Finding Him

Epilogue

Birmingham, 1829

Dark clouds marked the beginning of nightfall as the carriage began to slow down. His fingernails burying themselves into the fabric of the curtain, he ran his gaze over the familiar building.

The carriage finally pulled to a halt and his hold on the curtains loosened as he listened to the coachman jump down and hurry to the side of the carriage where he opened the door. A soft gush of wind washed over his face, his muscles protesting his actions as he forced one leg after the other down the stairs of the carriage until he was standing tall and looking up at the building. The front porch stood empty, causing a wave of disappointment to wash over him even if he should have known not to expect a warm welcome considering the circumstances surrounding his return.

Straightening, he mounted the stairs until he was standing before the closed door and pounding on it. He stood waiting for a few seconds, before the sound of the latch being removed drifted to him from behind the closed door, and the door finally pulled open, revealing the butler.

“My Lord.” He bowed his head, pushing the door further open and stepping aside.

“I shall see my mother.” He stepped into the vast hall and waited by the side until the butler had slammed the door shut and turned fully to him.

“The lady is loath to accommodating visitors this evening. Perhaps my lord would appreciate some dinner and I shall ensure your bed chamber is ready to receive you?”

It was on the verge of his lips to argue, but the butler was right; he would expect his mother to be incapable of accommodating visitors given the recent passing of his father. The thought alone sent a shiver of regret down his spine, causing tears to spring up in his eyes. Turning swiftly to the side for fear the butler would detect it, “Have my valet take my things up to my bed chamber.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“That will be all, you are dismissed.”

He stood still long enough for the sound of the butler's retreating footsteps to disappear completely. Turning to face the hall once more, he allowed his eyes drink in the sight of the home he hadn't seen in so many years and the people he had left behind. Crossing the room, he made his way to the parlor and relieved to find it empty, settled on a sofa.

Why had he chosen to return?! His heart scolded him, a dread settling in the depths of his being. He wasn't welcome here, that was certain and if his mother's silence on the illness of his father until he had passed was anything to go by, he no longer belonged here. He recognised that fact, he of all people recognised the gravity of his offense until he was packing his bags and leaving everything behind to live in India, in a bid to get away from the guilt he felt. The truth however was, he could never get away from the guilt, it would live with him for the rest of his life.

He was still his father's heir, his mother's letter informing him of his father's passing, had said. He was to return to put things in order and take possession of what was rightfully his.

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. He didn't want any of it, he didn't deserve it. He had not only worked to ensure the death of his brother, he had managed to fall in love with his brother's wife. He was a sick man! He was sick enough to have the image of the young brunette haunt him down to his little hideout in India, sick enough to dream of her every night, sick enough to desire her even now as he stood staring into the fire. His father passed away with no knowledge of the truth of his actions, and he had been too much of a coward to confess to his crimes. He had instead chosen the escape route and had fled. But he was back now, for however short his stay would be, he was back to make things right.