Page 65 of Forever Her Bachelor
He had tried without success to convince her to ride inside the carriage with the injured servants, but she refused to leave his side. In truth, he needed her close after the ordeal they had faced.
His fingers tightened around the reins, guiding the team of horses through the grounds. With his body shaking with emotions, he had hitched the two horses from the other carriage to theirs and loaded most of their luggage by himself.
It was difficult to forget the events of the day with his valet injured and Randal fighting for his life.
The man’s last wish while he thought he was dying did not surprise St. Clara at all as he well knew how strenuously Randall had searched for Maggie. When they had returned from the Continent, Maggie was gone, never to be seen again, and none of the servants had any idea where she had gone. Randall and she had been engaged for years as he saved up the funds for them to wed and start a life.
The more St. Clara dwelled on her disappearance, the more it aligned with the end of his and Pippa’s relationship.
His weary mind recalled what he had seen earlier before they were attacked by Reaper’s men: Maggie’s name beside a large sum of money.
How very peculiar.
Holding his breath, St. Clara led the horses to the long path that led up to Archer Castle. He released a long and shaky breath at the sight of the stone castle sitting large and ominous, surrounded by lush green gardens and statuesque trees.
Pulling on the reins, he stopped their movement as he stared up at his ancestral seat. It had been twenty years since he’d laid eyes on the magnificent structure.
Pippa gasped beside him. Her eyes fixated on the large brick castle, its decadence and history clearly mesmerizing her.
Archer Castle commanded attention from the moment one laid eyes on the two-hundred-year-old home that was gifted to St. Clara’s great-great-grandfather by King Charles II. The castle was on the smaller side as far as castles went, yet it was still after all a castle and one of the finest structures in England.
“It’s beautiful, Chauncey.” Pippa sighed beside him. Squeezing him tighter, she buried her head in his shoulder to ward off the cool night.
Leaving Reaper’s men on the side of the highway had been a difficult decision. Randall was gravely injured because of their actions. The man had been in his employ for years. They had grown up together, more friends than employer and employee.
“Servants.” Pippa pointed to the two figures standing in front of the open doors of the castle holding candelabras.
“What’s your business here at this hour?” A footman stood, his voice harsh as he glared up at St. Clara and Pippa.
St. Clara did not recognize the man, but he was aware that the steward, Mr. Sullivan, had hired new servants after the butler died years ago.
“Dear God! Your Grace!” Mrs. Morris stumbled forward excitedly, falling into a clumsy curtsey.
St. Clara nodded his head at the kind woman. She had aged, but her eyes still twinkled, a hint of a smile on her rosy cheeks. “Mrs. Morris, I am sorry we did not come earlier, but we were attacked before we could reach you.”
The footman stepped forward, eager to assist now that he knew who it was that had intruded upon them in the middle of the night. “Highwaymen are running wild in these parts. You’re blessed you weren’t injured.”
St. Clara did not comment, knowing that it was Reaper who’d sent men after him and his wife. He was furious, but he could not dwell on Reaper. He had sent word to his solicitor to pay what he and Bollingbrook owed.
“I’m afraid we lost one coachman, and the other is badly injured, along with a maid and my valet. My wife and I are uninjured?—”
Mrs. Morris covered her mouth, staring at Pippa. “Your Grace, welcome to Archer Castle. I am at your disposal.”
St. Clara stepped down from the carriage before assisting Pippa. She walked over to the older woman, a small smile on her face.
“Thank you, Mrs. Morris. I wished we could’ve met under better circumstances.” Pippa followed St. Clara to the carriage door that he opened to reveal a sleeping Agnes and Patrick huddled near each other while Randall lay across from them.
Newton laid curled up on the opposite end of Agnes and Patrick, sitting up once the door opened. He meowed in annoyance at the disturbance, and St. Clara couldn’t stop the pride he had for the loyal feline. Pippa lifted the gray cat, holding him securely to her.
“Please send for a doctor right away. I’m afraid the coachman is badly injured as well as is my valet.” St. Clara demanded, trying to ignore the memories that wanted to consume him.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll see to everything. Now, let’s get you and Her Grace inside.” Mrs. Morris ushered them under the threshold of the castle as the footman saw to Agnes, Patrick, and Randall.
A new round of both happy and sad memories assaulted St. Clara as he walked into the elegant entryway.
Pippa circled around, her head tilted back, looking up at the decorated ceiling with intricate carvings as she stepped gingerly on oakwood floors. St. Clara’s mother had renovated the entire structure when he was a boy, and he remembered following her around, eager to be by her side at all times.
His wife stroked Newton’s soft fur, stopping in front of a large portrait of his family: his mother, father, and him. He was a boy of four years, and both his parents had buoyant, happy smiles that reached their eyes.