“You could not know,” Marianne rushed to reassure him. “You did what you thought was right and what should have been right. The sins of your father or brother or even your dear Eliza are not yours to bear.”

  He smiled at her sadly. “I have told myself that many times.”

  “Then you should listen to yourself, for it is sound advice.”

  He covered the hand that lay on his arm with his free one. “So I should, but I fear I feel the weight of it all too greatly. I returned to England, but not before she had fallen into desperate circumstances. I found her in a poorhouse, sick and not at all as I remembered.”

  He fell silent again, and Marianne, who could only imagine the agony he must be remembering, squeezed his arm reassuringly.

  “She was not long in living after my return, but I visited her as often as I could.” He drew and released a breath. “She had a daughter. The child was three when I found her mother.”

  “Oh.” The word leapt from Marianne’s mouth. “The child is not yours?”

  “No, I do not know her father. Eliza would never name him.”

  “But you care for her?”

  His brow furrowed. “I do, but how do you know?”

  Marianne looked down at the ground where they had stopped and now stood. “Mr. Willoughby mentioned having met your daughter in Bath.”

  “Willoughby?”

  Marianne nodded.

  “Did he only meet her once?”

  “I could not say except that he spoke as if they had met often.”

  “Did he say if he had seen her recently?”

  Marianne shook her head. “Why?”

  He turned away from her and looked up to the sky for a moment before turning back as he scrubbed his face with his hands. “I have attempted to see to her care and education. I promised her dying mother that I would. I sent her to school, but eventually, I removed her from there to place her with a very respectable woman. And all was well for a time, so I allowed her to go to Bath with one of her friends who was also in this lady’s care. It was a mistake, for she disappeared from there. I have not heard from or of her since.”

  “She is missing?” Marianne’s hand covered her rapidly beating heart at the shock of such a thing.

  He nodded.

  “And her friend did not know where she was?”

  “She would not tell me, though I believe she knew all.”

  “How could she not tell you?” Marianne cried. “This is a dreadful business, indeed! We must find her.” Marianne flushed as he tipped his head to look at her curiously.

  “I mean you,” Marianne corrected. “You must find her.”

  “I have attempted, and still I search, but all to no avail.” He took her hand, his eyes searching hers. “I know what the whispers are about my relationship to her.”

  “But they are untrue,” Marianne said firmly.

  “That will not make them go away.”

  “They matter not.”

  “I fear loving again.” He dropped her hand and turned away from her. “I failed my Eliza, and now I have failed her daughter. I can only imagine that she has eloped or fallen into the same destitute position as her mother.”

  “Does she love you? Eliza’s daughter? What is her name?”

  He shrugged. “Her name is Eliza after her mother.”

  “Does young Eliza love you?”

  “I thought she did.”

  Marianne moved to stand next to him and placed her hand on his arm. “Could she have done something about which she fears telling you?”

  His eyes were on her hand where it lay on his arm. “It is possible.”

  “Then it is even more imperative that we find her.” She sucked in a breath and lifted her eyes to him. “However I might be able to help you, you have only to ask.”

  “Why?”

  Marianne looked out at the meadow before her where the mist was lifting to reveal the freshness of the grass and flowers that lay beneath it.

  “Because I cannot bear to see you in such pain any more than you can bear to speak of your Eliza’s demise with equanimity.” She looked at him and shrugged. “I am young and likely foolish – or so Elinor claims often.”

  She smiled at his tentatively hopeful expression. “And though I have no experience in these things aside from what I have read or been told, I believe I love you.”

  She was sure her heart was about to climb up her throat and escape her body before she did something more to send it racing even faster than it was at this moment.

  “We have only met, and I am an old man compared to you,” he protested even as he brushed a wayward tendril of hair from her cheek.

  “You are not an old man,” she returned with a shake of her head. “Not to me.” Again, she shook her head. “I do not understand it all myself, but my heart has chosen you. I wish to see you happy, to see you gathering flowers, and to hear you singing, and I also wish to hold your hand and reassure you when life has dealt you an agonising blow such as this present loss of Eliza.”

  “I am not an easy man,” he argued.

  “I am not an easy lady,” she countered. “I am prone to fits of temper at times, and I do love the fanciful more often than Elinor can tolerate.” She took his hand in hers. “I have no fortune, nor do I have a father. The only estate I have ever known was taken from me by a brother. I have not a lot to offer you besides my heart.”

  “I do not deserve such a precious gift.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “I fear you will vanish with the mist that brought you to me.”

  “Never,” she replied.

  He looked up to the clouds above them and drew a deep breath. “The sun is shining.”

  What a beautiful smile he had! It demanded she respond in kind while saying, “It is,” in agreement with him. It was certainly shining on his face.

  He lifted her hand to his heart and shook his head. “Not just in the sky. Here. I had feared it never would until yesterday when I met you. And then I feared it was only a glimpse sent to torture me by reminding me of what I have lost.”

  Marianne wondered if any lady had ever felt as treasured as she felt at that moment with him looking down at her.

  He cupped her cheek with his hand. “May I kiss you?”

  “You may,” she said, but added as he gathered her into his embrace, “as long as you promise me that you will believe that only when the morning mist fails to appear, only then, will I stop reminding you of my admiration for you.”

  “It will take some time,” he replied, “but I shall do my best to not doubt that you will be snatched from me.”

  “Then, you must kiss me.”

  And he did, holding her to him as if she were a precious jewel in need of protection while his lips pressed against hers, tentatively at first, until Marianne sighed with pleasure. Then, as Marianne wound her finger in his hair, he deepened the kiss, speaking to her without words about the amorous man who lay behind his composed facade and declaring himself to be a gentleman who loved her as none other could.

  As the last tendrils of the morning mist raced away, followed by the playful pixies that caused a lady to shiver in the coolness of a fresh, new day, Marianne’s heart found its home. It was not in an estate or a cottage, but in the love of a gallant gentleman who was as noble as any knight of old and who would love her until his eyes would close, never to see the morning mist rise from a meadow again.

  Theirs would be a love that would surpass anything the colonel had ever imagined possible and of which Marianne had ever dreamt. For while they were not too alike in all things, for he was serious while she was fanciful, there was one trait which they shared – a passion that was incapable of loving by halves.

  Frosted Windowpanes

  Just like the frost brings beauty to the coldness of winter, beauty can rise out of sorrow

  Chapter 1

  Patrick Mullins flipped up his collar and pulled it closer around his neck. There was a definite December bite to the evening air, but he was in no hurry to escape it as some others seemed to be. He stepped to the side as a pair of ladies dressed in woolen coats, attempting to escape the chill, hurried past him, clinging closely to each other. A man, moving at a steady pace – neither hurried nor relaxed – and carrying a small crate on his shoulder — passed with a cheerful “pardon me” before he continued whistling a tune, each note being made visible by the chilly air. The light from lanterns recently lit by a faithful lamplighter created pools of light here and there along the high street and chased away all the shadows that dared creep near the edge of their light-filled pools. To Patrick, it was a cheery, welcoming sight. How he had missed this! This was home, and no matter what painful memories this place might hold, it was where he belonged. He would not leave again.

  When he had first received the news of his brother’s accident, he had thought he would be coming back here only to dispose of some property in such a fashion as to secure himself a life of relative ease elsewhere – anywhere but here. However, he had had ample time to consider his future during his voyage.

  Ashmore Lodge called to him, and he could not deny it. It was where generations of ancestors resided in portraits and lived on in stories handed down from one generation to the next. He could not dispose of his family. He had left them four years ago, but not because he had wanted to. No, he had left them out of necessity. As a second son, his lot in life was to earn his fortune. He had written to his brother and mother faithfully. Though he had been absent when both had been called to the life beyond this one, he had never turned his back on them, and he would not now.

  He thanked the lad who brought him his horse and swung himself up into the saddle. He had considered staying at the Rose and Crown tonight and making his way to Ashmore Lodge in the morning, but, he smiled to himself, he had never been a patient man. So instead, he had availed himself of a hearty meal and a stout pint of ale and was now set to make the short journey to Ashmore Lodge a day ahead of schedule.

  “Mr. Mullins.”

  Patrick turned toward the person who called him. “Philip!” he cried in surprise. “You are Philip Dobney, are you not?” He dismounted and stuck a hand out in greeting to his friend.

  Philip Dobney laughed and shook the hand extended to him heartily. “A bit older, a little stouter, but in essentials, still me. Of course, you remember my wife, Lucy?”

  Patrick tipped his hat and smiled. “I remember Miss Tolson, but I have never met Mrs. Dobney, although I had heard that Philip had been fortunate enough to secure himself a bride.”

  “It is I who am the fortunate one,” Lucy replied with a smile as she leaned into Philip’s arm. “You did hear the whole story, did you not?”

  While one of Lucy’s hands was tucked in the crook of her husband’s arm, the other rested on her rather round belly. It seemed his old friends were soon to become parents. A pang of jealousy shot through Patrick. Four years ago, he had hoped to be as fortunate as Philip currently was. If she had stayed true to her word, he could have been a father by now.

  “I did,” Patrick replied. “Or, at least, I believe I did. My mother was an excellent correspondent, and my brother was only slightly less good. However, I am unaware if there were any bits and pieces they left out. Allow me to extend my sympathy on the passing of your father, late though it is in coming.”

  His mother had told him how Lucy’s father had died, leaving his estate to his brother, a good-for-nothing sort of fellow, and how Lucy had struck a bargain with Philip to be his wife rather than endure life with her uncle. The story had not ended there. There had been much that followed that – a twisted, sorted sort of tale that he had had a hard time believing was capable of playing out in the sleepy town of Kympton.

  “Philip and I would be delighted to share the whole of it with you over tea at some point if you wish,” Lucy replied. “The Lord has been good to us.”

  “I can see that,” Patrick answered. The pair before him looked as happy as any couple he had ever seen.

  “Good can come out of tragedy,” Lucy continued, looking at Patrick with that pointed look he remembered so well.

  Lucy Tolson had often used that look when she had something to say but was too gentle to say it bluntly. She apparently expected some good to come from his current situation. He hoped she was right, for his life for the past four years had been good, but it had never been truly happy.

  “Our condolences on the passing of both your mother and brother,” she added. “It is not a happy event that has returned you to us, but we are glad to have you back.”

  “Indeed, we are,” Philip said eagerly. “You will find much changed around here.”

  “I am certain I will.”

  “But do not let us keep you from your journey,” Lucy said. “I am not certain anyone expects you to arrive at Ashmore tonight.”

  There was a sparkle to her eyes as if she knew something he did not.

  “I am entirely too impatient to see the place,” Patrick replied. “Is there anything I should know before I arrive at home?”

  Home. He drew and released a breath at the word. It felt right to finally be at home.

  The sparkle in Lucy’s eye did not fade as she shook her head. “Not a thing. I think you will find it relatively unchanged and ready to receive you.” Her lips pursed as if she was attempting to contain a smile.

  There was likely some surprise waiting for him at Ashmore, and Lucy had probably had a hand in it. He would not press her for the details. He would simply ride home and enjoy whatever it was that awaited him, then tell her about his delight the next time he saw her.

  “Well, then, I suppose I will be on my way.”

  “Welcome home,” Philip said, giving Patrick’s hand one more firm shake before allowing him to mount his horse and ride away.

  ~*~*~

  It was not an excessively long ride to Ashmore. The roads were good for this time of year, and the lack of clouds in the sky meant that, even though the moon was not full, there was still ample light to illuminate his way. Patrick was grateful for that. For though he was confident he could have made the journey in the dark of a new moon, it was reassuring to be able to see familiar landmarks along the way and know that he had not forgotten as much as he feared he might have over the past four years.

  “Can I be of service?” a groom asked as he exited the stables at Patrick’s approach. “Master Patrick?” the man said in surprise as he lifted his lantern high to see to whom it was he spoke. “We did not expect you until tomorrow.” He leaned to the side and looked behind Patrick. “Is there a carriage?”

  “No, it is just me. The rest will arrive tomorrow as planned.” Patrick slid off his horse. “It is good to see you, John.”

  “We are pleased to have you returned,” the groom replied before turning and shouting, “It’s the master,” to a fellow groom just exiting the stables. “Come. Take his horse.”

  “I see you still run a tight ship,” Patrick said with a chuckle. “John’s not too harsh a master, is he?” he asked as he relinquished the reins he held to the lad who had scampered at John’s barking to do as he was told.

  “No, sir. He is right kind.”

  “And whom might you be?”

  “I be Henry, sir.”

  “Have you been with us long?”

  “No, sir, only two months.”

  Two months. Not long enough to have been here when his brother, Fredrick, was. Henry must be one of the replacements for the men who were lost with Fredrick and his mother in the accident.

  “And a good hand he is,” John said. “He’s taken up well where others left off.”

  So, he was correct. This young lad, who looked to be no more than fourteen, had come to Ashmore after the accident.

  “I am glad to hear it.” He gave a nod to the lad and allowed him to continue with his work instead of standing there waiting for Patrick to question him further.

  “It is good to have you home, sir,” John repeated, a smile gracing his face for a moment before sobering. “Not for the reasons it was necessary, of course.”

  “No one ever wishes to be called home for such a reason.” Patrick turned and looked toward the house. “I had hoped to eventually return to my family with tales of adventure.” He shook his head. “I have the tales. It is just the family I lack.”

  “I’ve always got a ready ear,” John said quietly. “I know it is not the same, but until you have formed a new family, my ear is available.”

  Patrick clapped the older man on the shoulder. John had been at Ashmore for at least fifteen years. He was as much part of the estate family as anyone. “You are a good man, John, and I might take you up on that offer at some point.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly, an impish smile on his face. “Now, do you wish to go with me when I surprise Mrs. White?”

  John chuckled. “No. I shall stay here where it is safe.”

  “Lacking bravery, are you?” Patrick teased.

  “I assure you I have courage aplenty. I just am not lacking in good sense. I like my meals without cross words and harsh glares. I’ll have no part of taking the blame for your tampering with Mrs. White’s schedule.”

  Patrick laughed. “I am no stranger to her displeasure, but I see your point. Wish me well.”

  When he was young, Patrick had often found many ways to torment the housekeeper. He’d move things from place to place, steal a key when it was within his reach, and stamp his boots inside the door rather than making use of the brush outside.

  He had eventually nearly outgrown such impishness before he left home, and then the past four years had driven out the rest. However, now that he was home and no longer under the command of another, he felt a bit of that carefree boy returning.

  Coming upon the garden, Patrick decided to take a walk through it before entering the house. As much as he was eager to be inside where it was warm, a part of him dreaded the change that would be so evident by the silence of the place when he did enter. There would be no one to greet him aside from servants.

 

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