Chapter Eight − Huntington House
Leaving behind the noise and crowded streets of London, Derek found his body relax as he sat astride his trusted gelding Arion as the bay carried him swiftly across the fields toward a small forest clustered at the horizon. With his few belongings strapped to the back of his saddle, they made good time, and Derek could feel a soft pull as each step of his horse carried him closer to home…and his family.
It had been too long since he had last seen them, and he could only hope that they were all well. However, his sister’s last letter had reached him weeks ago. Who knew what had happened since then?
For the past few years, Derek had reluctantly spent his time in Town, watching over his friend Tristan as an unknown enemy had lain in wait, wanting to end his life. Derek had considered it his duty to protect Tristan after what he had done for his sister. It had been a debt that he needed to repay. And yet, over time a deep friendship had developed between them, so that today Derek would without hesitation name Tristan his best, most trusted friend.
Whether it had been duty or friendship keeping Derek in town did not matter any longer. The threat had been eliminated, and Tristan was safe now, thereby freeing Derek from his obligation and allowing him to return to the life he had neglected for too long.
And yet, he did not feel liberated, did he?
A new obligation had caught him in its snare; he was a married man now.
Try as he might, Derek could not empty his head when it came to thoughts of Lady Madeline…Lady Ainsworth, his wife.
Madeline.
Whether he turned his gaze to the far horizon or the hard ground beneath his horse’s hooves, he could not escape the memory of her long ebony hair and her sparkling green eyes. He saw her shake with anger as she lashed out at him, her eyes ablaze in the darkening glow of her bedchamber. He felt her body tremble beneath his hands as he had kissed her…as she had kissed him back with such passion.
As his mind replayed all that had happened before his inner eye, Derek felt himself torn between the different emotions these images evoked. Although he knew that she despised him for the life he had forced on her−and with good reason, he had to admit for he knew he would have felt the same−there had been moments when his hopeful heart had seen something else in those intense green eyes. There had been moments when she had allowed herself to be vulnerable. Despite her unyielding pride and dignity, she had pleaded for a kiss, offering herself up for rejection.
Derek understood the need to be strong−or if that was not possible, at the very least, the need to appear strong. Revealing a weakness could−and often would−be one’s downfall for the world only favoured those who looked out for themselves. That was a lesson he had learnt from the ton. Had his wife learnt a similar lesson? How could she? After all, had she not grown up among the very people he so despised? Had she not been raised with the same principles that demanded a man of no importance like himself be stomped into the ground should he dare to aspire to more than his assigned miserable lot in life?
Their lives, their expectations, their outlooks on life were so very different as much as they were themselves; Derek knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that their marriage was doomed. And yet, he had felt a certain kinship to the woman he had married but knew very little about. Had he been wrong to think so? Had his emotions deceived him?
Shaking his head, Derek swallowed as his bay carried him out of the small forest.
A frown drew down his brows and he glanced around, taking in the wide expanse of fields and meadows. When had he entered the forest? He wondered, once more glancing behind himself at the tall standing trees now slowly falling behind.
Closing his eyes, he sighed. His wife proved to be a powerful distraction…even when she was nowhere around. He would do well to push all thoughts of her from his mind for likely he would not see her again…or at least not often. Although he had felt compelled to offer his home to her, Derek was certain she would never accept his offer.
After all, she had other options.
As an image of Townsend rose before his eyes, Derek groaned loudly, his fingers curling around the leather reins in his hands. “Don’t! Forget him! Forget her!” he snapped at himself, momentarily startling his bay. However, Arion had seen him through the darkest moments of his life and was not worried by his master’s outburst.
Drawing in a deep breath, Derek closed his eyes, conjuring an image of his sister, her auburn hair falling beyond her shoulders, framing her gentle face, her deep blue eyes looking into his with such kindness and devotion that Derek felt his throat close. “Home,” he whispered and spurred on Arion, who immediately leapt forward. “Home.”
As though the devil was behind him, Derek raced his trusted steed across the country toward the small barony he had been awarded after the war. It had been a long time since he had last seen it; however, when the main building finally came into view, he could not help but groan at the sight of its rather decrepit condition. Even from a distance, Derek could see splintering wood, crumbling bricks and missing shingles on the roof. The gardens grew wild and untamed, conveying the impression that the property had long since been abandoned.
Abandoned by its new master…
…and left in the hands of a kind, young woman and her husband, a man Derek knew to be of upstanding character as well as abysmal manual skills. As Tristan’s former valet, Sean Brewer, knew nothing about life in the country, about taking care of an estate with no help but those of his own two hands.
And then there was Derek’s mother: a good and honest soul with a knack for cooking and baking.
Spurring on his bay, Derek cursed himself for leaving them to fend for themselves for too long. They had needed him, and he had not been there. Despite his obligation to Tristan, he should have found a way to help his family. Maybe he should have accepted Tristan’s offer for financial support.
Cringing inwardly at the mere thought of accepting charity, Derek shook his head. Pride had kept him from allowing Tristan to help, and yet, even now seeing the condition of the house, Derek knew he would not be able to bring himself to send word to Tristan, asking for his support.
Of course, his friend would not hesitate to grant it.
However, Derek could not. Accepting money without offering something of equal value was something his pride would not allow him to do. He would work from sunrise to sundown for the years to come without rest, without complaint, to see his family well-settled.
But he would not accept charity.
Not from his friend.
Not from his wife.
Her accusation that he had only married her for her dowry flitted through his mind, and Derek knew that whether she believed his words did not matter. He was the one who needed to live with his deeds, his intentions. He was the one he would have to face in the mirror every morning. His conscience needed to be clear.
He would find a way.
He always had.
As he guided his bay through the overgrown gate and up the drive toward the manor house, Derek’s eyes slid over the property. Aside from the gardens and the main house, he spotted a barn as well as two other wooden constructions, sheds of some kind. His mind took stock of every loose board, every crumpling brick and missing shingle and began to work out a plan to put it all back the way it ought to be.
It would take time.
A lot of time.
But he would manage.
He had to.
He would not fail his family.
Not again.
“Derek!”
At the sound of his sister’s voice, Derek’s head snapped up, his eyes drawn to her laughing face as she raced down the front steps of the manor house like a young girl, one hand gently resting on the soft swelling of her belly.
Bringing his horse to a halt, Derek jumped to the ground as relief flooded his being at the sight of his sister’s happy face. “Kara,” he called and caught her as she flung herself at him, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight. “Are you all right?” he whispered into her hair, reluctant to let go of her. “Is everyone all right?”
Standing back, Kara looked at his face, her watchful eyes taking in every line, every frown, every worry. “We’re fine,” she finally said, her hand gently squeezing his as she nodded, her gaze imploring him to believe her. “You worry too much, Brother.”
“I know,” Derek replied as his gaze travelled lower to her protruding belly. “Are you happy?” he asked then, unable to keep silent. Then his gaze sought hers, hoping she would not give him any reason to doubt her words. Would she lie to spare his feelings? To protect him from the guilt that would no doubt claim him whole?
Shaking her head, Kara sighed, her arms resting on her sides, a rather exasperated look in her blue eyes. “You may be a high and fancy baron now,” she told him, her voice completely unimpressed, “but you will not look at me with pity in your eyes, do you hear me?” Her gaze widened in challenge, and Derek nodded, his heart suddenly lighter. “Good. Then come inside and greet your family. You’ve been gone too long.”
Inwardly, Derek cringed.
“Don’t!” his sister snapped, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a determined glare. “It was not meant as an accusation, and you will not make me feel guilty by understanding it as such.” Again, she grasped his hands, and her eyes softened as she looked at him. “We missed you. You. Not your capable hands. Do you hear me?”
A soft smile tugged at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Where is Mother? And your husband?”
An easy smile came to Kara’s face as she dragged him toward the house, Arion trailing behind them. “Mother is in the kitchen. Where else? Sean is helping out Meagan.”
“Meagan?” Stopping in his tracks, Derek stared at her as his heart constricted in his chest. “Is she alright? The children?”
Kara rolled her eyes at him. “Do not worry. They’re all fine. Sean goes over once a week to see if she needs help with anything.”
Derek nodded. His sister’s husband was truly a good man. “What about the other tenants?”
Kara shrugged, a touch of regret in her eyes. “They’re good people, but they keep their distance. I believe the old baron destroyed much of the trust they would have otherwise shown us. It will be no small feat to reclaim it.”
“I see,” Derek mumbled, wondering how to best meet his tenants after such a long absence. Would they understand the need to fulfil an obligation to a friend? Or would they think him one of the ton, a regular baron, not interested in the common people’s plight?
Derek’s head snapped suddenly up as he was jarred out of his gloomy thoughts by the sound of small footsteps approaching from inside. Then a small blond-haired boy appeared in the door frame of the entrance, his eyes wide as he glanced from his mother to the stranger who was his uncle.
“Collin,” Kara called, holding out her hand to the little boy. “Come and say hello to your uncle.”
With his wide blue eyes still staring at Derek, Collin reached for his mother’s hand and slowly came forward. Then he mumbled something rather unintelligible that might have been a greeting and hid behind his mother’s skirts.
Kara laughed, gently brushing back his curls. “You will need to learn how to smile, dear Brother,” she told him, her voice teasing, “or you will frighten off all the children within the county.”
Doing his best to give his face a kind expression−although it did feel like a mask−Derek knelt in front of his sister’s little boy. “Hello, Collin,” he greeted the child, who peeked at him from behind his mother’s skirts. “My name is Derek. I’m your uncle. I know you don’t remember me. The last time I saw you, you were a little baby in your mother’s arms.”
Collin’s eyes widened, then he glanced up at his mother for confirmation.
Kara nodded and once more brushed a soothing hand over his head.
“Mama told me about you,” the boy offered as he carefully took a step forward. “She said you were a soldier.”
Derek nodded. “I was. But now I’ve come home.” He glanced around. “The estate needs tending to. Maybe you can help me some time? Do you know how to hold a hammer?”
With an unexpectedly heart-warming expression in his little eyes, Collin took another step forward, his chin rising a notch. “I do,” he said, pride ringing in his voice, as he held out his hands and demonstrated to his uncle how he would go about it. “Like this.”
“Perfect,” Derek praised.
Instantly, Collin’s face split into a wide grin, and he turned to his mother, craning his neck to look up at her. “Did you hear that? He said I could help!”
In that moment, Derek caught sight of the small mole under Collin’s right ear, and the warmth that had flooded Derek’s chest vanished as though it had never been. Anger reclaimed him and darkened his features so that he quickly rose to his feet so as not to frighten the child.
After all, Collin was innocent.
Unlike his father.
Although Derek was grateful that his sister had found love with her husband, the man who had offered for her hand to protect her and her unborn child, he still struggled with the reminders of what had been, of all his sister had been through, and the injustice that would never be addressed.
After all, the ton took care of their own.
They were untouchable.