Page 7 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)
Chapter Four
The following morning dawned clear and bright over Plas Wyn, bringing with it a surge of anticipation Freddie could hardly contain.
His strength had returned enough that he no longer needed to lean on furniture as he walked, and though his memories remained frustratingly clouded, the prospect of discovering his identity made his heart beat faster with nervous energy.
He dressed with particular care in the clothes Hester and her aunts had washed and repaired for him, noting how the fabric hung a bit loose on his frame.
He must have lost weight during his convalescence.
The mirror showed him a face that seemed both familiar and strange: fair hair falling across his forehead, blue eyes that held shadows of uncertainty.
Something about his reflection nagged at him, as though the answer to who he was lay just beyond his grasp.
"Are you quite ready?" Hester's voice called from the hallway. "Mr. Bethel will be here with his cart shortly."
"Nearly," Freddie replied, straightening his cravat one final time.
The simple act felt natural to his fingers, muscle memory surviving where actual memories failed.
He stepped into the corridor to find Hester waiting, her practical travelling dress and pelisse marking her as a gentlewoman of modest means, yet there was an innate grace to her bearing that transcended the simplicity of her attire.
"You look much improved," she said, studying his face with those clear hazel-green eyes that seemed to miss nothing. "Though I daresay the journey will tire you. We must be careful not to overtax your strength."
"I assure you, I am quite recovered enough for a simple cart ride," Freddie said, though he appreciated her concern. "And your company will make the journey pass all the more pleasantly."
A becoming blush touched Hester's cheeks, but before she could reply, the rattle of wheels announced Mr. Bethel's arrival.
They made their way downstairs where Hester's aunts fussed over their preparations, pressing a basket of food into Hester's hands and wrapping an extra shawl around her shoulders despite the mild spring weather.
The farmer's cart stood waiting in the drive, Mr. Bethel himself a ruddy-faced man whose weathered countenance spoke of long days working in the Welsh hills. He touched his cap to them both before speaking to Hester in rapid Welsh.
"What did he say?" Freddie asked, realising that one language he certainly did not comprehend was Welsh. He hadn't understood a single word.
"Beautiful day for market," she translated. "Though the roads might be busy. Half the county will be heading to Builth Wells today."
"Well, perhaps one of them will know who I am!
" Freddie settled himself beside Hester, acutely aware of the proper distance he should maintain between them on the narrow seat.
The cart lurched forward, as Mr. Bethel encouraged the horse to lean into the traces.
Behind them, Plas Wyn grew smaller, its grey stone walls catching the morning sun.
The countryside opened before them in a patchwork of green fields and rugged hills.
Sheep dotted the slopes like scattered clouds, their bleating carried on the fresh spring breeze.
Freddie found himself studying everything with keen interest, hoping each new sight might spark a memory, provide some clue to his past.
"Tell me about Builth Wells," he said to Hester, partly to distract himself from the discomfort of the jolting cart. "I take it market day is quite an event?"
"Oh yes," Hester replied, warming to the subject. "People come from all the surrounding villages and farms. There will be livestock sales, of course, but also vendors selling everything from ribbons to root vegetables. The entire High Street becomes quite transformed."
As they talked, Freddie noticed how Hester's quiet reserve gave way to animation when discussing her beloved Wales. Her slight accent became more pronounced when she grew enthusiastic, lending a musical quality to her words that he found utterly charming.
The journey passed more quickly than expected, marked by the rhythm of the horse's hooves and the gentle swaying of the cart.
They shared the basket of food with the farmer, Mr. Bethel regaling them with local tales that had Hester hiding smiles behind her handkerchief and Freddie laughing outright when she translated them, though he suspected she might be editing them slightly to avoid offending his aristocratic sensibilities.
It was about two hours later when they crested a hill and saw Builth Wells spread out before them in the valley.
The market town was already bustling with activity, streams of people and carts converging on the centre like tributaries flowing to a river.
The sound of livestock and human voices carried up to them on the breeze.
"Are you certain you're ready for this?" Hester's voice was soft, her brow furrowed with concern as she looked at him.
Freddie met her concerned gaze steadily. "More than ready. Whatever we discover today, I am grateful for your help... and your friendship."
The simple words seemed inadequate to express his deeper gratitude, but Hester's gentle smile told him she understood.
They continued their descent into the town, the cart now part of a steady procession of market-day traffic.
Freddie found himself torn between excitement and apprehension, knowing that shortly, he might finally have answers to the questions that haunted his dreams.
The magistrate's housekeeper led them into a formal waiting room, its leather-bound volumes and heavy furniture speaking of authority and tradition. Freddie's fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on his knee as they waited, the morning's confidence giving way to nervous anticipation.
"Sir James is concluding some business," the housekeeper informed them. "He will see you shortly. Please make yourselves comfortable."
Hester settled gracefully into one of the wing chairs, while Freddie found himself too restless to sit.
He paced the room instead, pausing occasionally to examine the paintings on the walls or the titles of books lining the shelves.
Everything felt simultaneously familiar and foreign, like a half-remembered dream.
"There are some newspapers here," Hester suggested, indicating a neat stack on a side table. "Perhaps we might find something useful while we wait?"
Freddie nodded, grateful for the occupation. He selected the topmost paper, noting it was a Bristol publication from just three days prior. The pages rustled as he began to scan the columns, most filled with the usual society notices and political commentary that seemed to occupy such publications.
His eyes moved mechanically over the text until a particular paragraph caught his attention. The words seemed to swim before his vision before snapping into sharp focus:
" Lord Frederick Grey, heir to the Earldom of Greystone, remains missing after departing London two weeks hence. His uncle, Lord Edmund Grey, expresses grave concern for his nephew's wellbeing, citing recent erratic behaviour ..."
The newspaper slipped from Freddie's suddenly nerveless fingers, falling to the floor with a soft thump. His head began to pound, memories flooding back in a dizzying rush.
"Freddie?" Hester's voice seemed to come from very far away. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white with the effort to remain standing as images cascaded through his mind. A grand house in London. His uncle Edmund's shrewd face across a card table. Sebastian, his cousin, watching him with calculating eyes that held no familial warmth.
"I remember," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"I'm Frederick Grey. Freddie. My uncle is Edmund Grey, and my cousin is Sebastian.
" He swallowed hard, fighting down a wave of nausea as more details clicked into place.
"My father was the elder son, but he died.
.. in a carriage accident with my mother. Three years ago."
Hester had risen and now stood beside him, her presence steady and reassuring. "Are you quite certain?"
"Yes." Freddie sank into the chair, his legs no longer able to support him. "It's as though a veil has been lifted. I remember everything about who I am, though the events immediately before my injury remain... unclear."
He looked up at Hester, seeing concern etched across her features.
"My grandfather still lives, though his health has been poor since my parents' deaths.
" Another memory surfaced, bringing with it a fresh wave of anxiety.
"My uncle... he wants control of the estate.
He's been trying to persuade my grandfather that I'm reckless, a waste of space who'd fritter away my inheritance.
I think… he might have resorted to more direct measures. "
"Good heavens," Hester murmured, sinking back into her own chair. "Then the injury to your head..."
"May not have been an accident at all," Freddie finished grimly. He rubbed his temples, trying to sort through the jumble of returned memories.
The door opened, making them both start. The housekeeper reappeared, her expression properly neutral. "Sir James will see you now."
Freddie exchanged a quick glance with Hester, seeing his own uncertainty reflected in her eyes. How much should they reveal? His instincts, newly awakened with his memories, warned him to be cautious. There was danger here, though its exact nature remained frustratingly out of reach.
"Shall we?" he asked Hester, offering his arm with automatic courtesy. As she laid her hand upon his sleeve, he felt a surge of protectiveness. Whatever trouble he was in, he must be careful not to draw her too deeply into it.