Chapter Thirty-Six

Briggs

October, 1812

Mistlethrush Hall

If I didn’t know any better, it would feel like an average afternoon at Mistlethrush. Mother with her needlework and August reading one of his books, warm and settled and cozy, a fire crackling in the hearth, and a warm pot of tea on the table for them to share. I leave them there, unable to stand what I’m about to lose.

Here outside, the sky is gray and irritated, no doubt anticipating the coming rain. I decide to turn my father’s horse, Cleo, around, head back to where we’ll be able to find shelter. The October weather has arrived, brisk and biting, and the last thing I want is to be caught in a drenching rain.

We have two more weeks left at Mistlethrush, and it feels like a joke. A joke that I must abandon the house I’ve always called home, the house that my family has called home for hundreds of years, all because of my father’s misguided actions.

But in the course of two weeks, we’ll need to minimize our belongings in order to fit into a smaller house. I’ve found two that look appealing only half a day’s journey from here, but I’ve yet to bring Mother or August to hear their opinions. Maybe they’d prefer if I made the decision myself rather than include them. Maybe that’s my role now—bearing the weight of difficult decisions for the sake of my family. At least now, I’m ready for it.

Yesterday afternoon, our steward informed me that the new owner would be arriving sometime today for a tour of his property and to look in on his tenants. I’m grateful that I am seemingly leaving my tenants with someone they can rely upon, more so than they could me, but I hope I’ve been out riding long enough to have missed him. Somehow my pride can’t seem to bear the idea of watching another man survey my family’s home and grounds as I look on.

It’s the shame I can’t seem to shake, even though I know we’re not losing Mistlethrush because of anything I’ve done. But I question whether I did enough. I question if I’ve acted selfishly.

Too late now. What’s done is done. I’ve managed to ruin the lives of far too many people instead of just myself. At least I saved Blythe from all of this. I could not bear the notion that I would cause her any more worry than she already has. She’s better off without all of this.

Cleo leads me back toward the stables, the steady clopping of her hooves soothing. My father’s horse is older, though still healthy, and I try to ride her when I can. She’ll come with us to our new home, along with Apollo, and August’s horse, too, but I thought Cleo deserved a final ride across our grounds.

A wind kicks up, scattering dead leaves and bringing with it the scent of woodsmoke. As the stables come into view, my steward, Mr. Morris, emerges from the house. He’s a tall man who brings to mind a scarecrow, and he waves wildly at me.

“Do you see the carriage coming?” he asks once I’m close enough to hear him. He points over my shoulder.

I lean down, stroking Cleo’s long neck, and look back toward the road. A modest carriage approaches, pulled by four chestnut horses.

Mr. Morris clasps his hands together. “That’s the new owner. Would you like to greet them?”

I shake my head, dismounting Cleo. “I’d rather not, I think.”

“I’ll be just a moment,” says Mr. Morris. “I want to make sure I’m looking my best.”

“Looking your best?” I call after him. “The contract’s already been signed. Why are we trying to impress this lout?” But he makes no gesture that he’s heard me at all. Shaking my head, I lead Cleo toward the stable. “Come on, girl. Let’s keep moving.”

Behind me, the carriage rolls up the drive, the grooms call to slow the horses, and with every step I take, the more I want to turn around and see with my own two eyes who will take over my family’s lands. Lands that have been under the Goswick name for centuries. More than our lands—our home.

I keep walking, though. Slowly. The sound of booted feet of one of the grooms landing solidly on the ground causes me to pause, and finally I can’t help myself. I turn.

The groom opens the door and extends his hand to help the passenger out.

The black-gloved hand of a lady appears, and she ducks her head adorned with an elaborate hat with a long, speckled feather in order to avoid hitting it on the roof. My breath comes too quickly, and I steal a glance at the main entrance of Mistlethrush to try and catch Mr. Morris to tell him that the new owner hasn’t arrived yet. Then I return my gaze to her.

“Blythe,” I breathe, my heart stammering in my chest.

She approaches me almost cautiously, her brown eyes huge with trepidation.

“What are you doing here?” I grip Cleo’s reins, desperately needing to cling to something to keep me steady. Anything.

She straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath. “I’m inspecting the property.”

I shake my head and look back at Mistlethrush, the gardens I once led her through gray and dormant. “I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Morris wrote to me,” she says primly, extending a folded letter for me to inspect. “He told me that I should come to inspect the property I just purchased. Perhaps you would like to show me everything I haven’t seen yet?”

“You?” I ask, my whole body feeling as though it might collapse. “You bought Mistlethrush? Blythe, how?”

She steps closer, her mouth parted, and when she’s near enough, I catch the scent of apples in her hair. “I found a very enthusiastic investor,” she replies. “And they wanted me to purchase a place to create the apiary of my dreams. This,” she says, gesturing around her. “This is the place I wanted. This is the place that mattered most.”

I nod like this now makes sense, but inside my heart is pounding in my ears and I feel I may soon faint. With Blythe standing so close to me, I can feel the warmth emanating from her body. I reach out, suddenly bold, and tuck a few strands of hair that rebel against the confines of her hat. “And is the property all you want now?”

She shakes her head, leaning her cheek into the palm of my hand. “I heard that you and Miss Dixon parted ways,” she says.

“We did,” I tell her, desperate to make things right, desperate to have her understand. “I couldn’t do it, Blythe. I couldn’t marry someone knowing that every time I looked at her, touched her, the only person I’d be thinking about is you. I couldn’t ask her.”

“I heard. That’s when I knew what I needed to do.” She grips the lapels of my jacket. “To show you what you mean to me. What this place means to me. That whatever matters to you will always matter to me. I have no choice.”

I nod, stepping back and wiping the tears from my face with my wrist. “Blythe,” I say again. I want her to tell me I’m wrong, to tell me that I’m not the failure I thought I was, that there’s still a chance that she’ll be mine. “I thought I lost you. I thought that I had ruined the one thing, hurt the one person, who ever made me truly feel like myself. The best self I could ever hope to be.”

“No,” she says, just above a whisper, both hands touching either side of my face. “No, you could never do that.”

I cradle her jaw in my right hand, ease back to her neck, and dig my fingers into her hair. “Are you interested in acquiring someone with a knowledge of the property to assist you in your business, Miss Rowley?”

She smiles. “Do you know of a qualified candidate?”

“I believe I do,” I say, my mouth hovering just above hers. “He’s very eager to please.”

She grins. “Oh, good. Does he need any training?”

“He is a very willing participant in any kind of training you think is necessary.”

She laughs as she wraps her arms around my neck, pressing herself against me, and I graze her mouth with mine, like I’m posing a question. Softly, she sighs against me, parting her lips in invitation, and I take her offered kiss as though it were water and I were lost in the desert. My mind has struggled to imagine this moment since we parted at Wrexford in the rain, and it still seems almost impossible that she’s here now in my arms again. That somehow fate has returned her to me.

“Blythe,” I say, kissing her neck. “Does this mean you’re moving into Mistlethrush?”

“No,” she replies, her fingers running through my hair. “No, that isn’t what it means.”

I take a step back so that I can see her clearly. Her face is pinched, like she’s holding something back. “Tell me,” I say. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Mistlethrush is your home,” she says, clasping both my hands. “Your home, not mine. And while I would love to build the apiary of my dreams here, I don’t want you to ever think you’re trespassing on my property.”

“I don’t,” I tell her. “I don’t think that. Blythe, you must know what I want for us. I don’t want to think of Mistlethrush as yours or mine, but ours. Together. Or am I mistaken in your purchase of the property?”

“You’re not mistaken,” she tells me quickly. “I want what you want. But Briggs…”

“Tell me,” I say again, this time more sternly.

“I want to make this a success before we marry,” she finally blurts out. “I want this for myself. Nothing to do with you.”

I grin down at her. This is the very thing that my Blythe would say. “Is that all?”

“Yes?” she says meekly.

“Then you’ll have it. And if you’ll have me, I can wait. I will wait.”

She still doesn’t say anything.

“You will tell me when you’re ready, and if that day ever comes, I am in your hands.”

She stands back up on her tiptoes, touching my cheek, searching my face. “You are everything I never thought I wanted,” she says. “You are the most astounding revelation.”

“And I am yours,” I tell her, kissing the palm of her hand.

I turn to go back to where Cleo contentedly crops what’s left of the grass, but Blythe grabs my shoulder, spinning me back to face her, and then wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me before I can even register what’s happening. Her mouth is warm and welcoming, and I curl my hand in her beautiful, wild hair.

“I love you, Briggs Goswick,” she says, her forehead pressed to mine, and she bites her lower lip.

“That’s good,” I say with a ridiculous smile. I kiss her again. “That’s very good, because there is no one in this world I’ve ever loved more than you.”