portcullised, with a long, high bridge between; a solid defense for times of turbulence. And while the castle had no moat, the undulations of earth when seen from above indicated there once had been one.
Rising up around all this rugged beauty were green and rolling Somerset hills, the castle nestled like a diamond amongst it all.
Bellecombe. Beautiful valley.
He looked down at the south tower, and saw that the thick, wooden doors were opened wide onto the cobbled courtyard, to catch the morning’s warmth, he supposed. He could see Kate sitting just inside, bent industriously over a massive desk, her glossy hair shining in the sun. Suddenly raw lust twisted through him again, seizing his breath.
He forced it away, swallowing hard. He willed himself to look at her objectively. How slight and fine-boned she appeared from this distance. It was a grave responsibility she bore upon those slender shoulders. What a remarkable thing that this great and ancient estate had come to her, and at a relatively young age.
After reading to him this morning from the newspapers, Miss Wentworth had reiterated the story of how her sister had been made heir after their brother Stephen’s death. The young man had apparently injured his spine in a fall, then lingered, bedridden, until pneumonia took him one winter.
Stephen Wentworth had been brought up for this; Kate had not. She had been entirely unprepared. And yet she seemed confident and capable now.
There were a few ancient English titles, Edward knew, that could convey through the female line, but only if there were no males. A string of six or eight entirely competent elder sisters could be displaced by one brother, be he only aged two. Or a spendthrift drunkard. Or an outright fool.
Edward knew many such men—or at least he knew that he knew them. Who they were and under what circumstances he knew them escaped him, perhaps mercifully. But it struck him as reprehensible that a competent female had less standing than a fool with a pair of bollocks between his legs.
Alas, such was English law.
Having taken it all in, Edward descended through the east tower, ending up in a small, vaulted chapel with soaring clerestory windows, their exquisite stained glass shimmering with reds and golds and blues in the morning sun. It made him feel that if God were in a place, it would surely be a place such as this. Beautiful, and yet, with its stiff-backed oak pews and uneven stone floor, just a little humble.
Moreover, it made it ever more plain to him that, whatever their circumstances now, there had once been a vast deal of wealth in the d’Allenay dynasty. Like the right to crenellate for defense, the right to possess one’s own chapel was a privilege bestowed only upon those deemed both wealthy and trustworthy.
Closing the thick, oaken door behind him, Edward secured it by dropping an iron door latch as wide as his wrist, then crossed the bailey. Kate’s office doors still stood open. He hobbled inside, giving a light rap upon the blackened oak slab.
“Edward!” Kate looked up from the letter she was writing, her face breaking into a wide smile as she rose, both hands outstretched in welcome. And he realized in that moment that nothing about her was remotely plain. How had he ever thought otherwise?
“Hullo, Kate.”
“I’m glad, of course, to see you,” she said, the tone both welcoming and chiding at once. “But what are you doing out of bed?”
He took his weight off the elegant, brass-knobbed stick he’d purloined, and smiled. “Getting better,” he said, letting it dangle, aloft, between two fingers. “My balance is improved and Fitch says I should exercise the ankle an hour each day. Moreover, he orders you to free poor Jasper from his nursing duties. I’ve already ordered the cot removed.”
“Have you indeed?” She shot him a chary glance, then motioned to a chair beside her desk. “Well. Sit down. Where have you been since Fitch left?”
“Exploring your
Rising up around all this rugged beauty were green and rolling Somerset hills, the castle nestled like a diamond amongst it all.
Bellecombe. Beautiful valley.
He looked down at the south tower, and saw that the thick, wooden doors were opened wide onto the cobbled courtyard, to catch the morning’s warmth, he supposed. He could see Kate sitting just inside, bent industriously over a massive desk, her glossy hair shining in the sun. Suddenly raw lust twisted through him again, seizing his breath.
He forced it away, swallowing hard. He willed himself to look at her objectively. How slight and fine-boned she appeared from this distance. It was a grave responsibility she bore upon those slender shoulders. What a remarkable thing that this great and ancient estate had come to her, and at a relatively young age.
After reading to him this morning from the newspapers, Miss Wentworth had reiterated the story of how her sister had been made heir after their brother Stephen’s death. The young man had apparently injured his spine in a fall, then lingered, bedridden, until pneumonia took him one winter.
Stephen Wentworth had been brought up for this; Kate had not. She had been entirely unprepared. And yet she seemed confident and capable now.
There were a few ancient English titles, Edward knew, that could convey through the female line, but only if there were no males. A string of six or eight entirely competent elder sisters could be displaced by one brother, be he only aged two. Or a spendthrift drunkard. Or an outright fool.
Edward knew many such men—or at least he knew that he knew them. Who they were and under what circumstances he knew them escaped him, perhaps mercifully. But it struck him as reprehensible that a competent female had less standing than a fool with a pair of bollocks between his legs.
Alas, such was English law.
Having taken it all in, Edward descended through the east tower, ending up in a small, vaulted chapel with soaring clerestory windows, their exquisite stained glass shimmering with reds and golds and blues in the morning sun. It made him feel that if God were in a place, it would surely be a place such as this. Beautiful, and yet, with its stiff-backed oak pews and uneven stone floor, just a little humble.
Moreover, it made it ever more plain to him that, whatever their circumstances now, there had once been a vast deal of wealth in the d’Allenay dynasty. Like the right to crenellate for defense, the right to possess one’s own chapel was a privilege bestowed only upon those deemed both wealthy and trustworthy.
Closing the thick, oaken door behind him, Edward secured it by dropping an iron door latch as wide as his wrist, then crossed the bailey. Kate’s office doors still stood open. He hobbled inside, giving a light rap upon the blackened oak slab.
“Edward!” Kate looked up from the letter she was writing, her face breaking into a wide smile as she rose, both hands outstretched in welcome. And he realized in that moment that nothing about her was remotely plain. How had he ever thought otherwise?
“Hullo, Kate.”
“I’m glad, of course, to see you,” she said, the tone both welcoming and chiding at once. “But what are you doing out of bed?”
He took his weight off the elegant, brass-knobbed stick he’d purloined, and smiled. “Getting better,” he said, letting it dangle, aloft, between two fingers. “My balance is improved and Fitch says I should exercise the ankle an hour each day. Moreover, he orders you to free poor Jasper from his nursing duties. I’ve already ordered the cot removed.”
“Have you indeed?” She shot him a chary glance, then motioned to a chair beside her desk. “Well. Sit down. Where have you been since Fitch left?”
“Exploring your
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