Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Edwina hurried up the stairs as she fumed about her conversation with the arrogant Lord Hilgrove. He was truly insufferable, and his audacity to claim that his grief somehow ran deeper than hers only infuriated her more.

Who was he to tell her how she should feel?

As she entered the library, Edwina approached the tall windows that overlooked the sprawling estate. Lord Hilgrove was still standing on the lawn, clutching a mallet in his hands as he spoke to Bennett. He had a deep furrow etched between his brows, giving him an air of utter misery.

Lord Hilgrove's gaze shifted towards the window and Edwina quickly crouched down, ducking out of sight. She didn't want Lord Hilgrove to think that she had been spying on him- which she most definitely was not.

Her friend's amused voice came from the doorway. "What, pray tell, are you doing down there?"

Remaining in her low position, Edwina replied, "I did not want Lord Hilgrove to see me from the lawn."

"But why were you watching him in the first place?" Miss Bawden asked.

"I wasn't," Edwina insisted .

Miss Bawden's smile only seemed to widen. "But you were peering out the window at him."

"No, I came to the library, and I just happened to see him out there," Edwina clarified. "It was all very innocent, I assure you."

Stepping closer to the window, Miss Bawden said, "You can stand now. Lord Hilgrove is no longer on the lawn."

"Good," Edwina replied, rising and smoothing out her gown. "With any luck, he decided to shorten his trip and return home."

Miss Bawden studied Edwina's expression. "You are angry."

"I am," she confirmed, her jaw set in a determined line. "Lord Hilgrove said the most maddening thing. He said that the loss of my father wasn't as terrible as the loss of his brother and wife."

Miss Bawden raised an eyebrow. "Why should his opinion matter to you?"

"It doesn't."

"It appears as if it does," Miss Bawden pointed out. "You are clearly upset about it."

Edwina shrugged. "How can I not be? My father died and he tried to minimize my feelings."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Miss Bawden spoke gently but firmly. "Lord Hilgrove doesn't have the power to tell you how to feel; only you do."

"I should have known that you would take a practical approach to this," Edwina muttered.

Miss Bawden laughed. "Do you want me to hate Lord Hilgrove?" she asked. "Just say the word and I will do it."

"No, I don't want you to hate Lord Hilgrove. I don't even hate him," she reluctantly admitted.

"You seemed to get along nicely before he said something so bacon-brained," Miss Bawden remarked.

"We did," Edwina said. "He isn't awful. "

"If that is true, then perhaps he just misspoke," Miss Bawden suggested.

"No, he spoke plainly enough."

Uncrossing her arms, Miss Bawden asked, "So we are back to disliking him?" Her eyes held a mischievous glint to them.

"No, I don't dislike him either. I am just angry at him," Edwina admitted. "Who tries to compare one's grief with another?"

Miss Bawden gave her a knowing look. "Someone who is hurting."

"I am hurting, too."

"It isn't a contest," Miss Bawden said. "Grief is a lonely walk alone. People will be there to try to help, but it is something that you must do on your own. In time, hopefully, you will come to your own peace."

"Does that excuse his behavior?"

Miss Bawden shook her head. "No, but it gives you some perspective," she replied. "Try to have some compassion towards his plight."

Edwina let out a frustrated sigh. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, and I always will be," Miss Bawden replied. "That is why I am telling you all these very intelligent things, if I do say so myself."

She had to admit that her friend did have a point. "Your advice isn't awful."

Miss Bawden beamed. "I daresay that I have been listening to my father far too much. Being a vicar's daughter does have some benefits."

"Your father is a good man."

"He is, but he doesn't know what to do with me," Miss Bawden shared. "He thinks I am far too outspoken."

"Which you are."

Miss Bawden gave her a look of innocence. "No more than any other young woman in the village. "

Edwina laughed. "That is entirely untrue."

"Now whose side are you on?" Miss Bawden asked, using Edwina's words against her.

A knock came at the door, interrupting their conversation.

Turning her head, Edwina saw Lord Hilgrove standing in the doorway, his piercing gaze fixed upon her. "May I come in?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his baritone voice.

Edwina wanted to send him away, but something was holding her back. And it was that something that wanted to know what he had to say. "You may," she replied.

Lord Hilgrove stepped into the room. His tall frame and sharp features were softened by the sunlight that flooded through the windows. "I was hoping to speak to you, privately, if you don't mind," he said.

"I'm afraid that is impossible, my lord—" Edwina started.

Miss Bawden spoke over her, speaking quickly and confidently. "It is entirely possible, if I remain in the library for propriety's sake." She walked over to the chair in the far corner and settled into it gracefully. "I will sit right here, but I can't promise I won't eavesdrop. It is a terrible habit that I hope to overcome one day."

As Lord Hilgrove took a step closer to Edwina, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. He lowered his voice, making her lean in slightly to hear him better. "I wanted to apologize to you for what I said earlier. It was wrong of me."

Edwina had no desire to make this easy on Lord Hilgrove. He had hurt her deeply with his words, and she needed to know his reasonings behind them. "Why did you say it, then?"

"Because I was being thoughtless," Lord Hilgrove admitted.

"That you were, but you meant it," Edwina said firmly. "Did you not?"

The silence hung heavy between them before Lord Hilgrove spoke up again. "Does it matter if I did?" he asked.

"It does to me," Edwina replied .

"I thought I did, but I was wrong to think so," Lord Hilgrove confessed. "I cannot measure your grief, just as you cannot measure mine."

Edwina could hear the sincerity in his voice, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy for him. "I am sorry to hear about your wife and your brother," she said softly. "That must have been very hard to lose two people so closely together."

"It was," Lord Hilgrove replied, his voice thick with emotion. "And thank you."

"For what?"

Lord Hilgrove's lips tightened into a thin line. "Not looking at me like I am broken."

"Who thinks you are broken?" Edwina asked.

His shoulders slumped slightly. "Everyone," he declared dejectedly, the weight of his struggles evident in his tone.

Edwina cocked her head, studying him intently. "But you aren't broken," she reassured him. "You do know that."

A flicker of disbelief crossed Lord Hilgrove's features before he let out a slight huff. "You are wrong. I am terribly broken," he finally admitted, his voice slightly strained.

"Why?"

He gave her a baffled look. "Pardon?"

"Why do you think you are broken?" Edwina pressed.

Lord Hilgrove's eyes grew guarded and she knew that she had pushed him too far. "Do you accept my apology, my lady?" he asked, his voice taking on a formal tone.

"I do," Edwina replied without hesitation.

"Then this conversation is over," Lord Hilgrove declared, turning to leave.

Edwina reached out and touched his sleeve, stilling him. "I have never thought you were broken, my lord," she said. She wanted him to know that. Quite frankly, she needed him to know that.

Lord Hilgrove glanced down at her hand on his sleeve and she quickly withdrew it, mortified by her brazen action. But she couldn't bear the thought that he was hurting. She wanted to show him that there was someone who believed in him.

He tipped his head in acknowledgment but not before she saw his burdens still weighing heavily on him. His suffering was evident in every line of his face and every spark of emotion in his eyes.

As Lord Hilgrove's figure retreated from the library, a deep sadness settled over Edwina. She saw him as a man who believed himself to be broken, a feeling she knew all too well.

Miss Bawden came to stand next to her, her voice carrying a playful lilt. "Do we still like Lord Hilgrove?" she asked.

"We do," Edwina said, turning to face her friend. "He is hurting, deeply so."

"As are you," Miss Bawden noted.

"Yes, but I want to help him."

Miss Bawden gave her a curious look. "How do you plan on doing that?" she asked. "After all, he does not strike me as the type that would welcome any assistance."

"No, he does not," Edwina agreed. "Which means I will have to go about it sneakily."

The corners of Miss Bawden's lips twitched upward in amusement. "You, sneaky? I never thought I would hear those words used to describe you," she teased.

Edwina straightened her back and put on a determined expression. "I can be sneaky."

Miss Bawden let out a laugh. "Let's say you have your moments of sneakiness. What is your plan?"

Hesitating for a moment, Edwina admitted, "I don't have one yet."

"Well then, we are off to a good start," Miss Bawden joked.

Edwina grew quiet. What could she say- or do- to help Lord Hilgrove? She wanted him to know that he wasn't alone in his grief. She understood, all too well. She knew the pain and struggle of rebuilding oneself after she had lost her father. In fact, she would never truly be the same after the suffering she had endured. The weight of her own sadness settled heavily on her heart.

Miss Bawden's expression tightened with concern as she gently suggested, "Perhaps it would be best to focus on your own grief for now. I can see how it is weighing heavily upon you."

"I have done nothing but focus on my own grief for what feels like an eternity," Edwina replied. "But I believe I am in a position to help Lord Hilgrove."

Miss Bawden didn't look convinced. "Even if what you are saying is true, why would he accept your help?"

Edwina squared her shoulders and met Miss Bawden's doubtful gaze. "I have to at least try," she said in a determined voice, feeling a newfound sense of purpose blossoming within. Maybe, just maybe, her own experiences could help Lord Hilgrove through his pain.

She had tried everything to ease her grief, but to no avail. But now, with this new endeavor, she hoped that by focusing on another's pain, hers would lessen. Perhaps even become tolerable.

As Miles made his way towards the gardens, he couldn't quite believe the audacity of Lady Edwina. She had been far too bold with him in the library. They were hardly acquaintances and she had tried pestering him with questions, questions that he did not want to answer. He couldn't.

Why couldn't everyone just leave him be? He wanted to wallow in his grief and misery, yet it seemed like every person he encountered wanted to help him. Memories of happier times still haunted him, taunting him with what he once had and lost. It was all gone now, snatched away in one swift and cruel blow.

He just needed to be alone. If he was smart, he would saddle his horse and leave this manor without concern for social niceties. It would be a great insult to depart early, but he was at his wits' end. He didn't want to pretend that all was well when he was struggling. Deeply.

Miles had just passed by the open study door when he heard Edwina's name being mentioned in a hushed and somber tone. His steps faltered in the corridor as his curiosity was piqued. He could not resist stopping to listen to what was being said about her.

Lord Dallington's voice carried through the study walls. "What am I supposed to tell her?" he asked, gruffly.

Another voice, unfamiliar to Miles, responded, "Tell her that there are no funds available for her."

"That isn't true though, is it?"

The unfamiliar voice remained steadfast. "It is true enough, at least as far as she is concerned."

Lord Dallington let out a deep sigh. "I suppose you are right," he conceded. "Although, on the other hand, do I even need to say anything? She is none the wiser about these funds."

"I will leave that decision up to you, my lord," the man said. "I shall see my way out."

Realizing that he needed to leave before he was caught eavesdropping, Miles quickly retreated down the corridor and slipped out the back door into the gardens.

He glanced back at the manor as his mind raced with thoughts of what he had overheard. What funds was Lord Dallington referring to? It almost sounded as if Edwina was being cheated out of some money.

Regardless, it wasn't his place to say or do anything. He was just a guest here. And he had no desire to intrude where he wasn't wanted .

Botheration.

Could he just stand back and say nothing, knowing that Lady Edwina was being treated unfairly? He let out a groan. Why had his curiosity gotten the best of him and he listened in on Lord Dallington's private conversation?

Miles knew that he had to do what his conscience dictated or else he would have more regrets. And he already had far too many of those.

Bennett's voice sounded beside him. "Miles," he said. "Is everything all right?"

Turning to face his friend, Miles asked, "Yes, why do you ask?"

"I have been calling your name, but you appeared deep in thought," Bennett replied. "Or you were just trying to ignore me."

"Yet, you didn't take the hint," Miles said lightly.

Bennett grinned. "I never do," he responded. "I thought we could ride into the village and have a drink at the pub."

"That sounds like a fine idea."

"You will discover that I am full of them."

Miles smirked. "You are full of something," he joked.

As they started walking towards the stables, Miles knew it was the perfect opportunity to discuss the conversation that he had just overheard. But how did he broach the subject? It was an odd question for him to be asking.

Miles just decided to say what needed to be said and be done with it. "Did Lady Edwina's father leave her an inheritance?" he asked.

Bennett looked over at him in surprise. "Why do you care?"

"I don't, but just humor me."

With a curious expression, Bennett divulged, "No, but my uncle did leave her a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds."

"That is a substantial dowry," Miles responded .

"It is," Bennett agreed. "Are you, by chance, interested in my cousin?"

Miles shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely not! I do not intend to marry ever again," he asserted. "I was merely curious."

"Well, I think it is a brilliant idea. If you were to marry Edwina, we would be family. Forever," Bennett teased. "You would never be able to get rid of me."

Miles shuddered at the thought, emphasizing his point. "How terrifying."

"Lots of people would want me as their family," Bennett said. "I have been told that I am rather charming."

Miles huffed. "Whoever told you that is lying to you."

"Only a true friend would be so honest," Bennett quipped.

They continued to make their way towards the stables, but Miles couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to the conversation than what he had overheard. He replayed the words in his mind, wondering if he had missed something important. Or perhaps he was reading too much into it. After all, he had only caught a brief snippet of their discussion.

"Come on," Bennett encouraged before stepping into the stables.

Miles followed his friend inside and saw the gelding that Edwina had ridden into the woodlands earlier. He approached the horse and said, "This is a magnificent horse."

"It is," Bennett agreed. "Edwina adores Sorrel, but I fear for her safety sometimes. She can be quite reckless."

"I saw a glimpse of that when I caught sight of Edwina riding her horse this morning," Miles shared.

Bennett came to stand next to him and ran a gentle hand down Sorrel's neck. "Sometimes I am not sure if Edwina cares if she lives or dies."

Miles empathized with his friend's concern. "I understand that feeling all too well."

Bennett grew somber. "Quite frankly, I don't know how to help my cousin. She is hurting and I feel helpless to do anything about it."

Miles offered him a reassuring look. "You are helping her by being there."

His friend looked grateful for his words, but still appeared troubled. "It isn't enough," he pressed, his tone filled with guilt.

"You mustn't look at it like you are failing. You are making a difference, one day at a time, by chipping away at the grief."

Bennett removed his hand from Sorrel's neck and turned to face him. "Could you talk to her?"

"Me?" Miles replied in surprise.

He nodded earnestly. "You understand grief, more so than I ever could. I've tried talking to Edwina but she won't listen to me."

Miles frowned, unsure if he was the right person to comfort Edwina. Or anyone, for that matter. "I don't know. How do you know she will listen to me?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Bennett grinned. "You are very personable."

"I used to be, but not anymore. Those days are long gone," Miles admitted.

A mischievous glint came into Bennett's eyes. "I know. I remember growing tired of your incessant chatter when we were younger."

"That was you," Miles retorted.

"Perhaps," Bennett conceded with a shrug, "but I know how much you love to hear your own voice."

Miles glanced heavenward with mock exasperation. "Again, that is you ."

Bennett gripped his lapels and said, "You are right. And what a glorious voice I have. It can make the ladies swoon."

He was tired of this pointless conversation so he attempted to steer the conversation back to Edwina. "Regardless, I do believe that your cousin is still angry at me," Miles said .

"Did you not apologize?"

Miles winced. "I did, but the apology went awry rather quickly."

Bennett's expression remained unperturbed by what he had just revealed. "I suspected as much, knowing how stubborn both of you can be. Edwina may be reserved at times, but she can be rather feisty, given the circumstances."

"I have witnessed that firsthand."

His friend continued down the aisle and stopped by a stall that housed a black horse. "This was my uncle's horse," he revealed. "Hercules won't let anyone ride him now that my uncle is gone. I know because I have tried, multiple times, in fact."

"Horses can be finicky," Miles attempted.

"My father wants to sell Hercules, making it someone else's problem, but I have refused to do so," Bennett said. "I see a kindred soul in this horse."

Miles approached the black horse and studied it. "You could fetch a pretty penny selling this horse."

"Some things are more important than the money."

"Well said," Miles agreed. "Hopefully, with time, Hercules will begin to trust you, eventually allowing you to ride it."

Bennett looked unconvinced. "That might take some time."

"Do you have something else that is more pressing?" Miles asked.

"I am an earl."

Miles shrugged. "Who isn't?" he quipped.

Reaching into a bucket, Bennett retrieved an apple and held it up to the horse. "I never asked for this, you know."

"Neither did I," Miles said.

"Yet, here we are," Bennett responded. "Now I can't go anywhere without women batting their eyelashes at me. I don't think they see me as much as the title. It is unnerving."

Miles nodded his understanding. "No one cared about me when I was the second son of an earl." He paused. "Well, except for Arabella. She loved me for who I was, not my position in Society."

"Arabella was good for you."

Miles offered him a weak smile. "She was the best part about me," he said. "I couldn't quite believe she agreed to go with me to the Continent."

"She was an extraordinary woman."

"That she was," Miles said, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. "I was grateful for the time I was able to spend with her."

The groom cleared his throat behind them. "Pardon the interruption, my lords, but your horses have been readied."

Bennett put his hand out, indicating that Miles should go first.

As Miles headed towards his horse, he worked hard to bury the familiar emotions that were threatening to rise to the surface. He would ride to the village, drink some watered-down ale and try to forget. Just as he always did. But it never seemed to work.