Page 3 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)
Chapter Two
Awakenings
Hester's arms ached from coaxing the reluctant horse, but at last the end of her journey lay in sight. The ancient stone manor house lay just beyond the next rise, and with it, the help of her aunts.
"Just a little further, sir," she murmured to her unconscious passenger, though he could not hear her. Her own voice, touched with the lilt of her Welsh homeland despite years of careful education, seemed to fade into the vast emptiness of the mountains surrounding them.
What brought a gentleman of his obvious quality to this remote corner of Wales?
The question nagged at her as she struggled up the last rise in the path.
The quality of his horse and clothing spoke of wealth, bringing to mind the travellers' tales she had read in her father's library, stories of grand adventures and dramatic rescues in exotic locales.
How often had she dreamed of seeing those places herself, of breaking free from the comfortable prison of Plas Wyn?
Yet here she was, twenty-four years old and still bound by duty to this remote mountain home, to the aunts who had raised her, and to the tenants who depended upon her family name.
At last the manor's weathered stone walls rose before her, unchanged since a painting done in her great-grandfather's time that hung in the study, and for who knew how many years before that.
Plas Wyn had stood sentinel over this valley for generations, its grey walls a testament to the family's stubborn persistence in the face of declining fortunes. Like the house itself, Hester endured.
"Aunt Cece! Aunt Fliss!" she called out as they finally approached the house. Her voice echoed off the ancient stones, and almost immediately, the front door flew open.
"Good heavens!" Aunt Cecilia's normally composed features registered shock as she took in the scene before her. The tiny woman hurried forward. "Hester, what on earth?"
"Found him up the mountain," Hester managed, her breath coming in gasps now that help was at hand.
"He's hurt, came off his horse. He's been unconscious since I found him, and has been soaked through in the rain.
" As had she, but it was hardly a new circumstance.
She was far more concerned about their unexpected guest.
Aunt Felicity appeared behind her sister, her round face creased with concern.
"Oh! Oh my! Bring him in at once. No, wait!
" She disappeared back into the house, then returned moments later waving a sprig of rowan.
"For protection, you know. One can never be too careful with strange men, even unconscious ones. "
Despite her exhaustion, Hester couldn't suppress a fond smile at her aunt's familiar superstitions.
Their housekeeper-cook Mrs Jones came scurrying out to help too, and somehow between the four of them, they managed to manoeuvre the stranger into the house and up the stairs to the best guest chamber, though the effort left them all breathless.
Mrs Jones scurried off again, saying she'd find someone to take care of the horse.
She'd have to go down to the village of Rhayader to do so, another half-mile further down the valley.
They couldn't afford to keep a permanent man-of-work at Plas Wyn; the few men who worked for the Wynstanley family were shepherds, out on the mountain with the sheep.
As her aunts bustled about preparing hot water and bandages, Hester stood for a moment at the bedroom window, looking out over the wild landscape.
The sun had come out as the storm blew over, and now the sunset painted the mountains in shades of purple and gold, a sight that usually brought her peace.
Tonight, however, her thoughts were with the elegant stranger lying in their guest bed, and to the world beyond their isolated valley that he represented.
She had never travelled further than Shrewsbury, yet she knew there must be more to life than this endless cycle of managing tenants and maintaining appearances on a dwindling income.
The leather-bound volumes in her father's study spoke of London ballrooms, of Paris salons, of Roman ruins beneath Italian skies.
Sometimes, in the quiet hours when her aunts were abed, she would trace the routes in his old atlas, imagining herself following in the footsteps of those intrepid lady travellers whose journals she treasured.
"Hester?" Aunt Cecilia's calm voice drew her back to the present. "We need fresh water to wash these scrapes, dear."
"Of course." Hester straightened her shoulders and turned away from the window.
Dreams of travel would have to wait. For now, there was work to be done, and she had never been one to shirk her duties.
It didn't take her long to hurry down to the kitchen, boil the kettle and carry the jug of hot water back upstairs.
By the time she got there, her aunts had stripped the gentleman of his fine clothes and put him in one of her father's old nightshirts.
Amused, Hester put the water jug down beside the bed, shaking her head.
She could have helped! Neither Cecilia or Felicity had ever married; their undressing of a man was no less scandalous than her doing it, at least in her opinion.
"We must clean the wound properly before anything else," Aunt Cecilia declared, examining the gash on their patient's temple with careful fingers. "Hester, dear, hold the lamp closer, if you would."
Hester complied, watching as her aunt's tiny, capable hands worked with practiced precision. Despite their reduced circumstances, Aunt Cecilia had never lost the genteel manners of her upbringing, nor the practical skills that had seen them through many a crisis.
"Wait!" Aunt Felicity bustled forward, clutching a handful of dried herbs. "Grandmother always said that yarrow prevents infection. And we must put rowan berries under his pillow, for protection against evil spirits."
"I rather think clean hot water and proper bandages might be more useful at present, Fliss." Aunt Cecilia's tone held the patient affection of long familiarity with her sister's ways. "Though perhaps you might brew us some of your excellent chamomile tea? We could all use a cup, I think."
"Oh! Yes, of course." Aunt Felicity brightened at having a useful task to perform. "And I shall add a pinch of rosemary, for healing. Or was it sage? No, no, definitely rosemary. Unless..."
"Any herb you choose will be perfectly lovely," Hester assured her, hiding a smile as her aunt hurried from the room, still muttering to herself about the relative merits of different healing plants.
In the quiet that followed, Hester studied their unexpected guest's face. Even unconscious, there was something noble in his features, a refinement that spoke of gentle breeding. His fair hair had been carefully cleaned of blood, revealing a natural wave that even now tried to assert itself.
"He's young," Aunt Cecilia observed, applying a clean bandage to the gash on the gentleman's head and securing it neatly. "No more than five and twenty, I should think. About your age, Hester."
"Perhaps a bit older," Hester replied, though in truth she had already noted their similar ages. "His clothes are London made." And would need washing and mending, she thought as she looked at the untidy pile on the floor near the fireplace. She'd take them downstairs later.
"Mmm." Aunt Cecilia's noncommittal noise spoke volumes. "Well, whoever he is, he's in no state to tell us at present. We shall simply have to wait until he wakes."
The door burst open as Aunt Felicity returned, bearing not only a tea tray but also what appeared to be half the contents of her herb cabinet.
"I brought everything that might be useful," she announced proudly.
"Feverfew in case he develops a fever, willow bark for the pain when he wakes, and comfrey for the bruising.
Oh, and lavender, because everything's better with lavender. "
"Thank you, Fliss." Aunt Cecilia accepted a cup of tea with grave courtesy. "Though perhaps we might save some of those remedies until we see how he progresses?"
"But we must be prepared!" Aunt Felicity protested, arranging her collection of dried plants on the bedside table. "What if he wakes in the night and needs immediate attention? What if spirits have addled his brain? What if..."
"What if we take turns sitting with him?" Hester suggested, heading off what promised to be a lengthy catalogue of possibilities. "I can take the first watch."
"An excellent plan," Aunt Cecilia agreed quickly. "Though perhaps you've had quite enough exertion for one day, Hester! I'll take the first watch, then Fliss, then you can return in the morning."
The next few hours passed in a quiet routine of checking bandages, administering sips of water, and watching for any sign of consciousness.
Their patient remained still, though his breathing was steady and his colour good.
As midnight neared, Hester found herself alone with Aunt Cecilia, Aunt Felicity having finally been persuaded to seek her bed after leaving strict instructions about the proper use of her herbs.
"She means well," Aunt Cecilia said softly, adjusting the blanket over their patient's chest. "And some of her remedies do work, even if not quite in the way she believes."
"I know." Hester smiled, remembering countless childhood illnesses soothed by Aunt Felicity's special tea blends and whispered charms. "I wouldn't have her any other way."
"Nor would I." Aunt Cecilia's hazel-green eyes, so like Hester's own, held a mixture of affection and concern as she looked at her niece. "Though I do sometimes wish we could offer you more than two aging aunts and their peculiarities."
"You've given me everything I need," Hester protested, though even as she spoke, she felt the familiar pull of her dreams of travel and adventure.