Page 81 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock
“Those are wood warblers,” David informed him after one particularly loud argument began in a nearby oak tree.
Their brother was laid to rest near their father in the family vault, and both men stood silently for several moments.
“You’re ready to go to London tomorrow?” David asked quietly. “Ready for the future?”
He nodded, a lump forming in his throat. David had helped him with the grieving process. His young wife had embraced her new brother and uncle to her child, behaving as if he’d never been away. Cecil would go to London, then Kent. If all went as planned, he would be home in Yorkshire for an autumn wedding.
“I’ll come back.” He reached out a hand and briefly squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Soon.”
David left him then as was his custom. Cecil would sometimes talk to their older brother or just stand, remembering the years they’d had together. He’d even wept, in private, at first. As the days passed, his grief had changed from a sharp stinging to a dull ache.
“Grief never really goes away,” his mother had cautioned him. “Take the time you need. There is no time limit on grieving.”
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize his mother was speaking to him.
“Wycliffe!”
He shook himself. “Excuse me, Mother. I was wool-gathering.”
“When do you leave for Kent?”
“Tomorrow.” He let out a long breath. “Wish me luck.”
* * * * *
Louisa sat on an iron bench in the shade of an old oak tree next to the garden wall and listened to the birds cooing and the gentle gurgling of a nearby fountain.
Charlotte and her baby were thriving. Her friend’s family had visited soon after the baby arrived. Louisa was happy to hear that Charlotte’s brother William was engaged to the vicar’s daughter.
Louisa’s childhood home in Chartham village where she’d grown up as a neighbor to Charlotte was two hours away by coach. She’d written her mother to tell her she planned to stay with Charlotte as long as she was needed. Edith and Nathaniel were also still in residence as everyone waited for Lord Wycliffe’s arrival at Ashford’s estate.
She’d pressed one of the roses from Lord Wycliffe into her sketch book, and it was the last thing she looked at every night. There had been no further letters to Ashford to notify him of Lord Wycliffe’s whereabouts.
The sound of boots against the flagstones of the garden path reached her ears and then he was there as if conjured out of thin air by her thoughts, hopes, and dreams.
“Lady Louisa.” The viscount approached her and halted a few feet away.
He looked older somehow, yet strangely less burdened. His hair was shorter, he was freshly shaved, and his clothing was the picture of elegance.
“Lord Wycliffe, you look different,” she said softly, standing up.
Cecil chuckled, a sound quite foreign from him but so right for the moment. “Perhaps you could start calling me Cecil? I have a proper valet now. In fact, I have a full staff in London.”
“You’ve been busy,” Now that he was here, she didn’t know what to say, “Cecil.”
“I opened the house in Town, and my mother is currently in residence there. Did I mention I have a brother, David?”
She nodded. “When you asked for baby gift recommendations.”
“Oh yes. I remember now. Shall we sit?”
She resumed her place on the bench and he settled next to her.
“My family seat is in Yorkshire. The house has been terribly neglected. It’s Elizabethan and needs a lot of work.” He looked down into her upturned face.
“How lucky for you. That sounds like a fascinating undertaking,” she replied truthfully.
“And my townhouse in London needs redecorating. My mother isn’t interested in those sorts of things: painting, wallpaper, and the like.”
