The longer Gillian spent inthis corner of Nottinghamshire, the more she wanted to stay. Two days after Mr. Layton’s visit and subsequent swift departure, Gillian, Mater, and Sarah had tea together at the vicarage.
We’ve both been searching for family for a long time, Scott had said.And here it is.
It was indeed. Gillian felt as much a part of this family as she could imagine. And she’d come to appreciate the Huntresses all the more too. Caroline had declared that being a Huntress made Gillian a sister to Artemis. It did. The Huntresses were sisters to each other in very real ways.
Scott seemed less burdened on the matter of Thimbleby and his financial future. The investments had been contracted and obtained and repairs had already begun. The future felt hopeful.Gillianfelt hopeful.
“I was so pleased to hear that Mr. Walker will be overseeing Thimbleby,” Mater said. “Mrs. Brownlow had nothing but praise for him. And when I asked a few questions on how he meant to approach his position there, I was very impressed.”
“Yes, he and Scott are both enthusiastic about the arrangement.” Perhaps someday Gillian would be able to tell Mater and Sarah of her actual connection to Mr. Walker. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, but a secret once shared was harder to keep. She didn’t wish to burden either of these ladies that way.
“I am so glad that Scott will be remaining at Sarvol House,” Sarah said. “Though his months there before our uncle passed were an absolute misery, the home itself does hold a special place in his heart. It meant a great deal to our father.”
“And I am glad for entirely selfish reasons,” Mater said. “Scott will be nearby.”
Because she was happy for them, Gillian managed a smile. But Scott wouldn’t be near her. She might arrange to visit, but they’d not be in a position to forge a connection beyond visits for some time yet. Less than a year though. She felt certain of that. Less than a year, rather than two years or more, as they’d originally planned.
Less than a year.
“I do wish your mother would write to him,” Gillian said to Sarah. “I know he longs to hear from her.”
“So do I,” she said. “Neither of us is entirely certain why she doesn’t write, though I cannot say I ever remember her writing letters when I was growing up.”
“I knew her from the Sarvols’ visits to the area over the years,” Mater said. “I feel I need to make certain you know that she is an exceedingly kind lady and she loves her children.” Mater set her hand on Sarah’s. “She truly does. And I suspect she reads Scott’s letters and is anxious to continue receiving them.”
“Do you suppose he has mentioned me in those letters?” Gillian asked.
“I haven’t a doubt in the world,” Sarah said.
“Neither do I.” Mater took a sip of her tea. “And I am further certain she is happy for him.”
“Now that your children are married, what is it you intend to do with your time?” Gillian asked. “Other than spoiling your grandchildren, of course.”
Mater laughed. “I am shockingly good at spoiling my grandchildren. But in addition to that, I would like to travel. My late husband and I did a little traveling in the first few years of our marriage. We crossed the channel more than once and saw a little bit of Europe. We traveled around the kingdom. My Lucas loved to travel. He was always itching for a new adventure. As our family grew, it wasn’t possible to ramble like he used to. He never complained, never bemoaned that loss of freedom, but . . .but were he still here, he would likely already have our traveling trunks packed and a map in hand.”
Sarah nodded. She, after all, had known the late earl. “Your family is rather spread out,” she said. “The mere task of visiting them will allow you ample opportunities for traveling the length and breadth of the kingdom.”
“That is fortunate, isn’t it?” Some of the sadness that had touched her words moments earlier dissipated. “And I have dear friends who not only would welcome a visit but also, I suspect, would eagerly undertake more extensive journeys if I proposed it. I believe I would like that.”
“If you ever need a place to break a journey in North Yorkshire,” Gillian said, pretending to be revealing a great secret, “I know of a lovely little estate on the moors.”
“Well, in exchange for that bit of helpful information, we will provide you with something quite valuable as well.” Mater nodded to Sarah, who rose and crossed to a small writing desk across the room.
She pulled from the drawer a sealed letter and brought it back to where Gillian sat. “We were strictly instructed to give this to you at three o’clock. And it is now”—she glanced at the watch pinned to her dress—“three o’clock.”
Sarah placed the letter in Gillian’s hand. Her name was written across the front in Scott’s wonderfully familiar handwriting.
“He’s sent me a letter?” She looked at the two ladies. “He lives a few minutes’ walk from here.”
“Scott loves to write letters,” Sarah said. “You could be stayingatSarvol House, and he might still send you letters.”
The idea of that, a lifetime of receiving letters from him, warmed her through. What a joy that would be.
She broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, and read silently.
My Dearest, Beloved Gillian,
Forgive my interruption of your, no doubt, lovely afternoon with Mater and Sarah. They have agreed to allow my disruption on the condition that I grovel at their feet when next I see them. This seemed an acceptable tradeoff, though I will likely regret it when the time comes to make good on my promise.