another sacrifice for you, dear sister.” Garrett wiped his mouth with the napkin and rose from his chair. “If you will all excuse me, I have an appointment with a stallion.”
“Tea is at four o’clock,” the duke reminded him.
“Fine!” Garrett’s voice was ripe with annoyance as he left the breakfast room.
Meg bit her lip as she watched her brother’s retreat. “Oh, dear, he’s in a temper now.”
Lucinda snorted. “I have never seen your brother when he is not in a temper!”
“Oh, he’s just not happy to be here,” Meg replied, dimples flashing. “Garrett likes to have his own way in everything.”
“So I surmised,” Lucinda said dryly.
“I do want him to have a good time while he is here,” Meg continued, a wrinkle of worry forming between her brows. “I certainly hope he behaves himself for the tailor.”
“He will or answer to me,” the duke declared.
“Oh, Grandpapa,” Meg giggled. “No one can make Garrett do anything he does not want to do. He reminds me a great deal of you.”
The duke grunted, but then smiled at Meg. “Let’s hope you are right, my dear.”
“Come, Meg,” Lucinda said, rising. “The seamstress awaits.”
Garrett rode off most of his headache on Mercury, the swiftest stallion in the duke’s stable. He rode for hours, taken in by the beauty of the Raynewood lands despite himself.
Someday this might all be his…
No . He jerked his thoughts from that dangerous path. He would not be caught in such a trap. So his grandfather was older and frailer than he had expected. That was no reason to forget all that had happened and forgive the wily old bastard for the unforgivable.
He reined Mercury to a stop atop a hill and slid from the horse’s back to look out over the endless green hills of Raynewood. No amount of money, no fertile lands, no blasted title would ever balance the scales of his parents’ deaths.
He had lost his father while still a child, andwhen he had signed on as a cabin boy at the age of eleven, his shipmates had taken over the task of turning a boy into a man. And when he had come home from his voyages, his mother had smoothed out the rough manners he had learned aboard ship.
“Eating with your fingers is not permitted at my table, little man!” she would say in her Irish lilt, swatting his fingers with a wooden spoon for good measure.
“And since when is a son of mine too good to go to the Lord’s house on a Sunday morning?” she would demand when he dawdled about going to church.
And the thing he heard the most often, the words he had taken to heart: “You’re the man of the house now, Garrett, and you must always take care of your sister.”
Good Lord, he could hear her voice as clearly as if she stood beside him. Of course, that was impossible. He would never again hear her scold him, the thickness of her accent indicating exactly how angry she was with him. She hadn’t been a tall woman, but what a huge heart she had packed into that tiny body. She had loved with the fierceness of a warrior, and he couldn’t believe that she was gone.
He swiped at a tear that trickled down his cheek as grief welled up, the fresh wound threatening to choke him.
The horse shifted, seeming to sense his emotional turmoil, and Garrett patted the stallion’s neck to soothe him, trying to distract himself. Trying to control the flood of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He willed back the feelings, but still they surged forth, unrelenting. A hoarse sob escaped his lips.
The floodgates opened, and, shuddering, he gave in to the inevitable and sobbed like a babe, openly mourning the loss of his mother for the very first time.
She was gone, and his life would never be the same again.
Lucinda settled herself on the stone bench amid the rosebushes with a sigh of relief, stealing a few quiet moments to watch the sunset. Going to the dressmaker was always hectic, and never more so than when a young girl was involved. The dressmaker
“Tea is at four o’clock,” the duke reminded him.
“Fine!” Garrett’s voice was ripe with annoyance as he left the breakfast room.
Meg bit her lip as she watched her brother’s retreat. “Oh, dear, he’s in a temper now.”
Lucinda snorted. “I have never seen your brother when he is not in a temper!”
“Oh, he’s just not happy to be here,” Meg replied, dimples flashing. “Garrett likes to have his own way in everything.”
“So I surmised,” Lucinda said dryly.
“I do want him to have a good time while he is here,” Meg continued, a wrinkle of worry forming between her brows. “I certainly hope he behaves himself for the tailor.”
“He will or answer to me,” the duke declared.
“Oh, Grandpapa,” Meg giggled. “No one can make Garrett do anything he does not want to do. He reminds me a great deal of you.”
The duke grunted, but then smiled at Meg. “Let’s hope you are right, my dear.”
“Come, Meg,” Lucinda said, rising. “The seamstress awaits.”
Garrett rode off most of his headache on Mercury, the swiftest stallion in the duke’s stable. He rode for hours, taken in by the beauty of the Raynewood lands despite himself.
Someday this might all be his…
No . He jerked his thoughts from that dangerous path. He would not be caught in such a trap. So his grandfather was older and frailer than he had expected. That was no reason to forget all that had happened and forgive the wily old bastard for the unforgivable.
He reined Mercury to a stop atop a hill and slid from the horse’s back to look out over the endless green hills of Raynewood. No amount of money, no fertile lands, no blasted title would ever balance the scales of his parents’ deaths.
He had lost his father while still a child, andwhen he had signed on as a cabin boy at the age of eleven, his shipmates had taken over the task of turning a boy into a man. And when he had come home from his voyages, his mother had smoothed out the rough manners he had learned aboard ship.
“Eating with your fingers is not permitted at my table, little man!” she would say in her Irish lilt, swatting his fingers with a wooden spoon for good measure.
“And since when is a son of mine too good to go to the Lord’s house on a Sunday morning?” she would demand when he dawdled about going to church.
And the thing he heard the most often, the words he had taken to heart: “You’re the man of the house now, Garrett, and you must always take care of your sister.”
Good Lord, he could hear her voice as clearly as if she stood beside him. Of course, that was impossible. He would never again hear her scold him, the thickness of her accent indicating exactly how angry she was with him. She hadn’t been a tall woman, but what a huge heart she had packed into that tiny body. She had loved with the fierceness of a warrior, and he couldn’t believe that she was gone.
He swiped at a tear that trickled down his cheek as grief welled up, the fresh wound threatening to choke him.
The horse shifted, seeming to sense his emotional turmoil, and Garrett patted the stallion’s neck to soothe him, trying to distract himself. Trying to control the flood of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He willed back the feelings, but still they surged forth, unrelenting. A hoarse sob escaped his lips.
The floodgates opened, and, shuddering, he gave in to the inevitable and sobbed like a babe, openly mourning the loss of his mother for the very first time.
She was gone, and his life would never be the same again.
Lucinda settled herself on the stone bench amid the rosebushes with a sigh of relief, stealing a few quiet moments to watch the sunset. Going to the dressmaker was always hectic, and never more so than when a young girl was involved. The dressmaker
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