marked the boundary of the low lying land. The house dominated its surroundings, a large Palladian mansion of perfect proportions built on the old abbey ruins by his grandfather.
Christian stood at one long window and looked out across the fields, into the deepening twilight. He owned much of what he could see, highly fertile land that guaranteed his and his family’s financial future.
Yet the huge house around him lay empty. For the first time since returning from the Continent and properly taking up the mantle his father had bequeathed him, he felt the weight of it. Sensed in his new life, as in this house, a lack, a hollowness wrapped in elegant calm, peaceful, serene, but empty.
Barren.
Folding his arms, he leaned against the window frame and looked out as the light faded and night slowly crept across the land.
This house-his house-was waiting. Ready, in perfect condition, fully staffed with people eager to serve. Yet he’d made no move to claim a bride, to bring her there, and start a family that would-once again-fill the corridors with laughter and gaiety.
The house was made for that, for an active, bustling family. Something his aunts, Cordelia and Ermina, would certainly remember with fondness, and look forward to seeing again.
That was what lay behind their disapproval, increasingly severe, of his continuing unwed state. They’d offered to help, of course, but when he’d refused, politely but categorically, they’d been wise enough to desist; stubbornness wasn’t solely a Vaux trait.
Not surprisingly, that thought brought Letitia to mind. Into his mind, filling it.
For long moments she was with him again; she was the only woman he’d ever envisaged there-standing beside him, her arm linked with his, looking out over his fields.
She was the only woman he’d ever imagined making a life with-making a family with.
The only woman he’d ever wanted in his bed-there or at Allardyce House.
He’d known the truth years ago, and it still remained true. She was the one his heart and soul desired.
Unbidden, the dreams he’d had of them long ago rolled back into his mind, dreams he’d spent years embellishing, building them, clinging to them through all the long years he’d spent deeply embedded in an alien culture, an enemy land. They’d been his inner refuge, his strength.
The emotions wound into those dreams roiled through him, unexpectedly intense. Reawakened and given new life by his recent hours with her, the her who’d stood at the center of those lost dreams.
For they’d been false…as had she.
His reaction to that fact was as violent as it had ever been. He still didn’t understand how, or why, she’d done as she had.
All that mattered was that she’d married Randall.
And killed his dreams.
Lowering his arms, he went to push away from the window frame, but stopped.
Looked out across the quiet night and wondered how much he still wanted those dreams.
She was now a widow; she still responded to him as she always had.
He no longer knew what she felt for him-something, certainly, even if it wasn’t what he’d thought. She hadn’t been in love with him as he’d been with her.
But did that matter?
The truth was…
For long minutes more he stood looking out unseeing, wrestling with the question of how much he was willing to give-to bend, to forgive, to accept-to recapture a semblance of those long-ago dreams.
Chapter 6
Beyond the changes expected of the years, all was as he remembered it.
He pulled up in the circular forecourt before the huge, rambling, late Tudor mansion. It had indeed been a priory, one linked to the abbey at Dearne; whereas the abbey hadn’t withstood the ravages of time and the various assaults visited upon it, the priory had escaped the old wars relatively unscathed, and succeeding generations of Vaux had preserved and added to its red-brick magnificence.
Leaving his curricle and horses in the care of a suitably reverent groom, Christian looked up at the long facade, at the many leaded windows that winked and blinked at him. The Allardyces and the Vaux were neighbors of sorts; while they didn’t share any boundaries, they were the two most senior families in the area and throughout the generations had been close acquaintances, if not always as close as friends.
That had been one reason both families had looked upon his and Letitia’s long-ago romance with benign approval, if not outright encouragement. No Vaux and Allardyce had married before, but once the idea bloomed, everyone had concurred that it was high time the families established a closer bond.
Then he’d gone to war, and Letitia had married Randall, and all thought of closer ties in this generation had faded. But the underlying acquaintance had not.
Climbing the shallow front steps, Christian tugged the bellpull.
When the butler, a thoroughly imposing specimen, opened the door, Christian smiled easily. “Good afternoon, Hightsbury. Is your master at home?”
Hightsbury recognized him and unbent enough to return his smile. “Indeed, my lord. Do come in. And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you here again. If you’ll wait in the drawing room, I’ll inquire as to the master’s pleasure.”
Christian consented to cool his heels in the elegant, formal drawing room; naturally, being a Vaux domain, it was also a cornucopia of rich and colorful visual and textural delights.
He barely had time to absorb their combined impact before Hightsbury returned.
“If you’ll come this way, my lord. His lordship is in the library.”
Following Hightsbury down the long, wood-paneled corridors, remembering what little Letitia had said about Justin’s falling out with their father, he considered how to approach the coming interview.
Hightsbury opened a tall door, went in, and announced, “Lord Dearne, my lord.”
“Heh?” A white-haired figure hunched over a large desk swung around to peer at the door.
Christian was momentarily taken aback; the earl appeared swathed in a dressing gown-then he realized it was a long, soft, dun-colored coat of the sort serious scholars wore to protect their clothes from ink stains.
He smiled and went forward.
The earl peered at him from under bushy white brows. His hair stood up in tufts, as if he’d tugged at it; Christian saw the odd ink stain in the tumbled locks. All in all, the earl’s reputation as an irascible, unpredictable eccentric appeared well-founded.
But there was nothing at all vague in the sharp hazel eyes that met his.
The earl inclined his head; his expression was relaxed but his eyes were watchful. “Christian, my boy-good to see you again.”
Christian half bowed. “Sir.”
Lord Vaux studied him, increasingly intent. They exchanged a few words about Christian’s aunts, then the earl waved him to a chair to one side of the desk. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, heh?”
Christian sat, his gaze skating over the papers scattered across the long desk. Most appeared to be rough notes, others looked more like treatises, extensively annotated and overwritten. He returned his gaze to Lord Vaux’s face. “I’m unsure how much you’ve heard from London, sir, but I believe Letitia informed you of her husband’s murder.”
Lord Vaux nodded, his gaze increasingly sharp. “She did. And I’ve since heard that some have cast my son as the murderer.”
