Page 12 of The Lyon’s Love Letters (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #78)

One Week Later

E lliott walked up the long drive toward the house, carrying his portmanteau. It was all he’d brought with him to Bramberly.

The drive was pocked and uneven, riddled with holes that would cripple a carriage. He stopped at the gate that led to the house. It hung listlessly on one hinge. The low stone wall that surrounded the house and garden needed shoring up in places.

He set his bag just inside the gate. He wasn’t ready to face the house. He turned to go and walk the closest parts of the estate instead.

A few of the tenant farmers had stayed. Their lands looked to be in decent shape. He passed several empty farms that would need work to tempt new tenants. He went and sat on the bank by the lake, mentally making lists.

He’d stopped to see his mother on the way here. When he’d told her that he heard she’d sold Bramberly, she hadn’t blinked an eye or shown an ounce of shame. She’d just laughed, telling him how she’d been approached out of the blue, and chortling in triumph at the ridiculous price the buyer had been willing to pay.

He hadn’t told her who had bought it.

The sun was lowering toward the trees when at last he climbed to his feet and braved the house. Here, the memories assaulted him. Images of his smiling aunt. Of the fond brush of her hand through his hair. The feeling of serenity and safety the place had once given him.

Now, it just felt empty.

Elliott went to stand in what his aunt had called the great parlor. He stared out the bowed window and tried to rally himself.

Blast, but he missed Anna.

But Bramberly was a gift. A gift from the woman who had seen him. Who had seen all of his faults and his less-than-ideal circumstances. A gift from the woman who had loved him anyway. More than that, it was a chance. A chance to do exactly what they had agreed upon. A chance to build and create and make something of himself.

He had to believe that she would wait. That she would keep her promise. As he would keep his.

The race. His heart yearned for the idea. But despite the fact that he might be the only one running, he could still participate. He grinned. He could still plan stages. Set goals. And for every one that he hit, he would reward himself with a visit. And more .

Lists. Goals. Stages. A plan. That was what he needed. Paper. Another notebook.

He went to the sitting room to search out the materials he would need to begin. Rummaging through his aunt’s desk, he nearly missed the knock on the door. He lifted his head.

It came again, more insistent this time.

He went to answer it.

Anna stood beneath the gray stone portico. She wore a smart traveling coat and a wide grin.

Elliott stared.

“Well?” She had a basket on her arm and lifted the lid to show him. “For the love of little green apples, may I come in?”

He rushed the few steps between them and crushed her to him, lifting her high and twirling her around. Apples scattered over the flagstones.

“What are you doing here?” he cried.

She dropped the basket so that she could embrace him back. “I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t stand the thought of your building all of this without me.” She cupped his face with her hands and kissed him tenderly. “And I decided four years is entirely too long to wait to discover what more is.”

He let her slide down the front of him and kissed her thoroughly. “But what of Lord Hovell?”

“I won him over.”

“How?”

“I convinced him that traveling to bring me here to you would be far less trouble than listening to me nag and beg for the next four years.”

He laughed, but his mind couldn’t grasp it all. “But where will you stay? What will you do? He cannot mean—”

She reached into her coat, pulled out a sheet of vellum, and waved it. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon has sent you a present.”

He let her go with one arm so that he could read it. His heart stopped—and then it began to gallop. He thought for a moment it might burst with happiness. “A special license?”

She kissed him gently once more. “Mr. Elliott Ward, would you care to marry me? Hovell is waiting at the church in Trowbridge.”

“I would like nothing more,” he said with yearning. “But Anna, look around. Are you prepared to live like this, with work and possible hardship, until we can make a go of it?”

“I would be glad—thrilled—to do it. But fortunately, it won’t be necessary. Hovell is willing to turn my inheritance over to me as soon as I marry a fine, upstanding man. As soon as I marry you .”

“He can do that?”

“All it takes is his consent. Apparently my father trusted him enough to make sure it was written that way. And thankfully, Hovell thinks well of you.”

Elliott blinked in surprise.

“But not half so well as I think of you.” She smiled up at him. “Well? You haven’t answered. Will you come to Trowbridge and marry me so that we can begin to build and create our lives together?”

He began to pull her through the front garden, toward the gate. “Shall we turn it into a race?” he asked.

Laughing, she put a hand on her bonnet to keep it straight. “Will there be prizes?”

Elliott stopped and pushed her against the stone gatepost. His heart swelled as he looked down into her sparkling eyes. He kissed her freckled nose. “Weren’t you listening, my love? You are the prize.”