The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2)

the empty ones by burying them outside under the pretence of seeking some vegetables that she might have missed.
The brandy helped her sleep.
As her eyelids drifted lower and she pulled her cold feet up closer to her body, she wondered for a brief moment if it was worth ever waking up again.

Chapter Four
 
 
Wolfbridge was eerily silent as Giles made ready for his journey, putting his necessities in his bag and carrying it downstairs. His travelling coat and an extra cloak were where he’d left them last night, by the front door.
The carriage from Little Maddington had been awaiting his word, and with the current run of calm but cold weather, he’d taken a chance and sent a note yesterday requesting the vehicle and the driver for this ungodly hour.
His intention was to slip out before the others awoke and had said as much last night as he bid them farewell.
“We cannot do it, Giles.” Evan and Jeremy strode down the stairs, robes flapping around bare limbs.
“Do what?”
“Let you leave without wishing you a safe journey.” Jeremy walked up to him and held out his hand.
Giles looked at it. “I’m not hugging either of you.”
“Well, thank God for that,” chuckled Evan. “But a handshake isn’t too much to ask, is it?”
Giles couldn’t help a grin as he shook Jeremy’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “No, it’s not.” He did the same to Evan.
The two faces gazed at him, and for a few moments he felt a bolt of pride rocket through his body. These were admirable men; their backgrounds were different, troubled and could easily have turned them into something else.
But here they were, warm-hearted, generous to a fault and standing together in—and for—Wolfbridge.
Evan inclined his head, as if he heard those thoughts. “Bring us back a good man, Giles. One we can make into a Wolfbridge man.”
Giles nodded. He understood what Evan meant. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do not spare a moment’s worry about us, Giles. You know Wolfbridge will get the best of care while you’re gone,” said Jeremy, his voice sober.
Again, Giles nodded. They’d said much the same last night, but it did no harm to hear it repeated.
The sound of hooves and wheels outside distracted him, and he went to the door, opening it as the carriage drove up smartly, the breath of the horses steaming in the cold air and the driver well muffled against the chill.
“Mornin’, sir,” he touched his hat respectfully. “Ready ter go, are we?”
Giles put on his coat and picked up his cloak and bag. “Yes, we are.”
“Good luck,” said Jeremy, following him to the door.
“Let us know your progress if you can,” added Evan.
“Goodbye. And thank you. I’ll see you both soon.” Giles bounded into the carriage, eager to begin the journey and turning his back on those pangs of regret he always felt at leaving Wolfbridge.
“Our best to Miss Fairhurst,” called Jeremy as the horses picked up speed.
Giles stuck out a gloved hand and waved in acknowledgement, then withdrew it, pulled the window back up and settled himself for the long ride ahead.
The cold had hardened the roads, and the ride was smoother than he’d anticipated. They were well past Little Maddington and on the way to Deepmere when the sky lightened, and a few hours later, Giles surprised himself by waking up to find they were at their first posting inn. He seldom slept in a carriage…he must have been more tired than he realised.
The horses would be changed here, he could refresh himself, and then continue his trip.
The weather continued dry, the sun shone briefly, and Giles was most pleased with the progress they made. His first scheduled stop was at a small inn, nestled in the hills not too far from London.
This was where he had arranged a very important rendezvous, and he alighted just as one of the London coaches arrived, spilling its passengers out into the well-lit courtyard, and sending them inside for refreshments.
He waited, quietly, away from the hustle and bustle, watching the postilions take care of their business, and the ostlers change out the team that looked weary from the trip.
Some passengers would remain here, others continue on to their destination. At this time of year there were fewer travellers moving around the countryside, but even so, this was an arduous journey for both human and horse.
As the last of the crowd walked toward the Inn, one figure remained, standing quietly near the door. A sliver of light caught him as people moved in and out.
Giles crossed the courtyard. “Hullo Royce.”
“Giles,” answered the other man, nodding at him. “You’re here then.”
“As are you. I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Giles looked around. “I’m ready for a meal. Join me?”
“Of course.”
Few words were spoken after that, since Giles wanted to arrange for a room and freshen up before dinner; it appeared the man he’d called Royce had already done the same.
So it was an hour or so later when they met once more in the taproom and agreed to take their ales to a table in the rear where it was a little quieter. Once settled on the hard benches, they ordered food from a tired-looking servant, and then sat back to observe each other.
Giles had his first real chance for a good long look at Royce.
“It’s been…what…at least half a dozen years?” He tilted his head on one side. “You’ve not changed much.”
Royce snorted. “More than that, I think. I’ve aged, Giles. In more ways than I can tell you.”
“Still wandering?”
“Not so much these days.”
Giles squelched down a well-remembered flare of impatience. Talking to Royce was difficult at the best of times, impossible if he didn’t wish for conversation. “You still tending to the