Page 7 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
There was no one to blame, even as Archie could not help but feel someone must be to blame. It had all happened too fast, but the six months since Gwendolene’s death had been the longest he had ever known, each day dragging by in a monotony of nothingness…
“And it was, My Lord. But your sister wouldn’t want you to wallow in your own self-pity—if you’ll beg my pardon for saying so,” Thomas said, and Archie nodded.
“No, you’re right—she said as much on the day she died. She wanted me to go on living, but each day only feels like I’m existing. I don’t have any zeal for life. Not anymore,” he replied.
“You’ve been to the grave again, My Lord—haven’t you? I’ve often seen you emerging from the trees and crossing the stile here.”
Archie nodded.
“I like to sit with her. It gives me comfort. Sometimes, I wake up in the night and think of her lying there in the churchyard all alone. I know what I should believe, but I can’t help it. I miss her so much,” Archie said, and tears welled up in his eyes.
He felt foolish sobbing in front of the gardener, but Thomas looked at him sympathetically.
“Don’t look for the living among the dead, My Lord,” he said, quoting the scriptures.
Archie sighed. Thomas was right. He would find nothing in the churchyard, only the sorrow of silence, his own words unanswered. He knew what his faith taught him, what it promised, but the sting of death was bitter, and its aftertaste long and drawn out. Time would heal, or so they said, but how much time remained questionable.
“Wise words, Thomas, though easier said than done. But you’re right. My sister wouldn’t want me to wallow in self-pity. She wanted me to live, and I need to find a way of doing so,” he said, and he placed his hand on the gardener’s shoulder, grateful to him for his words.
At that moment, the figure of the butler, Hargreaves, came into view across the lawn, and he called out to Archie, who looked up in surprise.
“My Lord? Her Ladyship asks for you to join her at the house; they’re due to arrive soon,” Hargreaves said.
Archie sighed. He had forgotten about the imminent arrival of his mother’s guests. She had reminded him at breakfast, but he had lost track of time in the churchyard, and the distant steeple bell now struck four O’clock.
“I’m coming,” Archie said, and nodding to Thomas, he hurried off across the lawn in the direction of the house.
He only vaguely recalled who it was he was about to encounter… a friend of his mother’s and her daughter. Horatia and Lavinia, those were their names. There was some story behind their arrival, something about a lost relative and the elevation of their position in society.
Archie had not particularly been paying attention when his mother was explaining, and he was not particularly looking forward to playing the congenial host. Still, he remembered Thomas’ words, and those of his sister, too. Having guests to stay, meeting new people, being friendly—it was all part of life, even as Archie still did not particularly feel like living it.
“Oh, there you are, Archibald. Did you… see your sister?” his mother asked, as Archie entered the drawing room from the terrace a few moments later.
She always used that word,see,as though he was actually visiting her, rather than sitting in front of a gravestone. His mother had taken a different approach to Gwendolene’s death. Stoic in public, but at night, Archie had often heard her sobbing to herself, and calling out Gwendolene’s name in the most longing of terms.
“I did, yes. It was very peaceful in the churchyard. But… I’m sorry, I’d forgotten your guests were arriving this afternoon,” Archie said, feeling embarrassed as his mother placed her hand gently on his arm.
“It’ll do you good to have some distraction. That’s why I invited Octavia and Lavinia—and to catch up, of course. It’s been… years since we last saw one another. Lavinia wasn’t even born then,” the dowager said.
“Remind me what happened to them,” Archie said, for he was still uncertain what the situation surrounding them had been.
His mother shook her head.
“It was all such a tragedy. Octavia and Arthur were young lovers. But he was the son of a Marquess of dubious connections—there was some scandal, a fortune lost, and the title forfeited to pay his debts. Octavia’s father forbade the match. But the two of them were so in love, they eloped to Gretna Green.
That was the last I heard of them. But when Arthur died, it seems her father, the Viscount Cranborne, had a change of heart. He brought her back into the fold. Lavinia had been working as a maid. She knew nothing of her true past. It’s quite extraordinary,” the dowager replied.
Archie shook his head. It was a remarkable story. To go from rags to riches in but a moment…
“Then she was used to serving at the table, and now she’s servedatthetable,” he said, curious to know what a woman elevated in such a way would be like.
His mother nodded.
“That’s right, yes. It must’ve been very strange for her. Octavia wrote to tell me her grandfather’s putting pressure on Lavinia to marry. But women that age need to make their own way. I wouldn’t have forced anything on Gwendolene. She wouldn’t have allowed it, even if I had,” his mother said, and Archie smiled.
Gwendolene had been a gentle creature, but she had also been the type of person to know her own mind. Archie knew just what she would have said if he had ever dared suggest a possible match.
“I don’t need my brother to tell me who to fall in love with,”or words similar to that.
