“It will make a glorious bonfire. High burning enough to signal ships in the channel, I would think.” Evan blew out his cheeks. “I knew it would take some work, but this is worse than I imagined.”
The baggage wagon pulled up, and Shand jumped down. He gave a low whistle. “Maybe we took the wrong turnoff?”
The coachman heard and sniffed. “I assure you, this is where the map and my inquiries led, my lord.” He held up the piece of paper with Marcus’s scrawl on it. Saying he didn’t trust the hand-drawn scrap without corroboration, he’d asked at the coaching inn in Crawley and confirmed their destination.
“No. This is the correct estate.” Evan gestured toward the off-kilter gates where “White” and “Haven” had been worked in the iron. When properly closed, they would form the name of the property across the top.
He’d seen post-battle buildings that looked better.
“God hates a coward,” Shand said out of the corner of his mouth. It was a phrase their commanding officer in the Ninety-Fifth Rifles had said often. “We might as well advance, sir.”
“Retreat is not an option.” Evan repeated the standard reply of the Ninety-Fifth as well. “Help me clear the way.”
Between the two of them, they managed to drag the wrought iron gates open wide enough to let the carriage and wagon through. Evan helped Diana back in the coach, but he elected to follow on foot for the rest of the way. He needed to reconcile yet another twist to his reality.
The driveway, rutted and washed out, nearly devoid of gravel, led to the front of the manor house. Gray stone walls rose three—or was it four?—stories into the air, punctuated by broken window openings, like sockets with no eyes. The brambles strangled the old building, leeching any life it might still have. Or perhaps the vines were all that held the structure together these days. The two-story extensions to either side were no better, with arched windows vacant of glass, bits of the mullions hanging, and tattered drapes blowing through the openings.
Paint peeled off the front door of the house, and the lion’s-head knocker hung askew. Crisp, dead leaves crunched under Evan’s boots. This time he remembered to help Diana alight from the carriage. He closed the crested door to keep the wind away from the maid and the baby, both asleep inside.
The baby had slept most of the day away. Just as well, since it seemed he’d been up most of the night in the room next door—the room where his wife slept on their wedding night.
Evan had been aware of the noise in the adjoining room because he, too, had been awake. The moment his head had hit the rather lumpy pillow, he’d fallen into the nightmare, later startling himself awake. He’d hoped no one had heard his cry.
After that, he’d feared going back to bed, since the dreams tended to cycle again and again once they started. Some way for a bridegroom to spend his wedding night. For most of the darkest hours, he’d sat in a chair before the small coal stove, dozing and waking in turns. And every time he’d jerked awake, he could almost remember … and a sense of panic would wash over him. Whatever it was that escaped him, it was important.
And yet the harder he tried to force it, the more elusive the images became.
“Are we going inside?” Diana’s question yanked him back to the present.
“Might as well see the extent of the disaster.” He grasped the doorknob, which promptly came off in his hand.
Giving vent to his frustration, he planted his boot against the latch with enough force to break it and send the door rocketing back.
A brace of doves flew up, scared from their roost in the foyer by his actions. Diana squealed and grabbed his arm, and he shielded his face as they flew past his head in a flurry of feathers and flutters.
“Zooks!” Shand exclaimed, leaping back and holding his hand to his chest, then ducking his head shamefacedly. “Your pardon, milady.”
Diana panted. “What a homecoming this is turning out to be. I hope nothing else has taken up residence. Like rats … or …” Her face paled. “Bats.” She clutched at her skirts, a shudder running through her.
“I’m not a fan of rodents myself. Tradition dictates that, as your bridegroom, I carry you over the threshold, but I’m afraid I would trip on the broken floor.” Evan stepped up and looked inside. “It would appear that there’s been a bit of a leak in the roof.”
“Sir, should I bring the carriage lanterns?” Shand asked.
“Good idea.” Evan turned to Diana. “Perhaps you should wait here.”
“I think not. This is my new home, after all. If I’m to be mistress of such a grand estate, I should inspect it thoroughly. Just promise to save me if an unruly resident decides to scurry across the floor.”
She appeared to be suppressing a giggle. How could she laugh?
Shand obtained and lit the lanterns and handed one to Evan. Bracing himself, Evan crossed into the foyer, reaching back for Diana’s hand to help her over a pile of plaster and lath that had fallen from the ceiling.
Cobwebs hung everywhere, and in the weak light, dust motes danced in the air, stirred up by their passage. Heavy drapes, rotted by the elements, hung in tatters from the large windows, blocking most of the light but letting some rays of the late-afternoon sun in.
A massive sweeping staircase led to the first floor, and doors stood half open on both sides of the central passageway. Diana swept aside a bit of debris with her foot. “Look, parquet floors. These must’ve been lovely once upon a time.”
Evan bent to inspect the floors. Small pieces, lots of them, inter-joined. “This must’ve taken forever to lay.” He didn’t mention the obvious signs of rodent infestation also littering the floor. Delightful.
Shand nodded. “White oak, I think.”
“Can it be restored?” Diana asked. She held her cloak tightly around her.
Was it possible that it was colder inside than out, or was it just his imagination?
“Maybe.” Shand shrugged. “How much money do you want to spend?”
Evan glanced at Diana, but she was carefully not looking at him. Money, and the fact that she hadn’t told him about how much was coming to her upon her marriage, sat between them like a boulder. Her explanation that her father had forbidden her to mention it rang true, and if the bruise he had seen on her cheek the day he went to propose was any indication, she had probably feared more of the same if she didn’t obey.
It made him want to visit his father-in-law with a bit of retribution.
But the truth still remained. By marrying her, he had become a very wealthy man. It felt wrong. Distasteful. The man was supposed to provide for the woman, not the other way around. But everything had been turned upside down and backward in his life for weeks. He should be accustomed to it by now.
Diana peered into one of the rooms on the right. “Oh my. Look at that.”
He joined her while Shand explored the other side of the house. A long, dusty table sat in the center of the space, so he assumed it was the dining room, but Diana was looking up. A massive chandelier hung from the center of a plaster medallion of what looked like fruit and flower shapes, and though covered in dust and cobwebs, the many crystals winked back the faint light making its way through the vines covering the windows.
“Are those cherubs?” he asked.