It was late evening by the time Kathryn and Duncan arrived at their destination. It was still light, but the silence of the evening had begun to settle over the countryside. Duncan had arranged everything, just as he had said he would. A week away, just the two of them. He had written to Mr Simmons to ask for the use of his old hunting lodge, a beautiful old building that had been in his family for centuries. He very rarely used it as a hunting lodge these days and more of a countryside retreat when he wished to leave the city behind. Duncan had visited with him before and knew that there would be no disturbances here. Peter had been more than happy to allow them use of the house. It was to be left to Duncan after all, and it was his ancestors' land, too. And so, Mr Simmons had sent word to the staff that resided there on the nephew's behalf.
'Mr Simmons, so nice to see you again,' an older lady waited for them at the arched doorway as their carriage rolled to a stop. Duncan climbed down first, and with his good hand, he helped Kathryn dismount.
'Mrs Wilcox. The pleasure is mine,' he smiled warmly.
'Apologies,' Mrs Wilcox sighed and shook her head. 'You are Mr Lockland now, are you not? Lord Lockland?' She corrected her error.
'I am, yes. I took my birth name when I inherited the Lockland estate and title,' he replied friendly.
'It is nice to see you looking so well,' she smiled, trying hard not to direct her gaze to the sight of his old wound.
'Thank you. Yes, I was a little worse for wear when I was last here,' he laughed. 'Please forgive me,' Duncan moved aside and turned to Kathryn. 'This is my wife, Mrs Kathryn Lockland.' Mrs Wilcox looked at her, a friendly smile turning the corners of her mouth. When Duncan had last been here, he had been married to Lucy.
'It is lovely to meet you, Mrs Lockland,' her voice was soft and kind. Her face was easy and pleasant. Her grey hair was tied up in a bun on the back of her head, and her appearance was elegant and clean. She wore a black housekeepers dress and keys dangled from her waist. Kathryn shifted on her feet; she must have appeared a poor woman in comparison to the beautiful Lucille Simmons. But, if she did, Mrs Wilcox did not act as though she were anyone other than the lady she was born.
'Likewise,' Kathryn smiled back. She was tired from the long journey. Untying the keys from her waistband, Mrs Wilcox handed them over to Duncan.
'I have been given strict instructions that I am to take a week's holiday,' the housekeeper laughed at the thought. 'I will be visiting my daughter. Mr Cross will remain on the estate. He lives above the stables and will take care of your horses. He's a reclusive soul. You shan't be bothered by him. But if you do need anything, rest assured he will be happy to help,' she clasped her hands in front of her.
'Thank you, Mrs Wilcox,' Duncan held the keys. 'We appreciate your time.'
'You're most welcome, Mr Lockland. I'm pleased to see you so well recovered,' she spoke with genuine care.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kathryn caught sight of a man approaching them in a small horse-drawn carriage. He had entered the estate through the gates from the country lane outside, which led directly to the lodge. She turned to him, watching.
'Ah, here is Mr Cross now,' Mrs Wilcox waved gently to the approaching man. He nodded from his seat above them. 'He comes to take me to meet the coach,' she picked up her small case from the ground beside her. 'You should find the house satisfactory,' she turned to Kathryn. 'I have lit the fires in anticipation of your arrival, and the kitchen is well stocked. You should have everything you need,' she checked the time on the silver pocket watch that sat beside the place the key had dangled. Duncan reached out his good hand to her, and she took it as she climbed up beside Mr Cross.
'Leave yea animals er,' the old man spoke to Duncan as Mrs Wilcox made herself comfortable beside him. 'I'll come an sort em when am back,' he nodded, flicked the rains, and their carriage jolted forward. Duncan turned to Kathryn.
'That's it, then,' he raised his eyebrows. 'Would you help me with our luggage?' He asked, holding his bandaged hand up.
'Of course,' Kathryn jumped up and pulled the two cases down as Duncan opened the old, dark wooden door. It creaked a little. It's iron hinges crying in their old age. He reached out to his wife and took a case from her as he led them into the house. Kathryn smiled as she stepped over the threshold, leaving the fading evening behind. She entered the house. A dark panelled hallway greeted her with a large staircase that wrapped around the walls, leading up to the second floor. Large portraits hung on the walls going upwards. On the back wall, under the stairs, a door was almost hidden within the panels.
'The kitchens,' Duncan spoke as he saw her looking, 'and here is the dining room. He moved in front of her to the left wall and opened the door. Kathryn peered in. A grand stone fireplace, bigger than both she and Duncan, occupied the far wall, and a large wooden dining table filled the space with seating for at least twelve people. Duncan then led her over to the door on the opposite wall. This room was smaller but housed an equally impressive fireplace. A small fire burned in the hearth. This was the drawing room. She smiled, taking everything in. 'Let's take these up,' he nodded to the bags by the door, and they each picked one up and began to climb the staircase. As she ascended, Kathryn examined the pictures on the walls. She stopped and looked around.
'This place,' she sighed, surprised by the sudden sensation that crept over her flesh, 'is so familiar,' she shook her head and looked up at the paintings that lined the walls. 'Are these all your ancestors?' She asked.
'Yes,' Duncan stopped on the last step and looked down at the paintings. He frowned.
'What is it?' She asked, watching him.
'It's a strange thing to think of, sometimes,' he shrugged and turned his back to her, opening the first door at the top of the stairs. 'This is the main bedroom. The rest are usually reserved for guests,' he pushed the door open wide, and Kathryn followed him inside. A beautiful, ornamental, delicately carved four-poster bed dominated the room. Another large fireplace with a crackling fire occupied the far wall. The warmth from it radiated outwards. Kathryn walked across the old floorboards to the window. They were small, and she lifted the iron handle and forced one open a little. Again, that strange sensation filled her, and she felt as though she had done this exact thing in this exact house countless times before.
She shivered and looked out the window towards the driveway they had just rode up. Trees lined the lane outside, restricting her visibility. Surrounding them, fields and woodlands rose and fell out to the distance.
'I said I would bring you somewhere no one could disturb us,' Duncan stood beside her. She breathed in; orange blossom and oak moss. It had been almost three weeks since she had last touched him, and he had respected her space, maintaining the distance she had needed. In that time, they had barley talked, save for pleasantries around the children, and the odd heated argument when Kathryn had not been able to stop her thoughts and her anger towards her husband, from controlling her responses.
'It is beautiful,' she whispered as he reached out his hand slightly. His fingertips touched hers, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. 'Duncan,' she turned to him, pulling her hand away.
'I miss you. So much,' the words fell from him. He sighed. His shoulders slumped. He was admitting defeat. 'Please, let me at least try to fix this,' he stepped closer to her. 'I know your trust in me isn't as it should be. I know I am the last person you really want to be alone with, and you're angry. But please, will you allow me at least a little room to try and make this right?'
