Dare To Love Page 2

  Tommy flinched from the further shower and wind that slapped his face like needles. “I don’t know!” He shouted again, feeling his heart sink. His brothers should be maintaining the topsails at least. Where did everyone go? The Junia was like a specter ship, running itself and then left eerily alone. Tommy took a step forward without Gwendolyn to see if he could spot anyone around the bend; but found no one, nothing. When he turned to grab Gwendolyn’s hand, the ship suddenly veered left causing his stance to slip and Tommy’s whole body slid down the embankment towards the sheer.

  “Tommy!”Gwendolyn screeched, watching him rapidly hitting the side of the mizzenmast in pain.

  Tommy grabbed hold of the inert damp column. Reopening his eyes, he distinguished Gwendolyn clear across the span extending out her arms as if she could reach him.

  In the corner of his eye, he noticed an airborne rope that was freely waving at his side. Outspread and susceptible, he tried to catch the rope that dangled enticingly in front of his face. Waiving his one free arm— while the other grasp hold in a struggling grip, Tommy finally caught hold of the serpentine cord and made an attempt to wrap it around his torso. But to no purpose, the rope loosened and blew behind him, forcing him to let go of the pole. He tried to snatch the cord another time, but the persistent gale swept him frontward and his body went tumbling down the embankment. Grasping and clinging to anything in order to stay compact, Tommy’s heartbeat escalated when noticing a wave of green sea rushing towards him in an alarming rate. He closed his eyes from the visible strike and the breaker swallowed his weightless body up and whisked him over the ledge to his ultimate rest.

  Tommy had vanished, gone from the ship?!

  Oh God, oh no! Gwendolyn let go of the ratlines and ran towards the sheer. “Tommy!” She yelled out again and again, but it was no use, the murkiness was way too thick—and she was forced to her knees. The ship continued to sway in the opposite direction causing Gwendolyn’s fragile body to collapse back into the ropes. With all her might, she grabbed hold of the cords and began her fit of terror. “Where—where are you? Tommy! No—no—no, you cannot be dead…you just can’t be. Oh God, not my Tommy, not my beautiful husband…Oh God, please… please do not do this to me…don’t you dare leave me alone!”

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, 1808

  Ten Winters Later

  “It is a shame your fiancé could not make the trip, Gwendolyn.”

  Gwendolyn does not bother to look at her friend but continues to stare out the window and the scenery beyond. “Yes it is I miss him so. He wanted to be with me, but it was necessary for him to attend the rancher’s caucus.”

  “Your fiancé is such a wonderful man,” Phyllis Tallymen noted, looking out the stern window. “Considerate and hard-working, he will make a wonderful husband and a good father to Mary.”

  “Yes,” Gwendolyn agreed with a joyful smile. “I insisted she come as well, but you know how stubborn she is in wanting to stay behind with her best friend,” she replied, adjusting her bonnet and tying the ribbon. “By the by, I am truly sorry to have dragged you away from your home Phyllis. Although I no longer need a chaperone, I am so grateful for your company…I simply hate to travel alone.”

  Phyllis smiled at her young friend; “I would do anything for you my dear. Your Great-Aunt was my best friend, and after she passed, I feel it almost necessary to watch over you.”

  “Thank you Phyllis, you are too kind,” Gwendolyn offered, gazing out the window another time.

  “I wish we were coming to London under happier circumstances though. The reading of a will is so disheartening.”

  “I agree…I too am not looking forward to this a’ tall,” Gwendolyn decided, feeling cheerless by her Great-Aunt’s death.

  “Anyhow, haven’t been to London since I was a girl, where are we staying?”

  Gwendolyn continued to stare outside. The hills had suddenly vanished and unrecognizable structures began to appear. “The Quail Inn,” she said with a sigh. Both tall and unfathomable, dirty and breath taking, London appeared to be a metropolis of contemporary convenience. With so many people hurrying about, there were carriages of every stature and notoriety; men on horseback, women, children, dogs, livestock marching upon the streets—a chaos of convolution.

  The hack slowed down and came to a complete stop. “Here at last!” Phyllis exclaimed happily. “Three weeks from Kettlewell to London – let me out of this fancy contraption before I vomit again,” she demanded, unlatching the coach door and swinging it open.

  Gwendolyn was first to be let out by the footman, followed by a queasy Phyllis. Stepping down onto the gravel, Gwendolyn immediately gazed up and around her. To her amazement, they had arrived at a garishly painted courthouse, deeply impressive with French influence and design. Gwendolyn then instructed the hack to wait for them while they finished their business inside.

  Gwendolyn had never been so nervous before! In anticipation of what, she had no idea, but her stomach was in knots and her hands could not stop trembling. The two women walked arm-in-arm down the long corridor, peaking through glass windows and halting at the door of their intended goal. An engraved nameplate of “ARCHWALD” on its glass face caused Gwendolyn’s pulse to race with further anxiety. She looked down at her hands…they were shaking again. Why should a reading of a will make her so uneasy?

  Once inside, a stunted man stood up immediately. “Mrs. Hollinger?” He asked openly, receiving his confirmation when Gwendolyn nodded her head, “So sorry to hear about your Great-Aunt.”

  Gwendolyn studied her Great-Aunt’s solicitor. Mr. Stewart Archwald owned kind eyes, a hefty build and baldhead. He wore glasses on the edge of his nose that appeared to be too snug a fit and pinched his skin to redness. “Thank you Mr. Archwald,” Gwendolyn acknowledged, trying not to laugh at his cheery beak, “She always had kind things to say about you.”

  Mr. Archwald accepted the praise with dignity, “Thank you Mrs. Hollinger, and may I extend my gratitude to you for making this long journey. If it was not for my brother’s hospitality, I would not have been able to use his fine office here in town. Several other wills in London I must recite, so sorry to confess, otherwise, I would have met you in Kettlewell.” He then extended out his hand to show her a chair. “Please—please, do sit down,” he asked of her, eyeing Phyllis in the background.

  “And who is this charming lady?”

  Gwendolyn arched her brow and eyed Phyllis, “My friend, Miss Phyllis Tallymen, Mr. Archwald, my Great-Aunt’s solicitor.”

  Mr. Archwald received Phyllis’s gloved hand and kissed it respectively, “So nice to meet you Miss Tallymen.”

  Phyllis Tallymen, fifty-two winters with violet eyes and peppered hair, was spellbound.

  Mr. Archwald took his seat and then met eyes with Gwendolyn. This was no country girl; in fact, she was the epitome of classic beauty and imagined she would have made a fine prize for any titled gentry but had been wasted away in the countryside for far too many years. Properly dressed in a cobalt bonnet with ribbon fastenings, she wore a navy blue pelisse over a thin white chemise. Deep russet curls framed a pair of heavily lashed brown eyes that were concentrated and hypnotic. She was absolutely stunning, just stunning, but his inspection of her went on far too long however, and he fidgeted in his chair trying to clear his embarrassment. He gave Phyllis a momentary look before, “Let us proceed, shall we?”

  “Mr. Archwald, pardon my interruption, but I want to make sure that my Great-Aunt’s cottage will not be sold at auction. If there is anything that can be done, I wish to keep residing there. I do not have much money, but please, kind sir, I have come to love its simplexes and wish to remain its lessee.”

  “I was hoping you would say that, Mrs. Holl—” he wheezed, pounding his chest repeatedly, coughing up phlegm.

  Gwendolyn and Phyllis both leaned away from him in their chairs, the reaction sounded consequently painful. “Mr. Archwald”

  “A bit of a cold…so sorry,” he coughe
d again, grabbing the middle of his chest.

  “You should see a doctor, sir.”

  “Yes—yes,” he agreed, shuffling papers on his desk. “Now, the cottage is yours Mrs. Hollinger, along with your Great-Aunt’s extensive book collection,” he pronounced, clearing his throat for the fourth time, “But asked specifically that your daughter receive the zinc and limestone assortment once belonging to your Great-Uncle.”

  “Oh Mary will love that!” Gwendolyn gushed, gazing at Phyllis apparently immersed by Mr. Archwald’s poor health.

  Mr. Archwald met eyes with Phyllis and then continued on, “Your Great-Aunt and Uncle were very modest, good-natured folk and they will be greatly missed.”

  “You are too kind,” Gwendolyn smiled, eyeing her companion gazing intently into Mr. Archwald’s eyes now. Gwendolyn does a double-take and nudged her friend. “And the cottage?” She asked, incredulous that her friend was now in a deep magnetic trance. “It is free and clear? Why, that’s wonderful! Isn’t that wonderful Phyllis?”

  Phyllis just nodded her head. Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and then focused on Mr. Archwald’s pigment, he was blushing now, and his complexion swiftly blended in with his nose—a nice rose-tinted hue. Gwendolyn held back her amusement and heard him clear his throat yet again trying to continue, “She also left you a trust fund.”

  “A what?”

  “From what I gather, Mrs. Hollinger, or may I correct myself and properly address you as Lady Hollinger?”

  Having stopped shaking, Gwendolyn allowed the accolade to sink in. It had been a long time since anyone had addressed her formerly; she was not used to it. “You may,” she stated softly. “But I must admit it is uncomfortable to hear the title.”

  “Are you by any chance associated with the Hollinger Commerce Company?”

  “The what?” Gwendolyn asked, unsure of what he was asking; and then it hit her, “As I recall, it was a shipping trade, a lineage Mr. Archwald, a company I no longer have association with. Why do you ask, sir?”

  Mr. Archwald shook his head, “Never mind, and gossip you know — well, it does not matter, let us proceed, shall we?” He laughed, and then changed the subject. “I have known your Great-Aunt for nearly thirty years and not once had she mentioned that she was related to an Earl.”

  “By marriage, Mr. Archwald, and they were not on speaking terms,” Gwendolyn quickly brought to the forefront. “When my father was younger, my Grandmother and Great-Aunt, her sister, were very close. But when my Grandfather matched my father into an advantageous marriage, his state of affairs changed, thus, drastically separating both influential families. My Great-Aunt vowed never to speak to him again and thus never did when I was brought to her door.” She explained, thinking too much about this ‘Hollinger Commerce Company’…who was supervising it?

  “Oh, I see…well, from my extensive research into your family, Mrs.— Lady Hollinger, it was detected that with his sudden demise, the Earl’s last will and testament did not reflect his marriage, therefore, not even his descendants. So when your father passed on, all land and resources transferred to the nearest relative, which was your Great-Aunt. Now it makes perfect sense that she did not covet the wealth and that the estate was bequeathed to you.”

  “How much is left?”

  “Your father owed on many notes dear, most of his wealth was liquidated a few winters back. One hundred pounds a year is what you can claim. But there is property that has remained secure. The land and manor are substantial. Why, if you liquidate the property, you would never have to worry about your finances again.”

  “Gisleham Manor?”

  “Yes—” he spat out, trying to clear his gullet, shuffling through further paperwork on his desk. “The property bordering…”

  “Wilderbrand Castle,” Gwendolyn finished for him, thinking about the Hollinger’s once again.

  “Yes,” Mr. Archwald agreed lying down the document he had in his hands.

  Gwendolyn closed her eyes. She had never cared about her father’s wealth or preceding capital; she had been living happily all these years without it, but the house…oh God, her childhood home, this was a blessing in disguise. It was her place of birth, where she grew up, so many seasons, winters, and summers spent there, fishing, rowing, swimming and ice-skating on its shared lake.

  So many memories dashed in and out of her head, she could hardly keep up. It was all so long ago…in a different lifetime…in a distant memory. “The manor…is mine? May I go there now?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Amongst the most memorable estates in Berkshire, Gisleham Manor was a forgotten marvel. Once an imposing chateau in its halcyon days, its gates were rusted and the sod and foliage, overgrown.

  With a luxurious water fountain and monumental urn as its focal point, Gisleham Manor had a long low edifice with twelve bays under a high copper roof. Finial-capped cupolas surmounted two square alcove towers that contained rooms. The garden, derived from formal French influence once encompassed a canal, flat parterres, thickets and elaborate hedges.

  Opening up the door, the reception hall was engrossed in painted murals; intricate woods with gold-rimmed etchings clouding the interior. Built-in glass display cabinets welcomed Gwendolyn in, while parquet flooring in distinctive shades graced the base to guide her along. Leading out of the scope, was the threshold to the Earl’s sizeable library, an area where Lord Drummond held most of his business meetings, late night negotiations and one colossal order.

  Gwendolyn stood frozen at the entrance of the great library. Everything was still there, nothing had been moved—just a thin sheath of dust appeared on all the exposed furniture. Green buckskin couches; empire chairs, marble sculptures and powdered silk drapes were even in ideal condition. A fireplace she remembered sitting by when she was younger was still inviting; the rug she used to play on with her cat was still off center. Walking in farther, she stopped cold. Heavy elaborate moldings suspended oil paintings of each member of her departed family. Gwendolyn slowly moved towards them and stood underneath the life-sized portraits.

  There they were…a touch away…a tangible sight of loved ones who once adorned her day-to-day life were now twisting her heart in inevitable grief. Her father, Lord Kenneth Drummond, the Earl of Suffolkshire, with all his authority and power displayed by way of his overconfident pose; her mother, the beautiful Mary Drummond, with her rich reddish brown hair done up around her grey-green eyes; and Nathaniel, her older brother, so kind and gentle and then finally…one of her. Strange to see herself so young, cheerful, and unbeknownst of the anguish this young maiden was about to endure. So many years of loneliness the girl would have to overcome, so much pain and longing.

  After staring at herself for a few minutes more she finally realized the portrait was not straight and appeared to have been moved. A visible thick base of dust surrounded the rectangle frame, while a triangle of clean surface could be noted from one of its corners. Gwendolyn wondered at it for a moment longer, and then leaned over to reposition her picture back to its original state.

  Gwendolyn then ambled over to her father’s work area and lightly glided her fingertips across the once polished surface but gathered up a lump of disappointment in dust clumps instead. Wiping off her fingers on her dress, she was in awe that the doublewide desk was still filled with maps, nautical instruments, building plans and models of ships; designs her father had been working on and planned to return to if ill fortune had not been introduced. She then wondered…was everything still there? Her clothes, her dolls, her parents’ wardrobe, her brother’s bow and arrow collection…had no one step foot in the manor since the tragedy? She was the last of the living Drummond’s, she figured; no one really cared or bothered. Walking away from the maritime instruments, she then focused on her father’s leather chair.

  Standing at the edge of it, Gwendolyn imagined her father sitting there with a superior look on his face. The Earl of Suffolkshire always had to have his way when he was alive. Closing her eyes, Gwendolyn recal
led what last happened in the great library. She could still hear her father’s thunderous voice echoing throughout the enormous span. One month after her sixteenth birthday, she received the devastating news…