An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) Eliza Lloyd (reading books for 7 year olds .TXT) 📖

“The baby was born dead. It was one of the last things she wrote in her diary. She also wrote that she was extremely ill and still bleeding from childbirth. A fatal diagnosis. And her last entry.”

“And Exeter never married her.” Carlow said, stating the painfully obvious.

“Because she didn’t have any properties to bring to the marriage. Just as we thought.”

“Is that the last chapter in this saga?”

“If only there was an epilogue. Just think how it could have all been different if my mother and father had loved each other. I would like to believe she reached out to Exeter just to have someone take care of her, but Father wouldn’t have gone to such extremes if he knew Mother was devoted to him and to me and Timothy.” She let out a breath, feeling defeated. “Good night, Carlow.”

“Mintz will pack your things. We’ll leave at ten in the morning.”

“For Henbury?”

“Of course. You need to see your home.”

“I suppose I must. It’s time.” Now that she’d read the last of her mother’s diary, Henbury seemed the final discovery in the mysterious search, even if it was a smoldering heap. With the opening of the manor door, she could close this part of her life.

* * * * *

Enduring the coach ride to Henbury was a torture. Carlow sat next to her with a straight back and a perpetual frown. The only words he spoke to her were with regard to her comfort. Are you hungry? Do you need relief?

They’d said no soft words upon waking or over the breakfast table. All these weeks later, Nora was anxious. Carlow was withdrawn and without any excitement to show her the Blasington family home. He had described the destruction, but Nora could not see the home in anything but the warmth of her memories.

When the carriage slowed and turned from the main road, Nora sat up and glanced out the window. “Are we there?”

“Nearly.”

What would she remember? What was left of a home fifteen years empty and destroyed by fantastic and unbelievable rumors?

The carriage rattled along the road, slowing again. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed her hand to her chest.

“Nora, we are here. I am sorry that it won’t be how you remember.”

They turned into the lane and Nora gripped the edge of the open window, looking at everything. She held back her smile. No rift with Carlow could diminish her joy at finally returning home. There would be things she would recognize. Carlow’s father could not have destroyed everything.

“Where are the trees?” she asked. There had been apple trees. Many wonderful trees. Rows of trees on each side of the lane. She turned to Carlow, but he ignored her. “Where are the trees?” Misshapen tree trunks marred the lane, branches broken and left where they fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said without turning his head. His jaw flexed.

The ponds were there, but not the clear pools of water she remembered. They were covered in moss, turning the surface a slimy-looking green. A heavy weight bore against her shoulders. Her lungs ached as she tried to pull in air.

“I need to get out. Stop the carriage. Stop the carriage, Carlow!”

Nora couldn’t wait. She had to get out. She threw open the door and jumped from the slow-moving conveyance, landing forcefully and running to a stop in the thigh-high grasses.

“Nora!”

She picked up her skirts and waded through the overgrown pasture, fighting against the urge to scream. She pushed on, looking toward the house and outbuildings.

This wasn’t her home! This was some nightmare that shredded every belief she had about her father and mother; about Henbury Hall; about her and Timothy’s rightful place in life.

Destroyed? The devastation was complete!

The rock fence had crumbled; the wooden fences broken. There were no animals in the pens, no fruit on the trees. No industrious tenants, no lord or lady of the manor.

She found her way to the circular lane, which took her by a building she didn’t recognize or remember. It matched the stone of the house, so it must have been here when she was a child. She walked along the building her hand touching the rough-hewn rock, giving her wobbly legs a bit of stability. The vines covering the wall tickled her palm.

The earthy smell of plant and animal wafted around her, bringing back a rush of memories. A small pony. Her pony named— what was its name?

A small chapel to the right. She’d forgotten that!

Nora stopped and glanced up at the house. There! There she saw some semblance of her home. The rock and wrought iron fence across the front, protecting a manicured lawn. Should she take some comfort in the freshly painted fence and the pristine lawn between it and the front door of the house? That small area hinted at some care. The windows were not broken out but appeared polished. Smoke drifted upward from one of the chimneys.

She glanced at the carriage, now parked at the curve of the lane. Carlow stood at the back of the conveyance, watching silently, holding his hat. His hair rustled in the wind. He did not rush to comfort her, which made the tears all the more bitter.

There were flat stones on the walking path that were slippery when it rained. Nora tread slowly, trying to relive a piece of her history. She opened the front door without a thought as to who might be inside. Carlow hadn’t said anyone lived in the house.

Carlow had said very little about Henbury Hall at all. Only his anger had finally driven him to deliver on his promise to get her home. Was this his punishment for her? To show her that she had no home at all?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to recall