Page 75 of The Meriwell Legacy
Alaric accepted the accolades and the inevitable ribbing with his usual languid charm, but throughout he remained aware of Percy, quiet and reserved on the edge of the crowd.
In organizing this house party, Percy had imagined standing in Alaric’s shoes. Instead, his betrothed was dead.
Yet Percy had congratulated Alaric and Constance with genuine feeling—with affection and sincere wishes for their future; with Edward’s capture, Percy seemed to have found his emotional feet and patently had his demeanor under strict control—a greater degree of control than Alaric had previously observed in him.
Indeed, to Alaric, Percy seemed to have aged overnight, not so much physically as in the way he looked on the world. In the way he saw his own place in it. His intention to travel to his father’s house immediately wasn’t a decision the old Percy would have made; the old Percy would have prevaricated and found excuses to put off the difficult task for as long as he possibly could.
Instead, it seemed that Alaric’s comment of Glynis’s murder being the making of Percy might not be far wrong.
Carriage wheels rattled on the gravel outside, and in twos and threes, the guests departed. Alaric and Constance remained beside Percy and waved them all away.
Monty was the last to leave. He hung back until the other guests were rolling down the drive, then came forward and thanked Percy with his usual easy address.
Then Monty turned to Alaric and Constance and, with a beaming smile, wished them well.
Shaking Monty’s hand, Alaric dryly told him, “Naturally, you’ll be one of my groomsmen. We’ll let you know the date.”
“What?” Monty’s eyes lit. “Oh, I say—yes, of course! You can count on me.”
Constance and Alaric laughed.
Then Monty leaned closer and in a hushed voice said, “I just wondered if you would allow me to be the bearer of your glad tidings to the rest of the family.” He opened his eyes wide. “Quite a coup, what, if I’m the first with the news?”
Alaric laughed again and clapped Monty on the shoulder. “Go forth and spread the word far and wide, but as an as-yet-unofficial understanding. It’ll be a week at least before I can present myself before Constance’s grandfather, so the official notice won’t appear until a few days after that.”
“Right-ho!” Monty beamed at Constance, then leaned in and bussed her on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, m’dear. Unofficial or not, everyone’s going to be thrilled at the news.”
After waving Monty away, Alaric and Constance farewelled Percy and headed back to the manor.
As the dappled shade of the woods closed around them, Alaric glanced back at Mandeville Hall. “Percy coped better than I’d expected.” He met Constance’s inquiring gaze. “I spoke with Carnaby—I wondered what had been done with Rosa Cleary’s body. But Carnaby said Percy had learned from Mrs. Collard who Rosa’s next of kin was and had notified them and paid for the undertaker to transport her body home.”
“I take it Percy hasn’t had to…well, be head of a household before.”
“No. Although Mandeville Hall was made over to him some years ago—when his father inherited the title from a cousin and moved to live at the viscounty’s principal estate in Lincolnshire—Percy simply went on as he had before, as if he was merely a son of the house with little to no responsibility for what, in essence, is now his estate.” Alaric paused, then said, “His father and mother will be pleased to see the changes in him.”
“You know them?”
“Reasonably well. And yes, I rather think I’ll drop them a note”—smiling, he met Constance’s eyes—“by way of confirming that what they see is real.”
“And perhaps making it clear what brought about the change? I suspect Percy will gloss over that.”
Alaric nodded, unsurprised to find her mind following the same track as his. He glanced at her. “You’ve managed a household for some years, haven’t you?”
Her smile was fond, but tinged with resignation. “When my parents died, I went to live with my grandparents, and shortly after that, my grandmother died. I was fourteen, but…” She waved at herself. “I was always on the large side, and many thought I was older. My grandfather had never managed anything in the house—he’d relied on my grandmother for that. So I picked up the reins, and as my grandfather aged, I became his right hand in all things, including running the estate.”
Alaric tightened his grip on her hand. “I thought as much.”
They reached the spot where the trees fell away to reveal Carradale Manor, and they paused to study it.
After a moment, Alaric glanced at Constance and tipped his head at the house and fields. “Are you ready to become mistress of that?”
She met his eyes. She hesitated, then said, “You told me of the lady you imagined marrying. As for me, after my fiancé was killed, I decided that I would never wed. That I had no need of a husband, that I had all I could want being my grandfather’s chatelaine.”
She looked at the manor.
After a second, Alaric prompted, “But?”
Her gaze warm and loving, she met his eyes and smiled. “You proved me wrong. But it’s having you as my love that’s the heart of my desire. However”—she waved at the manor, and her smile deepened—“as the manor is clearly an integral part of you, yes, please—lead on.”
