Page 93 of The Vagabond Viscount
His gaze went to the carpet, to the spot where the earl had died in Christopher’s arms. Where he too had lain stricken on the floor, his chest ablaze with pain, his mind overwhelmed with anger and grief.
Today he felt none of those emotions, just a lingering sadness for what might have been and all the wasted years.
It would be so easy to turn on his heel, go downstairs, walk out the front door, and never return. To go to his solicitors and have the deeds of sale drawn up.
The spark in Augusta’s eyes when she talked about the house. Of what it could be for them, and their children stayed his hand. Could this really be a family home once more? From what his uncle had told him, Bramshaw House had once been a happy place. It was now up to him to decide whether it would be such a home again.
No. It's G’s and my decision. My wife is who will make wherever we live a home.
At the sound of her footsteps, Flynn turned. Augusta stood in the doorway; a pensive look sat on her face. She wanted this house, but he knew her well enough to know that if it caused him pain, his wife would give it up without a moment’s hesitation.
He held out his hand to her. “If we stay here, I want this room stripped of everything. Every inch of wall and floor scrubbed. New carpet. New furnishings. And your agreement that it will never be used as a bedroom. I don’t want any of our children sleeping in here.”
It sounded petulant and small-minded, but he had to erase the past. This room had seen so much of his misery over the years, Flynn suspected his pain was imprinted deep within the plasterwork.
Augusta slipped her hand into his, rising up on her toes to plant a tender kiss on Flynn’s lips. “Yes. I was thinking we could use this as a sewing room, a place in which to create good things. I’ve chosen some fabric for the windows. You only have to say the word, and I can order it.”
Flynn stood on the edge of a momentous decision. Today had been a day of emotional upheaval with the trial and his release from prison. Much as he wished to say yes, he needed time. “Could we look at the Bramshaw estate finances first before we start ordering anything for the house? I have no idea as to their current state. We might well be penniless for all I know.”
A blush of pink glowed on Augusta’s cheeks. “Would you be angry with me if I told you I asked Papa and his steward to look over the books while you were in the Tower of London? The earldom isn’t in as bad a financial condition as I thought. My father is prepared to make some minor changes to my dowry so we can clear the debts and then have a tidy sum left over. Less, of course, the sizeable, non-refundable bribe I had to pay in order to have your escape made ready.”
“Escape?”
“You were going to be snatched on the way back to the Tower of London if the verdict didn’t go our way. Serafina had arranged for a fast de Luca ship to be ready to spirit us out of England. We were going back to Rome.”
He pulled Augusta into his embrace and kissed her soundly. She had always said they wouldn’t ever be parted again, and his stubborn, wonderful wife had meant it.
I love this woman.
ChapterFifty-Seven
Amonth later
Bramshaw House
“I am pleased that the two of you changed your mind about selling this place. I’m sure it will make a wonderful home for your children. I have many happy memories of here from my own childhood,” said Charles.
The three of them were standing in the foyer of Bramshaw House. Servants and tradesmen were busy in every room. Slowly but surely, the house was being transformed. Gone was the drab color palette of grays and browns which the late earl had inflicted on the house. In its place were pale greens, blues, and summer cream. A fresh new look for a fresh start.
Augusta turned and nodded to her husband. “See, I knew it made sense not to rush into making a decision about selling the house.”
Flynn raised his eyebrows and gave her a smile. Of course, his wife was right. He was quickly discovering that when it came to matters of home and hearth, she was rarely wrong.
It had been a rash notion on his part, but he hadn’t been thinking all too clearly in the minutes after he had been found not guilty of his father’s murder. All Flynn had wanted to do at that moment was to sweep all traces of the late Earl Bramshaw from his life.
I am glad we kept the house.
“And what about the greyhounds—what’s to happen with them?” asked Charles.
The decision over the fate of the overfed dogs had been a straightforward one. While some unkind people had suggested Flynn either sell the beasts or have them put down, he was adamant that any acts of cruelty had died along with his father.
“I have sent them to Southampton. They are going to spend the rest of their days living happily at the Bramshaw estate. There they will be taken on long walks every afternoon and allowed to be dogs once more.”
He wasn’t prepared to admit to his uncle that while he didn’t wish ill of his father’s pets, he also couldn’t stand the idea of seeing them every day wandering the halls of Bramshaw House. They reminded him too much of the earl. Of the pain and suffering that he had endured at the hands of his sire.
Charles nodded his agreement. “That’s probably the best place for them. My brother might have thought he was being a good master to those dogs, but they were not meant to be fat. A few months of them getting out and enjoying real exercise will see the two dogs restored to full health.” He glanced over at Augusta and smiled. “And speaking of health, how are you, Countess Bramshaw?”
She slipped her hand into Flynn’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I am well, thank you, Uncle Charles. Tired most of the time, but otherwise in good spirits.”
