Chapter 28
28
T wo-and-a-half weeks later
For the past fortnight Harry had been riding backward in his carriage, sandwiched between his mother and Kitty, while Charity and Lord Andrew sat across, one smiling and vivacious, the other scowling and finding fault with nearly everything that was said throughout the entire journey.
“Stack Castle ahead!” called Gerrard, a good soul who had driven the entire distance.
Kitty scooted forward and popped her head out the window. “Cor, have a look at that! ’Tis a palace, it is.”
Harry craned his neck and caught a glimpse of the castle above his sister’s head. She hadn’t been wrong, it wasn’t just a palace, it was an expansive medieval fortress that seemed to go on for miles. Tower upon tower rose above the curtain walls. In the distance, blue sea met white puffs of clouds, and just south, the famous Stacks of Dunscanby dominated the shore, standing as twin monoliths, pointing toward the heavens.
“Is it truly a palace?” asked Harry’s mother.
Charity also leaned forward and stole a glimpse out the window. “With five hundred and twenty-one rooms, I suppose the castle is large enough to be a palace, however it is a duchy, and before that, lands ruled by a barony.
“The first tower was built by our ancestor in the Year of Our Lord eight hundred,” said Andrew, with an air of importance.
All Harry knew about his ancestry was that his great-great-great-grandfather had been the Earl of Brixham, but he had no idea how far back the earldom went. Perhaps the Duchess of Dunscaby might know—if he managed to be invited inside. One never knew when arriving on hostile ground. He’d met Martin MacGalloway only once, and the man had threatened to shoot him—not exactly a good start.
But onward the carriage rolled, along the bumpy cobbled drive and beneath the archway of the outer barbican and onward until it stopped at two gigantic medieval doors, adorned with blackened iron bolts and latches. Harry’s gaze trailed upward until he met the sharp teeth of the portcullis staring straight downward.
I hope the cogs of that door are no longer in working order. With his next blink, Harry imagined running from the duke only to be crushed by the portcullis. But when he blinked again, Charity smiled at him, and all trepidation melted like wax held to a flame.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, the first person to greet them was Modesty, who dashed through the archway, her red curls bouncing. “Kitty’s here! Kitty’s here!”
Charity nudged her brother. “It appears our status has been supplanted.”
By the time they had all alighted from the carriage, the butler and at least a half-dozen liveried footmen filled the courtyard, ready to haul a multitude of trunks into the keep, except none of them brought much more than a valise or satchel. Harry had the suit of clothes he’d purchased in London, but he planned on wearing it for the wedding.
Kitty and Modesty embraced, squealing at the top of their lungs as if they were long-lost friends. In no time, they disappeared inside. Which was about when His Grace, the Duke of Dunscaby, made an appearance.
“Marty!” Charity said, flinging her arms wide as if to give him a hug, but apparently she thought better of it after receiving a narrow-eyed frown. She changed tack when the dowager duchess appeared. “Mama, it is so lovely to see you.”
“That is yet to be determined,” said Her Grace, taking her daughter by the hand. “Come with me. First you will see your new nephew, and then we shall chat about this unfortunate development.”
Charity glanced at Harry over her shoulder, and he gave her a wink, hoping to set her at ease. This was the moment they both had been waiting for. She desperately wanted her family to accept him with open arms. Harry didn’t give a rat’s arse about being accepted, but there would be some badly bruised spleens if any one of these MacGalloways tried to stop him from properly marrying the woman he loved.
“Giles? What a surprise to see you here. When did you arrive?” Charity asked the butler, as her mother pulled her through the archway.
“Lovely to see you m’lady.” The butler held the door while the two women walked through. “Miss Georgette and I arrived last eve.”
His Grace bowed to Harry’s mother. “Mrs. Mansfield, I presume?”
Bless her heart, emitting only a small cough, she dipped into a lovely curtsy. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
“Welcome,” he said, sounding earnest while gesturing to the butler. “Giles will show you to your chamber. I trust it will meet with your satisfaction.”
Harry looked toward the heavens. His mother had shared the bedchamber in the tiny apartment above the shop with Kitty. Any chamber of her own, no matter how modest, would be an improvement.
After being escorted through an enormous entry hall, festooned with stags heads and all manner of weaponry, they arrived in a library, displaying not only walls of books, but an entire mezzanine full of them as well. Harry stood in the doorway with Andrew and Martin MacGalloway and released a pent-up breath. Did the duke have a musket hidden somewhere nearby, or might Harry be allowed a moment to plead his case before he was shot?
“Might I remind you, the last time we met, I implied that I would lodge a lead ball between your eyes.”
“I understand, Your Grace, but might I add that was before I became an earl.”
“Aye, and that is why you are still standing.”
Harry bowed, giving due respect. “In that case, please allow me to congratulate you on the birth of your son.”
“Mother and child are healthy and happy, though Julia suffered three and twenty hours of labor,” Mama said, leading Charity to the duchess’s apartments, the same rooms the dowager had occupied before her husband had passed.
“Och, I am so relieved to hear it. And you said wee James is only three days old?”
Now they had gone above stairs, Mama was grinning from ear to ear as expected of a new grandmother. She stood back and gestured into the bedchamber.
On tiptoes, Charity stepped into the doorway and clutched her hands over her heart. Julia was propped up against her pillows with the wee bairn in her arms. “Look at you, my lovely!”
“Charity!” Julia cried, scooting over a bit. “Come see your nephew.”
She dashed across the floor and bent over the bed, looking into the most precious face she’d ever seen. “He has your brown hair.”
“And his father’s blue eyes. At least I hope they stay blue. The doctor said they can change in the first year.”
“Martin’s heir will have blue eyes, mark me,” said Mama, moving to the bedside. Fortunately, she allowed Charity a few moments to hold the baby and enquire as to Julia’s health before she shut the door, turning with her hands gripped so tightly, her knuckles were white. “We only received Andrew’s forewarning of your arrival on the same day James was born. Not only was the news exceedingly poorly timed, I was shocked and dismayed to discover you blatantly disregarded my directive to remain in London, and you have once again put your reputation at risk by consorting with a man who is a known fortune hunter.”
“I beg your pardon? Harry is no money-grubber. My goodness, he has spent his entire life working all hours to provide for his sister and mother. Are you aware that he started boxing because the coin he earns helps pay for his mother to take the waters at Bath? She suffers from terrible bouts of pleurisy, and Harry has done everything in his power to help her.”
“Goodness,” said Julia, handing wee James to the nursemaid. “And then the poor fellow discovered he’d inherited a penniless earldom. No wonder he was anxious to receive a manifest of Papa’s effects.”
Charity grasped her mother’s hands. “I ken when you and Marty came to Huntly Manor, you were concerned for my reputation because I attended a butcher’s boxing match. And though being a hard-working butcher is an admirable vocation for any man, I also know it is my duty to marry well. I heard those words nearly every day of my life. But dunna you see? Harry…”
Mama gasped at Charity’s usage of the familiar.
Understanding her mother’s sensibilities, Charity rephrased, “Brixham is now an earl. He may be poor, but he is not one of those charlatan swindlers who stalk the ton .” She tightened her grip on her mother’s hands. “I love him. I love him more than anything in all of Christendom, and I canna imagine my life without him.”
“Are you certain?” Mama asked. “We all believed he would pursue you merely for your dowry.”
“But he didna pursue me—out of respect for Marty’s warning. Even Andrew dissuaded him from coming to call. But Brixham and I ended up tighter all the same. Can ye not see? I’ve found my love match!”
Mama’s eyes grew wide, while Julia burst into tears, bringing her fingertips to her nose. “Oh, my dearest, you have found your love match, just as I did with your brother.” She pushed aside the bedclothes. “I must inform Martin straightaway.”
“Absolutely not,” said Mama, thrusting out her palm. “You are in a most delicate condition and you will stay abed. I will hasten to the library at once, and let us pray no shots have been fired.”
“I’ll go with you,” Charity said, ready to march into battle and stand between her brother and her husband.
Mama grasped her shoulders. “No. You must remain here. Though Martin exercised a great deal of restraint when you arrived, he’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him, and if you go with me, it will only add fuel to the fire. Allow me to calm the waters first.”
Julia patted the bed. “Whilst she’s gone, come here and tell me about Huntly. You wrote such wonderful letters, I feel as if I know each boarder as if she’s a close friend.”
“Well,” Charity sighed as she did as asked, glancing to the door, wanting to follow Mama to the library more than anything. “Because Mrs. Fletcher had given two weeks’ notice to Martha, not only did I feel it was necessary to pay a visit, after interviewing both parties involved, I asked the housekeeper to leave—with good references, of course. But she wasna the best choice for lady of the house…”
Charity went on to explain everything that had happened. She expressed how important it is to ensure there is a person who truly understands each woman’s plight, whose judgment is not clouded by societal dictates. “Aye, Martha was in the family way, but she did not arrive in such condition by choice.”
Julia gave Charity’s cheek a kiss. “I truly appreciate all the care you have given to the manor. If only we had a matron as kind and caring as you, I’d feel much better about our plans for the estate.”
“Well, that is what I’ve been hoping to discuss with you, but I also want to be thoughtful of your condition. Do you need to rest for a time?”
“Tell me what is on your mind, sweeting.”
“You ken Harry is not a wealthy man which I care not about in the slightest. He is, however, an earl, and the seat of the Earl of Brixham is Huntly Manor, or at least it was.” Julia opened her mouth to speak, but Charity held up her palm. “First allow me to acknowledge that Marty bought Huntly for you, and it was your dream to open the home to ladies who have found themselves without means of support.”
Julia grasped her hands and squeezed. “But that’s not all, is it?”
“Nay.” Charity said a small prayer that her sister-in-law would understand. “I do believe I performed my duties as the lady of the manor quite acceptably. And I do feel as though I have an empathic nature. And if Martin does not shoot Harry, I must say that the man is awfully handy. He can fix just about anything. With your blessing, I would like to ask that you allow us to be caretakers of the estate.”
“Caretakers?” Julia mused, while tapping a finger to her lips and looking to the bedcurtains above. “I think your idea is entirely plausible, but first allow me to discuss it with Martin. It is only fair to him that I should seek his opinion first.”
Charity threw her arms around Julia’s shoulders. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”
“Do not let yourself grow too hopeful. If it weren’t for the birth of his son, I think your brother would have ridden out and met your carriage with musket in hand.”
“Then James’s arrival was a blessing for certain.”