The Heir - Catherine Coulter [145]
“I must go, Ann, for just a few minutes.”
He left her staring after him.
The barnyard was bustling with early-morning activity as the Earl of Strafford, dressed only in breeches and open, rumpled white linen shirt, made his way with single purpose to the barn. Stable hands were busily forking clumps of fresh hay into the wide wooden bins, while the farm hands led out the fat, sleek cattle to pasture. His presence in the doorway called an abrupt, uncomfortable halt to all talk. Even the head stable lad, Corey, said not a word.
He did not even notice that he was being eyed with nervous skepticism. He slipped inside the barn and saw immediately the small spindly ladder just to the left of the door. He set his foot upon the first rung. He wasn’t even aware that the ladder creaked beneath his weight. He climbed swiftly to the top, and stepped carefully onto the narrow ledge that wound around to the far corner of the loft. He came presently to a tiny closed-off area, almost a small room, that looked out over the rolling hills behind the north pasture. It was a private place, a place for thinking private thoughts, a place for dreaming. Arabella came here when she wanted to be alone. He breathed in deeply. Yes, he could feel her here, but it was only the shadow of her, none of her intensity, none of what made her unique. This was where she had been when he’d believed she had betrayed him with Gervaise. He hated the ironies of Fate at that moment. If only he had never seen her, if only . . .
He stood silently for a moment longer. He could faintly hear the sounds of the cows and the racket of the stable hands.
Slowly he made his way back down the ladder and out of the barn. He looked bleakly at the giant gnarled oak tree where he had stood so long ago, witness to what he had been certain was Arabella’s betrayal. He felt again his anger, his bitterness, and the overwhelming emptiness. He saw Arabella on their wedding night, her face alight with anticipation until she had recognized his rage, until he had forced her, humiliated her.
He turned slowly and walked back to Evesham Abbey. He heard conversation from the Velvet Room and paused a moment. There were Lord Graybourn and Elsbeth. He was sitting next to her on the settee, holding her hand. He was speaking quietly to her and she was nodding.
Lord Graybourn took in the earl’s disheveled appearance and the suffering in his eyes as he rose hurriedly from his seat beside Elsbeth. “Do forgive my intrusion, my lord. I had thought to stay with Lady Elsbeth for a brief while—to lighten her anxiety.”
The earl did not have to force a smile. He was delighted the man was here. He was a good man, one who was caring. “You are very welcome, sir. I think it kind of you to take Elsbeth’s mind off her sister.” He turned as he spoke and gazed at Elsbeth with new vision, the vision Lady Ann had given him. She was right—there was none of the child left. There was a contained young woman seated on that settee, looking calmly at him. He wondered if he would miss the innocence of her, the childish gaiety she had displayed on occasion. If so, it was a pity, but life had a way of balancing the scales. Only time would tell. And perhaps Lord Graybourn.
He crossed to her and took her hands in his. “Arabella is sleeping soundly. She is made of stern stuff, you know, Elsbeth. She will come around.”
She nodded, only a moment of pained dullness showing on her face. She said calmly, “Did you know that Dr. Branyon is upstairs with Arabella and Lady Ann?”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“He stepped in to tell me that Gervaise had died. Dr. Branyon said there hadn’t been much hope, that he had lost too much blood.”
“It is over then.” The earl felt a moment of sadness for the waste of a young man’s life. Greed was the very devil.
“Yes, it is over. I am sorry that he is dead, but perhaps he deserved to die for shooting Arabella.”
“The shot was aimed for me, Elsbeth. Arabella saved my life.”
“Elsbeth,” Lord Graybourn said, moving swiftly to seat