The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

beneath his thick coat and through hers into her flesh. Knowing he was there allowed her to think her own thoughts, many of which revolved around him.

She sensed his desire for her, but understood his devotion to duty. The duty that said he must not touch the Lady of Wolfbridge. Having yet to discover the foundation for that dictate, Gwyneth merely acknowledged it and did her best to refrain from urging him to break the rules.

On some level, she agreed with the fundamental notion that someone had to be distanced from the emotional connections so easily formed between the Lady and her gentlemen. Someone had to be above that, should difficult decisions need to be made.

How could he be unbiased if he shared her body, her bed, and her heart? If she, for example, told him to get rid of one of the others, would he do so because she instructed him to, or because there was a legitimate reason for such dismissal? How easily would his feelings cloud his thoughts and choices?

It was not a straightforward position. Giles had had years of experience with it, and all that time had been emotionally committed to his Ione, even though she had been far away across the Atlantic Ocean.

But Royce…well, as far as she knew, he had no emotional entanglements. And on the rare occasions they’d kissed…his desires had been evident.

She knew her heart held room for one more. And part of Royce was already there. She loved him for what he’d brought to Wolfbridge, but once they became intimate, he would join the others in her heart.

He gave her the security she needed and she would have loved him for that alone. When she walked at his side, she could lay down her worries, allow herself a little time to be dependent on another. This was no small feat for someone who had shouldered her own burdens for almost as long as she could remember. Certainly since that fateful December when she’d lost both lover and child.

For too many years Gwyneth had done her best to control her surroundings. To never become emotionally engaged, and to remain distant from everyone. Only thus had she been able to live a life unscathed by pain. Or at least so she believed.

Now she was learning differently. She had changed, slowly allowing love to permeate those thick walls she had erected around her heart. And she was learning to accept that love willingly and thankfully, and even love back with less hesitation, less fear.

Smiling to herself on the last day of the old year, she offered up a little prayer that their worries would be successfully resolved. Because didn’t they all deserve the best in the year to come?

“Well, we’re set.” Harry walked into the parlour, beaming from ear to ear.

“We are? For what?”

“The school has all the supplies ready, the outside secure and the inside sheltered from the weather.” He held his hands to the fire. “So next Monday we’ll have men removing a few walls and working on the inside supports, getting it all into some sort of shape before we start adding windows.”

“That is wonderful, Harry. Just splendid.” Gwyneth caught his excitement. “When might it be ready, d’you think?”

“If everyone stays with the project for as long as they are needed, we could probably hope to have a class there by the middle of January.”

Gwyneth pursed her lips. “Then I must set about ordering supplies. Slates, of course. Chalk. Lots of chalk. Oh, and should we order desks or chairs? What do you think?”

“Perhaps we should start with just a few more chairs,” he grinned. “Let’s see how well the whole idea works initially. Besides, we really don’t know how many children to expect yet, so I would counsel patience until we have a better sense of what will be needed.”

“You’re correct,” she sighed. “But I am so excited about the prospect of actually having our own school.”

“I can understand that,” he came to her side and knelt down by her chair, reaching to her face and cupping it with his hand. “You are truly the Lady of Wolfbridge. And in this, you are doing good.”

Nothing he said could have pleased and touched her more, and she felt tears well up as he pulled her toward him and kissed her.

“No weeping. It’s a time for celebration. A new year, a new school, and the prospect of many more such advances.” He chuckled, tapped her nose, and stood.

“You need exercise. And much as I’d like to explore the notion with you upstairs in your bed, I believe a walk would be more appropriate.”

She considered his words, then sighed. “I’m afraid you’re right.” Rising from her chair, she leaned against him. “But there is always tonight.”

“New Year’s Eve. Will we celebrate, do you think?” He quirked an eyebrow, delightful wickedness in his eyes.

“I do hope so,” she replied demurely. Then tossed her own wicked smile back toward him. “I’ll get my coat.”

*~~*~~*

The evening was filled with laughter and bright conversation. Evan’s meal was, as always, devoured eagerly and with many compliments to the chef.

Jeremy proudly announced that he had discovered a cache of whisky bottles ageing in the cellar, tucked away behind a pile of old barrels and casks.

Used to brandy, Gwyneth looked forward to trying the whisky, while Jeremy and Evan were all but salivating at the thought of it.

The parlour—which she was coming to regard as their drinking den—once again vibrated with good humour and warmth. The fire burned brightly, plenty of logs were stacked beside it, and the drawn curtains locked them into their own little world. Darcy’s contented snores added the finishing touch.

“This is nice,” Gabriel murmured from his seat on the floor next to Gwyneth’s legs. He stared into the fire. “Awaiting the new year in the