Lost Love Found Read Free

tales told to them by their grandparents of a king named Richard against whom another Lord Barrows had fought. Life without a Barrows was inconceivable.
    When at last Lord Barrows’s body had been washed and dressed, he was set gently upon his bier, his limbs straight, his arms crossed over each other upon his chest. On each side of the bier, tall beeswax candles set in carved and footed silver holders burned. By the side of the bier was a blackened oak prie-dieu with a well-worn tapestried cushion on its kneeler. Here good manners and custom required that the widow keep an all-night vigil over the mortal remains of her lord. Valentina performed as she was expected to do, remaining all night beside the bier.
    At dawn, the sound of the door to the Great Hall opening startled Valentina. She rose to her feet, her head spinning a little from exhaustion and shock. Nan’s strong arms steadied her mistress.
    “You’ll need some food and rest before the funeral, m’lady,” she said. “Come with me now, dearie, and let Nan take care of you.”
    “Aye,” Valentina answered. “I must not disgrace Ned’s memory.”
    In the afternoon, his tenants and few neighbors having all dutifully paid their respects, Edward, Lord Barrows, the last of his line, was laid to rest in the family tomb beneath the estate church next to the body of his first wife, Mary, and their long-dead children. Father Peter said the mass, which was attended by Lord Barrows’s widow, his household servants, and his neighbors. The day was bright and warm, making the funeral service even more poignantly sad.
    Afterward, Valentina sat alone in the Great Hall of Hill Court eating with little appetite the supper made for her by her servants. She thought wryly of their nearest neighbor, one Lady Marshall, who had blurted out that she was certain dear Ned was happy to be with his Mary again, and so soon, too! Then, after the words were out, Lady Marshall realized to whom she was speaking, and the poor woman turned red, white, and then red again as she attempted to stammer an apology. A kind woman by nature, she was horrified by what she’d done. Valentina managed to ease the unfortunate lady’s discomfort, then gratefully accepted Lady Marshall’s excuses as to why she and Lord Marshall could not stay for the funeral supper. What on earth would they have talked about, Valentina wondered.
    She sighed deeply, wondering why she could not, even now, have a good cry over poor Ned’s untimely death. Admittedly she had not loved him, but she had certainly liked him, and they had started to become friends. What kind of an unnatural person was she? Valentina slept well that night, exhausted after being awake all the previous night during her vigil.
    In the morning she awoke with a headache. For lack of anything to do, she found herself wandering aimlessly about the house, meandering without purpose through the well-kept gardens, now all abloom. Suddenly she came face-to-face with the dreadful reality: She did not know what to do with herself. Wed less than a month, she barely knew her duties as the mistress of Hill Court. What on earth did a widow do with her time? How did she behave? All of the servants except her own Nan were looking to her for guidance. What was she to tell them, that they knew more about Hill Court and its late master then she did? She simply had no idea what to do with herself, no idea how to manage Hill Court now that its master was dead.
    In the evening, during the most glorious of sunsets, there came the steady thrum thrum of horse’s hooves on the road leading to the manor. Valentina hurried in from the garden to see who her visitor might be. Her eyes widened and she gasped with relief. The anxiety that had been pinching her features all afternoon drained away when she recognized the rider.
    The great black stallion reached the front door of the manor and the big, handsome rider slid easily from its back. Opening his arms he enfolded her in his