An Unlikely Match (23 page)

“You don’t suppose she has up and left?” Mr. Castleton asked more than once. He’d sounded more annoyed than concerned.

Dafydd had explained to him that Gwen was inextricably tied to Tŷ Mynydd and could not have left. He had hazarded a guess that she simply chose not to be seen. Something in the tone of Dafydd’s voice as he had said as much told Nickolas that the usually social vicar wished he had the ability to disappear as well.

Mrs. Davis seemed to have sensed the sudden weight hanging over the guests and had been making valiant attempts to garner enthusiasm for the upcoming
Nos Galan Gaeaf
festivities. She met with only minimal success, despite the combined efforts of her family members.

Nickolas tried his utmost not to think of Gwen, to wonder where she might be, to worry about whether or not she had forgiven him. He had grasped at what little hope he had, while it seemed she was left with none at all. She could not escape, could not make her own future. She was, he was absolutely certain, hiding from them all, enduring the pain he felt but doing so utterly alone. Nickolas missed her most especially in the quiet, lonely hours of the night. He would have to exorcise the thoughts of her that continually invaded his mind. It was not fair to self-inflict such torture, nor would it be fair to Miss Castleton for him to enter into a marriage with a disloyal mind and heart.

Nos Galan Gaeaf
dawned at Tŷ Mynydd under this newly oppressive atmosphere. Rather than awaking with his mind full of thoughts of the festivities or that night’s masquerade ball, Nickolas couldn’t expunge the reminder that this was the day three hundred ninety-nine years earlier that Gwen had died.

He pulled on a heavy overcoat, it having snowed the night before, and made his way to the stables. He decided in the quiet hours of the morning that he would ride to the churchyard and find Gwen’s statue so he might say his good-byes. He’d been unable to do so with her in person, and with Gwen’s continued self-imposed exile, it seemed unlikely he would.

Dafydd was just leaving the chapel when Nickolas rode up. “All’s well?”

Nickolas nodded, though he wondered if it was truly wise to tell such an enormous bouncer in a churchyard. He half expected to be felled by lightning. “I just needed a little peace and quiet.” Nickolas added to his sins by throwing out another lie.

Dafydd smiled empathetically. “You would not be the first to come here seeking just that.”

“And do these seekers find what they are looking for?”

“That depends on the burdens they are carrying.”

Nickolas mulled that over. His burdens arose from frustration and hopelessness. A walk through a cemetery hardly seemed likely to alleviate that.

“Preparations for tonight’s ball are underway, then?” Dafydd said, his smile seeming a little forced. It had been that way lately. Dafydd had been playing rather least in sight as well. He hadn’t made it to Tŷ Mynydd for dinner the last two nights in a row. It seemed odd that a vicar in such a small community would suddenly be too busy with duties to come for dinner.

Nickolas nodded in response to Dafydd’s question.

“The chapel is not locked up,” Dafydd offered.

Nickolas shook his head. “I am too restless for indoors.”
And telling far too many lies for the inside of a church.

“The churchyard is always peaceful. Of course, tonight I wouldn’t advise being here.” He even managed a small smile. “
Nos Galan Gaeaf
, you know. The spirits of the dead walk the earth tonight. Graveyards are generally considered best avoided.”

Nickolas smiled back. “I’ll take my chances this morning.”

Dafydd nodded. “I need to make a walk about the yard myself. The first hard freeze of the year, like we had last night, always seems to topple a grave marker or two. I’d offer to walk along with you, but I could use a little solitude too.”

Nickolas didn’t pry. Though he felt a bit of concern for his friend, he didn’t ask what weighed on Dafydd. He needed the time alone to close a chapter in his life, a chapter that had ended hardly before it had begun.

The angel statue was easy to find but difficult to look upon. The suffering so apparent on the statue cut at Nickolas’s very heart. He’d seen that expression of pain in Gwen’s eyes in the moments after she learned of his engagement. He saw it in the flash of realization that he’d chosen a path in life that did not, could not truly, include her. Did she realize he hadn’t wanted to? Did she know that the choice had ripped him apart? What else could he have done? The life he wanted, the one with her, was nothing but an impossible dream.

He dropped his eyes to the base of the monument, the stone box on which the statue stood.

The inscription, he remembered, spoke of Gwen’s protective role at Tŷ Mynydd. And if memory served, it asked for her forgiveness. That was, Nickolas thought ruefully, ironically fitting. He felt the need to beg her forgiveness himself. Yet it was not his fault that they were separated. It was fate—cruel, unfeeling fate.

He looked once more into the face of the stone angel and could almost picture himself looking at her. “I am sorry, Gwen,” he whispered. “Sorry I was born four hundred years too late. Sorry I am living while you are dead. I am sorry you are alone.”

A few rows away Dafydd was making his inspection of the ancient cemetery, checking the sturdiness of gravestones that had stood for hundreds of years. How many of those people had Gwen watched throughout their lives? How long would she be forced to remain behind while all around her the people she knew passed on? And how was it that heaven or fate, whichever was responsible, could ask such a cruel price of her?

Herein lies the means by which our peace was steeply purchased.
The other side of the monument Gwen despised had said that, according to Dafydd.

The price paid for that guarantee was steep, indeed.
Those had been Gwen’s words. Again, a price, a purchase.
They saved Y Castell.
That was the guarantee.
Peace
, as the monument said.

But what exactly had been the price? Nickolas knew Gwen herself had served as an inspiration to those who’d fought for their home. But what had her father and the priest done that Gwen had condemned? What had they done to “save Y Castell”?

He circled to the back side of the statue, intending to cross the churchyard back to his mount. The trip to Gwen’s monument hadn’t given him the sense of closure he’d been searching for. But he had the sinking suspicion he would not see Gwen again and, therefore, couldn’t satisfactorily conclude this journey.

Another frustrated look at the statue brought Nickolas’s attention to the crack he’d noticed the first time he’d come there. “Dafydd,” he called out over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the crack, which had opened up despite the previous mending. “I think I have found a casualty.”

“A casualty?” Dafydd asked when he’d reached Nickolas’s side.

Nickolas pointed to the crack along the base of the statue.

Dafydd made a noise of acknowledgment. “That crack always reopens this time of year—the freezing temperatures. I’ll have to have the mason look at this when he comes by on his repairing rounds. It is not so bad it cannot be saved.”

Which was a shame, Nickolas thought. Gwen disliked the statue with a passion. Seeing it come down would not, he thought, be something to mourn.

Just then the midmorning sun glinted off something just within the crack at the base of the statue. Nickolas sat back on his haunches and thrust a gloved finger inside, only to find the crack a hair too narrow. His gloves came off, and he tried again.

“What is it, Nickolas?”

“I’m not sure. I saw something. Just inside.”

Dafydd squatted beside him, looking as well. “I see it. Something metal, I’d guess.”

Nickolas nodded and made another attempt. A successful one this time. From inside the hollow, broken base of the statue Gwen’s father and his cohort, the priest, had erected came a single, heavy, centuries-old key.

Chapter Twenty

“Your guests will certainly notice their host is absent,” Griffith said, reminding Nickolas again of his duties.

In one hand, Nickolas held his mask, a plain black one that covered his face around his eyes but, in reality, disguised nothing. His other hand still held the key he’d found in the graveyard that morning. “I cannot shake the feeling that this is something significant,” he said, studying it for the hundredth time.

“I don’t doubt that it is,” Dafydd said. “Though I’d rather not wager on it.”

Nickolas smiled at the memory of their now infamous bet. “You’re suggesting I let this mystery wait until the morning.”

“That would be advisable.” He straightened the cuffs of his formal jacket—they were moments from going down to the ball. Though Dafydd hadn’t cried off, he’d been noticeably lacking in enthusiasm. “Miss Castleton, I am sure, is expecting her fiancé to at least be present at tonight’s ball.”

There was no arguing with that. As a newly engaged man, and the host of the night’s gathering, Nickolas needed to pull himself together and throw himself into his roles. Miss Castleton deserved that consideration at the very least. He suspected she knew he didn’t feel a desperate love for her. She didn’t seem likely to chastise him for being neglectful, but she deserved his attention. Gwen, on the other hand, would have let him know in excessively forceful terms precisely what he was doing wrong. She would have expected his very best in everything he did. She would make him want to live up to those expectations.

A sad, longing sort of smile spread across Nickolas’s face. While he appreciated Miss Castleton’s tenderness, he loved Gwen’s spark of life. Ironic, considering it was utter lack of
life
that had robbed them of their shared future.

Nickolas shook his head to clear his thoughts. He must learn some discipline where Gwen was concerned. Thinking of her, longing for her, would only bring more heartache. He could be happy with Miss Castleton. He
knew
he could be. They got along well enough, and she was a good-hearted lady. They would not be deliriously happy, nor would theirs be the love story he might have lived, but they could be happy. Dwelling on thoughts of what could not be would not help nor would it be appropriate.

He slipped the mysterious key into an inside pocket of his jacket and tied his black mask into place. It felt fitting to wear a disguise. He had to hide his feelings, his heartbreak—why not hide his very face? Someday, he told himself, it would not be such a struggle.

Dafydd and Griffith walked at Nickolas’s side as they made their way from his sitting room down to the entry hall at the front of the house. Miss Castleton stood below, talking quietly with Mrs. Davis. It had been decided that Miss Castleton, as Nickolas’s fiancée, would be joining the reception line. She wore a dress of copper that complemented her coloring perfectly, and yet, all Nickolas could muster was a vague feeling of appreciation. He would have to work on recapturing the feelings she had once inspired. Having something now to compare with those feelings, Nickolas realized his impressions of her had rarely strayed beyond appreciation. He realized he’d never truly loved her.

Somewhere just beyond the weight of his own worries, Nickolas took note of a sharp intake of breath from Dafydd as they first turned the corner to the entry hall and Miss Castleton came into view. She had that effect on people, Nickolas acknowledged. Griffith, however, seemed immune.

When Nickolas glanced at his friend, Dafydd was not looking at Miss Castleton. In fact, he seemed to be pointedly
not
looking at Miss Castleton. Who was in turn decidedly looking away from Dafydd.

“Have you and Miss Castleton exchanged harsh words?” Nickolas asked under his breath. It would be just one more difficulty heaped on top of the rest if one of his two best friends and his soon-to-be bride didn’t get along.

“No,” Dafydd reassured him, an uncharacteristic sadness in his tone. “No harsh words. I assure you I hold your future bride in highest esteem.”

“Then why do you sound so blasted depressed?”

Dafydd smiled but not happily. What was bothering the man?

Griffith made a pondering noise, now directing the look of examination he’d been using on Nickolas for days at Dafydd.

The arrival of guests pushed all other thoughts to the back of Nickolas’s mind. He had at least met all of the guests before, though some were still very unfamiliar. They were locals and knew that Tŷ Mynydd was supposed to be haunted. They looked alternately intrigued and concerned. Nickolas reassured them and insisted there were no dangerous specters in residence. Indeed, he would have been hard-pressed to prove there were any specters at all. Gwen had not been seen in a week’s time.