RH part 1
From MonkeyFilter Wiki
Ellsnor Manor, 1815
A bolt of lightning streaked the sky over the gabled roof of Ellsnor Manor. Horatio St. Francis, Bart. pulled the collar of his greatcoat up around his face to avoid the impending rain. It had been many months since his last visit to the Manor… under much happier circumstances. Their two families had been friends for generations; his own father had been one of Lady Gertrude’s many suitors when she inherited the duchy of Ellsnor. The belle of the Season and a duchess in her own right, she had had her pick of the bucks of the Town. She had settled on the elder of the Banbury brothers, and their son, Lord Hamilton, had been the boon companion of Horatio’s boyhood. But there had been another reason Horatio had spent every holiday from Oxforad at the manor – and that reason was at that very moment beckoning to him from the mullioned French windows of the library. Miss Bernadette Pettigrew blew out her candle as soon as she saw Lord St. Francis return her signal and head toward her. Her heart rose into her throat in anticipation, as it did every time the handsome baronet called upon the family. At first she had merely been flattered by his attentions – after all, she was merely Lady Gertude’s paid companion. But their mutual regard had blossomed into something much deeper in the ensuing months, as evidenced by the passionate embrace that ensued as he stepped into the library, his greatcoat and beaver hat dripping onto the Persian carpet beneath his gleaming Hessians.
“My darling,” he breathed into her ear, “How have you borne it in this house the past few months?” “You’re here now,” she murmured against his strong shoulder. “I know everything will be all right now.”
It seemed as if the ormolu mantel clock stopped ticking for an eternity as he held her close. She melted against his broad chest as he pulled her into a deep kiss. Reaching up into her cascade of ebony curls, he found the comb that held them in place and pulled it free, running his fingers thought the soft waves until they cascaded around her shoulders. He nearly felt his knees buckle at the heady scent of her, and they collapsed onto the divan, clinging tightly to one another. Her topaz eyes widened as she emitted a sharp gasp against his lips. He pulled himself away from her.
“My darling, did I hurt you? I would never harm you for the world. If I forget myself..”
She shook her head, her loosened hair shimmering in the moonlight. “No, no, my dearest. I merely remembered what I wanted to show you tonight.” She chuckled softly as his own eyes widened. “Wait here.”
She rose, smoothing her black bombazine gown, and climbed up the library ladder to the top of a bookcase in the corner. Fumbling around at the top, she brought our a morocco-bound book. She clutched it to her ivory bosom as she came down the ladder and motioned him to the window.
“His Grace – his late Grace, that is – that WAS, rather – entrusted this to me on his deathbed.”
“I thought his Grace was taken suddenly.” Horatio’s long legs crossed the room in a few steps as he joined her by the window to look at the book by the light of the waxing moon.
“He was still alive when I found him in the garden.” She bit her coral lip at the memory. “He had only time to ask me to keep the book for Lord Hamilton, and not to give it to Her Grace or to his brother.” “Then why are you showing it to me, my little goose?”
“Lord Hamilton hasn’t arrived yet. And I was so frightened!” she cried.
Indeed, he could feel her trembling limbs as she stood beside him. He put his arm around her petite shoulders and patted her hand. What a dear little hand – he longed to press it to his lips. She continued, lowering her voice. “The book is written in His Grace’s hand, but in some kind of code. I thought you might be able to decipher it. Lord Hamilton always said you were clever with languages. Perhaps it’s Latin, or Greek. I know it isn’t French. Please do look, my darling.”
Able to deny her nothing, he took the book from her and opened it on the windowsill. IN an odd way, reading the deceased peer’s last words struck him with the feeling of seeing a ghost. He shook his lead. “I’m afraid it’s neither Latin nor Greek, my dear. Nor Arabic, Portuguese, nor any language I’ve ever seen or heard. I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until Hamilton gets here and see if he recognizes it. Probably some sort of secret code between father and son.”
He pulled her close again, and they sat together until the moon sunk into the Surrey countryside.
