Mrs Guthrie nodded and stared at Greystone as if he were the Messiah and not the beast who’d crawled up from an earthy pit in the ground. “I shall leave for the manor right away, my lord.”
They left Mrs Guthrie’s cottage and turned right onto the narrow country lane. Despite the chill in the air, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Lydia stopped for a moment to admire the vista. The turning leaves—crimson and bronze and gold—were a majestic sight to behold.
“There’s beauty in the changing seasons,” Lord Greystone said as they watched birds darting in and out of the hedgerows searching for berries. “I missed the English countryside while away.”
Lydia couldn’t help but smile. “What, even the torrential rain and muddy thoroughfares?”
“Most definitely the rain. The heat abroad is stifling. I cannot tell you how many times I wished the heavens would open and soak me to the skin.”
A tantalising picture formed in her mind, of his damp shirt clinging to his back, of him sating his thirst with some exotic beverage that glistened on his lips and trickled down to the cleft in his chin. “And … and yet you stayed away for so long.”
“There wasn’t a day that I didn’t yearn to be home.” He gave a weary sigh. “Now, where to next?”
Not all the tenants were as forgiving as Mrs Guthrie, though they knew not to cross words with the master else they could find themselves looking for shelter as well as food and firewood.
“I don’t suppose Mr Roberts will take kindly to a visit.” Ada’s whisper was loud enough for his lordship to hear.
“I don’t suppose he will.” Lydia had wanted nothing more than to see the lord hit with a barrage of complaints and curses. Now, the thought made her anxious.
“And why is that, Miss Lovell?”
Lydia wasn’t sure where to start. “Mrs Roberts died last spring. She caught a chill and the damp conditions at home only made matters worse.” Lydia closed her eyes briefly. It pained her whenever she thought about the three boys weeping at their mother’s grave. “Mr Roberts has never forgiven you.”
Lord Greystone sucked in a breath. He fell silent, his eyes cast down in a mournful gaze.
“Apportioning blame does little to heal one’s grief,” he said in a melancholic tone that spoke to her heart and piqued her curiosity. “And yet we cling on to vengeance as it is the only thing that feels real, the only thing we know.”
He spoke from experience, that much was clear, and she found she wanted to peel away the layers of his character to discern what secrets lay beneath.
“Most people find acceptance difficult,” she said wistfully. “Almost as though the lack of fight means they have failed the injured party in some way.”
Greystone came to an abrupt halt and waited for her to stop and turn to face him. “How insightful, Miss Lovell. It is as though you have stolen into my mind and peeked at my thoughts.” A sinful smile touched his lips. “Although I sincerely hope you’re not party to them all.”
The heat of his stare warmed her blood. “When it comes to vengeful thoughts, my lord, I am considered an expert.” Many times she had dreamed of beating him and Arabella until their backsides were black and blue.
“Then we must strive to find something pleasant to occupy your mind.”
Lydia struggled to hold his gaze. She gave a nervous laugh, took hold of Ada’s arm and strode on ahead. “We shall visit Albert Crowe next.”
Greystone was right. In his company, she was out of her depth and drowning in a sea of new sensations.
“Albert Crowe? Did he not serve as the gamekeeper?”
“Having worked for your family for fifty years, he earned the right to his home.” Lydia was aware of Greystone walking behind but did not stop or turn around. “And still Mr Gilligan insisted on charging him a nominal rent.”
Greystone muttered a curse. “Then I shall be only too glad to ease the poor man’s burden.”
They strode along the lane in silence.
Ada tripped over her feet numerous times, partly because she did not take her eyes off Lydia once.
“Are you sure it’s safe, miss?” Ada whispered.
“Safe? Albert is almost seventy. It’s unlikely he’ll find the strength to wallop his lordship.”
“I’m talking about his lordship, not old Albert.” Ada’s eyes flicked in their sockets, but she didn’t turn her head. “Happen there’s not much food at the manor. I’ve never seen a gentleman look so hungry.”
“No doubt Mr Gilligan’s doxies emptied the larder.” Lydia sighed inwardly. The mere mention of the steward’s name made her feel like a naive fool. Oh, how had she been so blind? “Perhaps I should have brought a basket. There is nothing worse than the loud rumble of a man’s stomach.” A hungry man was an angry man, or so the saying went.