Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
William, in contrast, was never at peace to sit idle on the grounds of the estate. His heart seeks exploration, the duchess mused. He was most fulfilled when out on some new adventure, which was a difficult pill to swallow for a mother who wished to keep her sons close to her.
“Hello there.”
The sudden appearance of a tall middle-aged man startles me.
“Sorry I didn’t hear you sooner,” he says, his expression rueful. “Afraid I fell asleep in the back after my lunch.”
“That’s all right,” I answer. “I hope it’s okay that we’re in here. The door was open.”
“Of course. All are welcome.” He smiles. “Though we don’t get many visitors if I’m being frank. Are you a student?”
“Yes, actually.”
He nods, hunched under the low ceiling. He’s lanky and brittle in a wool sweater and collared shirt. “That’s about all who find a reason to come here these days. There’s the ladies’ bridge club on Sundays. And we do get the odd photo shoot. An episode of Midsomer Mysteries was filmed here once.” That last tidbit brightens him right up.
“Well, that’s something,” I say with a smile. “May I ask a strange question?”
He beams at me. “I adore strange questions.”
“Excellent.” I gesture to the large portrait hanging on the wall behind Nate. “Do you have a theory about Robert Tulley? About what happened to him?”
“Ah.” He thinks on it a moment. “Well, I can’t say I know better than any who’ve attempted to answer that question before. However, Robert was a charming, honorable man who cared a great deal for his family. I suppose whatever occurred, it was quite extraordinary. I’ve often wondered if it was his kindness that did him in.”
“How do you mean?” Nate asks.
“Loyal young man like that, perhaps too trusting of the world. There are any number of ways for someone to take advantage.”
I purse my lips. “You believe he was killed then. Rather than ran away.”
“Who’d run from all this?”
I take his meaning. The former glory. The wealth. The titles and privileges. It’s an ironic metaphor, though, standing in this empty, dark little cottage surrounded by the faces of the dead. Sifting through the wilting remains of the Tulley legacy as their estate crumbles into scandal and bankruptcy.
“They’re buried out there, you know. Nearly every one of them. If you’d like to visit.”
My breath hitches. “Would that be okay?”
I’d been tempted when we first drove by, but it seemed uncouth. Cemetery tourism has always felt wrong to me.
“They sit there all alone otherwise,” the man says soberly.
Nate and I make our way out to the cemetery and walk the rows of weathered headstones. The man at the museum gave us a map of the deceased, and we soon find Robert Tulley’s empty grave. I stare at the eerie blank space where the date of death should be.
“My mother left me,” I say.
Which is an awkward way to start a conversation, but the instinct to do so erupts from my mouth without permission.
“Sometimes she’ll send a birthday postcard or something,” I continue. “Mostly, though, she disappeared. Dropped me off at my dad’s doorstep when I was two and fled without a backward look. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing. When she dies, I might not even know.”
“That’s brutal.” Nate’s voice is low, somber. “I’m sorry.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is it’s weird how context changes the story. History talks about Robert in these mysterious, tragic terms. But what about the people who knew him? The ones left behind. Did they feel abandoned? Discarded? Or if he left for love, why did he let his family forever grieve his loss without closure?”
Nate watches me with that inscrutable expression of his. “You’re passionate about all this.”
I shrug, hoping the heat flaming my face doesn’t appear as obvious in the cooling late-afternoon air.
“Who doesn’t love a good story? It’s romantic, isn’t it? Love and death and tragedy-torn families. Beats Instagram and reality TV or whatever bullshit.”
Nate cracks a half smile that quickens my pulse. “Can’t argue that.”
We walk toward the next row, where I stop in front of another headstone. Lawrence is here as well. The youngest brother, whom the duchess described in her diary as a spoiled, petulant child. The books that mention Lawrence before he became the patriarch of the Tulley family labeled him an unserious, uncurious boy with no remarkable qualities. A boy who managed to be so unlike his brothers.
“If Robert hadn’t disappeared and William hadn’t died,” I say, “Lawrence wouldn’t have inherited the family’s land and titles. He wouldn’t have produced the descendants who humiliated the Tulley name and drove the estate into ruin. It’s tragic.”
“It’s a very British story,” Nate says wryly.
“I take it you aren’t a monarchist.”
He slides a dry glance at me. “No.”
I step away from Lawrence’s grave. As we continue exploring, Nate shoves his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, his long legs moving in easy strides. He’s got this completely unfazed aura to him. Unfettered. More than that, he gives off the vibe that he might take off at any moment. He’s here with me now, but only because he chooses to be. Nothing or no one can capture him unless he lets them.