Resolve, p.17
Resolve, page 17
“You ask what I want with Catherine?” His voice, cold and sharp as ice, carried easily across the distance between them. “I want to make her my wife, if she will have me.”
Isabel’s shriek of fury reached him even through the closed door.
Chapter 22
Rian dismissed the carriage, needing the bracing bite of cold air to clear the stench of female anger clinging to him. Striding along the paved streets he wondered how his relationship with Isabel had deteriorated to such a point. How had he not seen what she was really like? At Oakhaven he had been so emotionally distraught, he’d simply accepted her concern, sensitivity, and even her empathy at face value. He shook his head. It was all a sham. A façade that only proved how little he really knew her. The only thing he could be certain of now was that Isabel’s rage was something he needed to be careful of. As Liam had pointed out, she was a woman who didn’t like to lose at anything. A troubled frown creased his brow. He would have to make sure Catherine was kept safe. Whether she would accept his help or treat it as interference mattered not. He would keep her safe.
Stuart Collins was warming himself in front of a cheerful fire when Rian entered the room. Shaking his hand the young man looked at him curiously, noting the chill of his grip, and the fact Rian was without hat, scarf, or gloves. The weather had not yet warmed sufficiently to be walking with only a topcoat to ward off the elements.
“You have news for me?” Rian asked, offering Stuart a seat, and trying not to sound overly excited.
“Yes sir, I do.” He handed Rian the thick sheaf of papers he had brought with him. “My report is quite detailed, and I would be more than happy to let you read it at your leisure.”
“Are you engaged elsewhere this afternoon?”
Stuart shook his head. “No. I am quite at your disposal.”
“Then would you mind staying while I read? I may have some questions.”
“Of course.”
Gesturing to the decanter and glasses, Rian said, “Please help yourself.” Stuart’s refusal, stating he did not drink alcohol whilst working, only enhanced Rian’s respect for him. He rang for coffee.
For the next twenty minutes the only sounds to be heard came from wood crackling in the fireplace, and the crisp rustle of parchment as Rian turned the pages of the report. He read it through once and then read it again to make sure he had not missed anything. Catherine’s life lay before him, carefully documented in the investigator’s neat hand. Rian now knew everything about her from her birth, to the loss of each parent, and the circumstances that had resulted in her fall into poverty. A part of him had hoped that Isabel’s words had been nothing more than spiteful ranting, but whoever her informer was, he had not been wrong about the gambling and the whores. The fortune that ought to have been Catherine’s had been lost.
And it changed nothing for him.
“You have been most thorough, Mr. Collins,” Rian told him.
“Thank you, sir. My task was made easier with the provision of the young lady’s family name, and you pointed me northwards, which proved to be the right direction.”
“The credit for that we owe to my sister-in-law, an extremely clever woman,” Rian observed. Stuart nodded respectfully.
“I do have one question for you, Mr. Collins. I see nothing in your report that would explain what brought Miss Davenport here. I understand the reason she had to leave her home, but why come so far south? The woman I have observed would, I believe, have chosen to remain close to surroundings she was familiar with. Can you offer any insight?”
“That is something that would require additional investigation, I believe.” He hesitated before saying, “I was unsure how much more you might want to know.”
“You think to uncover information that will be distasteful?”
Stuart gave Rian an appraising look. “Sometimes perceptions can change, especially when secrets are revealed.”
“So you believe there are secrets to find?”
Stuart gave him a wry smile. “Mr. Connor, there are always secrets. The flow of information regarding Miss Davenport comes to an abrupt end after her father’s death. In my experience this tells me that whatever else took place—and mark my words, something did—it is neither common knowledge, nor is it obtainable through normal channels of inquiry.”
“Ah.” Rian brushed his forefinger across his mouth in thoughtful contemplation.
“Is there any record of her being married?” he asked. Even though he did not believe Catherine had ever been wed, it would be foolish to overlook the obvious. “Or betrothed, perhaps?”
“Either is possible,” Stuart admitted with some reluctance, “but if she is married, I can find no record of it. Of course the possibility of a clandestine union cannot be discounted, but the validity of such a joining would have to be examined. I cannot find her name recorded in any local parish for such an event although, to be frank, I have not checked every church as yet.” Stuart paused and looked at Rian. “But I promise I will.”
“If she was betrothed, it could be that she found the match not to her liking,” Rian observed. “With her father dead, she might have decided to take her chances by striking out on her own.”
“An ill-advised recourse.”
“No doubt,” Rian agreed, “but who would there be to offer advice?”
“Who indeed?” Stuart mused.
“What if her betrothed was already in London?”
“No,” Stuart said, folding his hands together. “I do not think that is the case. Miss Davenport was either sent here, or came of her own choosing, for reasons unknown. But not, I believe, because of matrimony.”
“You seem very sure.”
He shrugged and looked slightly apologetic. “A feeling, Mr. Connor, nothing more.”
“And do such feelings ever prove to be false?”
Stuart’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly ever.”
“So, in order to find out what brought Miss Davenport here, more information is needed.” Stuart nodded. “Information that cannot be discerned via your normal methods.” Rian got up and poured himself a brandy, and decided not to ask the clever young man how he intended to circumvent normal methods. “A task requiring both a personal touch and a journey north perhaps?”
“Only if you want to be absolutely certain.”
“And are you willing to undertake such a journey?”
The young man sitting in the chair seemed to ponder the question. He looked thoughtfully at Rian, who became puzzled by his hesitation.
“If it’s a matter of your fee—” Rian began, but Stuart cut him off with a shake of his head.
“No, you have been more than generous already.”
“But I am sensing a certain reluctance. Why?”
“I will make the journey if that is your wish,” Stuart explained, not in the least embarrassed at being asked to explain himself. “But I believe my time would be better spent here.”
“You have doubts regarding the success of such a venture?” Rian inquired with some measure of surprise.
The other man made a negative motion with his head. “No, not at all. I am confident such an undertaking would prove to be most useful.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But I was thinking perhaps there might be someone better suited for this task.”
“Better suited? Whom?”
“Why…yourself.”
Rian was not surprised by the suggestion, and in truth he had considered making the journey. Considered and rejected the idea. “Ah, but I lack your expertise, Mr. Collins.”
“You know how to listen, don’t you?”
“Not according to my brother.” Stuart gave him a quizzical look that Rian brushed off with a wave of his hand. “I’m curious to know why you think I should do this myself.”
“Forgive me for being forward, but your interest is personal, and your knowledge of the young lady is singular. A knowledge I lack. It would give you the advantage of recognizing if a falsehood was being uttered or something being withheld.”
There was a moment of silence as Rian digested his words before he tossed back the contents of his glass, his decision made. “And how is it you think your time here could be better spent?”
“As I said, I have not yet checked all the church records.” Stuart Collins hesitated a moment before adding softly, “I can furnish you with a starting point, if you so wish.”
Rian smiled at him. “That would be most helpful.”
Chapter 23
The big hunter snorted and pawed impatiently at the ground. The day was too cold to be standing still for any length of time, and the horse had decided its rider had spent long enough staring at the house before them. An impatient shake of the head made the bridle clink noisily, and was rewarded by a slight pressure from the rider’s knees urging the big animal forward.
A house known by a single name was not unusual. To the best of Rian’s knowledge, Oakhaven had never been known by anything else. The why was no mystery. The circle of oaks on the estate had been compelling enough to not only name the property, but also persuade an ancestor it was the perfect place for worship. But why someone would refer to this building before him as The Hall was beyond his understanding. Perhaps it was a secret jest between designer, builder, and owner, for someone was surely in a fine humor when they christened this particular edifice. The Hall was a woefully inadequate appellation when considering the size of the building.
Rian guessed there were the same number of rooms as at Oakhaven, plus half as many again. He allowed a small grin to lift his mouth, realizing that it was no wonder Catherine did not find her current surroundings at all intimidating. But, as magnificent as The Hall was, an air of sadness seemed to wrap itself about the building. Some structures could remain empty for years, decades even, and show no ill effects from the passing of time, while others seemed to require continuous habitation to prevent bricks and mortar from crumbling. It had nothing to do with the quality of materials used. Some houses were just that, houses, while others were homes. It made no difference the size of the structure; some buildings did not fare well when left empty. Catherine’s home was such a place.
When originally completed, it must have been a glorious sight to see. A magnificent house reflecting the pride of the family that enjoyed its comfort. Now it was sad to see neglect and decay eating away at the house and grounds, something that he suspected had begun while Catherine was still living here.
As Stuart Collins had predicted, with a name and a starting point, it had not been that difficult a matter to locate the seat of the Davenport family. Initially he had met with some resistance regarding his inquiries about the family. The local population in this part of the country were typically closemouthed when it came to outsiders, but then a rumor had been circulated that perhaps his interest might be in the purchase of The Hall, and so they’d opened up to him. As much as such taciturn people were willing to do. As for the rumor, Rian had no idea where it had originated, but he thought it prudent to neither confirm nor deny the speculation. And now here he was, an outsider on a borrowed horse, seeing with his own eyes the house where Catherine had been born, had grown up, and had been forced to leave.
Cutting across the hills and approaching the property from the rear, he had been astonished to see the focal point of what had once been beautifully landscaped grounds was an impressive fountain. Elaborate marble fish, almost as tall as himself, stood on their tails forming a circle. Their open mouths would have gushed forth sprays of water beneath which a smaller circle of frolicking water nymphs played. The center of the pool boasted a quartet of much larger fish in the reverse position. Tails in the air, they spewed water not from open mouths, but from the point where all four tails met. Sadly the weathered condition of the statuary, along with the vegetation and sour smelling brackish water, told Rian the fountain had not functioned for many years.
“I wager it was something to see, eh?” Rian murmured. The horse snorted and twitched his ears in agreement.
The late morning sun was pale and watery, but managed to reflect off the windows on the upper portion of the house. Rian’s gaze wandered and he found himself staring at the glass, trying to guess which window might open into Catherine’s room. Something told him she would have preferred the view the rear of the house afforded.
Spring had not yet been able to persuade winter to fully release its grip on this part of the country; hence the cold air and snow that still lay on the surrounding hills. The rugged wildness of the land appealed to him, and, knowing Catherine’s love of the outdoors, Rian could not imagine her willingly leaving all of this behind. The turn of fate responsible for the loss of her home had been a cruel one.
He nudged the horse forward, continuing his inspection until he rounded the building and came to the front of the house. A multi-columned façade acted as a graceful curtain to frame the main doors. Rian was admiring the intricately carved details when the clip-clop of hooves made him look over his shoulder. With a keen eye for horseflesh, he admired the big black stallion making its way toward him. He also approved of the ease with which the rider handled the animal. His touch was strong enough to let the animal know who was in charge, but subtle enough that he did not quell the horse’s spirit. Enjoying the graceful fluidity of movement presented by both beast and rider, Rian waited for them to reach him.
“Good morning,” the man called out, bringing his horse to a stop.
Rian tipped his head, but the sudden eruption of nickering as the horses greeted each other prevented him from speaking. “It would appear they know each other,” he said once the equine salutation had subsided.
“Most likely they are commiserating with each other at having to be out in the cold,” the stranger said with a good-natured laugh. “If I might be so bold as to ask, are you interested in the house or just lost?”
“A little of both I think,” Rian answered.
The man’s presence came as no surprise to Rian. He had been expecting company ever since he’d first stepped onto Davenport land. Having declined the offer of an escort for his trip this morning, he had the distinct impression that word had been delivered to someone in authority the moment he set out. Now it would seem authority had answered.
The man had a pleasant, nonthreatening voice. One that bore no trace of any local accent, which told Rian he had also benefited from an above average education. And of course the horse was proof of its owner’s wealth. But up close Rian was surprised to find his companion was younger than he had first thought. Not long out of his teens he guessed, which put him closer to Catherine’s age than his own.
“Well, in either case allow me to introduce myself.” The stranger removed his hat, revealing a shock of bright red hair. “Edward Barclay at your service.”
Rian gave him a speculative look. Edward? Catherine’s instructor in profanity? Surely not.
“So, are you at all interested in the house?” A slight smile played about the corners of Edward Barclay’s mouth as he gestured to the brick edifice now standing behind them.
“I confess I am,” Rian answered, not in the least offended by the inquisitive nature of the question. News of a stranger had already traveled quickly throughout the village and surrounding countryside and his companion was simply being neighborly while appeasing his own curiosity. Still, Rian did not want to reveal any connection to Catherine until he knew a little more about youthful looking Mr. Barclay. He introduced himself before saying, “I hear in the village it might be available for purchase.”
Interest sparked in Edward’s eyes, and Rian was suddenly grateful for his own accent. It would tell the educated Mr. Barclay that he was not from this part of the country, and was, therefore, ignorant of any relevant details about The Hall’s former occupants. Any questions he might have would be regarded as nothing more than idle curiosity.
“Yes indeed, it might be,” Edward Barclay answered in response to his question.
“How is it that such a grand house now stands empty?” Rian asked. “Do you know the history or the family?”
“Lord yes, I grew up on the neighboring estate.” Rian felt his heart quicken as Edward pointed in the general direction of the tree line beyond the magnificent building. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of joining me for lunch? I could answer any questions you might have in far more comfortable surroundings.”
* * * *
An excellent lunch complemented by a good wine dispelled any lingering doubts Rian may have had regarding the region’s hospitality. Refilling his glass, Edward settled comfortably in the companion chair to the one Rian now occupied before a blazing fire in the salon. Several dogs, a mix of varying breeds and sizes, also wandered in and joined them, each settling quietly on the floor in its own appointed place.
“So what can I tell you about The Hall?” Edward asked.
“Has it been empty long?”
“Not long, no,” Edward said with a small shake of his head. “Less than a year actually.”
Rian grunted. “Then I must presume willful neglect is the reason for its condition.”
“Sadly, that is a truth I cannot deny. The Hall seems to have been in a constant state of disrepair ever since I was a boy.”
Rian smiled to himself. If it was Edward Barclay’s wish to discourage him from making a purchase, he was starting off on the right foot. He had the feeling, however, that the young man was as truthful in all his dealings. “What happened to the family? I understand they share their name with the town. It would be a shame to have one exist without the other.”
“That would have happened anyway,” Edward explained, “with no son to continue the lineage.”
