The Husband List -2 by Victoria Alexander Page B

mixed with a grudging gratitude to his irresponsible parent. Richard had been well on his way to treading his father’s path. If not for the obligations thrust upon him with his sire’s demise and whatever sense of duty passed to him through his mother’s blood, he would have fared no better with his life than the previous earl.
    And, as always, his anger fueled his determination as well.
    A peal of laughter and the bark of a dog sounded in the distance, and Richard couldn’t resist an answering grin. At least his sisters had retained their spirit. Of course, they were all too young to remember when life here had been substantially different. And it wasn’t as if they lived as beggars in the streets of London, never knowing where their next meal would come from. They still had a roof over their heads, such as it was, and their family name, thanks to Richard’s efforts, had regained some measure of its former respect. Even their finances were slowly improving.
    He reached the broad stone steps that swept up in a graceful curve to the front entry and slid off his horse. When he was a boy, there would have been someone near at hand to take the reins. In its grander days, the estate would have provided employment for more than a hundred servants in the house and stables and grounds. There were nowhere near that number when Richard had come into his questionable inheritance, and he’d let most of those still in service go, retaining only old Ned, who attempted to keep the house from falling down around their heads, and his wife, Molly. Shelbrooke Manor was as much their home as it was his.
    Tenants remained as well, farmers who fared little better than he but kept food on the table for their families and, in lieu of rent—his—with a paltry amount left for market. Production could be vastly increased, but improvements to the land and implementation of the latest in agricultural methods were costly. The fortunes of all who inhabited the estate, be it in the manor or in the cottages, were as tied together today as they had been for generations. And it took funds to improve their lot.
    Richard looped the reins over the saddle and strode up the steps. The horse wouldn’t go far. He too was home.
    He reached the wide wooden door, weathered from years of protecting those within from rain and cold and whatever else threatened. He grasped the big brass handle and pushed. The door swung open with a protesting creak.
    “Richard!” The call mingled with the incessant bark of an overexcited dog. He braced himself and turned.
    A large, dripping, brown-and-white fur ball bounded toward him, followed by his youngest sister, just as exuberant and nearly as wet. The dog skidded to a stop at the bottom of the steps and started up the stairs.
    “Henry,” Richard said sharply.
    The beast stopped short and stared up with what could only be described as adoration in his brown eyes. His body quivered with barely suppressed joy and the impetus of a madly wagging tail.
    “He just wants to welcome you home. He misses you, you know.” Becky halted beside the dog and grinned. “So do I.”
    “As I miss you, little sister.” He smiled down at her. At age sixteen she still had more hoyden than miss in her. Her dark hair was mahogany red, and with every passing day she showed the promise of exceptional beauty. A blessing or a curse. “I would hug you, but—”
    She laughed and pushed a wet strand of hair away from her face. “I was trying to give Henry a bath.”
    “Or he was giving you one.” A whiff of wet dog assailed his nostrils. “Apparently he needs bathing.”
    Becky wrinkled her nose. “Henry has an alarming tendency to roll in the most vile things he can find.”
    As if in response to the criticism, Henry chose that moment to shake himself. Water and its accompanying pungent scent sprayed in a wide arc.
    “Now, now, Henry.” Becky grabbed his collar and pulled him farther from Richard. “Stop that this