Page 9 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)

Chapter Five

The cart lurched over another rut in the rough track, making Hester grip the wooden side more tightly. Beside her, Freddie, still pale from his recent injuries but looking stronger with each passing day, glanced at their silent Welsh driver before leaning closer to speak in hushed tones.

Mr. Bethel's cart creaked its steady way along the mountain path, the elderly farmer occasionally muttering to his horse in Welsh when the beast showed signs of slowing.

The ram tethered behind the farmer lay quietly, apparently sleeping.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the valley below, painting the slopes in shades of green and gold.

Hester had made this journey countless times before, but never with such peculiar company nor such mounting tension in her breast.

"Miss Wynstanley," Freddie began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I must tell you what I've remembered." He paused, checking once more that Mr. Bethel remained absorbed in his own thoughts and the careful guidance of his horse. "About why I was travelling when you found me."

Hester turned slightly toward him, careful to maintain a proper distance despite the cart's determined efforts to jostle them together.

The bruising around the cut on Freddie's temple had faded to a yellowish shadow, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke of wounds that went far deeper than mere physical hurts.

"My uncle Edmund," he continued, the words seeming to catch in his throat, "has been planning my death."

The bluntness of his statement nearly caused Hester to gasp aloud. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to appear outwardly calm even as her heart began to race. Mr. Bethel clicked his tongue at the horse, completely oblivious to the grave conversation taking place behind him.

"You see," Freddie went on, his cultured voice carrying an edge of bitterness, "my grandfather is dying. The doctors say he hasn't long, perhaps a few months, a year at most. And I am his heir."

"Not your uncle?" Hester asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

"No. My father was the elder son, and I am his only child; the estate is structured such that I will receive the bulk of it. Uncle Edmund has always resented that, I think. But it wasn't until recently that I understood just how deeply that resentment ran."

The cart swayed as they rounded a bend in the track, bringing Plas Wyn into view in the distance.

Its weathered grey stone walls seemed to grow out of the very mountain itself, a refuge that had always represented safety to Hester.

Now, watching Freddie's face as he struggled with his revelation, she wondered if even those ancient walls could offer protection against the dangers he faced.

"The inheritance is substantial," Freddie explained, his fingers worrying at a loose thread on his borrowed coat.

"Several profitable estates, investments that have been carefully managed for generations.

Uncle Edmund has always lived beyond his means, gambling and.

.." He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable discussing such matters with a lady.

"And he wants control of it all," Hester finished for him, understanding dawning with horrible clarity.

Freddie nodded. "If something were to happen to me before Grandfather passes, everything would go to Edmund. He'd have everything he's always wanted: the money, the power, the respect that comes with it."

The cart jolted again, and Mr. Bethel began singing softly in Welsh, a melancholy tune that seemed eerily appropriate to their conversation. Hester watched a hawk circling overhead, its graceful flight at odds with the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach.

"But surely your grandfather wouldn't allow..."

"Grandfather is barely conscious most days now," Freddie interrupted, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "And Uncle Edmund has been very careful to maintain an appearance of familial devotion. No one suspects him of anything untoward. No one except me, and now you."

They passed through the gate that marked the beginning of Wynstanley land, the familiar creak of its hinges sounding somehow ominous in the gathering dusk.

Hester found herself studying Freddie's profile, noting how the aristocratic features she'd admired while tending his injuries now seemed carved from stone with worry.

"There's more," he said quietly. "Much more. But we're nearly at your house, and I don't want your aunts to overhear what I have to say next."

Hester nodded, her mind already racing ahead to what other revelations might be forthcoming.

The cart continued its slow progress up the drive, and she found herself grateful for Mr. Bethel's steady presence and his complete inability to understand their English conversation.

Some secrets, she was beginning to realize, were better shared in careful measures, like strong medicine administered drop by careful drop.

The library at Plas Wyn had always been Hester's favourite room, with its worn leather chairs and the comforting smell of old books. Now, it felt more like a confessional as Freddie paced before the hearth, his shoulders tense with remembered fear.

Aunt Cecilia and Aunt Felicity had left Hester and Freddie alone after supper with the pretence of him wanting to examine her father's old maps. The excuse wasn't entirely false; they would need those maps soon enough, but first there were darker matters to discuss.

"I was at my club in London," Freddie began, his voice low despite their privacy.

"The sort of establishment where gentlemen gather to drink port and discuss business.

I'd stepped into an alcove to read a letter when I heard my uncle's voice in the next room.

He was speaking with my cousin Sebastian.

At first, I thought nothing of it; family matters, estate business, the usual topics.

But then I heard my name, and something in Uncle Edmund's tone made me pause. "

He stopped his pacing, turning to face Hester with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"They were discussing how unfortunate it would be if I met with an accident before Grandfather's death.

Sebastian suggested several possibilities: a fall while hunting, a carriage overturning on a dangerous road, even a mysterious illness.

They spoke of my death as casually as one might discuss the weather. "

A chill ran through Hester despite the relative warmth of the evening. "How could they be so cold-blooded about their own flesh and blood?"

"Money changes people," Freddie replied bitterly. "Or perhaps it merely reveals what was always there, hidden beneath a veneer of civility. Uncle Edmund has gambling debts, you see. Substantial ones. The inheritance would solve all his problems, but only if I were out of the way."

He resumed his pacing, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his feet.

"I left London that night, thinking to reach Greystone Court and speak with Grandfather.

I knew he was ill, but I hoped he might still be lucid enough to understand the danger, to make some provision that would protect the inheritance from Edmund's schemes. "

Hester leaned forward in her chair. "But you never reached Greystone Court."

"Actually, I did." He smiled wryly. "Only to discover my grandfather had just been removed from it, taken up to London to consult with more doctors.

My cousin Monty – Montague – was there, Edmund's younger son.

I didn't trust him not to smother me in my sleep after what I'd heard, so I headed on for the house where I grew up, where my father and mother lived, near Ludlow.

" Freddie's hand went to his temple, where the bruising had nearly faded.

"I was approaching the estate when I spotted riders on the road ahead.

There were four of them, waiting where the road passes through a copse of trees.

I might not have thought anything of it, except I recognized one of the men: Sebastian. "

The library had grown quite dark as the fire burned low, but neither of them moved to light a lamp. Somehow, the gathering shadows seemed appropriate for such a tale.

"I knew then that my uncle's plans had already been set in motion. My grandfather had been removed from my reach, and Sebastian and his hired men were waiting to kill me. I turned my horse and galloped away, but they gave chase immediately."

Freddie's voice grew rough with remembered fear.

"My horse was faster, thank God, and I knew something of the countryside thereabouts.

I'd spent my childhood there, after all.

But in my panic to escape, I took unfamiliar paths, rode through rivers to throw them off my trail.

It was growing dark, and I had no clear idea where I was heading except away from my pursuers. "

He paused by the window, staring out into the darkness.

"I rode through the night, taking whatever tracks seemed least likely to be followed.

By morning, I was hopelessly lost in country I didn't know, my horse was exhausted, and I was nearly delirious with fatigue.

When the poor beast stumbled, I was thrown. .."

"And that's how you came to be lying senseless on the mountain," Hester finished softly, remembering the morning she'd found him, blood matting his fair hair.

"Yes. The rest you know. Though I didn't remember it clearly until now." He turned from the window, his expression grave.

Hester rose from her chair, moving to stand beside him at the window.

In the gathering darkness, she could just make out the line of hills where she'd discovered him, lying so still she'd initially feared him dead.

"Your memories returning isn't entirely fortunate," she observed.

"It would have been easier if you could have simply disappeared, let them think their plan had succeeded. "