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Standard disclaimer.
Later in the evening, Arthur and Will had dinner, in the dilapidated splendor of the dining room.
The meal was of far better quality than they had expected, consisting of cold cucumber soup, roast pheasant, dressed with oranges, and puddings rolled in sweetened bread crumbs.
"I made the house steward unlock the cellar, so I could browse over the wine collection," Will remarked. "It's gloriously well provisioned. Among the spoils, there are at least ten varieties of imported champagne, twenty cabernets, at least that many of bordeaux, and a large quantity of French brandy."
"Perhaps if I drink enough of it," Arthur said, "I won't notice the house falling down around our ears."
"There are no obvious signs of weakness in the foundation. No walls out of plumb, for example, nor any visible cracks in the exterior stone, that I've seen so far."
Arthur glanced at his brother with mild surprise.
"For a man who's seldom more than half sober, you've noticed a great deal."
"Have I?" Will looked perturbed. "Forgive me...I seem to have become accidentally lucid." He reached for his wineglass. "Hampshire Priory, is one of the finest sporting estates in England. Perhaps we should shoot grouse tomorrow."
"Splendid," Arthur said. "I would enjoy beginning the day, killing something."
"Afterwards, we'll meet with the estate agent and solicitor, and find out what's to be done with this place." Will glanced at him expectantly. "You haven't yet told me, what happened this afternoon, while you were out walking with Lady Pendragon."
Arthur shrugged irritably.
"Nothing happened."
After introducing him to Cassandra, Gwen had been abrupt and cool for the rest of the tour, through the glasshouses.
And when they parted company, she had worn the relieved air, of someone who had concluded an unpleasant duty.
"Did she wear the veil the entire time?" Will asked.
"No."
"What does she look like?"
Arthur shot him a derisive glance.
"Why does that matter?"
"I'm curious. Liam had his pick of women...he wouldn't have wed an ugly one."
Arthur turned his attention to his wineglass, swirling the vintage, until it glittered like black rubies.
There seemed no way to accurately describe Gwen.
He could say, that her hair was black and curly, and her eyes were golden-brown and tip-tilted like a cat's.
He could describe her caramel skin and the rosy undertone, that rose to the surface like a winter sunrise. Or the way she moved, her supple athletic grace, constrained by laces and stays and layers.
But none of that explained the fascination she held for him...the sense, that somehow, she had the power to unlock some new feeling inside him, if only she cared to try.
"If one were to measure strictly by appearance," he said, "She's pleasing enough to bed, I suppose. But she has the temperament of a baited badger. I'm going to boot her from the estate as soon as possible."
"What of Liam's sisters? What will become of them?"
"Lady Cassandra is suited for employment as a governess, perhaps. Except, that no married woman in possession of her wits, would ever hire a girl that pretty."
"She's pretty?"
Arthur gave Will a forbidding glance.
"Stay away from her, Will. Far away. Don't seek her out, don't speak to her, don't even look at her. The same goes for the twins."
"Why not?"
"They're innocent girls."
Will gave him a caustic glance.
"Are they such fragile flowers, that they couldn't tolerate a few minutes of my company?"
"Fragile is not the word I would use. The twins have spent years scampering about the estate like a pair of foxes. They're unworldly and more than a little wild. God knows what's to be done with them."
"I pity them, if they're sent out into the world without a man's protection."
"That's not my concern."
Arthur reached for the carafe of wine and refilled his glass, trying not to think of what would become of them. The world wasn't kind to innocent young women.
"They were Liam's responsibility. Not mine," he finished.
"I believe this is the part in the play..." Will mused, "...when a noble hero would appear to save the day...rescue the damsels, and set everything to rights."
Arthur rubbed the corners of his eyes, with the pads of his thumb and forefinger.
"The truth is, Will, I couldn't salvage this damned estate, or save the damsels, even if I wanted to. I've never been a hero, nor do I have any wish to be."
"...in light of the late Earl's failure, to provide legitimate male issue," the family solicitor droned the next morning, "According to the legal rule of perpetuities, which renders the devise of entail void for remoteness, the settlement has expired."
As an expectant silence filled the study, Arthur looked up from a pile of leases, deeds, and account books. He was meeting with the estate agent and solicitor, Mr. Tottenham and Mr. Forsythe, respectively, neither of whom appeared to be a day under ninety.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"The estate is yours to do with as you please, my lord," Forsythe said, adjusting his pince-nez, to regard him owlishly. "At present, you are not bound by entail."
Arthur's gaze shot to Will, who was lounging in the corner. They exchanged relieved glances.
He could sell the estate in parts or in its entirety, pay off the debt, and go on his way with no further obligation.
"I will be honored to assist you in resettling the entail, my lord," Forsythe said.
"That won't be necessary."
Both the estate manager and solicitor looked perturbed at Arthur's reply.
"My lord," Tottenham said, "I can assure you of Mr. Forsythe's competence in such matters. He has twice assisted in resettling the entail for the Pendragons."
"I don't doubt his competence." Relaxing back in his chair, Arthur propped his booted feet on the desk. "However, I don't want to be limited by an entail, since I intend to sell the estate."
A shocked silence greeted his pronouncement.
"What portion of it?" Tottenham dared to ask.
"All...including the house."
Aghast, the two men burst out with protests.
"Hampshire Priory was a historic inheritance, won through the service and sacrifice of his ancestors."
"Arthur would have no respectable position, without retaining at least a fragment of the estate."
"Surely, he could not mean to disgrace his future offspring, by leaving them a landless title."
Exasperated, Arthur gestured for the pair to be silent.
"Trying to preserve Hampshire Priory, would involve far more effort than it's worth," he said flatly. "No rational man would conclude otherwise. As for my future offspring, there won't be any, since I have no intention of marrying."
The estate manager cast an imploring glance at Will.
"Mr. Pendragon, you cannot support your brother in this folly."
Will extended his hands, as if they were a set of weighing scales, and compared invisible counterbalances.
"On one hand, he has a lifetime of responsibility, debt, and drudgery. On the other, he has freedom and pleasure. Is there really a choice?" he asked.
Before the elderly men could respond, Arthur spoke briskly.
"The course is set. To begin with, I want a list of investments, deeds, and interests, as well as a complete inventory of every item in the London house and the estate. That includes paintings, tapestries, rugs, furniture, bronzes, marbles, silverware, and the contents of the glasshouses, the stables, and the carriage house."
Tottenham asked dully,
"Will you want an estimate of all the livestock, my lord?"
"Naturally."
"Not my horse."
A new voice entered the conversation. And all four men looked to the doorway, where Gwen stood as straight and as rigid as a blade.
She stared at Arthur with open loathing.
"The Arabian belongs to me," she ended.
Everyone rose to his feet, except for Arthur, who remained seated at the desk.
"Do you ever enter a room the ordinary way?" he asked curtly, "Or is it your usual habit, to slink passed the threshold and pop up like a jack-in-the-box?"
"I only want to make it clear, that while you're tallying the spoils, you will remove my horse from the list."
"Lady Pendragon," Mr. Forsythe interceded, "I regret to say, that on your wedding day, you relinquished all rights to your movable property."
Gwen's eyes narrowed.
"I'm entitled to keep my jointure and all the possessions I brought to the marriage."
"Your jointure," Tottenham agreed, "But not your possessions. I assure you, no court in England will regard a married woman, as a separate legal being. The horse was your husband's, and now it belongs to Lord Pendragon."
Gwen's face went pale, and then a dark red.
"Lord Pendragon is stripping the estate, like a jackal with a rotting carcass. Why must he be given a horse that my father gave to me?"
Infuriated that she would show him so little deference, in front of the others, Arthur stood from the desk and approached her in a few strides.
To her credit, she didn't cower, even though he was twice her size.
"Devil take you," he snapped, "None of this is my fault."
"Of course it is. You'll grasp any excuse to sell Hampshire Priory, because, you don't want to take on a challenge."
"It's only a challenge, when there's some small hope of success. This is a debacle. The list of creditors is longer than my bloody arm, the coffers are empty, and the annual yields have been cut in half."
"I don't believe you. You're planning to sell the estate to settle personal debts, that have nothing to do with Hampshire Priory."
Arthur's hands knotted with the urge to destroy something.
His rising bloodlust, would only be satisfied with the sound of shattering objects.
He had never faced a situation like this, and there was no one to give him trustworthy advice, no kindly aristocratic relation, no knowledgeable friends in the peerage.
And this woman could only accuse and insult him.
"I had no debt," he growled, "Until I inherited this mess. Good God, did your idiot husband never explain any of the estate's issues to you? Were you completely ignorant, of how dire the situation was, when you married him? No matter...someone has to face reality, and God help us all, it seems to be me."
He turned his back on her and returned to the desk.
"Your presence isn't wanted," he said, without looking back. "You will leave now."
"Hampshire Priory has survived four hundred years of revolutions and foreign wars," Arthur heard Gwen say contemptuously, "And now, it will take, one self-serving rake, to bring it all to ruins."
With effort, Arthur swallowed back his outrage.
She was acting, as if he was entirely to blame for the situation. As if he alone, would be accountable for the estate's demise.
'Damn her to hell.'
Deliberately he stretched out his long legs, with relaxed indolence and glanced at his brother.
"Will, are we quite certain that cousin Liam perished in a fall?" he asked coolly. "It seems far more likely, that he froze to death in the marital bed."
Will chuckled, not above the enjoyment of a malicious quip.
Tottenham and Forsythe, for their part, kept their gazes down.
Gwen went rigid. She gave Arthur a hard look, crossed the threshold and sent the door shuddering with a violent slam.
"Brother," Will said with mock chiding, "That was beneath you."
"Nothing's beneath me," Arthur replied, stone-faced. "You know that."
For a long time, after Tottenham and Forsythe had left, Arthur remained at the desk and brooded.
Opening an account book, he paged through it without absorbing anything.
He was barely aware of the moment, when Will wandered out of the study, yawning and grumbling.
Feeling strangled, Arthur un-knotted his necktie with a few impatient tugs and opened the front of his collar.
God, how he wanted to be back at his London terrace, where everything was well maintained and comfortable and familiar.
If Liam were still the Earl, and he was still merely the black sheep cousin, he would have gone for a morning ride on the Hyde Park bridle path, and afterwards, he might have enjoyed a good meal at his club.
Later, he would have met with friends, to watch a boxing match or a horse race, attend the theater, and chase after light-skirts.
There would be no responsibility, and nothing to worry about.
Nothing to lose.
The sky rumbled, as if to underscore his sullen spirits. And Arthur cast a murderous glance at the window.
Rain-tumbled air had pushed inland, to settle over the downs, darkening the sky to vestment-black. It would be a ripper of a storm.
"My lord." A timid rap at the doorjamb drew his attention.
Recognizing Cassandra, he rose to his feet and tried to make his expression pleasant.
"Lady Cassandra."
"Forgive me for disturbing you."
"Come in."
She entered the room cautiously and her gaze swerved to the window, before moving back to him.
"Thank you, my lord. I came to tell you, that with the storm moving in so fast, I would like to send out a footman to search of Gwen."
Arthur frowned.
He hadn't been aware that Gwen had left the house.
"Where is she?"
"She has gone to visit the tenant farm on the other side of the hill. She took a basket of broth and elderberry wine to Mrs. Luton, who is recovering from childbirth fever. I asked her if I could accompany her, but she insisted on walking alone. She said she needed the solitude."
Cassandra's fingers wove together into a pale knot.
"She should have returned by now, but the weather has come in so quickly, I fear she might be caught out in it," she finished.
There was nothing in the world that Arthur would love more, than the sight of Gwen rain-soaked and bedraggled.
He had to restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in villainous glee.
"There's no need to send a footman," he said casually. "I'm certain that Lady Pendragon, will have the sense to stay at the tenant farm, until the rain passes."
"Yes, but the downs will have turned to mud."
'Better and better. Guinevere, wading through mud and clay.'
Arthur fought to keep his expression grave, when inside, all was joy and exploding Roman candles.
He went to the window, there was no rain yet, but dark clouds seeped through the sky, like ink on wet parchment.
"We'll wait a bit longer. She could return momentarily."
Just then, lightning bolts pierced the firmament, a trio of brilliant jagged streaks, accompanied by a series of cracks, that sounded like shattering glass.
Cassandra drew closer.
"My lord, I am aware that you and my sister-in-law...exchanged words earlier..."
"Exchanged words, would imply that we had a civilized debate," he said. "Had it lasted any longer, we would have torn each other to shreds."
A frown corrugated her smooth brow.
"You both find yourself in difficult circumstances. Sometimes, that causes people to say things they don't mean. However, if you and Gwen could manage to set aside your differences..."
"Lady Cassandra..."
"Do call me cousin."
"Cousin, you will avoid much future distress, if you learn to see people as they really are, instead of as you wish them to be."
Cassandra smiled faintly.
"I already do."
"If that was true, you would understand, that Lady Pendragon and I, are correct in our assessments of each other. I am a scoundrel, and she is a heartless bitch, who's entirely capable of looking after herself."
Cassandra's eyes, the silvery-blue of moonstones, widened in concern.
"My lord, I have come to know Gwen very well, in our shared grief, over my brother's passing..."
"I doubt she feels much grief," Arthur interrupted brusquely. "By her own admission, she hasn't shed a single tear over your brother's death."
Cassandra blinked.
"She told you that? But she didn't explain why?"
Arthur shook his head.
Looking perturbed, she said,
"It isn't my story to tell."
Concealing an instant flare of curiosity, Arthur shrugged casually.
"Don't concern yourself with it, then. My opinion of her won't alter."
As he had intended, the show of indifference pushed Cassandra into talking.
"If it helps you to understand Gwen a little better," she said uncertainly, "Perhaps, I should explain something. Will you swear on your honor to keep it in confidence?"
"Of course," Arthur said readily. Having no honor, he never hesitated to promise something on it.
Cassandra went to one of the windows. Fissures of lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating her delicate features, with a blue-white flash.
"When I didn't see Gwen cry after Liam's accident, I assumed it was because, she preferred to keep her emotions private. People have different ways of grieving. But one evening, as she and I sat in the parlor with needlework, I saw her prick her finger...and she didn't react. It was as if, she hadn't even felt it. She sat watching a drop of blood form, until I couldn't bear it any longer. I wrapped her finger with a handkerchief, and asked what was the matter. She was ashamed and confused...she said she never cried, but she thought, that she would have at least been able to shed some tears for Liam."
She paused, seemingly preoccupied, with removing a flake of peeling paint from the wall.
"Go on," Arthur murmured.
Meticulously, Cassandra set the flake of paint on the windowsill, and picked at another, as if she were pulling scabs from a half-healed wound.
"I asked Gwen if she could ever remember crying. She said yes, when she was a little girl, on the day she left Ireland. Her parents had told her they were all traveling to England, on a three-masted steamer. They went to the docks and made as if to board the ship. But as Gwen and her nanny stepped onto the gangplank, she realized, that her parents weren't following. Her mother told her, she was going to stay with some very nice people in England, and they would send for her someday, when they didn't have to travel abroad so often. Poor Gwen, she became quite frantic, but her parents turned and walked away, while the nanny dragged her aboard."
Cassandra sent him a sidelong glance.
"She was only five years old," she finished.
Arthur swore quietly.
He flattened his palms on the desk, staring at nothing, as Cassandra continued.
"For hours after Gwen had been brought to the ship's cabin, she screamed and sobbed, until the nanny became very cross and told her, if she insisted on making such a horrid fuss, she will leave her, and she'll be alone in the world, with no one to look after her. She told Gwen, her parents sent her away, because, she was a nuisance."
Cassandra paused for a beat.
"Gwen quieted at once. She took the nanny's warning to mean, that she must never cry again...it was the price of survival."
"Did her parents ever send for her?" Arthur asked.
Cassandra shook her head.
"That was the last time she ever saw her mother. A few years later, she succumbed to malaria, during a return voyage from Egypt. When Gwen was told about her mother's passing, she felt the pain of it acutely, but she couldn't find the relief of tears. It was the same with Liam's death."
The sound of hard-falling rain, was like the clatter of coins, but Arthur hardly took notice, after learning of Gwen's past.
"Gwen is not heartless, you see," Cassandra murmured. "She feels very deep sorrow. It's only that she can't show it."
Arthur wasn't certain, whether to thank or curse Cassandra for the revelations. He didn't want to feel any compassion for Gwen.
But the rejection by her parents at such a tender age, would have been devastating.
He understood all about the desire to avoid painful memories and emotions...the compelling need to keep certain doors closed.
"Were Lord and Lady Gemswick kind to her?" he asked gruffly.
"I believe so. She speaks of them with affection." Cassandra paused. "The family was very strict. There were many rules, and they were enforced with severity. They value self-restraint, perhaps, too much." She smiled absently. "The only exception, is the subject of horses. They're all quite horse-mad. The night before Gwen's wedding, at dinner, they had an enthusiastic conversation about pedigrees and equine training. They rhapsodized about the fragrance of the stables, as if it were the finest perfume. It went on for nearly an hour. Liam was a bit annoyed, I think. He felt somewhat left out, since he didn't share their passion for the subject."
Biting back an observation about his cousin's lack of interest in any subject, except himself, Arthur glanced outside.
The storm had settled over the brow of the high grazing fell, and water was pouring into the chalk streams and flooding the downs.
Now, the idea of Gwen being caught out in that tempest alone, was no longer enjoyable.
It was intolerable.
Cursing beneath his breath, Arthur pushed back from the desk.
"If you'll excuse me, Lady Cassandra..."
"You'll send a footman after Gwen?" she asked hopefully.
"No. I'll fetch her myself."
She looked relieved.
"Thank you, my lord. How kind you are!"
"It's not kindness." Arthur headed to the doorway. "I'm only doing it, for the chance of seeing her ankle-deep in mud."
Stay safe!