Chapter Twenty
By the time their carriage was bumping its way back up the road towards Gadmin Hall’s drive, Thorn had decided that purchasing a new carriage had made its way to the top of the urgent things to spend money on list. No carriage would ever offer an entirely smooth ride—especially not given the state of some roads—and this carriage had admittedly served them well thus far.
That being said, the next time they rode in this carriage together, and wished to cuddle, Hypatia neatly tucked into his side as he held her tight, he didn’t want it to become an exercise in avoiding her skull hitting his chin, or vice-versa, or anything else of the sort, because their carriage shook them as though they were in a barrel floating on a bouncing river.
It shall be my own fancy; my one extravagance. Mayhaps I shall have pigs painted on the doors, or ask they be integrated into the Gadmin coat of arms. I don’t think the old earl would’ve minded; quite the contrary.
And in all honesty, he didn’t think Ian would mind something nicer either; just as he likely wouldn’t mind a younger lad to share his knowledge with, and quite literally pass the reins to.
Yes, Thorn was in a supremely good mood.
And not merely because of the rather spectacular wake-up Hypatia had treated him to this morning.
He was in a good mood, because he was damned and bloody well happy.
His life was far from perfect, and as before, he knew struggles and turmoil lay ahead—they always did—but it was good.
Full of everything he’d ever wanted—some of which he never thought he’d have again—and he could now see a future not simply of toil, of duty, of responsibility, partnership, and friendship, but one where he could share his life with someone he loved.
He could see himself growing old with Hypatia, here, at Gadmin Hall, and in their oldest years, still going down to bathe in the stream.
He could see being happy for many decades to come, and that was not something he’d expected.
Not something he’d even thought he’d have the heart for.
Even his life as a farmer, as an earl, he was beginning to see, or beginning to accept, just all the happiness, purpose, and satisfaction it could bring.
He’d thought at the start of this whole adventure—or ordeal, as he’d considered it then—that he would have to become something so far from himself, he’d never be satisfied.
Now, he saw he was more himself than he’d ever been, and though he missed some aspects of his former life and profession, he didn’t miss them enough to not see the boon with which he’d been bestowed.
How strange life is…
‘I’ve been thinking, about the old earl,’ Hypatia said, staring out the window, at a rather awkward angle considering her head still rested—or bounced—on his shoulder.
‘Have you now.’
‘I’ve been thinking how we merely call him the old earl.
I don’t think I know his name, or even where he’s buried.
I feel… I don’t like saying that I feel sorry for someone, there’s a sense to it, a tone, I don’t know, I don’t like it, but I do feel sorry for him.
Being ill, being so alone here, being much as you were, left with mountains of debt, and tasked with doing better, and being so right about so many things, yet everyone thinking he was mad, or old, when I think in many ways, he was just as lost as we were. ’
‘I think of him often too,’ Thorn nodded, gazing out at passing trees and fields which were so familiar now, as though they’d been etched into his heart upon birth, then covered with dust until it was time to come home.
‘Not only because he was some distant relative I never knew of. He was as much a stranger to me as anyone else, but perhaps, I suppose, I imagined he didn’t have to be.
I asked the solicitors about him, but they didn’t really have much to say.
All I know, is that he was called Ford Harris, and inherited the earldom from his father, who’d tried to restore it from ruin after his grandfather drove it there.
He was buried in London, at Tindal’s. I went there, and planted some myrtle.
I like to believe, that somehow, he knows his pigs are taken care of now.
His people too. I think he was trying to save this place, and simply couldn’t find the path, so took some others.
And lest we forget, Warren played his part. ’
‘If we ever do win a prize, or fully succeed in making this work… I hope it’ll change how people saw him.’
‘As do I.’
‘We should… I would like to get to know him better too. Perhaps Langton, Henry and Ian would care to share stories some time. Or something.’
‘Yes. We’ll speak to them.’ Sighing contentedly, Thorn turned slightly to kiss the top of her head, just as Ian took the turn onto the drive, so it resulted in him squashing against her somewhat. ‘Sorry.’
‘Ian takes some of these turns, and I think we shall surely tip over,’ she chuckled. ‘Or fall apart.’
‘Don’t worry, a new carriage has, after this journey, made it to the very top of our list of expensive priorities.’
‘How very irresponsible, my Lord Gadmin.’
‘I know, my Lady Gadmin. However, I have decided we should become extravagant, like the aristocrats we are.’
‘I suppose we can allow ourselves some extravagance, and a new carriage is an investment, after all. Besides, until autumn, we should be fine with what workers we have, and no one at the house seems to want us to hire anyone else. I offered Henry some help—maybe another footman or a valet—and he seemed very reluctant. Then again, I promised no matter how many staff we had, he would never have to share a room, and he seemed less reluctant.’
‘Perhaps we should just promote him to butler,’ Thorn suggested, and Hypatia nodded against him.
‘He deserves it, and he might be more comfortable in those downstairs quarters. I suppose it is a testament to their sense of duty and position that he and Langton stayed where they were supposedly meant to.’
‘I don’t think they wanted any excuses for a dismissal. I don’t know what Langton’s past is, but I don’t suspect it was all innocence and roses, and Henry is Henry. I can’t see many accepting him in grand houses, unless for some other purpose, or for sport, which is repugnant.’
‘Indeed. I think old Ford was rather fond of giving people chances or opportunities others might not.’
‘I hope we’ve continued that tradition too, by taking on people like Mary—who is the best housekeeper I’ve ever known, and Niamh will be a tyrant if ever she decides to go into the profession.’
‘Quite,’ Thorn chuckled as the carriage slowed, and came to a stop before the hall. Hypatia straightened, and this he decided, was the moment, now that they were home. ‘Hypatia, I—’
‘My lord, my lady, thank goodness you’re back,’ Henry said in one breath, tearing open the carriage door before Thorn could finish any romantic declarations.
Both he and Hypatia straightened, the alarm and sheer terror in Henry’s eyes making both their hearts skip a beat.
‘Is someone injured?’ Thorn asked, and Henry shook his head.
‘The pigs?’
‘No, my lady—’
‘Warren?’
‘No, my lord—’
‘What is it, Henry, by God’s teeth, you’re scaring us!’
‘You have guests, my lady. Rather a collection of them.’
‘Who in the bloody Hell is visiting us?’ Thorn asked, turning to Hypatia, who seemed as bereft of clues as he.
‘I think it’s best if you see for yourself, my lord.’
God’s teeth, indeed.
Who in the bloody Hell it turned out to be was Mr Quincy, Mrs Quincy, Miss Quincy, Malek, and Helen; the queerest assembly of persons no fool would’ve ever devised, by Thorn’s summation.
When he first saw them, gathered in the one receiving room they’d somewhat furnished, perched and sat on the sole old—but not moth-eaten, only frayed—settee, armchair, and footstool, he admittedly gawked.
No one actually said anything—nor were conversations interrupted, only a thick, awkward silence—for quite a long while after he and Hypatia appeared in the room, eyes turning to them in accusation—and apology as concerned Malek—as though he and Hypatia should’ve known guests were coming.
And there goes my jolly good mood.
As well as Hypatia’s.
Indeed, his wife had paled, stiffened, and looked as politely uncomfortable as one possibly could.
He cursed them all silently, taking her hand, cursing himself too, for purchasing any furniture whatsoever; though unfortunately given the assembly, he doubted they would’ve simply left at such a discovery.
He hated them all just then, for ruining his wife’s and his mood; for interrupting their bliss, and forcing them into whatever this was.
In fact, he hated them all more for what effect they had on Hypatia—dimming her light, her brightness, so blinding of late—more than for what effect they had on him.
Which was rather insignificant he found, oddly.
Malek, he was actually pleased to see—curious too—whereas Helen…
he was mostly dumbfounded. No old sentiments, good or ill, sprang forth, merely a sort of quiet blandness.
Progress, forgiveness, a chapter closed.
‘Well, isn’t this a surprise,’ Hypatia finally managed to say, cutting through the silence, though it still held heavy, like walls, parted only to allow voice for the briefest moment. ‘Mother, Father, Epi…’
‘Helen Linnaman, or so I believe it still to be,’ Thorn said flatly, and if Hypatia deduced who that made Helen, or felt anything about that, she showed nothing, merely bowed her head in acknowledgement; as did Helen. ‘And Malek Smith, my old apprentice.’
‘My lady,’ Malek said, recalling his manners, and rising to bow.
‘A pleasure,’ Hypatia said. ‘Well, now that we are all introduced…’
She trailed off, and Thorn realised she was at a loss of what to say next; as in truth, he was, really he just wanted to ask what the bloody Hell they were all doing here, but such wasn’t done in such varied company, and therefore, he barely refrained.
If Hypatia can, so can I.
‘We’ve been on a bit of journey,’ Thorn said instead. ‘So if you would allow us a few moments to refresh ourselves, we will join you in the garden for tea. Which Henry will have laid out by now, I’m sure.’
Helen looked as though she wished to flee, and speak to him alone, but he ignored her, and made to turn, taking Hypatia with him.
‘We had your things moved to your husband’s room,’ Mrs Quincy informed them, and Thorn gritted his teeth, tightening his hold on Hypatia’s hand.
‘Honestly, Patty, I have no idea what you have been up to here these past months. It truly is unbelievable the state of this house, and there was nowhere else for us to go, with Epi taking the only guest room apparently available. What did you expect, for us to sleep in the eaves like servants?’
To sleep anywhere but here, Thorn thought.
Instead of saying it, or anything else uncharitable he was close to, he simply led Hypatia on, and out of that room.
He—they both—needed a moment, to gather information from their treacherous servants, and centre themselves.
Luckily, he found Mary waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, looking verily apologetic.
‘I didn’t know what else to do, my lord. Her ladyship’s family…the others, we had no idea if perhaps an invitation had been forgotten, or a letter lost…’
‘You did fine, Mary,’ Hypatia reassured her. ‘There were no invitations lost or anything of the sort. It’s not you, but them. Though I cannot speak for his lordship’s kith, only my own kin, and in either case I cannot speak of whatever has conspired to bring them all here at once.’
‘Yes, when did they all descend?’
‘The Quincys, not an hour after your departure, my lord,’ Mary told them.
‘Miss Linnaman, this morning, with Mr Smith. Both indicated they hoped to be on their way as soon as they’d spoken to you, and were therefore unsure about requiring a place for the night, particularly as they understood the quandary of accommodation.
Mr Smith insisted he would find his own way, however Mr Reeves had stopped by, and overheard, so he is airing one of his cottages should it be needed.
There are also rooms available in Sandham should we need them, depending on everyone’s needs and preferences. ’
‘Thank you, Mary. Please secure a room in Sandham for Miss Linnaman, as I fear no matter how quickly we get to the reason for her visit, it will not be quick enough to have her back on the road today. And unless my wife voices any objections, her family are to be settled into Reeves’ cottage, while her things are to be returned to her own bloody room.
The guest room will remain available to Mr Smith should he require it. Hypatia?’
His wife fully met his gaze then, tumultuous, and confused, but grateful.
‘As his lordship says. Please, Mary. We shall have tea, and see…where we go from there.’
‘Yes, my lady. If required, we have dinner and breakfast enough for the lot of them.’
‘Thank you.’
With that, Thorn took his wife’s hand, and led her upstairs, and to his room, and then, he just held her, for as long a time as he could, before Mary knocked on the door to move her things, and then he let her go.
All the while, whilst he was changing, and splashing cold water on his face, and trying to rein in his anger and frustration, all he could think was: this is merely an obstacle like any other.
We can get through it; together.