Page 85 of The Best Intentions

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“It is a lot to accomplish in so short a time: making arrangements with tradesmen for repairs, hiring servants, obtaining furnishings and supplies.” Mater looked toward the rest of the room, all of whom were unmistakably listening.

Gillian’s eyes were wide, but her mouth had pulled tight. “How long, do you suppose, before Thimbleby would produce profit enough for an income?” she asked.

Scott was almost too overwhelmed to think through his answer. “I would have to look at the projected expenses and such to know for certain but likely a year, perhaps a little bit longer.”

“That is better than two years,” Gillian said.

He looked back to Mater. “How long am I likely to need to live there while establishing the routine and addressing the complications at Thimbleby?”

“Considerably longer than that,” she said. “Your staff could be trained somewhat quickly to know what is needed to adjust forso much overturn in tenants and the oddities of a resident family that is not actually a resident family. But what is most needed is consistency.”

“Someone living there to oversee it all,” Scott said.

She nodded. “And that someone cannot be a housekeeper or a butler or even an estate manager. You will be providing a house that will be a temporary home to those who lease it, a place that is meant to provide the expected comforts for those seeking them and the necessities of a house party for those who are looking to use it for that purpose. You understand both, having participated in house parties and having been the resident family in a fine home like that.”

He could not argue with her. The more he thought on what she was saying, the more he knew it could not be done any other way.

Scott looked over at Gillian and saw sorrow in her eyes, disappointment. She knew he didn’t truly want to live at Thimbleby. He loved Sarvol House and wanted to honor his father and feel closer to him there.

But he loved Gillian more. That was the long and short of it.

He loved her more.

“It seems I am bound for Yorkshire,” he said.

Gillian looked ever more concerned. Scott crossed to her and sat beside her.

“We’ll be that much closer, my dear.”

“I will love having you nearby, but I can’t bear the thought of you being unhappy.”

He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. “I don’t mean closertogether. We’ll be closer to claiming the life we’re dreaming of. And nothing, my darling Gillian, could make me happier.”

Chapter Thirty-two

The next morning, Gillian wasinvited to visit Sarvol House. She’d been imagining it for weeks, having read Scott’s descriptions of it. Now she watched through the carriage windows, eager for her first view of his home.

Trees lined the lane to Sarvol House. The rows of shrubbery were unkept and growing rather wild. Gillian could easily imagine flowers dotting the area, adding color and vibrancy where there wasn’t any currently. Scott had warned her the grounds hadn’t been tended to as they ought.

A moment later, the house itself came into view. Gillian felt as though she knew it, having read Scott’s descriptions in the letters he’d sent her. “Simple but symmetrical.” “Framed by stately trees.” “Bay towers on either side of the front.” “Three narrow rows of windows in the red stone.”

This was his home. The place he deeply loved, and because of that, she loved it already too. It was struggling, yes, but how easily she could picture the home as it was meant to be: cared for and appreciated. It was larger than the house of her childhood, but it didn’t feel intimidating or uninviting. It was little wonder Scott was so reluctant to leave it behind.

Thimbleby, it seemed, would be their first home together. It was quaint and warm, and she knew she could be happy wherever she was so long as she was with Scott. But though he insisted he would be happy as well, she knew his heart would be breaking. His thoughts would often be here, where he felt connected to his father, where his sister was. Gillian had also watched him with the Jonquils the night before, and they were family to him in all the ways that mattered.

She and Scott would be together, yes. But he would still, at times, feel lonely. And she would too. She would always mourn the loss of her father, would long for him to be part of her life.But there was no way to make that happen. She took solace in knowing that she and Scott could build a happy life and home. But she would always grieve. She couldn’t bear the thought of Scott feeling the same way. But what could be done?

The butler ushered her into Sarvol House. Scott had explained the arrangement he had made that allowed the butler to remain. She’d seen for herself the kindness the older man showed Scott. Gillian adored Mr. Tanner for that. And when he relaxed his butler’s mien enough to simply motion her into the drawing room and say in a conspiratorial voice, “Go on in, then. He’s been watching for you all morning,” she knew he would forever be dear to her.

She slipped into the drawing room. For a fraction of a moment, she was caught off guard by the odd combination of furnishings inside: a table that likely had been taken from a breakfast room, a single sofa, two chairs, and a desk, the likes of which would usually be seen in a library or book room. This was his all-purpose public room. How difficult it must have been for him to see this every day, knowing the other rooms represented here were shuttered and closed and dark.

But then her eyes spied Scott moving swiftly toward her, and her heart lightened. How was it he always managed that? Simply seeing him and being near him brought her joy.

“You’ve arrived,” he said, his enthusiasm apparent. “Sarvol House is not much to look at just now, but I am so glad to have you here at last.”

“It is easy to imagine this house as it once was,” she said. “As it could be again. I can understand why you love it.”

“It’s not just the house itself. My uncle was a tyrant; I’ll not argue that. Yet, some of my happiest memories are attached to this place and this area of the world. The more time that passes, the less I associate it with the man who last had charge of it, and the more I remember my family here and that we were happy.”


Tags: Sarah M. Eden Historical