Healing Lord Barton: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 9) Read online

  Miss Millpost somehow managed to look superior, even though she had been indulging in gossip herself.

  “Oh? Did you learn anything of interest to us? Or was it just a collection of idle gossip?”

  “Yes, actually, Lady Sybilla. It seems that Dartworth Abbey, which is the main country estate of the Marquess of Dartworth, is very close by. There is but one other estate between Greyscar Keep and the Abbey. The Marquess of Dartworth, as you would be aware, is now married to Lady Georgiana – my previous employer. But she is currently at Casterfield Grange, and he is currently off in America.”

  “If they are both elsewhere, is anyone living at Dartworth Abbey?”

  “I believe that Lord Barton Seddon is caretaking the place for the Marquess, to ensure that the renovations are done correctly.”

  Sybilla paused, and turned from what she was doing to consider this information. She had met Lord Barton at Hunter’s wedding, and one other time in the intervening months, when Hunter’s friends had come to visit for a short while. She liked him. Far more than she liked most men. For he was quiet, seeming gentle, without being weak. And, most importantly, he loved horses. They were his favourite topic, and he seemed not at all surprised that she was happy to converse about them, rather than more typically feminine things. Her heart beat a little faster at the idea of meeting him again, which was a disconcerting sensation.

  “Then perhaps we should visit him. He is a close friend of my brother’s. It’s only good manners to do so. And you will be able to see the place where Lady Georgiana will eventually live.”

  “An excellent idea, my Lady. When do you propose to do so?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow? We could go in the morning, and then I can do some writing in the afternoon, before the light completely fades. I will have to arrange a better supply of candles and lanterns – for attempting to write of an evening is currently almost impossible. This house simply swallows up the light somehow.”

  “Tomorrow then. Excellent. I will see what else Mrs Westby has to say about the Abbey later this evening.”

  ~~~~~

  The morning dawned clear but rather grey and dreary – Sybilla supposed that was better than rain. She had not slept all that well – the house creaked alarmingly at times, and the wind tended to slide through cracks and moan as it went. The sound could be eerie. Poor Mina was often terrified, and Sybilla herself had moments of uncertainty, especially when noises woke her in the night.

  She would chide herself for silliness, and try hard to go back to sleep. But it was wearing. At least she now knew exactly how her heroine would feel, when she was trapped in an old and haunted house. Her notes for her novel were growing, and she was beginning to have the plot all worked out. Her poor heroine would suffer through so many desperate situations, sometimes saving herself, sometimes being saved by her hero. It really was most enjoyable planning what to do to the imaginary girl.

  After breakfast, they sent for their coach, and Tom was at the door and ready to go remarkably quickly – as if he couldn’t wait to get away from Greyscar Keep for a few hours. She was glad to have a few familiar faces with her, even if it was only Tom Coachman and Betts, the groom.

  Seeing the road in daylight made her aware of how dreary the countryside looked in the grey light, with the trees already partly bare. They wound down the valley, and came to a bridge over the largest creek in the area. Not far from the bridge stood a tall forbidding house. It looked deserted, somehow mournful and looming. The sign on the gate hung crookedly, the name worn but still readable – Gallowbridge House.

  “Such charming names they have around here. And look, there’s another one – apparently that is the road to Gallows Down.”

  Miss Millpost pointed at the sign as they rolled past the entry to a long laneway between thorny looking hedges. Sybilla was amused, and a little disconcerted – whoever would name a place, or a house, after the gallows?

  Before she could comment, they rounded the next corner, and Dartworth Abbey became visible across the fields. It was huge – obviously much had been built onto the original abbey buildings that had given it its name, in the centuries since it ceased to have a religious purpose.

  “My goodness! I didn’t expect it to be so big. What an impressive home.”

  “It may be large and impressive, but you can see from here that they are still replacing parts of the roof. There will be much work needed here before this is a fit place for my Georgie to live!”

  Miss Millpost emphasised her comment with a sniff of disapproval. But she still avidly studied the buildings and grounds as they turned through a set of imposing gates, and made their way up a long drive, between lines of trees. Sybilla was sure that the drive would look magnificent in summer, but with the fallen leaves and nearly bare trees, it looked as aged and worn as the buildings did.

  They drew up in front of the pillared portico, and Sybilla had a moment of doubt – would Lord Barton even be here? And how would he respond to unexpected visitors? Perhaps she should have sent a message first…

  Well, she was here now – there was no point in might-have-beens. Best to simply take things as they came. They descended from the carriage, and went up the steps to the huge double doors. Sybilla raised her hand towards the knocker, but, before she could touch it, the door opened. She started in surprise, then pulled herself together.

  The man revealed by the opening door was older, with dark grey hair, and a sharp looking face. From his immaculate attire, it seemed that he was the Butler.

  “Good afternoon Ladies. How may I help you?”

  Suddenly, Sybilla felt rather ridiculous – she had not thought through how to explain her tenuous acquaintance with Lord Barton at all. She cleared her throat, thinking frantically.

  “Good afternoon. I am Lady Sybilla Barrington, and this is Miss Millpost, my companion. Lord Barton Seddon is a good friend of my brother, the Duke of Melton. I am staying at Greyscar Keep, one of my brother’s estates and, as it is so close, I thought to call upon Lord Barton. Is he at home?”

  “Do come in Ladies, I will enquire if he is available.”

  The Butler led them to a charming parlour, which had obviously already been renovated. It was a pity that the window provided only a view of the workmen’s storage piles at the side of the house. Sybilla paced about nervously – what would he think? Soon the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, coming towards the room. Two sets of footsteps. So, he was here.

  The Butler opened the door, and Lord Barton walked in. He was as Sybilla remembered – attractive and unpretentious.

  “Thank you, Graves. Please have Mrs Thompson send up some tea and cakes.”

  The Butler bowed, and left, closing the door behind him.

  There was a moment of awkwardness as they looked at each other. This was the first time that they had met, without his friends and her family present. Even with Miss Millpost standing beside her, the moment felt suddenly intimate. Her mouth went dry, and her breathing came faster as a blush rose to her cheeks. How lowering! Sybilla never blushed!

  “Welcome, Lady Sybilla, Miss Millpost.” He bowed – an elegant movement worthy of court – and smiled at them with what seemed like genuine pleasure. “Graves tells me that you are staying nearby, at Greyscar Keep.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I am to be your neighbour for some months, I expect, for I have come here to reside in some quiet whilst I write a novel. I thought it only polite to visit, and renew our acquaintance.”

  She hoped that sounded convincing as a reason for her sudden appearance – what if he thought her forward and invasive?

  “Of course. I am glad to see a familiar face – for I know no-one in this area and, whilst I appreciate solitude and quiet,” he winced rather strongly as a thump came from somewhere in the distance – the workmen, no doubt, “I have found myself often wishing for good conversation. Oh, that sounds rather selfish of me, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled, self-deprecating, and the smile transformed his already attract
ive face to breathtakingly handsome.

  Sybilla found it unaccountably difficult to breathe for a moment. She was struggling to find something appropriate to say (she certainly was not providing good conversation, if she could not even speak!), when Miss Millpost rescued her.

  “Not selfish at all Lord Barton. Everyone is entitled to such simple pleasures as good conversation. I can, quite, sympathise. I have, so far, found this district to be rather unattractive, and its inhabitants dour – but perhaps that is a result of the unseasonably cold year, and the early closing in of winter?”

  “I have been here only a few months, so I find it difficult to tell, myself. But I must agree with your assessment – it does not seem a community prone to excessive cheer.”

  Sybilla, having managed to begin thinking again, after that inexplicable moment of confusion when he had smiled, felt the need to make a more positive comment, somehow.

  “Whilst it does seem very gloomy here, for my purposes, that is actually beneficial. My novel is intended to be a rather gothic piece – I would dearly love to be able to create something as enthralling as Mrs Radcliffe’s works. Both Greyscar Keep and the whole district provide me with endless possibilities for settings to use in my novel, which will provide the required atmosphere.”

  “Ah, dedication! You wish to immerse yourself in the right environment to write your best work. Although I would hope that you will allow yourself a little light amongst the threatening gloom. I would enjoy your company – but not at the expense of your work.”

  Sybilla felt the flush rise in her cheeks again at his words.

  “I… am sure that a little leavening of the gothic will not hurt my work, Lord Barton. And I also enjoy good conversation. I seem to remember that, last we met, we spoke at length on the topic of horses.”

  “Indeed we did. It was pleasantly diverting to find a Lady who was both interested in, and knowledgeable about, horses. It is a topic that most young ladies disdain.”

  “You will find me more than willing to entertain that topic at any time, my Lord. Equally, I am likely to converse on the subject of books of all kinds, and any number of other, completely unladylike topics, should that serve to entertain you.”

  He looked genuinely delighted at her words, and his face lit with that remarkable smile again. At that moment, a stray beam of sunlight managed to push its way through the clouds, and pass through the parlour window, illuminating him, and catching glints of red and gold highlights from his glossy mid brown hair.

  Even whilst her breath hitched at the sight, she noted that the colour of his hair reminded her of the best dark brown horses – a rich tone in itself, dappled through with lighter tones that created a marvellous shine.

  Suddenly embarrassed – she was comparing the man to a horse! – she looked away from him. Miss Millpost, who had been observing the conversation with interest, spoke up again.

  “My Lord, I would be most interested in seeing more of the Abbey. I confess to great curiosity, for I spent so many years as the governess, and then the companion, to Lady Georgiana, that I would wish to know more of this enormous house in which she will eventually reside.”

  Lord Barton looked at Sybilla, and raised an eyebrow enquiringly. At her nod of agreement, he smiled again (perhaps, eventually, she would get used to it!), and offered her his arm.

  “A tour it is then. Lady Sybilla?”

  She placed her hand on his proffered arm, and they turned to exit the room, Miss Millpost following, just as a harried looking maid appeared, bearing a tea tray. They stopped.

  “Ah, my apologies, I had forgotten – it takes some time for such things as tea – the renovations have still not fully restored the kitchens. Perhaps we should fortify ourselves before we venture about.”

  They sat, and partook of the tea and cakes, but both Miss Millpost and Lady Sybilla were anxious to move on to their tour. Once politeness had been satisfied, they began again, going from the parlour through the already restored parts of the house – which included a magnificent library, that quite took both Sybilla and Miss Millpost’s breath away, as well as a range of other rooms, and some guest suites.

  Once they reached the areas still undergoing work, they proceeded with caution – it was messy, but Sybilla could see the elegant shape of the place – the great hall, which had been part of the original buildings, and then expanded to create an enormous ballroom, was particularly impressive. She stood gazing across it, imagining it as it might have been fifty or a hundred years before, full of light and laughter. She could almost see the ghosts of the ballgoers dancing before her, so strong was the impression.

  “This… will be beautiful.”

  “It will. The building has been sorely neglected this last twenty years and more, but it has good strong bones – the core of the place goes back to the 1200’s – many of the newer parts are in worse condition than the oldest walls. I have discovered, these last few months, rather a fascination for transforming the building – it is such a constructive pursuit – such beauty can be created from simple materials and skilled hands.”

  “Indeed, it can. I look forward to seeing how it progresses, over the next few months.”

  Sybilla blushed again, as she realised that she had just invited herself to visit regularly, without considering his thoughts on the matter.

  “And I most certainly look forward to showing it to you.”

  Lord Barton’s voice was low as he spoke, and his words resonated through Sybilla, leaving her feeling warm all over.

  As they made their way towards the stables, which Lord Barton had left until last, suspecting that Lady Sybilla would want to spend some time there, Sybilla looked about, wondering, if the Abbey was so old, how old was Greyscar Keep? She had never considered that before.

  How much history did the two estates share, where they sat, each overlooking one side of the valley? What had passed on the land between them, for all of those centuries? It was an intriguing thought. Perhaps the libraries of both estates contained records that might shed light on that history.

  The stables were enormous – a rambling series of buildings, linked into an E shape, where only two wings had so far been restored to order.

  Yet they were still beautiful. Sybilla wondered what it would be like, to see these buildings full of quality horses, and elegant carriages. Again, she had the sense of the ghosts of the past being just outside her sight. A loud neigh from one of the restored buildings disrupted her whimsical thoughts, and she hurried to follow Lord Barton into the dim, hay scented interior.

  There was something so relaxing, so reassuring, about the clean scent of horses, hay and leather. He led her to four stalls at one end of the row, which were all that were occupied.

  “Behold, the beginnings of what I hope will become a renowned breeding establishment – initially here, but eventually on property of my own, once I have managed to purchase exactly the right estate.”

  Sybilla went forward, noting the attitude of the stunning horse before her. He was that colour she had been thinking of, when the sun lit Lord Barton’s hair. How appropriate. Unlike many stallions, who were snappish and difficult, this horse watched her calmly, his ears pricked forward, and his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. She extended her hand slowly, allowing him to sniff at her before attempting to lift her fingers to stroke his velvety nose. He whickered softly, a welcoming, inquisitive noise. Sybilla laughed, sliding her fingers up to scratch gently above his eye ridge, and he closed his eyes and lowered his head to her hand.

  “His name is Templar. I chose him specifically for his temperament, as well as his bloodlines and conformation. I want to breed horses that will work with their riders, and enjoy life, not ones that you have to fight every time you touch them.”

  “He is magnificent.”

  They stood a minute, as Sybilla continued to softly scratch the horse in the spot that he enjoyed, before she slid her hand gently from him, and followed Lord Barton to the next stall. Templar whi
ckered again as she moved, obviously hoping to convince her to stay. She laughed gently again.

  “Never fear, Templar, I promise that I will do that for you as often as I visit.”

  She looked into the next stall. Where he had found horses of such quality, she did not know. The mare was as superb as the stallion. She was a reddish mahogany bay, the colour of the best polished timbers from the East Indies. She shone as if polished too. Someone obviously spent many hours caring for these horses.

  “Her name is Shadow, and this,” he indicated the next stall, where a chestnut mare stood, her dark red-gold coat shining with health, “is Spirit. And here, in the last stall, is Ghost.”

  The grey mare was even more beautiful than the other two, and came immediately to the door to sniff at Sybilla, bunting her nose gently against Sybilla’s hand, seeking attention. Sybilla obliged.

  “They are all remarkable. I envy you.”

  “Perhaps you would like to ride her,” he indicated Ghost with a casual wave of his hand, “I could show you the estate lands and the rest of the district, if you like.”

  “I would like that more than anything. That was the thing I hesitated most about, in coming to stay at Greyscar Keep – I could not, practically, bring Windwish with me. And I am used to riding most days, so I miss it dreadfully.”

  “Then we are agreed. There is but one side-saddle here, so I hope that it fits you. I know that it suits Ghost best of the three mares.”

  “I am sure that it will. Thank you, so much!”

  “I am delighted that I can make you so happy. But, more seriously, you will be doing me a favour as well – they need exercise, and I am but one man, with one groom to assist. It will be a great pleasure to ride with someone who rides for the joy of it, not just for transport, or to hunt.”

  As he said the word ‘hunt’ he gave a slight shudder, as if the very concept were abhorrent to him – Sybilla wondered why, if that were the case. Or perhaps a chill breeze had just touched him at that moment, and she was imagining things.