Page 104 of Marry in Secret
His deep voice rumbled through her. “How do you feel?”
She sighed happily. “Glorious.”
“Back all right?”
She rubbed her cheek against him like a cat. “What back?”
He chuckled, low and deep. “Crab all gone?”
“Mmm, but what I wouldn’t give for one of Mrs. Jacobs’s crab patties. I’m hungry, Thomas.”
“All right, careful now.” He lifted her off him, making sure not to bump her injury, and slipped out of bed. He tucked the bedclothes in around her, took a banyan from a hook behind the door—it was one of Cal’s—and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.
“Hunting for crab patties, what else?”
She smiled. “A midnight feast? My hero.”
Fifteen minutes later Thomas returned with a leg and thigh of cold chicken, a wedge of cheese, a couple of slices of bread, some grapes and two jam tarts. “I couldn’t find any crab patties,” he began, when a gentle ladylike snore alerted him to the fact that his beloved was sound asleep.
“Oh, well.” He bent and kissed her gently. She stirred. “Mmmm, giblets,” she murmured.
As he sat down to his own midnight feast, he glanced at Rose peacefully sleeping. An appetite was a wonderful thing.
Chapter Thirteen
We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.
—MADAME DE STAËL
The entrance to Brierdon Court was via an ancient gatehouse of unusual design; two houses joined by an ornate arch. “When I was a boy, Old Newling lived in that one and his son, Young Newling, who was about seventy, lived in the other,” Thomas told Rose as the carriage pulled up.
A venerable ancient emerged and peered shortsightedly at them. “It’s Thomas, Mr. Newling,” Thomas said. “Thomas Beresford.”
“It is not,” the ancient responded briskly enough, though his voice was suspiciously husky. “You’re the Earl of Brierdon now, and don’t you forget it, young Thomas!”
He peered in at Rose. “And this be our new Lady Brierdon, I’m guessing. Welcome to Brierdon, m’lady, welcome. A long time since Brierdon Court’s had a mistress, and never one so bonny, I’m thinking.”
The old man turned back to Thomas and his rheumy old eyes filled with tears. “Welcome home, lad, I mean m’lord. We’re all that pleased you’re back with us again. T’was a turrible day when we heard you was dead, turrible. Tears throughout the length and breadth of Brierdon, there was.”
He pulled out an ancient, grimy handkerchief and blew loudly into it. “Get along then, m’lord, m’lady. Mr. Ambrose be expecting you.” He waved them through the arch into a long driveway lined with ancient oaks.
“Now that’s what I call a welcome,” Rose said softly as the carriage moved on.
Thomas nodded awkwardly and didn’t reply. He couldn’t, Rose realized from his expression; he was too deeply touched by the old gatekeeper’s heartfelt and unexpected welcome, a welcome that combined familiarity, respect and a fondness for the boy the old man remembered.
Yet this was the place Thomas thought he didn’t have the right to call home, didn’t have the right to turn to when he returned to England—after years of unbelievable hardship and loneliness—with nothing; no money, no family, no home—nobody who cared about him.
This old man cared, and he was no relation.
The drive curved around a bend and there it stood, Brierdon Court, ancient and beautiful, built of local stone aged through the centuries to a mellow gold. It was low, double storied, with a carved stone parapet running the length of the house. Two wings spread on either side of a graceful columned entrance, each with a double line of big mullioned windows. Currently they were ablaze with fire, reflecting the setting sun. Half a dozen steps led up to the front door.
“Thomas, it’s beautiful.”
He nodded silently, his lips pressed tight together, still battling with emotion.
Rose knew from the way he’d talked about this place how much he loved it, but he hadn’t so much as mentioned it until after he’d learned he was the earl. Perhaps because he never truly felt it was his home, that he didn’t truly belong here. That he didn’t have the right to call it home.
