Chapter Eighteen
How long such a tradition will last in a new world such as that we see dawning is a matter of speculation I am ill-equipped to engage in, however undeniably it remains true that the time for our illustrious to make their fashionable retreats to the country is fast approaching.
While this writer was disappointed the Earl and Countess of Gadmin were not to be seen in Oxford among the other agricultural delights, whispers posit that all is rather quiet and successful for them on the southern front.
Rather a boon for the unsuccessful Miss Quincy, who failed to capitalise on her notoriety before it was born of tragedies with ducks, dukes, and treacle tarts, and finds herself with a dearth of invitations.
If the doors of Gadmin Hall remain open to you, Miss Quincy, do share with us news of your sister and brother-in-law.
‘This is entirely and utterly irresponsible, Thorn,’ Hypatia grumbled, almost in time with the grumbling of the carriage, as they sped onwards to the south.
He grinned, and waggled his brows, telling her silently as he’d told her on the twenty or so previous occasions today she’d uttered such sentiments, what he thought of her protestations.
‘You’re impossible,’ she sighed, crossing her arms, and making a great show of pouting, and not staring out the windows, for he’d made sure they remained covered, so as not to ruin the surprise.
‘Yes, but you rather like my impossibility in this context, I think,’ he argued, raising a brow she saw, for she couldn’t resist a peek. ‘And you’ll enjoy this surprise more if you let it be a surprise. You know I’m right.’
A harumph was his answer; which translated in Hypatia speak meant: you’re right but I won’t admit it out loud just yet.
Though she would eventually; that was something else he’d learned of late.
Hypatia was attentive to ensuring her feelings, thoughts, unspoken meanings, and admissions of things such as you were right, were clearly spoken, even if it took minutes or an hour for her to do so, depending on the day.
It was one of the many things he’d grown to appreciate and love about her in the past month, which had been, if not carefree, then splendid in its boisterous simplicity, and unpaved normality.
Their life had continued on much as it had been progressing—sans vicious outbursts, or great misunderstandings.
There had been moments of chafing, of annoyance, of things rising unexpectedly to the surface—frustration at not succeeding instantly at this whole saving Gadmin Hall enterprise for instance—but Thorn and Hypatia had both learned to just say it outright.
Sometimes to leave it, or the other for a day or night, but to return, with a cool head, and care of how to share.
It was novel, and terrifying, yet restorative and comforting in ways Thorn had never experienced.
Their work generally continued apace, returns to market if not filling their coffers, then making more or less of a mark, depending on the day, somewhat in great thanks to Mr Fairchild, who had returned for hogs, and spread the word the meat and pigs were good.
Neighbours continued to help and become friends; fields were planted or leased, new tenants found.
Bits of furniture were bought for the house, repairs made to windows, doors, floors, and everything in between.
A couple more workers joined them—a few lads for the farm, stables, and fields—and plans were made for the autumn.
Reeves helped them make plans for a fair in late September in a nearby town—small, but of reputational prestige—and Thorn and Hypatia worked hard to get Belinda and Clyde both to exceptional weight and presentation without harming them.
They were good animals, who only needed additional tending to show off their interior excellence.
Thorn, when he had a moment to spare, which wasn’t often, went to the forge, and made things which were needed on the farm, in the house, or merely for pleasure; like the other surprise he had for Hypatia.
It restored him, cleared his mind, and reminded him, as she’d hoped, of who he was.
As did, in many ways, all the time he spent with her, learning every detail, every facet of not only her body, but her mind and heart.
Her intricacies—such as the way she always brushed her hair two hundred times, though it made her look like a poodle until after a night’s slumber—and her preferences, and her everything.
He shored it all up, loving every detail, every morsel, just as he loved every bath they shared in the stream, every passionate kiss in the middle of the pasture, every night he lost himself within her; in every way possible.
It showed him what kind of man he was, and wanted to be; reminded him his past, his hurts, his no longer useful ways of thinking were not all he was.
But that he was kind, and passionate, and free, and hard-working, and could make Hypatia smile after a long day, and take care of others, and not be crushed by expectation or disappointment.
It taught him that he was a man who could, and wanted to, love again, with his whole heart, in a manner he’d never thought possible.
Not selfishly, not demandingly, not with any aim but to be with another, and make them happy, and feel life coursing through their veins every second of every day.
It wasn’t at all like a good whisky; it was like coming home, and being in your favourite chair after a long absence.
It was working to understand and learn another because you couldn’t be but fascinated, and needed to know who they were, that made you feel so yourself.
In many ways his love for her terrified him, for all that it might, could, hurt and change him if ever he lost her entirely; however, he worked every second to become the sort who loved unreservedly in spite of the fear.
Who saw the possibilities of life even if love should be torn from them, for they’d have had the chance to experience it.
It was far from easy, but he knew what fear, and anger, and insecurity could do, and he never wished to succumb to them so easily, so readily again.
He knew his growing love had played a part in his earlier resentments, cruelty, and anger towards her; some part of him had been terrified of acknowledging his love, lest he accept how terrible a loss of Hypatia, or a wound, cut, or betrayal from her might be.
Worse, perhaps, in its difference to that of Helen’s, just as his love was different; not that he liked comparing.
He hadn’t told Hypatia, of course. It wasn’t that he wasn’t communicating as he’d promised, it was that he wanted the time and space to do so properly.
To do so without making demands. For whatever Hypatia might feel for him, and he knew she felt many things, though she guarded some closer than anyone might expect, he didn’t want her to feel the need to reciprocate, or say she did, to make him feel better.
He knew how complex a subject love was for her.
It would not mean that he was unworthy, and truly, he accepted that if she never loved him as he loved her, well, that would be just fine.
He had enough love in him for them both to have a happy life, even if in time they became platonic friends.
Hypatia was the most important thing to him, and their marriage meant something beyond a mere business deal; always had, but even more so now.
In time, at the right place, in the right time, he would tell her so, tell her all of it, and see if perhaps, she might be ready to renegotiate the terms of their initial agreement.
Perhaps she might risk taking another chance with me.
So yes, the past month had been exceptionally simple, tedious, difficult, lovely, and special, and they’d all been working hard, therefore, this break was just the ticket; for Henry, Mary, Langton, and their maid, Finny, too, since Thorn had forbidden them to work.
I can only hope they follow the edict. As for us, it seems…
‘We’re here,’ Thorn said, grinning in anticipation as the carriage pulled to a halt, and Hypatia straightened eagerly.
‘And where precisely is here, Lord Gadmin?’
‘The sea, Lady Gadmin,’ Thorn told her as Ian opened the door, bright sunshine flooding into the carriage and temporarily blinding them, until finally, their eyes adjusted.
Hypatia slid to the edge of her seat, and stared out, and oh, what he would’ve given to call upon that fictional painter again, to commission them to immortalise her face then, so full of wonder, astonishment, and fascination.
‘It’s…incredible,’ she breathed after a long moment. ‘I cannot find words, for it defies all those written about it these past millennia. And the air…so extraordinary,’ she grinned, taking a lungful of it, before turning back to him. ‘Thank you, Thorn.’
‘You’re welcome. Shall we?’
‘Yes, please!’
Not waiting for him, and barely taking Ian’s arm, she descended, unable to wait a second longer, and chuckling, Thorn followed, popping on his hat.
‘Enjoy your day, Ian,’ he told the man with a nod, watching his wife stand like a statue among the rest of the visitors, workers, and inhabitants making their way along the seafront. ‘We’ll see you outside the hotel in the morning.’
‘And you, my lord,’ Ian said, with a bow of the head, before jumping back up to his post, and setting off for his own adventures; funded by Thorn, but of which he needed to know nothing at all.