Page 6 of Rogue of the Greenwood
At least, she hoped things might go that way for dear Meg. Aunt Regina often chided her for being too critical of any man who showed something of an interest in her and worried her daughter would be forever on the shelf. Marianne, however, had seen something else. She and Meg never discussed it, but Marianne was certain there was a reason all suitors had been denied. There seemed to be one young man Meg hadn’t been too critical of.
Pity he was nothing more than the son of a miller. Marianne’s uncle would never allow his daughter to make a match like that! No, if Meg had any hopes of being happy, that young man must be forgotten.
All the more reason for Marianne to make today’sdrive with the gentlemen as enjoyable as possible. Once she posted her letter, she would put all her concerns aside and dedicate herself to making a pleasant day. Perhaps if she pretended to be deliriously happy with Mr. Gisborne, Meg would feel more encouraged to have a beau of her own. And with a bit of careful flattery, surely Marianne could help Mr. Reeve see that Meg was, indeed, the finest catch in the land.
Robert breathed in the familiar air. Their carriage rattled over one last rise, then the forest opened up before them. There, spread out with the breadth and light and composition of a Gainsborough masterpiece, he saw Greenwood Manor. At last, Robert was home.
Beside him, John peered out the window and gave an impressed sigh. “I say, Rob, that is your house?”
“Welcome to Greenwood Manor,” Robert said with pride. “We’ve finally made it.”
“Indeed, I was half convinced we never would,” Will said with a cluck of his tongue. “All the odds and ends that needed to be sorted with Wellington after the bloody battle, all the time it took us to find passage back to England, then those dashed mutton-headed highwaymen a few miles back!”
“Don’t be forgetting that ruddy tussle when we finally landed at London,” Alan added. “Not quite the welcome back I was expecting!”
The other men laughed. Yes, after all they’d been through Robert had nearly forgot that particular skirmish. Who would have thought the four of them survived treachery and war all through the Continent,then were nearly brought down by a pair of petty ruffians at the wharf? It was a healthy lesson in never letting one’s guard down, that much was certain.
“I still say those men were waiting for us,” John declared, as he had a dozen times since the event several days ago.
“You’re still on about that?” Will asked. “It’s fustian. Why should anyone have been waiting for us? No one even knew when we’d arrive.”
“But they did,” Alan pointed out. “Rob sent word to his man of business. He would have known exactly when we’d be docking.”
Robert corrected him. “No, I sent word to my steward here at Greenwood. I gave him an approximation of when we would return. Figured I’d best give my staff fair warning that I’d be bringing along the raggy lot of you four!”
“That sounds like reason enough to send brutes to do away with us, then,” Alan teased, jabbing John in the ribs. “They figured on how much they’d have to cook for this one!”
Robert joined their laughter and dismissed the topic altogether. “Then they should have sent an army rather than two incompetent ruffians. We took care of them straight enough, didn’t we? Come lads, enjoy the view. Greenwood Manor will be your home until you tire of it. Not a Frenchman or cannon in sight!”
By now they were rolling up the lane toward the broad steps that led to the grand front doors. The thrill of being home began to subside slightly and Robert took note of a few odd imperfections. The manicured shrubbery flanking the lane, for instance, was in obvious need of pruning. Small piles of dead leaves and debris had gathered in the corners of thebuilding and the angles of the steps. Had no one swept recently? He would have to mention this to the staff.
If there were any staff. As the carriage rolled to stop, Robert expected to see the wide oak doors fling open and footmen bustle out to assist them. None of that happened.
“Not a Frenchman, cannon, or servant in sight, either,” John noted. “Perhaps they did take warning when you sent word. They’ve all made themselves scarce!”
“They simply didn’t know what time we’d arrive,” Robert explained. “Come along, we can certainly manage for ourselves, can we not?”
He opened the latch and swung open the carriage door. The driver was already climbing down to secure the horses, but Robert hopped out and unfolded the steps ahead of him. His men followed and made chatter of how good it was to know where they would take their next meal or make their bed for the night. Robert tried to join in, but he couldn’t help noticing the lack of attention they were getting. Was no one in the house looking for them?
He bounded up to the door to open it himself, only to find it locked. How odd! He rapped loudly on it, then waited. When no one responded, he pounded with full force.
His friends chuckled behind him, but even they sounded less amused and more concerned. This was not at all the welcome Robert expected. What the devil was going on in his home?
At last he heard footsteps from inside. Someone was fumbling at the lock. Finally! Robert clenched his fists and forced himself to be calm—it was likely just a misunderstanding. No need to chastise his help oversuch a trifle as a locked door.
He stepped back to wait. The door opened slowly, only partially. An elderly face peered out.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Balford! It’s me,” Robert declared, recognizing his butler. “Why the devil have you locked me out?”
Balford’s pale eyes grew round and he pulled the door wider. His mouth opened, but no words issued from it. Instead he stared at Robert as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Where is everyone?” Robert asked. “Has it been a holiday here since I’ve been gone? Why are the shrubberies so overgrown?”
His attempt at levity failed. Balford still stared in ashen silence.
“Balford? Why are you not happy to see me?”
