24 December 1816,
Ryeland Abbey,
Sussex.
As their carriage bumped and lurched on the road out of town, Annie Eversfield glanced at her thick wedding band with satisfaction.
“It doesn’t look valuable,” her mother objected. “It isn’t even gold.”
“It’s valuable to me, Mama,” Annie replied quietly. “And the Captain.”
“I don’t understand why we’re travelling at such speed,” the countess complained.
“It’s the coachman, your ladyship.” Doctor Eversfield patted her hand. “He only knows to drive at speed.”
“Then I cannot approve him.” The countess snapped her lips shut and angled her head towards the window. Annette noted she clasped the vicar’s hand tightly. Hmmm…
“I cannot thank you enough, Doctor, for attending us to Ryeland one final time.” Annette addressed the vicar with a sincere smile. Three days on the London Road with the countess was too much for her to bear alone.
“It’s my pleasure,” the vicar assured her.
“I don’t see why we’re required at Ryeland at all.” Her mother sniffed.
Annie sighed. “The new owners of Ryeland Abbey wish to take possession from the Ryehursts. It’s their condition of sale and we promised Lord Grantley.” She spoke haltingly. “It’s the least that’s due our cousin.”
“It’s not I who offended him.” The countess sniffed again.
Annette tutted and bit her tongue. “He took no offense on my marriage, Mama. He prefers his life as it is and he’s better able to live it without the encumbrance of a mortgaged estate.” A dull throb began at her temples. “I’ve explained this before.” She smiled tightly and turned the subject.
“Do you intend to meet with old acquaintance when we arrive, Doctor Eversfield?”
The vicar smiled and they spoke of old acquaintance and new for the rest of their journey. In fact, they conversed with so much spirit and flow that Annie hardly noticed the turnstile flashing past the window until the carriage turned into a drive.
She sat up suddenly. “Oh! We’ve missed the Mermaid Inn.” To her knowledge there was no other suitable billet for a countess in Ryeland. “I understand Lionel meets us there.”
“We’re instructed to proceed directly to the abbey,” Doctor Eversfield explained.
Annie’s chest thumped sadly. She wished her husband beside her today of all days, when she finally said goodbye to Ryeland. Reminding herself that Lionel’s business interests cleared her mother’s debts, she shook off her disappointment and stared out the window at the gables of their old home.
“Look! Mama, it’s Ryeland Abbey. How I wish Lionel might see it this last time!” So fervently did she wish her husband might be present that Annie thought he stood at the head of the drive.
The carriage stopped short in a hail of gravel as Francis spun them about. Annette blinked because the illusion of Lionel had not dissipated. Indeed, he appeared more solid the closer they came. When he stepped forward to open their door and help her down, she saw it was no dream, but the handsome Captain Eversfield himself. With a squeal, she threw herself into his arms.
“Lionel, what are you doing here?” She kissed him.
“I’ll not forsake my love at such a time.” He kissed her back, smiling down at her.
“Thank you.” Annette took his hand and squeezed it, turning to watch the countess helped down by the vicar. Francis held the door and bowed. Annette was pleased to see her mother incline her head and offer a curtsey to her son-at-law. She tutted and looked around regally.
“At least Grantley was family. Do these interlopers expect us to wait on them all morning?”
“Have the new owners not arrived yet?” Annette looked at Lionel.
“Oh, they’re here.” Lionel winked at his uncle. “They’re us.” He laughed at the expression on Annie’s face.
The Countess Ryehurst positively reeled, and may have smiled. Or it could have been a trick of the light.
“How?” Annette couldn’t say more. She simply gazed at him in delight.
“Lord Grantley’s mortgage was assumable.” He shrugged lightly, as though he’d not made all her dreams true. “I assumed it, though it took some time for him to come to a decision.”
“Lionel, I don’t know what to say,” Annette stammered, a joyful laugh falling from her lips. Reaching up, she brushed her thumb fondly over his cheek. “My dear, sweet, Lionel. You’re too good for me.”
“Nonsense,” he replied with a tender glance at her mouth. “It’s my pleasure to see you happy, Annie. I know living here will make you so.” He quirked his lips in a half-smile. “And I’ve no taste for London, as you know.” He kissed her again and she tasted home.
“I should like to see inside,” the countess announced.
“I should like to see over the old place, your ladyship.” Doctor Eversfield held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Annette saw her mama hesitate before offering a curt nod. The older couple walked into the house together, while young Francis pushed his cap over his eyes, doing his best to appear invisible.
Annette stared up at Ryeland Abbey, shaking her head to think of this as home once more. “Lionel, I cannot believe it.”
“Believe it,” her husband insisted. “I’ve had Morton work on nothing else for a year.” Lionel held up an item he’d kept by his feet. “What do you think, Annie?” He hefted her bow, his eyes warm and loving. “I found it inside. Some things do find their way home, you see.”
“Is there a quiver?” Annie’s wondering smile widened as she smoothed her palm over the fine yew craftsmanship.
“Already at the bowery with your targets,” Lionel replied.
“Then we’re already late, Lionel.” Annette tugged him beside her as they raced downhill, church bells pealing across the moor.
“Late?” he panted, grinning like a boy. “Whatever for, Annie?”
“Our Christmas kiss.” She laughed out loud as Lionel put on a burst of speed, taking her with him under cover of the trees. Once screened from the house, he took her in his arms, pressing his mouth to hers, a deep-throated sigh escaping them both.
“Merry Christmas, Annie, my love,” he murmured. “I love you.”
“Oh, Lionel, Merry Christmas. I do love you.”