He looked about him at the ensuing mess. His staff were scrambling to carry his portmanteaus up to his house, as the driver and groom tried to disentangle the horses from the carriage. The horses, spooked by the water and their haste, resisted as much as they could, their hooves splashing about in the water.
Through all of this mess, Gerard walked calmly, practically unseen by his staff that were shouting at one another. One man dropped a portmanteau in his haste, and another berated him for it.
Gerard ignored it all and moved toward the house. He’d bought it after his inheritance, a small manor on the edge of Edinburgh that had been built in a mock castle style. He supposed it was one of his attempts to hold onto his Scottish blood as well as the English in him, by buying something that looked a little like a castle.
The manor extended into one turret, with crenelations across the top. The windows, large and lead lined, filled the interior with light. On a day like today though, they simply revealed the greyness of the world beyond the glass.
Gerard stepped into the house and was greeted by a very formal butler whom he had only spoken to a few times before he’d had to leave for London.
“Mr. Jarvis,” Gerard said, inclining his head to him.
“Yer Grace.” The butler was so formal in manner that Gerard at once missed the warmth of Mrs. Philips. “I have arranged for a warmin’ dinner for ye in the dinin’ room.” He spoke with perfect reserve and gestured coolly and calmly to the nearest door.
“Thank ye.” Gerard nodded at him.
No further pleasantries or kindnesses passed between them. Jarvis removed his frock coat and hat, shaking the excess water off them as he walked away, leaving Gerard to enter the dining room alone.
It was a small but perfectly proportioned room, decorated with landscape paintings of the highlands on the walls. Before Gerard had left, he had found himself quite fascinated by this room, but tonight as he sat down at the head of the table, he found he was not interested in looking at those papers at all.
He sat at the table and lifted the cloche off a plate of steaming pheasant, with potatoes and vegetables. A carafe of red wine sat beside him, but he pushed it away, longing for ale instead. He rang the bell and asked for ale when the butler returned, then was left quite alone again.
In the silence, each sound in the house echoed. He heard the rain striking the windows strongly and heard the shouts of the grooms still struggling to get the horses around to the stables. The footmen were lugging the portmanteaus up the stairs noisily too.
Gerard looked at the empty chair beside him. He longed to talk to someone, to remark together on what noise the staff were making and have a jest over the matter but there was no one there to talk to. The empty chair simply stared back at him.
Gerard began to eat, his imagination working of its own accord. He pictured a young woman sitting beside him. She was slender in build with dark hair and freckles across her nose. It was the stormy blue eyes that captured him the most, though. They seemed to light up like candle fire when she laughed.
Ah, Charlotte. I miss ye already.
The butler returned and wordlessly placed the ale on the table, then left again. Gerard took a hefty gulp of the ale as he sat back in the chair, slumping down. His eyes moved from the plate of food to the ale, to the chair beside him, then a dark thought took over him.
Even when he tried not to think about Charlotte, she was there, nagging at his thoughts. He couldn’t help wondering if this was what it had been like for his mother, when she had escaped to Scotland, carrying him, far from the love of her life.
“It seems after all I have tried to do,” he whispered to the silent air, “I am haunted. I am haunted by ye.”
He saw Charlotte beside him again. He knew she would berate him for slumping in his chair, and the mere idea made him smile affectionately, missing her all the more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Charlotte stepped down from the carriage into radiant sunshine. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she looked around herself as best as she could. The cottage was a pleasant place indeed, with roses trailing the walls and flowers blooming in the garden. There were tall white lupins and even taller pink hollyhocks.
What a beautiful place to escape to.
“Charlotte?” Frederica’s voice called.
Charlotte lowered her hand from her gaze to see that in the doorway of the carriage stood Frederica. She was no longer pale or gaunt, as she had been that night she had come to Charlotte, in desperate need of an escape. She smiled broadly and ran out of the house, picking up the skirt of her gown as she ran.
Charlotte dropped her reticule and her bonnet from her grasp, moving toward Frederica. They met in the middle of the cottage garden and embraced one another warmly.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you,” Frederica gushed in her ear. They rocked one another from side to side as they embraced. “I can’t believe you came.”
“I wanted to see you.” Charlotte stepped back. Her eyes appraised the house as she held onto Frederica’s hands. “What a sweet home you now have.”
“It has its good points, and its bad points,” Frederica whispered. “My aunt is very strict indeed. She has high expectations, but I live by them. Quite frankly, I’d rather live the rest of my life here than go back and find myself married to a man I hate.”
“I quite understand. I would do the same,” Charlotte whispered. She had a feeling she would be happy to hide here in Cornwall with Frederica, in this beautiful grey-stone cottage, just to avoid the possibility of marrying any man other than Gerard.
“Come inside. I want you to meet my aunt,” Frederica pleaded.
