Chapter One
Pounding hooves and frustration drove the
Earl of Chadbourn in a fog of discouragement toward an unfamiliar
fence line. He rode head down into the wind until an unexpected
sight startled him out of his dismals. He pulled Mercury to a
sudden stop. The fence looked to be in good repair. Thank God, he
thought.
Frustration had driven him from his sister's
house, but his neck-or-nothing ride across the fields had done
nothing to ease his burdens, raise his spirits, or banish his
demons. This did.
Can some part of Emery Wheatly's benighted
property actually be in repair?
William Landrum, 10th Earl of Chadbourn badly
needed some sign of order. In the two months he had spent
struggling with his late unlamented brother-in-law's over-grazed
estate, falling fences had been the norm. So had unrepaired tenant
cottages, sodden fields, and poorly managed pastures. The only
things in good heart he had found so far were those that directly
impacted the late Duke of Murnane's personal comfort. If it weren't
for Chadbourn's nephew, the duke's son and heir—now his ward—the
urge to chuck the whole thing and throw it back on the Crown might
be irresistible. He longed to get back to his own land.
Will breathed deeply of the crisp November
air, leapt down, and gave his mount a reassuring caress along its
neck. He bent to examine the fence, sliding his gloved hand across
the top rail. He shook the posts to test their stability. He
examined the crossbars. Perfect. The earl admired quality
workmanship; he rated this work highly indeed.
A short walk took him past a neatly pruned
orchard. The cuttings appeared recent, done just after last week's
hard frost. The orchard could not be on the Duke of Murnane's land.
Eversham Hall boasted no such careful husbandry. He had ridden
farther than planned. What neighbors are these? he wondered. Sylvia
never mentioned them, but then, my sister doesn't tell me much
these days.
The fence turned at a lane and curved past
the orchard. Still leading Mercury, he let his curiosity pull him
along until a farmhouse came into view. He stood at the top of a
gentle slope looking down at a trim, thatched cottage, solid barn,
and garden beds, neat even in late fall, the dried remnants of
flowers to the front of the cottage, vegetable patch out
behind.
In five years of marching through mud and
blood, dreams of just such a scene had been his safe talisman, the
peace of rural England keeping the horrors of death and
dismemberment at bay. Seeing it in reality, after two months of
managing Murnane's damaged legacy, warmed his heart.
He walked down the lane bathed in
contentment, drawn by the need to absorb the place's serenity and
order until barnyard chaos upended his fanciful notions. He had
stumbled onto a domestic crisis. He chuckled as he went.
Piglets ran in several directions, while a
goat charged up the hill toward him, eyes wide with panic. Two boys
ran in circles trying to catch rioting pigs. The more they ran, the
more they sent a flock of geese into a frenzy of honking and
feathers. A dog barked frantically on one side, only to run to the
other and bark more. In the center of the chaos a woman stood, one
hand raised above her head and the other holding her skirts above
the confusion.
Will's vision narrowed to the woman. Tall and
serene, she put him in mind of Athena, striding above the fray to
command calm. Intense longing for her serenity, for her strength,
and for order filled him. For a moment, he could think of nothing
else.
Frantic bleating brought him back to earth.
The goat pelted up the hill toward him. He caught the piece of rope
dangling from a loop around the animal's neck before it could
charge past him. The panicked beast sent Mercury skittering to the
side. A hard yank brought the bleater to an abrupt stop, and a
gentle hand and soft voice calmed it. He could see that the rope
had been violently torn from a longer piece. There's a story here,
he thought, a smile twitching his lips.
Pounding hooves and frustration drove the
Earl of Chadbourn in a fog of discouragement toward an unfamiliar
fence line. He rode head down into the wind until an unexpected
sight startled him out of his dismals. He pulled Mercury to a
sudden stop. The fence looked to be in good repair. Thank God, he
thought.
Frustration had driven him from his sister's
house, but his neck-or-nothing ride across the fields had done
nothing to ease his burdens, raise his spirits, or banish his
demons. This did.
Can some part of Emery Wheatly's benighted
property actually be in repair?
William Landrum, 10th Earl of Chadbourn badly
needed some sign of order. In the two months he had spent
struggling with his late unlamented brother-in-law's over-grazed
estate, falling fences had been the norm. So had unrepaired tenant
cottages, sodden fields, and poorly managed pastures. The only
things in good heart he had found so far were those that directly
impacted the late Duke of Murnane's personal comfort. If it weren't
for Chadbourn's nephew, the duke's son and heir—now his ward—the
urge to chuck the whole thing and throw it back on the Crown might
be irresistible. He longed to get back to his own land.
Will breathed deeply of the crisp November
air, leapt down, and gave his mount a reassuring caress along its
neck. He bent to examine the fence, sliding his gloved hand across
the top rail. He shook the posts to test their stability. He
examined the crossbars. Perfect. The earl admired quality
workmanship; he rated this work highly indeed.
A short walk took him past a neatly pruned
orchard. The cuttings appeared recent, done just after last week's
hard frost. The orchard could not be on the Duke of Murnane's land.
Eversham Hall boasted no such careful husbandry. He had ridden
farther than planned. What neighbors are these? he wondered. Sylvia
never mentioned them, but then, my sister doesn't tell me much
these days.
The fence turned at a lane and curved past
the orchard. Still leading Mercury, he let his curiosity pull him
along until a farmhouse came into view. He stood at the top of a
gentle slope looking down at a trim, thatched cottage, solid barn,
and garden beds, neat even in late fall, the dried remnants of
flowers to the front of the cottage, vegetable patch out
behind.
In five years of marching through mud and
blood, dreams of just such a scene had been his safe talisman, the
peace of rural England keeping the horrors of death and
dismemberment at bay. Seeing it in reality, after two months of
managing Murnane's damaged legacy, warmed his heart.
He walked down the lane bathed in
contentment, drawn by the need to absorb the place's serenity and
order until barnyard chaos upended his fanciful notions. He had
stumbled onto a domestic crisis. He chuckled as he went.
Piglets ran in several directions, while a
goat charged up the hill toward him, eyes wide with panic. Two boys
ran in circles trying to catch rioting pigs. The more they ran, the
more they sent a flock of geese into a frenzy of honking and
feathers. A dog barked frantically on one side, only to run to the
other and bark more. In the center of the chaos a woman stood, one
hand raised above her head and the other holding her skirts above
the confusion.
Will's vision narrowed to the woman. Tall and
serene, she put him in mind of Athena, striding above the fray to
command calm. Intense longing for her serenity, for her strength,
and for order filled him. For a moment, he could think of nothing
else.
Frantic bleating brought him back to earth.
The goat pelted up the hill toward him. He caught the piece of rope
dangling from a loop around the animal's neck before it could
charge past him. The panicked beast sent Mercury skittering to the
side. A hard yank brought the bleater to an abrupt stop, and a
gentle hand and soft voice calmed it. He could see that the rope
had been violently torn from a longer piece. There's a story here,
he thought, a smile twitching his lips.
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