Chapter Forty-seven
The journey to Wales was long and arduous, taking the better part of five days to complete. Though her own heart ached at the prospect of parting from Eddie, Betsy tried her best to jolly Sylvie from her listless state, though her efforts rendered only a faint smile or a murmured response.
When the carriage finally came to a stop outside their destination, Sylvie gazed through the window.
Under other circumstances, she might have marvelled at the beauty of Westland Manor — Jacobean in style, its symmetrical facade adorned with ogee-roofed towers, Flemish gables, and a lantern tower rising proudly above an ornate entrance. Instead, she just sighed wearily.
“Oh, look,” said Betsy, peering out. “The whole household is waiting to welcome you. Do you think you are up to it, or shall I have them sent back inside?”
Sylvie gave a wan smile and took Betsy’s hands. “No, I imagine they are all bursting with curiosity about their new mistress, and we do not want to disappoint on our first day. And, Betsy… forgive me.”
“Forgive you?”
“For being such a miserable travelling companion.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Oh, Betsy,” Sylvie murmured, her voice trembling. “Whatever would I do without you? Knowing I have you, your friendship, well, it gives me strength. If I were alone in this place, without you, without a friend…”
“Now, now,” said Betsy, giving her mistress an encouraging smile. “You will find new friends in no time. I noticed the entrance to another estate not far back, and I daresay all the local gentry will be clamouring to entertain a marchioness. There’ll be wonderful walks and gardens to explore…”
“I mean it, Betsy,” Sylvie interrupted gently, “without you, I… I do cherish you, you know.”
“And I you,” said Betsy, squeezing her hand.
“I’m not going anywhere. We’ll brave this new chapter together, and jolly well make the best of our new situation.
Think of the fun we can have, and the stories we can write…
” she said as she peeped through the window again.
“Mind, they look like a dour lot out there. Likely terrified, you’ll be some dreadful tyrant.
Shall we shock them with our modern ways instead? ”
Sylvie almost smiled. “Indeed, but for now, let’s just get through the day.”
“Of course. Are you ready?”
“Do… do I look as wretched as I feel?”
“You look perfect, just a little tired.”
“Then, let’s get it over with.”
It took nearly twenty minutes for the Butler, Norman, to make the introductions — the housekeeper, the maids, the footmen — the names all blurring together as Sylvie valiantly smiled and nodded as she was guided down the line.
Once inside, she dutifully admired several of the reception rooms before pleading exhaustion and was finally shown to her rooms.
Having convinced Betsy she just needed to take a nap, Sylvie was finally alone for the first time in days.
She stood motionless in the middle of her new, unfamiliar room.
An ornate clock ticked loudly on the mantel, its dull, repetitive rhythm emulating her own hollow heartbeat as it resonated in the emptiness of her lonely soul.
Her hand started to tremble as she placed it against her chest, “Oh, Angus,” she whispered shakily, trying to fight back the tears she had been so bravely holding back since their hideous parting, but a wave of desolation crashed over her as reality struck.
Her throat constricted; her chest tightened, and she sank to her knees and gave way to her grief, sobbing uncontrollably for the loss of the man she loved — and the life she would now never have.
* * *
Only vaguely aware of people coming and going, Sylvie sat still and quiet, staring sightlessly through the window in her room.
The light of day was again beginning to fade, the outside world once more cloaked in the velvety dusk, the distant hills dissolving into shadow, the sky slowly deepening toward indigo.
Stark black of night would soon follow to take command, until the first peep of dawn broke through, and all would start again.
Light or dark, it made no difference. Angus was gone.
The ornate clock ticked on — patient, merciless — counting each day that he did not return.
As the evening shadows grew longer, the last rays of hope slipped further away, yet still, she could not draw herself from the window.
Somewhere inside, a foolish hope persisted — that Angus would come riding up the drive, to rescue her from the desolation of life without him.
Yet deep in her soul, she knew he would never come, just as she knew she must shake off the lethargy of despair that had had her pinned in the chair for days.
A gentle knock, then Betsy’s voice: “I think it’s time you came away from the window, my little Lady. I’ve prepared you a nice bath, and Cook is preparing your favourite supper.”
Sylvie turned slowly. Her eyes were dull, her voice faint. “He isn’t coming, is he?”
Betsy’s shoulders sagged. “No, my dear friend. I don’t believe he is.”
* * *
Crumpled papers littered the study floor, each one a failed attempt — the wrong words, the wrong sentiment.
He had always been able to articulate his thoughts on paper, but try as he might, every line came out hollow. Nothing he wrote could capture what he wanted to convey to his wife. To Sylvie.
Frustrated, Angus rubbed his forehead furiously with the heels of his hands before re-dipping his quill in the ink.
Sebastian,
I need a favour, my friend ….
* * *
Convincing society that the Marquess and Marchioness of Westland were blissfully honeymooning in Wales had been child’s play for Sebastian Humber. But he was under no illusions that his next task would be quite so simple.
Angus Westland had always been the quieter of the four friends, more reserved with his feelings, more considered with his thoughts, but what Humber found upon his arrival in Cheshire worried him greatly.
The butler of long-standing immediately informed him that Lord Westland had ordered all visitors to be turned away, then added, with grave concern, that his master was barely eating and seldom left his study.
Nodding his understanding, Humber headed straight down the hall and entered the study without knocking.
“Hello, old chap,” he said brightly as he sauntered over to the sideboard and poured himself a large drink before taking a seat opposite his friend.
Angus glanced up briefly and grunted, “Hm,” before immediately resuming his scribblings.
“I thought we might take a ride out,” said Humber, swirling his drink around the glass.
“I’m keen to see how you’re planning to resolve this drainage issue, then perhaps a spot of luncheon at the Wobbly Duck.
I’ve a hankering for one of their steak and kidney puddings, I still lay claim they are the best in the country, and let me tell you, I’ve sampled a few. ”
“Too busy,” muttered Angus without raising his eyes from his task.
“Oh? With what?”
His head snapped up, giving Humber an incredulous look, clearly irritated by the interruption. “My affairs, Sebastian. I’m getting my affairs in order.”
“Right,” replied Humber calmly, taking a measured sip as he surreptitiously studied his friend, along with the chaos contained on his desk. “Seems rather a lot of paperwork for your monthly accounts.”
Angus opened his mouth for some retort, then obviously thought better and shook his head. He had the look of a battle-weary man who was finally resigning himself to defeat. “Did you do as I asked?”
“Of course, old chap. Society is all abuzz, half of them are laying claim to wagering on your love match months ago.”
“Hmm.” Angus’s quill stilled. “Well, I gave Mason my word, and it will be… beneficial for Sylvie, if it is believed…” The rest of his sentence lingered silently around the room as his gaze shifted from focused to distant before he shook his head again. “Bastian, what are you doing here?”
“I told you, I have a craving for a steak and kidney pudding, and oh, do tell, is that delightfully buxom barmaid still there? She is enough to bring on any man’s appetite. So, come on, up you get.”
A sadness fleetingly touched Angus’s eyes as he exhaled deeply. “Your concern, my friend, is noted and appreciated. But I have no time for distractions. There is too much to be done.”
“Oh, come, surely it can wait.”
“How can it wait!” exploded Angus suddenly, his demeanour instantly agitated.
“I have planting schedules, stock management, crop rotations, forestry and logging implementations. I have the future welfare of Sylvie and the hundreds of people in my employ to consider. Everything must be documented — every contingency for the next ten years, at least. A reference, so that when…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “When my mind is… when I no longer…”
Humber didn’t move a muscle as he stared at his friend, knowing one wrong word could topple the man before him.
A man who was normally so in control and was now losing his grip.
The eyes that stared back were frantic, desperate.
Slowly, he reached over and placed his unfinished drink on the side of the desk as he rose.
Carefully picking up one of the journals lying haphazardly open, he took a moment to scan the page.
“I see,” he said gently. “Then, I’ll get started on the estate expenses, draw up some budgets and forecasts based on the last three years, and we’ll go from there.”
Angus blinked back in surprise. “But, I…”
Without looking back at his friend, he studied the ledger in his hand as he walked over to the desk on the other side of the room, studying the ledger in his hand and simply said, “I know, old friend, I know.”