“No, I’m sorry, he’s not. He doesn’t even know I’m here.” She explained the circumstances that had brought her to Shields.
Over an early dinner they talked, and Lord Galbraith showed her over the house, telling her some of its history, and in particular the bits that related most to Edward, or Ned as his grandfather called him.
He showed her Ned’s old rooms, which had remained more or less unchanged since he ran off and joined the army. “The boy was mad for a pair of colors,” his grandfather explained, “but his father and I—his father was still alive then, but the two of them clashed like stags whenever they met. But Ned was the heir, you see, the only heir, so of course we could not let him go off and get himself shot to pieces in the war.”
He shook his head, remembering. “But he was ripe for adventure, and champing at the bit to get out into the world and prove himself a man. Lads of that age think they’re men when they’re just hey-go-mad boys, that’s the tragedy of it.” He heaved a sigh.
Lily sat quietly, listening, fascinated.
“So what must the wretched young tearaway do but run off and join up as a common soldier, along with half the lads in the village; one of those dashed recruiting sergeants—unscrupulous villains they are—came along banging his drum and got the lot of ’em all fired up, and off they went to take the king’s shilling.”
“How old was he then?”
“Not quite eighteen, the young fool. Of course we couldn’t have the Galbraith heir serving with the common riffraff, so we bought him a commission—should have been the cavalry, but the stiff-necked young idiot refused to leave the fellows who’d joined up with him, so he became a lieutenant in the infantry. The infantry!” He snorted. “When he could ride almost before he could walk! More wine, my dear?”
“No, thank you. Tell me the rest.”
“The rest? There is no rest. The boy never came home again. You probably know as much as I do about his military career—we read the newspapers, didn’t we? Gleaned what shreds of information we could find. Of course he wrote, but the wartime letters were the barrenest things you’ve ever read. No details, just ‘Dear Grandpapa, I am well and in need of socks,’ or ‘Wishing for some good red meat,’ or some nonsense like that. Nothing to tell a man what the lad was feeling or doing. The letters are better now, of course.”
Lily frowned. “He still writes to you?”
The old man nodded. “Always has, man and boy, a letter every week. Some as brief as a letter can be, barely deserving to be called a note, others long and well worth the reading.” He smiled at her. “Hasn’t he ever written to you?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose he’s had any need to, with you right there at hand. Tomorrow I’ll show you some of the more interesting of his letters. I’ve kept them all, you know.” His eyes, green like Edward’s, only a little faded, twinkled. “There are a few I think you’ll find particularly interesting.”
Lily forced a smile. “I look forward to it.”
• • •
The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and over breakfast Lord Galbraith declared his intention to take Lily on a tour of the estate while the weather held. “Horseback all right with you, young Lily? I seem to remember you’re a fine little horsewoman. Ned and I saw you riding in the park with your sisters on the morning of your wedding—oh, no, we can’t have seen you, can we?” He grinned roguishly. “Bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. I recall it now—your sisters were kidnapping a complete stranger.”
She laughed, drizzling honey on her toast. “I suppose Edward told you. It’s silly, I know. Rose got it wrong—the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress—but who was I to argue with superstition?” She crunched down on her toast.
He laughed. “Especially since you were being kidnapped at the time.” He wiped his mouth and set his table napkin aside. “So, my dear, how do you feel about riding around the estate with an old man this fine morning?”
“An old man? Oh, dear”—she feigned dismay—“I thought I’d be riding with you.”
“Minx.” He chuckled delightedly. “Eat up. We need to get going while the weather is smiling on us.
Lily finished her tea and stood up. “I’ll just run upstairs and put on my habit.” She would have ridden out in the rain, the wind and the cold. Anything was better than having to read letters.
The tour took all day. Lord Galbraith was clearly as proud as Punch of his estate, but it wasn’t long before Lily realized his true purpose was to show her off to the people of the estate, his tenants.
At every small cottage or hamlet, and for every person they came across, he would stop and introduce her. “Lily my dear, this is Mr. Tarrant”—or Norton or Bellamy or Weston or Toomer or Cole—“who’s one of my tenant farmers. Tarrant, this is my boy’s charming bride, the future Lady Galbraith.” His pride and open delight in her was visible. And very touching.
What invariably followed was an eager inquiry—some delicate, others blunt—about Edward’s whereabouts and, when it was clear he was not expected, their disappointment was palpable.
Lord Galbraith would then ask about every member of the family, and at the end of each conversation Lily was usually given an invitation to drop in on “the wife” whenever she was passing, and exhorted to “send our regards to the young master.”
Several times they were invited into a farmhouse or cottage to meet a wife where they would be urged to drink a glass of milk, or have some tea and a bit of cake or take some other refreshment.
Lily loved every moment of it. She loved learning about people, getting to know them, hearing
