“Banstoke Hall?” Tony looked over sharply. Had news of the inheritance spread already? Was that why Phoebe allowed him to court her?
“Yes, it’s a beautiful place, owned by some sad old gentleman,” she went on. Tony relaxed, trying to stop his cynical thoughts. Phoebe wasn’t capable of such calculation. In fact, it seemed that the villagers didn’t even know that his great uncle had died. “It looks just like a castle.” Phoebe said. “I used to pretend that I was a princess there, even though I’ve never been in it. No one has. The owner went off to Italy or somewhere, and the place hasn’t been lived in for years and years.”
“You make it sound mysterious.” Tony smiled faintly.
“Oh, it is. It’s under a spell, just waiting for the prince to come along and break it.” Phoebe paused, then laughed. “You think I’m silly.”
“Not at all.”
“I think he must have been melancholy, living there all alone,” she continued, staring dreamily out across the valley. “That’s why he left. He couldn’t stand all those empty rooms, since he had no family to share them. I do wonder what it is really like inside.”
“Well, why don’t we ride down and see it?” he proposed, wearing a secret smile.
“Do you think we should?”
“Who would mind?” he asked confidently, since he already knew the answer. The two led their horses down the slope to the grounds of Banstoke Hall. It was a large estate, so Phoebe had time to grow nervous as they approached the house.
“Surely this is close enough,” she said, pulling at the bridle, bringing Dasher to a stop.
“You came all this way to give up now?” There was a challenge in his tone.
Phoebe looked at him more carefully. “Why do I think you know something I don’t?”
Tony merely shrugged, and urged his horse on. Spottiswood’s workers were still at it, since Tony had decided that the property would be more attractive to a buyer if the house were in good repair. At the sound of approaching horses, one of the workmen came out to the drive. He recognized Tony from the previous visit, though he was surprised to see him again.
“Morning, sir,” he bobbed his head. “Can we help you with something? Have you come to check the progress?”
“Yes, I’d like to see how things are going. And Miss Hartridge will be joining me.”
“I’ll get Mr Smith, sir. The foreman.” The worker hurried away.
Tony dismounted, retrieved his cane, and then helped Phoebe down. Once her feet were on the ground, she looked up at him inquisitively. “Why do these men know you?”
“Curious?” he teased her.
“Yes,” Phoebe said flatly.
“Well, maybe I’ll tell you. Later.” The foreman, having gotten the message that the estate’s new owner had arrived, was rushing towards them.
“Good morning, Captain Sterling, Miss,” he greeted them. “We’re making great progress, sir. Please follow me. I’ll show you what has been done so far.”
Smith led them into the house, where Tony could see that improvements had definitely been made. The once dusty windows were now clear, and someone had been busy scrubbing virtually every surface till it shone. Phoebe walked beside him, her eyes wide with amazement at the faded grandeur of the place, medieval stone blending with Baroque staircases. It was a hodgepodge of styles, but after a good cleaning, it didn’t look as ridiculous and depressing as Tony had remembered it. Indeed, though the rooms were still empty of furniture, and the portraits on many walls were still covered with cloth, the place wasn’t lifeless anymore. Phoebe clearly was enchanted with the house, for in every room they entered, she found something lovely or interesting enough to comment on.
And then, suddenly, the mansion didn’t look cold and brooding at all. With Phoebe walking through the rooms, he could suddenly see the possibilities in the place, possibilities that literally took his breath away.
“I never imagined it looked like this inside,” she said as they made their way back to the great foyer. “But it’s so grand. How could just one person live here? No wonder the owner left.”
Yes, Tony thought. It would be hard for someone to live here alone. But two people… He watched Phoebe as they stepped outside, into the cold winter sunshine.
When they had mounted the horses and turned down the drive for the ride back to the village, Phoebe looked at him with a little smile. “I think I’ve been very patient, Tony. What’s happening? Why did Mr Smith know you?”
“Remember when I told you that I was in the area on family business?”
“Yes.” As if she forgot a single detail of that day.
“Well, Banstoke Hall is that business.”
“I don’t understand.”
He cleared his throat. “Banstoke Hall is mine. My great uncle, the previous owner, died this year. His solicitors had to search for the next of kin. Though I didn’t know it until earlier this month, I am next in line to inherit.”
“Oh, Tony,” Phoebe exclaimed, shocked. “That’s wonderful. Isn’t it?” she added, looking carefully at him.
“I’m not sure,” he said slowly, looking out ahead at the surrounding fields. “I can still hardly believe it’s mine.”
“Are…are you going to stay?” she inquired hesitantly, unconsciously bringing her horse closer to his to hear his answer.
He looked at her then. “Initially, I had no intention of doing so. But now, part of me would like to.” Then he said in a different tone, “You seem to like the place.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful. But it doesn’t matter what I think of it.”
“Actually, it matters a great deal what you think of it.”
“Oh?” Phoebe said. Then, as understanding colored her features, “Oh.”
He reached out and took her hand in his own.
By this time, they had ridden beyond the grounds and into a small wooded area, thick with snow-laden birch trees bent double, and the occasional red streaks of dogwood emerging under the blanket of white. They were all alone.
Phoebe turned her face toward Tony when she felt him touch her arm. Despite the cold breeze, she was flushed with anticipation. Her knight drew her closer and covered her mouth with his own. Phoebe forgot about winter, lost in the gentle, warm seduction of the kiss.
She didn’t know how long they stayed there, alone in among the trees, but eventually Tony reluctantly ended the kiss. “I should return you to your home, or else they’ll think I’ve kidnapped you.”
“Or you could simply kidnap me,” Phoebe offered, still dazed.
“The idea has an undeniable appeal, Miss Hartridge, but I’m determined to do this the right way.” With that promise, he steadied her on her horse, and they began to ride back.
Phoebe was never sure how they reached her own home. It could have been on the same path, or it could have been five hundred miles out of the way. She had no sense of time or distance. She was too dizzy with the thought of spending the rest of her days with her knight, who she did not even know a few weeks ago. Whenever she glanced over to look at him—which was often—she found him gazing back with a slight, mysterious smile in his eyes.
When their horses at last clattered onto her own drive, Phoebe tried to regain some semblance of normalcy, lest Nan think she’d lost her head. Tony reached out once more to squeeze her hand lightly.
“We’ve been longer than expected, it seems,” he noted, gesturing toward the shape of Nan in the doorway. “Will you forgive me if I let you go here?”
“You will not come in? My father would love to hear…” Phoebe asked hopefully.
“Next time, I promise. I wish I could stay, but I have to return to London. A few last items with the solicitors. But I will write to you.”
“I’ll be here,” Phoebe said, delighted by the promise in his voice.
She watched him disappear down the drive, waving when he looked back.
* * * *
Back in London, Tony moved with a new energy, determined to settle his most pressing affairs as quickly as possible so that he could return to Banstoke Hall and to Phoebe. Having made the momentous decision to keep the hall, he found that thousands of small decisions followed. He visited his own solicitor, which took the better part of the first day, but held good news for his future plans with Phoebe.
A letter from Phoebe arrived with the morning post, brightening his day further. He wrote several letters of his own, scrawling them in his haste.
Then he made his way to a jeweler, with very specific instructions for what he wanted. Having secured the jeweler’s guarantee that the item would be ready in a matter of days, Tony stepped back out onto the street, where neither the hazy sunshine nor the biting wind could dampen the Londoners’ year-end festivity. He grinned to himself, heading back to his own rooms. He had barely gone fifty steps, however, when he heard a voice call his name.
“Sterling!”
He turned and saw one of his oldest friends hailing him. Robert Greentree was a fellow officer who had served with Tony at Trafalgar. The blond man hurried up to him, grinning widely.
“Tony! Haven’t seen you in months, old friend! Best of the season to you. You’re looking well, I have to say,” he added, glancing professionally at Tony’s false leg. “We’ll have to have dinner soon, catch up on things. Oh, and congratulations!”
“What for?” he asked, startled. He hadn’t mentioned his inheritance, or Phoebe, to any of his cronies. He’d been relishing the secret, actually. Was it possible Robert had seen him coming out of the jewelers?
“Your engagement, of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Angela Donahue has been telling all and sundry that it was just a misunderstanding between you, and that the marriage will be early in the new year.” Robert frowned, aware that Tony’s dark reaction was hardly typical.
“I haven’t even spoken with Angela since she broke off our engagement,” Tony said shortly.
“Well, she seems to think it’s unbroken, so perhaps you better speak with her, old boy.” Robert paused. “The way my wife put it, it sounded like the deed was all but done.”
“There’s a misunderstanding somewhere,” Tony said, guessing the source. “Forgive me, Rob, but I must go. I think I have to clear a few things up.”
With a sense of foreboding, Tony returned to his boarding house. The landlady met him at the door, telling him that a visitor was waiting in the parlor. Inwardly scowling, he stepped inside.
The door stood open, allowing the housekeeper to keep her shrewd eyes on them, guarding against any hint of scandal in her domain. He took a breath. “Miss Donahue.” Warned by Greentree, Tony was not surprised to see her there. He also sensed that she had been counting on his surprise to spring her attack. Why did he suddenly feel like he was back in the middle of the war?
“Tony, dear.” Angela stood up, dressed to dazzle in a vivid blue gown, her dark locks curled artfully around her face. A large sapphire hung about her neck, the final touch to a picture that would have stunned him only a few weeks ago, yet now seemed calculated, rehearsed.
Tony looked at her without speaking for a moment. “I have heard some news about our engagement,” he said finally. “Were you planning on telling me at any point?”
“Oh, Tony, I meant to of course, but I didn’t know how to start.”
She did not look him in the eye, he noticed. In fact, she avoided looking at his face at all. His scar, which he had barely noticed lately, suddenly began to itch. “So you started with the rest of the world,” he said.
“I shall be quite content to be your wife, Tony,” she went on hurriedly, still not looking directly at him. “We’ll be married, and all shall be like it was supposed to be… before you were hurt. We’ll be perfectly happy, and we shall live at Banstoke Hall.”
“Banstoke Hall?” he echoed.
Ah, that’s what this is about
, he thought. Some news about his inheritance had got around at last.
“Of course,” she went on blithely, ignoring his chilly manner. “Not that I need such surroundings. I only need the ring you once gave me.”
“The one you gave back when you decided I was not the man for you, broken as I was.”
“Don’t dwell on the past. It’s depressing. Just give me the ring, Tony. You
do
have the ring still?” Angela asked with an edge to her voice.
He gripped the handle of his cane, feeling the uncomfortable urge to strike her with it. “In fact, I have given it to someone else,” he said, which was the absolute truth. Tony had given it to the jeweler, as part of the payment for Phoebe’s ring, but he felt no urge to tell Angela that.
“Someone else? When?” she squawked, losing her careful composure. “Who else would take a crip…” she stopped short, seeing a hard glint in his eyes. She had gone much too far, and she finally realized it.
When Tony finally spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. “It was your right to break off our engagement, Miss Donahue. It is not your prerogative, however, to reinstate it. I think it’s best if you leave now. I never wish to see you or hear from you again.” Leaning lightly on his cane, Tony turned his back on her and walked out of the room.
* * * *
How had she lived before meeting Tony, Phoebe wondered. She drifted about the little house she had lived in all her life, hardly knowing what to do with herself. Nan had finally set her to work mending, the only type of work that didn’t require any real attention. Nevertheless, lost in a daydream about Tony taking her to see London, Phoebe suddenly realized that she had sewn no fewer than five buttons on the wrong side of a shirt.
“Oh, bother,” she muttered as she reached for her scissors.
Nan hurried in. “The post came, dear. What a surprise, a letter from Captain Sterling! And here’s a letter from Gwendolyn.”
“Gwen wrote! How wonderful, I haven’t seen her since summer.” Smiling, Phoebe opened the letter from her childhood friend, who was now living in London, and always had exciting news for her old schoolmate. She began to read avidly, sometimes reading a sentence aloud to Nan, who listened just as eagerly to Gwen’s tales.
Then, all at once, Phoebe’s expression tightened.
“What is, lamb?” Nan asked.
“It can’t be…” Phoebe murmured. “It must be a mistake…”
“What, for heaven’s sake? Tell me!” Nan insisted, staring worriedly at her ward’s pale face.
Phoebe blinked, as if just realizing that Nan was still in the room with her. Then, in a trembling voice, she began to read from the letter.