The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) by Sahara Kelly (classic children's novels txt) 📕

Would she be an adequate Lady of Wolfbridge? Could she hold the reins of power when it came to the Manor, the estate and the people involved?

He watched her, his thoughts wandering, troubled, over grounds he’d not had to face before. All the Ladies of Wolfbridge he’d known—and he’d loved them all, but would never tell them—they’d come with needs. A home, a sanctuary, a desire to learn, to grow, and to love. To leave their pasts in the past, where all the tragedies and horrors belonged, and to build a new life for themselves as the person they were destined to be.

It was the concept of Wolfbridge and had been for more than a few generations now.

But he’d never had to rescue a Lady from such dire straits. None had been starving, ill and pretty much at death’s door.

It was hard to believe, looking at the sad, shorn bundle across from him, that this was truly the Dowager Countess of Kilham.

For a few moments, Giles found his fists hardening. If he could have had five minutes with the current Earl, he’d take great pleasure in pointing out the disgust he felt for what had been wrought upon a defenceless woman. But he caught himself up and forced such thoughts aside, knowing well that they would only lead to frustration.

It was a sad but true fact that in this day and age, men had all the power. They had titles, estates and fortunes. Should a woman have the same, everything she possessed would become her husband’s upon their marriage.

Only rarely was there a chance for a woman to rise to a position of power equal to a man’s.

Giles had often thought how very wrong that was. But he was too intelligent and too inured to the inhumanities he’d seen to spend hours railing against such injustices. It would change at some point in the future, and until then he’d devote himself to ensuring that at least one woman had a chance to become a fully-fledged human being, not hidden in the shadows of a man.

Lady Gwyneth moaned a little and opened her eyes.

He leaned over. “You’re safe, my Lady. Safe and warm. I am taking you home to Wolfbridge.” He touched her cheek, still afire with fever. “Sleep now. All will be well.”

Her mouth worked. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice low and rough. And then she closed her eyes once more.

It was a start.

*~~*~~*

In one of the Wolfbridge bedrooms, a man opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by three other men, all staring at him.

He gasped in fright and tugged the linens up to his chin.

“Where…who…”

“Easy now,” said Jeremy. “You’re safe. Among friends.”

He blinked. “I think I remember. You’re Jeremy?” His eyes shifted. “And…and Evan, yes?”

Evan smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s right. And I’m happy you remember, since it means you don’t have any damage to your mind.”

“That remains to be seen,” remarked Royce in dry tones.

“I don’t know you,” Gabriel turned his head on the pillow.

“I dressed your wounds, lad. You’ve a cracked rib and a lot of bruises. There’ll be a scar or two, I’ll warrant, but I’m sure the ladies won’t mind much. I’m Royce.”

They were dressed informally, shirts open, bare feet; Royce had stretched out his legs and his crossed feet rested on the quilt.

Gabriel pulled himself a little higher and winced. “I think you’re right about the rib…”

Jeremy got up and helped him, adding a couple of pillows so that he could look around. “How’s that?”

“Better, thank you.”

“I’ve some broth here. You should have something now, and tomorrow we’ll see about some decent food. Think you can manage that?” Evan picked up a large tankard and neared Gabriel.

“It smells heavenly,” he breathed, taking the cup with a smile of thanks.

“So.” Royce leaned back, his fingers dancing along the arm of a chair to a rhythm only he could hear. “Gabriel. Gabriel Parr. What’s a member of that family doing rolling around the English countryside covered in blood?”

There was silence for a few moments as Gabriel drank, his eyes wandering over the room and the men so at home there.

He licked his lips and put the broth down on the table next to him.

“You know who I am then,” he said quietly.

“You told us, lad. We had to strip you, bathe you and tend your wounds. I don’t know how much you remember, but yes, you told us your name.”

His leg twitched beneath the blankets and Jeremy shot a quick glance at Royce, before turning back to Gabriel. “We know your name, and you know ours. Won’t you tell us how you came to be on the road?”

Gabriel looked down at his hands, splaying the fingers, the bruises and scabs obvious against his fair skin. “I’m an abnormality. A defective human being. I have no right to live amongst others.”

“Who the hell told you that, lad?” Royce leaned forward with a frown. “That’s utter nonsense if ever I heard it.”

“Lad,” Gabriel turned his vivid blue gaze toward Royce. “You keep calling me lad.”

“Should I not? I’m years older than you…”

Gabriel gave what might be termed a quick laugh. “I will be twenty-seven this year, Royce.”

Once again a silence descended on the room, but this time it reflected the shock on the faces of all three men around the bed.

“By God, you age well,” sputtered Jeremy, his eyes wide.

“I’d never have guessed that,” said Evan, also stunned.

“All right,” sighed Royce. “I suppose the term ‘lad’ isn’t going to work, is it?”

“No. But I expect I should thank you. I’ve been called a great many more unpleasant things.” Gabriel shrugged carefully and reached for the broth, sipping some more. He glanced at Evan. “This is very good. Very good indeed.”

Evan