Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

C ecilia whooped as her white mare, Summer, leaped the low hedge and stretched its neck to race across the field beyond. Lionel was ahead, as he had been for the entire ride. His gray stallion, Thor, was larger than her mount and as heavily muscled as its rider. He looked back at her, grinning at the sight. Her eyes were streaming from the gale of their passage, and her bonnet, secured around her neck by a ribbon, was bouncing in the wind. Long, curling locks of red hair flew like a banner. Lionel's own dark hair streamed like the mane of his horse. He looked like no English gentleman that Cecilia had ever come across. On horseback, the pain in his legs did not encumber him. He appeared like a Tartar prince, galloping across the Russian steppes intent on pillage and plunder.

Cecilia grinned in return as Summer began to gain on Thor. She may be of slighter build but that meant she was lighter and bearing a lighter rider too. Her stamina was beginning to tell on the big gray. Summer's nose was drawing level with Thor's tail as they followed the line of a tall hedge that bordered the far side of the field. Lionel pointed ahead and to the right.

Cecilia looked and saw a hill with a cluster of trees on its summit. Lionel steered his horse in that direction and she followed. There were sheep up there but they scattered in fluffy alarm at the thunderous approach of the riders. She felt a pang of remorse over frightening the poor creatures but supposed that simply walking over to them would probably have elicited the same response.

Finally, Lionel drew his rein at the top of the hill and Cecilia reached him moments later. She wore skirts that she had cut and sewed especially to allow her to ride astride the horse. A pair of pantaloons or breeches like Lionel would wear would have been ideal but she daredn't go that far from convention yet. Instead, the skirt of her dress, pale gray today with a bodice of yellow, sat on either side of the saddle, as did her modified petticoats. Beneath those, she wore a laundered pair of Lionel's undergarments. That was a secret known only to him and her. They were large on her and felt very odd as a garment, but they served to protect her modesty while mounting or dismounting.

She drew Summer alongside Thor and the two stablemates nuzzled each other affectionately. Lionel leaned from the saddle to steal a long kiss from her too.

"Magnificent," he breathed. "I have never seen a finer rider. Is that Arthur's influence again?"

"No, actually. Our father taught us both to ride as children but I got as much practice as I could when I had to go and live in Hamilton Hall."

Lionel dismounted with grace and no little elan. He reached up to Cecilia and she took his hands and allowed him to pull her from the saddle. She dissolved into giggles as, after sliding from the saddle, she found herself swept into his arms and carried across the hilltop.

"Oh, what is it about Hamilton that encouraged you to ride? Are your aunt and uncle keen riders?" Lionel inquired.

"No, it gave me an opportunity to get away from them. I took every opportunity to get out of the house. When I could steal a horse, I would ride to Upton or Langley Marsh. Even as far as Windsor. But Uncle Rupert saw me ride out one day and forbade me access to the stables. Any of the staff who turned a blind eye faced the sack. I could not have that on my conscience so I took to walking everywhere. But by that time I'd had many hours of practice on horseback. I devised the system of cutting and sewing my skirts with the help of a seamstress I met in Colnbrook. Agatha, her name was," Cecilia explained, smiling as she regarded him from against his steely chest.

Lionel placed her on her feet under the boughs of an oak that presided over the rest of the crops, which mostly consisted of hawthorn and hazel. He was frowning.

"You do not speak much of your time in Hamilton. I did not realize your family was so cruel."

"I do not even think of them as family any longer," Cecilia confessed. "Rupert was my father's brother but Margaret is no blood kin of mine. And I cannot even blame her for the way Rupert is. I always remember him as a cold fish. Obsessed with his wallet."

"He charged a pretty penny in dowry for you, so he is obviously a fair judge of value," Lionel said, unsmiling.

Cecilia looked at him, momentarily outraged until she saw the smile break across his face. She slapped his chest with a gloved hand and his grin broadened. When he smiled from genuine happiness, it lit up his face, illuminating his eyes and giving him an energy that was infectious. She found that she could not help but mirror that smile when she saw it.

"So, where is it you have brought me?" she asked, looking around for the first time.

The slope they had climbed was long and gentle but the view from the oak was much steeper. Far below she could see the glittering band of a river, presumably the Thames. The landscape was a patchwork of greens, dotted with woods here and there. She could see villages and towns laid out like miniature models of real places. Lionel pointed to the right.

"Over there is Chertsey, and across that loop of the Thames from it is Shepperton, with Halliford beyond that. Nice little places all within the Thornhill lands. At least the ancient lands. There is nothing owed to the Grisham's from those lands any longer but there are ancestors of mine in the parish churches of each of those places as well as houses bearing the Grisham crest. My mother had long ago wanted my marriage ceremony to take place there. Arabella was against the idea.

He spoke with pride in the history of his family and its connection to the land. It was a contrast for Cecilia, so used to her aunt and uncle's grasping materialism. They were not interested in history except where it could bring them coin. Nor did they care for any place which they did not own or could not buy.

"Lionel," Cecilia began tentatively, "why do you never talk about Arabella?"

Lionel paused, a shadow of something flitting across his face before he shrugged lightly. "What is there to say? She belongs to the past."

"But she was important to you once," Cecilia pressed gently, her eyes searching his.

" Was being the operative word," Lionel replied, leaning back against an oak tree. "I suppose it's not much of a story. She did not wish to be tied to a man who had become... let's say, less than what he once was."

Cecilia's brow furrowed. "You mean because of the scandal surrounding Arthur's death?"

Lionel nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on a distant point. "Among other things."

"I see." Cecilia looked down, her fingers absently picking at the hem of her dress. "It is just... I can't help but wonder what she was like. Do you ever think about what could have been?"

Lionel glanced at her now, a playful glint in his eye. "Why, Cecilia, are you jealous?"

Her head snapped up. "Of course not! I was merely curious."

"Curious, you say?" Lionel's smirk widened. "I must confess, the thought of you being jealous is rather flattering."

Cecilia huffed, crossing her arms. "You are insufferable."

"And you are delightfully transparent," Lionel laughed.

Cecilia hesitated, then pressed on. "Was it difficult, when she left?"

"Difficult? Yes, but not for the reasons you might think. It was more about what she left behind rather than her departure itself."

"What did she leave behind?"

"The east wing," Lionel said, almost casually. "It was meant for her. After she left, it has remained abandoned."

Cecilia's eyes widened. "The east wing? It was for her?"

"Indeed," Lionel muttered. "It never quite felt right to occupy it after she left. Perhaps it was a foolish sentiment."

Cecilia's heart softened at his words, though she kept her expression neutral. "Not foolish. Just... human."

Lionel raised an eyebrow. "Human, you say? Well, now that you know about the east wing's sad history, perhaps you can put it to better use. Take up residence in there, perhaps?"

"Heavens no!" she exclaimed. "Arthur once told me the ghost of a bloodless Duke haunts that wing."

Lionel laughed again. There was a moment of silence before he leaned closer once more. "So, you were jealous, after all."

Cecilia rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Fine, I admit. The first time we met, five years ago at your ball... I may have been a little envious."

"A little?" Lionel grinned. "I seem to recall you glaring daggers at Arabella when she first arrived on the arm of Thorpe."

"I did not!" Cecilia protested, laughing despite herself. "I was merely... observing."

"Observing, indeed," Lionel continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And what, pray tell, did you observe?"

Cecilia crossed her arms, fixing him with a pointed look. "I observed that you have a talent for infuriating people."

She smoothed out her skirts and took a seat directly on the grass beneath the oak. Lionel chuckled before taking off his coat and putting it on the ground to sit on.

"You are a wild daughter of nature at heart," Lionel laughed.

Cecilia nodded stubbornly. The view from the hill was pretty and it was countryside that felt familiar to her. Somewhere out of sight, to the north by three miles or more, was the town of Colnbrook, and not far from that was Penrose. She thought she could almost make out Colnbrook as a dark blur on the horizon.

"Are you looking for Penrose?" Lionel asked gently.

"I am, but it is not a tall building. There is no way I would see it from this distance. But I think it would be about… there," she pointed at a spot on the northern horizon.

Lionel got up and walked to Thor, rummaging in his saddlebag and producing a looking glass. It was made of tough leather, bound in brass with a leather cup over the lens. He knelt and put it to his eye for a moment. Then he placed it on his right shoulder.

"Look through it now," he said.

Cecilia obeyed and the distant landscape leaped closer.

"Do you see the square church tower to the right of Colnbrook?" Lionel guided, "Colnbrook is the town you should be able to just make out on the horizon."

"Yes, I think so."

"Move the looking glass down an inch or so towards us and you will see a grove of trees," he continued, "with a loop of river around them."

"Yes, I see the trees."

"That is Penrose."

Cecilia looked at the cluster of trees but could see no sign of the house she remembered. It had consisted of three floors in a square shape with a central tower rising from the center. There was no sign of it.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I am. I have ridden out that way on a number of occasions since… that day. To pay my respects and to…" Lionel trailed off.

"Is it overgrown?" Cecilia asked.

"I am afraid so," Lionel sighed grimly. "It was a fine house with a noble aspect. To allow it to deteriorate is a criminal act."

Cecilia felt a wrench within her. The estate had passed to Uncle Rupert since Arthur's death. She had assumed that he would be responsible for taking care of the place, paying the staff there, and ensuring the building did not fall into ruin. He clearly had not been doing that.

"What did he think he was doing?" she whispered in outrage, putting down the spyglass.

"Who?" Lionel asked, looking back over his shoulder at her.

"My uncle. He is the owner of Penrose," Cecilia frowned.

"He is? Not you?" Lionel frowned too. "Well, that explains why you didn't know of its condition. I had assumed that you lacked the means to care for it, once death duties had been paid. Arthur was never the best with money."

"I was not his heir," Cecilia sighed, gazing out in the direction of Penrose, now rendered invisible by distance again.

Lionel shifted his seat to sit next to her and she put her hands through his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Being close to him comforted her, made her feel safe. A month had passed since their wedding, three weeks since she had finally begun to win Lionel's trust. Now, they shared a bed every night and spent much of their time together during the day. Cecilia knew it would not always be so. Lionel had business interests in London to take care of, disliking entrusting too much to any one agent or solicitor. And then there was the matter of his revenge. She knew little of it or the documents he kept in the safe at the derelict mill. Respecting his privacy, she had not pried. Lionel would confide his secrets to her when he was ready. Now, she felt sadness at the thought of her childhood home being so neglected.

"How is it that you were not?" Lionel asked, sounding surprised.

Cecilia lifted her head and he looked down at her.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, "I am not because… I am not. He did not name me as heir. Perhaps he thought a man should be lord of Penrose."

"No, I mean that I bore witness to his will. He gave everything to you," Lionel added.

Cecilia looked at him dumbly, unable to take in what he was saying.

"You are mistaken," she said slowly.

"I am not," Lionel replied, resolutely, "my signature is on Arthur's will. I was named executor but I waived that position in favor of Arthur's solicitor in light of what happened, of what people believed happened. I did not gain anything from his will but it was felt that it was not entirely appropriate. I can assure you, Arthur left house and lands to you."

Cecilia looked out over the countryside, hazy with sunshine. Penrose was out there, crumbling and being subsumed by exuberant nature. It was hers. Had always been hers. All the time that she had endured living in an old storeroom at Hamilton Hall, she could have been at Penrose. All the time enduring her uncle's frequent malice and her aunt's casual cruelty, she could have been among halls that were alive with happy memories of childhood. Of her parents and of Arthur. She felt cheated.

"My uncle once told me that I was left nothing. He claimed it as evidence of the fecklessness of my brother, that he had made no provision for me. Claimed that my father was equally worthless. They did not get on as brothers, Rupert and my father. There was bad blood between them."

"He lied," Lionel declared with implacable coldness.

It was the voice of justice, cold and hard, casting judgment over Rupert Sinclair and promising revenge. Cecilia felt an echoing feeling deep within her. It came with the need to make her aunt and uncle suffer, to take from them all that they had, to watch them cry and beg. For too long had she been taken advantage of by them… Then she shook herself.

"No," she said with vigor, "I will not."

She made to stand, rubbing hands up and down her arms as though chilly. Or perhaps cleansing herself of something. Lionel stood also, watching her with concern.

"Cecilia? What is the matter? To whom are you talking?"

She whirled. "To myself. I'm sorry, I suppose I'm not making much sense. I found myself thinking how lovely it would be to get revenge on the Sinclairs of Hamilton. To make them pay…"

"As was I. And we will. Now we both have a cause of revenge to pursue," Lionel stated, face dark.

"No! I won't do it," Cecilia replied, moving to him and catching him by the arm. "Don't you see? It will consume us. I do not take pleasure in the misery of others. Not even the Sinclairs. Penrose was stolen from me and I will get it back. And that will be enough. I don't need revenge."

"But they deserve to pay for what they've done to you," Lionel insisted, brows furrowing as if it was the most unusual thing he'd ever heard.

"No. I want my home restored to me and I want nothing more to do with them. They can continue their lives, and I, mine. Will you help me?"

Lionel looked at her with utter confusion. Cecilia thought she knew what was at the heart of that. He had been obsessed with the idea of revenge for so long that it was inconceivable to him that she would not want the same for the hurt done to her.

"Of course, I will help. We will go and see your aunt and uncle as soon as we may. Give them the chance to put this right. If they do not, we will see my solicitor in London. We will get your home back."