“Righty sure, that be.” Nash rubbed his behind, his face a little flushed, though the fall did not diminish the grin that had been in place all day. “Yours be over there.”
William nodded. His stomach already roiled from the constant rocking. He could not imagine what a night in a swing would do to him.
“You be hungry?”
“In truth, no.”
“You didn’t be eatin’ your breakfast this mornin’, so I saved you this.” Nash dug into his knapsack then opened up a linen of boiled beef and cheese. “It be cold, but a sailor give it to me on account of a sickness comin’ on him fast.”
William accepted the food and would have turned to his hammock, but something in the old man’s expression gave him pause. “Is anything the matter?”
A frown lowered both of his brows, and he hesitated before he sighed and reached back into his knapsack. He held out a wrinkled letter.
“What is this?”
“For you.”
William smoothed out the wrinkles, heart skipping a beat at the familiar writing.Miss Ettie.“Where did you get this?”
The man’s shoulders drooped. “From someone wot was sent to find you.”
“When?”
His eyes fell.
“Nash, when?”
“Day after we arrived in Ogden Wells. I reckon the man had followed us there from my farm at Sharottewood, he did. Said he was paid a right fine penny to bring it to you.”
William ripped it open, a throb in his fingertips, as he hurried in each word:
My dearest William,
It is my most earnest prayer that this letter finds you. I beg God you shall not be grieved by what I am about to say. Since your departure, much has changed in the course of life here at Rosenleigh. Master Willoughby, if I may be so bold, has indulged himself far worse in drink. He has cumbered and vexed the servants badly, and has even been so unkind as to send many of them away. In truth, I contemplated departing myself. There is little here for me, except the nursery, but I fear I cannot hide in memories forever. A sennight ago, Master Willoughby was worse than I had ever seen him. He shattered every window in the trophy room and quite left the room in complete disarray before he ran out of doors without shoes in his banyan. I followed after him, as I could not bear to see him behave so unseemly, and when he mounted one of the roans from the stable, I pleaded with him to come back inside. He did not listen. I cannot say for certain, but I believe in my heart that Master Willoughby knew he would ride to his death that night, for after they found his body the next morning, I discovered a letter in the trophy room. Enclosed are his words.
William unfolded the second paper with an ache pulsing through him.
William,
I quite detest you for leaving. I know it is just the sort of bloody thing I deserve, but if you had stayed, perhaps things might have been different. I cannot bear it here. I shall go mad and murder all the servants if I do not do something. I cannot stop thinking of Mother. You may laugh at this, but you never laughed before, so I shall say it. She never loved me. I was always terrible in hopes she would scold me, as she scolded you. But she did not. You are the only one who ever cared enough about me to reproach my vices. I cursed you for it, but in truth, it was the only thing in my entire life that offered me security. Without it, I am lost. Grandfather always meant for Rosenleigh to belong to you, and so it shall be. Forgive me for every appalling thing I have ever done to you.
Your cousin, Horace
At the bottom of his letter, Miss Ettie had scrawled one last note:In testament to his words, Master Willoughby did indeed will the estate to you, dearest William. With everything inside me, I beg you to return. I need you too.
Heart throbbing to his throat, William turned back to the rope ladder. Disbelief made his stomach sink. Could this be true? Rosenleigh was his?
“William, wait.” Nash snatched his arm, eyes bulging and teary. “Wot it be, sir?”
“I must go back.” William was surprised at the steadiness of his voice when his chest was bursting with mayhem. He could not think. He could not process everything.
Sorrow filtered through his reckless thoughts, as the same pity he had always known for Horace came back in overpowering waves. If only something might have been different. If only Horace had listened, years ago, when William had begged him against strong drink.
“I didn’t want to be keepin’ the letter from you.” Mr. Abram pulled the cap off his head, thin hair askew. “It was just that … that I wanted you to be comin’ with me so bad that I …”
“It does not matter.” William patted the man’s arm, too touched by the genuine care to be angry. “I must make haste. Forgive me. Goodbye, my friend.” He hurried up the ladder, flung open the hatch, and seized the first sailor he found. “I must speak with the captain. Where is he?”
“What for?”
