exactly close. Likely, he hoped that I would stay away for longer.”
“That is not true,” she said, albeit with little conviction. “He loves you, Your Grace.”
Caspian scoffed but said nothing.
It was a startling revelation, and a confirmation of what Caspian had always known.
While he was never mean or cruel to Timothy, he was not exactly loving.
But that was only because he did not know how to be.
He had never been shown what love like that might look like, so he was lost at sea when it came to showcases of warmth and affection.
Timothy might have seen Caspian as a father figure. He might have understood that Caspian meant the best for him. But did he love him? Did he care about Caspian at all?
I am more like my father than I even realized…
It was a chilling thought, but that made it no less true.
The next thirty minutes stretched out as Caspian patiently waited for Timothy to be found. He did not touch his plate of food or sip his glass of wine. He simply sat and waited, his temper turning worse by the second.
“Where is that boy?” he snapped, more to himself than Mrs. Robertson.
“We are searching, Your Grace!” she assured him. “He must be somewhere.”
“Well, obviously, he is somewhere,” Caspian said sharply. “But where?”
It was another ten minutes later when the last person Caspian wanted to see that night appeared in the dining room.
She swept into the room with a level of confidence that Caspian did not expect. Her auburn hair was worn up. Her dress was a simple, comfortable garment, rather than elegant. Yet she walked proudly, a look about her as if she were right at home.
Stranger still, when she saw Caspian seated at the head of the table, she hardly paid him a glance. A quick look, no emotion on her face, save for the smile that grew when she found Mrs. Roberston.
“Mrs. Robertson,” she said brightly, speaking as if Caspian was not there. “You sent for me?”
Caspian frowned in surprise and a hint of annoyance. While he did not want his wife to be scared of him, he might have preferred if she paid him a little more attention. This was his home, after all, so it felt wrong that she acted as if he did not exist.
Really, it called his authority into question, and that hurt most of all.
“I did, Your Grace,” Mrs. Robertson said to Arabella. She went to her, and Arabella took the elderly maid by the hands. Caspian balked at the gesture, noticing immediately a sense of comfort between the two that he could not have possibly expected. “I am so sorry to have disturbed you.”
“Not at all,” Arabella said with a friendly smile. “As you have done so much for me, the least I can do is return the gesture.”
Mrs. Roberston laughed. “You are too kind.”
“Oh, you just bring out that side of me.”