Simply Love

“But that is what its name means in Welsh,” she said. “Will you sell it?”

“My grandfather bought it as a young man,” he told her. “Apparently the rumor was soon making the rounds of fashionable drawing rooms that he was housing his mistress there, but it turned out-though not before my grandmother had blackened both eyes of the man who was foolish enough to drop a malicious word of warning in her ear-that it was her particular friend, a severely battered wife, who had taken sanctuary there. My grandfather killed the husband when challenged to a duel over the matter-an incident that was quite efficiently hushed up, by the way, as such matters usually were in those days. He was a colorful man, my grandfather-and my grandmother no less so. The Bedwyn men, of course, never ever employ mistresses after they are married.”

The duchess laughed softly. “I daresay,” she said, “they gave it up as a hazardous practice after a few of them acquired wives like your grandmother.”

The duke uttered one of his rare barks of laughter.

“I suppose I will sell Ty Gwyn to Sydnam,” he said after they had strolled in silence for a few minutes. “In fact, I undoubtedly will, since I know it will be passing into very good hands. But I am not expected to give in too easily on such matters, you know. I will tell him before we leave here.”

“I have been so very disappointed,” she said, “that nothing seems to have developed between him and Miss Jewell after all our efforts. I was convinced that they were made for each other. We all were.”

“I shudder,” he said, “at the realization that a whole generation of Bedwyns and their spouses have descended to the ignoble sport of matchmaking. It is enough to make me seriously wonder where I went wrong with them. They even appear to hold the extraordinary conviction that they had a hand in bringing us together, Christine.”

“He needs someone,” she said as if she had not heard him, “and so does she. And whenever I have seen them together, they have always looked right. Has it struck you, Wulfric, that she might have been the Marchioness of Hallmere if Joshua’s cousin had married her, and that Joshua might have been plain Mr. Moore?”

“I do not imagine,” he said dryly, “that Freyja would have liked being plain Mrs. Moore.”

“And I like them both exceedingly,” she added, clearly still talking about Anne and Sydnam.

“I daresay,” he said, “logic seems to point to the conclusion that therefore they must belong together, Christine. But if such logic always prevailed, what in heaven’s name are you and I doing together?”

“I had high hopes,” she said, “after he took her to see the white house this afternoon while we were all at Pembroke Castle that we would arrive home to find that he had offered for her and there would be a betrothal to celebrate. I even had tentative plans for persuading everyone to stay another day or two for a grand celebratory party. But instead Miss Jewell had hardly a word to say this evening about Ty Gwyn but merely wanted to know everything about Pembroke. And she scarcely stopped smiling all evening. Did you notice? But of course, I ought to have realized it before now-that was the problem, was it not? Why would she have been smiling if she had not been secretly nursing a broken heart? Perhaps he simply did not have the courage to make her an offer. I suppose he thinks he is unbearably ugly, foolish man. I wish now I had invited him for the evening, but I did not know when we would be back. Wulfric, do you think-”

“Christine,” his grace said sternly, stopping altogether and swinging her around to face him before gazing down at her with eyes that matched the moonlight, “I did not bring you out here in order to discuss the sad state of Sydnam Butler’s love life-or that of Miss Jewell.”

“I do beg your pardon,” she said with a sigh. But then she smiled up at him and set her hands on his shoulders, not noticeably chastened by the reproof. “Why did you bring me out here?”

This time his kiss was not so much thorough as it was ruthless.

Her grace said no more about Anne Jewell and Sydnam Butler.

The long spell of hot, dry weather appeared to have broken at last. The clouds hung low and gray overhead and rain was drizzling down as Sydnam made his way on foot up the driveway toward the main house. The weather seemed appropriate to the occasion.

There was no real need for him to go there since Bewcastle and the duchess were staying for two days longer, and in fact it was only the Hallmeres and the Rosthorns who were leaving today. But it seemed the courteous thing to do to pay his parting respects to Freyja and Morgan.

Not that he was that adept at self-deception, of course.

Anne Jewell was leaving today too, and his heart felt literally heavy within him. He dared not think yet about what his life was going to be like without her.

He ought perhaps to have stayed away this morning. They had effectively said good-bye yesterday, though the return of the carriages from Pembroke Castle had prevented the actual words from being spoken. It probably would be as well to leave them unspoken.

But though he had been up since dawn and had paced his cottage and made a new decision every few minutes, he had known from the start that he would come.

Good-byes, painful as they were, needed to be said.

The end needed to be written beneath every story.

And so he was on his way to Glandwr.

Halfway up the driveway he realized that he was limping and immediately strode more firmly onward.

He could see that several carriages were already drawn up on the terrace. He pulled the brim of his hat lower in order to shield his face from some of the fine rain.

It seemed to Sydnam as he came around the carriages and glanced toward the open front doors of the house that all the Bedwyns must be gathered in the hall with their spouses and children and other guests. There was a great deal of noise and bustle going on in there.

He stayed outside on the terrace, and finally Hallmere and Rosthorn stepped outside and shook his hand and helped their children’s nurses lift their children inside the carriages before they could get too wet. Then Freyja came out between Alleyne and Rannulf, and she shook Sydnam’s hand too and informed him in her usual forthright manner-and without explaining herself-that she had never before taken him for a fool. Hallmere handed her into the carriage while Ralf grinned at Sydnam and Alleyne waggled his eyebrows.

Then Morgan came out, hugged her brothers, saw that Sydnam was standing with them, and hugged him too despite the fact that his clothes were considerably wetter than theirs.

“Sydnam,” she said, gazing up into his face, and he could have sworn that there were tears in her eyes. “Oh, my dear Sydnam. I so want you to be happy.”

“Morgan,” he protested, “I am happy.”

“We are missing Anne,” Hallmere said.

“Mrs. Pritchard is weeping over her,” Rannulf explained with a grin. “And Judith and Christine are still awaiting their turn.”

“Come, cherie,” Rosthorn said to Morgan, “and get in out of the rain.”

“We had all better get in out of the rain,” Rannulf said, and almost simultaneously he and Alleyne headed back into the house and Hallmere and Rosthorn followed their spouses into the carriages.

Sydnam was left abruptly alone on the terrace-alone with Anne Jewell, who was just hurrying out, head down, her son’s hand in hers. Aidan, who was accompanying them, was hauled back inside by someone’s hand on his arm.

Ah, Sydnam thought-the Bedwyns were being tactful, were they?

Her head came up when she was no farther than a foot or two away from him, and she looked at him, startled.

It seemed to him that she was pale, though perhaps it was only the absence of sunlight that gave the impression.

“I came to take my leave of everyone,” he said.

Her son smiled up at him, though he looked as if he had been crying.

“I am going to ask Mr. Upton about those oil paints,” he said.

Sydnam smiled back at him.

“David,” Anne said, without taking her eyes off Sydnam, “make your bow to Mr. Butler if you please, and then climb inside the carriage where you will be dry.”

“Good-bye, David,” Sydnam said, “and thank you for letting me see one of your paintings.”