Page 69 of Dare to Risk it All

“Do you have any idea how much that will cost?” he asked her gently.

Greer shrugged. “Not the foggiest. Do you?”

“Not yet,” he said, sighing. “Before we married, I wrote to all the artisans in the area, asking them to quote for the various repairs.”

“And?” she asked, interested.

He shrugged, a sick feeling coiling in his belly. “The quotes are all waiting at the manor. I didn’t want to spoil our honeymoon.”

“Oh, Raphe,” she said, shaking her head and reaching up to stroke his cheek. “As if anything could have.”

Raphe captured her hand, turning into it and pressing a kiss to her gloved palm. “You could have married someone like Bainbridge,” he said gruffly. “Someone rich who could keep you in comfort.”

Greer let out a peal of laughter, giving him an incredulous look. “No, I couldn’t!” She exclaimed, shaking her head, staring at him as if he’d run mad. “No one like that would have ever wanted to marry a hoyden like me. Good Lord, Raphe, we’ve been through this. You’re the only one I want, and even if you only own a pile of rubble, I am the happiest bride in England.”

He stared at her, wondering how on earth he’d been so damned lucky to marry such a woman.

“We might have to rent somewhere. Possibly for years,” he warned her. “And it likely won’t be what you're used to. Marcross Manor was nothing like as grand as Royle House, even in its heyday, nor even Rowsley.”

“Raphe,” she said patiently. “I’ve never lived in an especially grand house, certainly not like Royle House, but I think you’ve forgotten an important detail—”

But the carriage swayed to a halt before she could say more, and the door was flung open. Oliver’s excited face, ruddy from the cold, greeted them both with a wide grin.

“At last! We expected you days ago. What on earth kept you?” he demanded.

“What do you think kept them, gudgeon?” Sylvester muttered from behind him, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Oliver blushed and elbowed Sylvester, who bustled Ollie out of the way.

“Lady de Ligne,” he said with great seriousness, holding out his hand to help her down. “Welcome to Marcross Manor. What’s left of it,” he added with a wry smile.

Raphe could not help but be amused, as his brothers fought for Greer’s attention whilst she got out of the carriage, but neither of them captured it. Something else entirely held her focus. Raphe climbed out, watching her face as she stared up at his old home. He dared not look at the building yet, but put the moment off, gazing instead at his wife like a lovesick boy.

“Oh,” she breathed, turning to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. “Oh, Raphe, you never said. I had no idea, it’s….”

He waited for the next words, expecting ‘dreadful,’ ‘shocking,’ ‘a misbegotten pile of mouldering stones,’ or something similar, and was a startled to see a wistful smile cross her face.

“It’s beautiful.”

Rather astonished, he turned to look at the place that had once been his home and felt a pang of recognition. The sensation built as he stared at Marcross Manor, so much grander and finer than his memory had allowed him to recall. Perhaps he had encouraged the destruction of those memories, allowing the past to tarnish, for it made the ache of loss that much more bearable. Now, however, it came at him full force: memories of his father before it had all gone to hell, of happier times, of rainy days and hot summers and fishing on the river that ran along the south side of the property; of climbing trees in the orchard and taking apples to his fat pony.

Emotion snagged in his throat. Marcross Manor was four storeys high, built of red sandstone, and stood lonely and proud on the crest of a hill. All around, the rolling countryside of Monmouthshire rippled out in swathes of green and white where a recent flurry of snow dappled hilltops and shady corners. Raphe remembered the stunning views from the upper floors, that feeling of being on top of the world and looking down at the vast landscape that stretched as far as you could see on all sides. His eyes burned, the sensation of having come home at once reassuring and staggeringly unexpected. The leather journal in his hand felt suddenly heavy.

Greer’s fingers curled around his free hand, grounding him and making it easier to find his feet. He let out an unsteady breath, squeezing her fingers before turning to his brother.

“How bad is it?” he asked, needing to get the worst of it over with at once.

“The walls will stand long after you and I are gone,” Sylvester said with a smile. “That’s the good news.”

“All right,” Raphe said, daring to feel somewhat encouraged. “And the bad news?”

Sylvester took a breath and Raphe steeled himself as he rattled off what they’d discovered so far. “The floorboards and much of the woodwork is rotten, the plaster is falling off the walls, the place is alive with wildlife, the bedroom on the north corner is inhabited by owls, there are bats in the roof, birds in the chimneys, mice everywhere, oh, and I’m not entirely convinced the cellar isn’t haunted, but if it isn’t, there’s something bigger than I want to face living down there.”

Raphe groaned. “The land?” he asked, deciding he’d better get it over with in one go, like ripping off a plaster bandage. To his surprise, Ollie piped up in response.

“We badly need drainage ditches down in the valley, but up here, apart from being overgrown and repairing walls and fences, things are far better than we might have expected. There’s a lot of clearance needed, but it’s not such an ordeal as you might think. The orchard is apparently worth saving, though about ten per cent of the trees need felling and replacing.”

“You discovered this?” Raphe asked, impressed.