Regency passion that defies all rules...

 

Chapter 1

Raymonde stared into the grass-pale eyes of the gentleman who stood opposite her. She felt her heart thump, but schooled her face swiftly to neutral, ignoring her body’s instant reaction to him.

Stop it, Raymonde! Why would he even remember who you are?

She bit her lip. Osburne, her brother the Duke of Maverly, would have told her she was just being stupid. Why would a gentleman remember her after a whole year’s passing? She was nobody. Not beautiful like Cousin Vee or accomplished like Stella. She was just herself.

She recalled Osburne’s words with something like a physical pain in her heart. You’re just plain and drab. No wonder you’re a wallflower.

That, she thought sadly as she glanced down at her white muslin day-gown, was one of the reasons she never usually attended society events. She had nothing to contribute, and no desire to have that pointed out by everybody there. Osburne had always said that nobody liked her.

She drew a breath. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, dropping a low curtsey. She watched his reaction through half-lowered lids. She expected him to look bored, or drunk. Why else was he here, with her, when there was a whole roomful of people to talk to? He did neither of those things. His strong-jawed face registered surprise, and then he bowed, too.

“Enchanted, My Lady,” he said gently.

Her eyes drifted from broad shoulders to a narrow waist. He was a fine fellow, she thought. She felt her face flush. She seemed to recall he’d been in the army at some point of his life. She vaguely remembered him from Luke’s last year. He wasn’t the sort of gentleman who’d be interested in her, she was sure.

I’d be lucky if anyone was.

Again, Osburne’s words seemed to speak inside her mind. She shut her eyes a moment, wishing she could keep them out. She had wished it so many times in her life.

She was a little girl, standing at the bottom of the steps at her father’s house. The smell of dust was around her, mixed with the beeswax lineament used to clean the banisters. She was standing on a step below her brother. His tall form loomed over her. His face was stern.

“Beanpole!” he teased. “Who’d want to teach you to dance, anyway? You won’t need to.”

“How so?” she’d asked. She was thirteen, and he was sixteen. She still thought he knew something more than she did. He was already attending parties, and she was still a child and she waited for him to pass on whatever truth he had to tell.

“Nobody would ever want to dance with anyone like you.”

She’d burst into tears and ran to her room, but she hadn’t the silence and privacy to herself for long. Her maid, Mrs. Partlow, came in to clean. She told her to grow up and forget it.

“You’re a young lady, Lady Raymonde. You’ll hear worse from people, and you must learn to steel yourself.”

“Yes, Mrs. Partlow,” she’d agreed softly. She tried to shut the words out.

She would have, she thought sadly, if she could. But Osburne never apologized and never stopped. He’d teased her horribly about her pale skin, her gangly height, her clumsiness, and she’d wished both then and now that she could find some way to drown out the words Osburne had planted in her mind. Somehow, they seemed to stick there and grow, until now, even though he wasn’t here anymore. She was still afraid to come out into public.

They’ll see what he sees: a graceless, wheaten-faced wallflower.

“My Lady… Might I interest you in some cordial?” the officer in front of her said politely.

She frowned, surprised he was staying on to chat with her. Most people tended to exchange a few sentences out of politeness. Osburne said it was only the Ton’s manners that made anybody bother.

She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you going to fetch more for yourself?” she asked frankly. “I had thought there was enough to drink at the card-table.”

It was a challenge, of sorts. If he was just one of the drunken louts who tended to flock to Luke’s house for food and cards, then he could leave her alone.

He smiled, and she felt her heart leap. He had a plain face – squarish, with a high forehead and a slim, elegant nose – but when he smiled, he transformed. His green eyes sparkled, and his grin was like a flash of brightness. It struck all of the way to her heart and she found herself looking at him with fresh interest.

“What?” she asked. “Did I say something that amused you, good sir?”

“I don’t play cards. Not unless persuaded.”

“Oh?” She felt a smile twist her lips, too. She had either not noticed that or forgotten. “Why is that?”

A strange look came over his face and she wondered what it was. She turned away, feeling embarrassed. He clearly didn’t want to answer. That was it, then. Just like Osburne always said, people would tire of her quickly. She had nothing to offer, not even sparkling conversation like Claudine.

“Did you ride this morning?” he asked politely, changing the subject.

She turned around and fixed him with a look.  “I don’t go riding,” she said smoothly. “Not unless persuaded.”

He laughed.

She felt a bubble of joy rise in her, hearing his infectious chuckle. She felt her lips lift in a grin. She had hoped to quash his polite interest and found instead that he was a companion able to do more than just exchange pleasantries or talk about the weather.

“Well said.” he chuckled.

“Thank you, sir.”

He bowed again, and Raymonde felt a flicker of brightness in her heart. He really was a handsome man, and charming, too, in his own way. “I don’t know if you remember me. I am Lieutenant Cutler Wingate. Lieutenant in the Norfolk Regiment of Foot,” he introduced himself to her again.

“I see.” Raymonde curtseyed. She noticed, along with his name, an absence of any form of title. It was obvious in a room where earls, marquesses and other titles were commonplace. She found it refreshing. Life with the Ton, even with Luke and Emilia, could be extremely stifling. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“Well, it isn’t making, so much as renewing,” he said, and she thought she saw a hopeful look in his eyes.

She tensed. What was he up to? Osburne had said gentlemen were either polite or lustful, and they had no other reason for talking to her. “Well, that’s nice, sir…”

He cleared his throat. “I was here last summer, if you recall?” he interrupted effectively blocking her attempt to extract herself. She turned back to him, listening to him.

She nodded slowly. “I do, yes.”

He had been a guest of Luke’s a year ago, like she had. And she did remember, rather well. She remembered his fall off a horse, and what he’d said when he woke.

He looked glad. “I’m pleased you remember, because…” he paused, looking down. “I wanted to give you something.”

“What do you have to give me?” Raymonde frowned, feeling concerned as he reached into his pocket, hunting around for something. What was he looking for in there? She scanned the room, looking to see if Emilia was near, but her friend was on the chaise-lounge, laughing at something Hestony had said. She knew she couldn’t rely on rescue from that quarter. She focused bravely on the gentleman in front of her, waiting nervously for whatever he produced from his pocket.

“This,” he said. He passed her a square of linen, edged with soft lace. She stared, and recognition slowly filtered into her mind. Suddenly, she remembered. The scene flashed into her mind, as bright as if it were happening in front of her all over again.

It was a summer’s day, the sun slanting down through the branches of a tall conifer. The air smelled of grass and hay, newly-harvested. She was dressed in a red riding-habit, the stays tight against her waist, a bonnet over her hair. She was kneeling on warm earth, her eyes squinting against the sunshine as she watched over a wounded gentleman.

He sat up awkwardly and blinked at her.  “Auntie?”

“Are you alright?” she asked, biting her lip to stop a smile at his confused face. “I’m Lady Raymonde. Can I help you?”

He smiled back, a grin that reached out and touched her heart. “I hope so,” he said.

He had blood on his chin and it ran down his face, staining his necktie. She reached into her reticule and drew out a handkerchief.

“Here,” she said. Without even thinking, she dabbed at the blood on his chin. “You poor thing.”

She handed the bloodstained cloth to him as he lifted his arm. His fingers brushed hers. She tensed, as the feeling shivered down her arm and into her belly like fire down a fuse.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was resonant and made fires burn inside her.

“It’s nothing.”

His green eyes, flecked with brown and sunlight, looked into hers.

“My Lady,” a voice said, interrupting her daydreaming. Raymonde blushed.

“Yes?” She looked at Lieutenant Wingate, hoping he hadn’t noticed her inattentiveness and marked her as odd. People already thought she was mad. She should know that. “I was elsewhere. My apologies.”

“Not at all,” the lieutenant said, his grin broader this time. “If I had a coin for every hour I whiled away in my head, I would be much richer than I am now.”

She laughed. She thought he was probably joking, but when she glanced down at his velvet suit, which was a little worn at the knee, she had a feeling he was serious. That, in itself, was refreshingly-honest.

“I would have thought you spent very little time in your head,” she said gently.

“Even if I did – every penny helps.” He grinned.

She giggled again. There was something so straightforward about him, so honest, that she couldn’t help letting her own guard fall just a little. She never thought to meet anybody who wasn’t stuffed with etiquette and manners, just like the rest of the Ton. Just like Osburne.

“Well, then,” she said gently. “If I bet you a coin that you still can’t outrace me, I might help your cause a little.”

“How so?” He grinned at her, eyes sparkling.

“By giving you a coin when you win, of course.”

He smiled wider, and she felt her tummy tingle as his green eyes met and held hers. “I’ll take the wager, but the coin is already yours, My Lady. I warrant you’re as fine a rider now as you were last year.”

Raymonde smiled. “I hope we’ve both improved after a whole season’s practice.”

He raised a brow. “We’ll find out,” he said.

She grinned, feeling restless. “When?”

“How about now,” he offered. “Why not?”

Raymonde stared at him in surprise. It was a shocking idea, after all. Not only were they here for the recital, but there was also the fact that she was a society lady, who shouldn’t be going anywhere unchaperoned.

What would people think of her?

She winced, recalling something else. Nobody could think anything worse. She was ruined in society because her brother’s flight from London —following allegations of embezzlement and other criminal activities. It had broken her reputation beyond repair. She looked at Lieutenant Wingate. Then she looked wistfully around the room.

The drawing room was lively, a place of groans and mirth from the card-table, and crystal tinkling and laughter from the chaise-lounge. The firelight bathed the scene, making up for the darkness creeping in as the sun set over the lawns outside. They, Lieutenant Wingate and she, were alone in one corner. Emilia, Hestony, and some of the other ladies were sitting on the chaise-lounge by the fire, giggling and sipping cordials. Luke, Lord Canmure, and two other men she did not remember, had taken drinks to another corner and were sitting, heads nodding or frowning, involved at the card-table.

She and Lieutenant Wingate were two souls adrift on an island of silence. Neither of them fit here.

I have had far too much of the Ton, and I think he was never included.

When she looked back at the officer, he was also staring out across the drawing-room, a faraway look on his face. She frowned, and he cleared his throat.

“I don’t think they’ll notice, if we go,” he said. His voice was a little sad.

Raymonde nodded. “I suppose not.”

He looked into her eyes and in that moment, it felt as if, just for a second, something in him, his soul, perhaps, touched hers. She swallowed hard.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go riding.”

Chapter 2

Raymonde felt the wind tug at the strings of her bonnet as she rode at a brisk trot. She felt alive up here, riding through the wild Yorkshire countryside.

She risked a twist in the saddle, looking back over her right shoulder to see Lieutenant Wingate, making halting progress. His top-hat cast odd shadows as he raced through the sunlight, trotting swiftly on the back of a bay, thoroughbred horse.  She held her breath as she watched him.

Tall and straight he sat, his posture perfect for riding. She felt a sweet tingle inside her and she turned her attention to something else, a deliberate distraction. Tall, muscled and with a perpetually wary expression, the horse he chose was quite frightening. Raymonde gave it a healthy berth whenever she had to visit the stables. She recalled the same horse being Lieutenant Wingate’s last year. She wondered if he’d brought him from Spain with him.

Don’t be silly. He was a foot-soldier.

That, in itself, was odd. A gentleman – and he must at least be from a reasonable family for Luke to know of him – would usually never serve in infantry-regiments. Gentlemen rode. They never marched with the infantry. She tucked the thought away, wanting to ask him about it.

“Wait a moment!” he called out as he rode up behind her. “Whew! You’re fast.”

She grinned and stopped her horse. He leaned on the saddle, his breath heaving. She hid her amusement as he looked up at her. He drew up alongside her and stopped. His cheeks were pale, and she could see he was straining to breathe.

“Having a good day?” she asked innocently.

He scowled at her. “I arrived yesterday in the rain. I spent most of last night restless and tossing. Then we spent the morning letting Canmure tell us about his holiday on the Continent. What do you think?” His gaze was challenging.

Raymonde chuckled. Most ladies, she thought, would be shocked at such frank talk. Herself, she found it refreshing. A life lived with Osburne’s reinterpreting the tiniest nuance of what anyone said to her, made frank talk a blessing. “I suppose not.”

He chuckled. “You suppose correctly.”

He glanced at her and she felt a flush of color in her cheeks. His look was assessing, and she felt a mix of affront and pride. What was he staring at?

He looked away again. “You rode fast.”

She nodded. “I love riding.” She looked out over the countryside surrounding them. The Yorkshire dales were, she thought personally, the most beautiful scenery in the whole country. They sat atop a hill, surrounded by oak-trees. She could just glimpse through the branches the scene in the valley below, where golden grass stretched out over the moors, as far as the eye could see. In the distance, rugged hills broke the skyline. The clouds were a fluffy line on the cerulean horizon.

“You’re happy here.” It was a statement. Not a question.

“Um, yes,” Raymonde said, surprised again by his frankness. “I love the Yorkshire landscape.”

“And I hate Town,” he commented.

Raymonde laughed. “Oh, sir! That’s a fine reason to love it up here. Town is hateful, for certain; but don’t you think this place has something else to distinguish it?”

He looked out over the valley, as if he was considering what she’d said. She looked into his green eyes and thought he was making a show of indifference, but he had a softness about his gaze that told her he loved it.

“It has its charms,” he said. He looked back at her.

Again, Raymonde felt that strange mixture of being pleased and annoyed. What was he playing at, levelling that comment at her like that?

If he likes me, he might use some of that legendary straightforwardness of his. And if he’s being polite, he isn’t exactly skilled in it.

She turned back towards him, face stiff. “You call our trip up here a race? Or should we bet the coin on the downhill ride?”

He laughed, a little disbelievingly. “My Lady! You really want to race?”

“It’s why I came out,” she said levelly. “You challenged me to a race. I will race.”

He laughed. “My Lady, I surrender! You beat me on the uphill ride, which is more skilled. I have no yearning to see myself beaten hollow on the downhill charge.”

She thought his smile was easily the loveliest thing she’d seen. She felt her heart melt a little and smiled too. “Well, then. I think our debt is settled.”

“I owe you a coin, My Lady.” His eyes held hers and she felt herself a little breathless.

“No,” she said, when it looked as if he might actually give her the money. “Or at least wait until we’re back at the house.” She truly couldn’t accept money from somebody who was hard on their luck.

He shook his head. “No, I insist. Let me give it to you now. I have my reasons.”

“Why is that?” she asked, feeling her heart beat a little faster. In spite of herself, she found him interesting.

Beaming, he reached into his coat-pocket. “Because we never agreed as to the denomination. And a half penny is all that I have with me.”

She felt a laugh escape her throat and stifled it with a gloved hand. He was also laughing, bent over on the saddle, shoulders lifting with chuckling. She looked down at him, feeling a wild happiness fill her to see such unguarded joy. He looked up and his eyes held hers.

They were fell silent. In that moment, the world disappeared. All that existed – all that she saw – was pale green eyes, flecked with copper highlights. He stared at her and she felt her heart start to thud.

He coughed and she felt something shift as he looked away. She broke eye-contact, staring at her gloves.

“My Lady,” he said softly. “We should go back.”

“Yes,” she murmured. She didn’t want to risk looking at him, feeling her cheeks flare with blushing. He would notice and wonder what was wrong with her.

“I suppose we’re going to miss the recital,” he said.

Raymonde risked a glance at him, to gauge his mood. He was grinning.

“Yes,” she said, in between gales of giggles. “Quite so. How will we live without it?”

“It’s going to be very difficult, but maybe we can manage.”

They were both still laughing as they rode side-by-side downhill.

The day was cooler here, the side of the hill already shadowed as the sun set. The wind ruffled the grass, which was vivid orange in the intense sunset. Trees stretched their gray shadows all the way into a dark horizon. Raymonde shivered.

“I suppose we really will be late. I hope it doesn’t take too long to get back.” The thought of being stuck out here on the moor when the sun went down was not appealing. She started to feel afraid. Even on Luke’s own estate, nothing was assured of being safe.

“We can race on the way back?” Lieutenant Wingate said with a grin “And then when we arrive, I’ll give you the coin. A more-valuable one. From my wallet.”

She laughed. “I have a shilling in my purse,” she said, feeling the light weight of her velvet draw-string reticule, looped still around one wrist as she rode. “It’ll be yours when you beat me.”

“Wager accepted.”

He set his weight forward and he shot off. Raymonde, surprised and breathless, shot off after him. She felt her own horse, Whisper, gallup under her, muscles flowing smoothly. She patted her neck to encourage her onward.

“Yes, girl,” she breathed excitedly. “We can catch that silly fellow, what say you?”

Her horse snorted and set off at a canter. Raymonde, riding side-saddle, gripped the reins and felt the breeze tug her hair. She wished she could take her bonnet off and ride with her hair flowing in the breeze, like she did on the estate as a little girl, before Osburne saw her do it.

“Go! Go!” Lieutenant Wingate was yelling encouragement to his mount as she caught up. She laughed and slowed down beside him, giving him a fond smile.

“Having a good day?” she asked politely. It was a reminder of their earlier conversation.

He laughed. “Not much better than it was, strangely enough.” He gestured to the manor. “I’d give a lot to be in there, with Lord Canmure cataloguing the contents of the manor where he stayed in Geneva.”

She started laughing and he grinned and again, she felt that sensation, as if he was touching her soul.

She tipped her head to one side. “Ready to continue?” she asked recklessly. “It is a race to the house, after all.”

“I think Theodosius here has had a good rest,” he said, indicating his horse. “So, we can proceed, though I warn you, I only have a farthing.”

“I think you’ll be getting my shilling at the end of it,” Raymonde replied, laughing.

“Don’t be too sure,” he warned, and, grinning, held up a hand to indicate when they should continue.

“And… Go!” Raymonde shouted it gleefully as they set off. “Are you going to gallop?” she called back, feeling a little concerned as the day had darkened and she couldn’t see the path. It was a foolish-enough time to be racing, she thought worriedly, without risking death.

“No!” he called back. “I promise I won’t cheat.”

“I trust you!” she shouted back, as he cantered on ahead. She meant it.

As she rode, taking care to keep an eye out for branches in the pathway, she realized that it was true, what she had said. She trusted him, more than she had ever trusted anyone before.

It was a remarkable feeling.

The sound of horse’s hooves rang out, catching Raymonde’s ear. She tensed, alert to the sound. They weren’t the sound of Lieutenant Wingate approaching, since he was riding behind her. Whoever this was, rode up from ahead, and there was more than one of them.

“A hunting party, out at this time?” Raymonde asked aloud. At this time of day, it seemed very odd.

She leaned back in the saddle, slowed her horse to a trot, and continued. At that moment, she caught sight of the group: maybe six horses, moving swiftly up the path towards her.

“Raymonde! Move!”

Before she could gather her thoughts, she felt somebody cannon into her from behind. A hand, outstretched, grabbed her bridle and hauled her horse to the right, sharply, off the path. Her horse neighed and reared and she screamed as she was thrown back.

The riding-party shot past, the six horses almost on top of her.

“Girl, no!” Raymonde screamed, as her horse reared again, throwing herself back in a buck that made her sick. If her horse decided to bolt, she might be thrown and killed. If she rolled, she’d be crushed.

Another horse neighed nearby as Raymonde’s mount came down from the spine-jarring buck.

Her horse reared, then shuddered and stood still. She dismounted, sliding down from the saddle. She stared up at her assailant. Tears of fright ran down her cheeks. Whoever had pulled her off the path like that, they could have killed her.

“Lieutenant?” she whispered, not believing who she faced. “What did you do that for?”

She stared up at Lieutenant Wingate.

He didn’t seem to be aware of her presence. He was leaning with his hands on the horn of the saddle, his eyes wide and vacant. He was white as paper, she noticed, and a fine tremor ran through his fingers.

“Lieutenant?” she said loudly. What was wrong with the man? She felt her stomach twist in alarm, his manner frightening her. Was he taking leave of his senses? His action was certainly that of somebody not in possession of his sense. “Lieutenant?”

His head snapped up. He looked around.

“Lady Raymonde?” His eyes focused on her face. She saw recognition dawn there, and his expression changed from shock to horror. He slid down off the saddle and came to stand beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder which she shook it off.

“Lady Raymonde?” he said again. “Please. I’m sorry. When the riders came along, I thought… I… I don’t know what I thought. Forgive me,” he added softly. He hung his head.

“If my horse had bolted, you could have killed me,” Raymonde said. Her jaw was tight, and the words came out tonelessly. She felt beyond anger, beyond reproach. He – by dint of insanity, or wanton cruelty – had almost ended her life.

And to think I trusted him.

She felt her stomach clench and wanted, suddenly, to be sick. Holding her hand to her lips, she ran into the brush. Her stomach heaved, and she retched. She’d eaten nothing since luncheon, so there was very little to expel. She dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief, feeling exhausted. She heard a twig crack behind her as she stood up again.

“I’m so sorry,” Lieutenant Wingate whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

Raymonde just looked at him. He, too, looked as if he might like to be sick. He was deathly-pale, his eyes wide. She looked at his hands to see if they shook, still, but he’d clasped the fingers together and was holding them rigidly still.

Wonderful, she thought with a wry smile. The only man I ever meet whom I can trust, and he turns out to be wandering in the wits.

She looked down. She had no idea what to say. She was beyond anger, even. All she wanted was to get back to the house.

“We should go back. It’s getting dark.” She tried to infuse her voice with a brisk tone, but it came out sounding flat and emotionless. She was too tired to think. All she wanted to do was get on her horse and ride back and never see anybody again.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Lady Raymonde. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“No,” she said, with a touch of asperity in her voice as she took her horse’s reins in her hand and led her around to a tree-stump, so that she could mount up. “I don’t suppose you did. No harm done,” she added, turning to face him. She had one foot in the stirrups, her hand holding the reins. Her horse looked around at her warily, as if aware that she’d shocked her.

“It could have been so much worse,” he whispered. “Please. Let me help you,” he added, walking forward, reaching for the reins of her horse.

“I think you’ve done quite enough for one day, Lieutenant,” Raymonde said lightly, swinging her foot up and settling herself in the saddle. She had control of her voice now, and she tried to keep it neutral, though inside she was shaking with fury. “Let’s go back to the house.”

She turned away and carried on down the path, her back straight. Her horse’s mood was rather subdued, and she patted her neck gently, trying to encourage her. It wasn’t her fault, after all.

She heard Lieutenant Wingate mount up and start to ride down the path behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

“My Lady, I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“That’s all very well,” she said lightly.

He could say sorry until the day ended, she thought sadly. It wasn’t going to undo what he’d done, or rebuild her trust in him.

Her head held high, Raymonde rode down the path towards the house through the darkening woods. It was time to get back to the house and put Lieutenant Wingate and whatever malaise or cruelty affected him, far out of her mind. She wasn’t about to meet another Osburne – not when she’d only just seen the departure of the first one.

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Chapter 1

Katherine blew a strand of hair away from her face as she stood in front of the door, her gaze on the faint carvings on it. The double Italian doors that served as the entrance to Bowmount Hall was all she could stare at as she stood there, contemplating on how to push open the door after being missing for the whole night. She’d fled to the church upon the news she had heard. Victor was gone, and she would no longer see him. He was gone from their lives, forever.

All she wanted was to be alone, so she could fully comprehend what was going on. So she could wonder where it had all gone wrong. Maybe if he had listened to her, then none of this would have happened.

The screech of iron wheels made her eyes widen and she tensed. Her heartbeat increased when the carriage stopped.

“Oh, dear Lord, Katherine!” She heard a loud gasp.

She would know that voice anywhere. Her eyes were certainly still red, but she could not care less because she knew her best friends had arrived.

“We’ve been so worried,” Esther said. Her voice was louder than it had been before. They were close to her now.

“Katherine!” Anne said hurriedly, before she felt her shoulders jerk backwards and Anne hugged her. Katherine blinked a few times, her hands to her sides, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. She began to wonder if it was right that she returned home now. Perhaps a few more days to herself would stop her from crying so much.

“You had us worried,” Anne cried, her head on Katherine’s shoulder.

Esther stood behind, her right hand raised in confusion and her face scrunched. They had been worried. Lady Anne Huntington, Duchess of Richmond and Lady Esther Hamilton, Duchess of York had been her closest friends for as long as she could remember. They had been with her through everything she’d faced in her life. It was understandable that both of them would be standing before her now, in tears. She wanted to hold them close and bawl her eyes out, but she didn’t. She wanted to be strong.

The front door opened then, large doors pulling backwards, and Mr. Stewart looked out, his first expression was that of irritation, before he took in the sight before him. “Oh dear, Lady Bowmount!” He proceeded to yell into the house. “Lady Bowmount is home!”

“I am fine,” Katherine insisted, pushing herself away from Anne’s hold. She held both their gazes for a brief moment before she turned, and without looking at anyone, she walked into the house.

“Lady Bowmount!” someone called after her, she was not sure who it was. She didn’t care to know.

“Katherine!” It was her mother.

She stopped walking, and in front of her, in the hallway, stood her parents and her brother, James. She didn’t want to see all of them now. She just needed to be alone. She didn’t want anyone coddling her. She just needed space, peace, and quiet.

“Katherine…” her father whispered.

She wondered what was running through his mind as he stood there, staring at her and saying with his eyes ‘I knew something bad would happen.’ She didn’t want this.

She nodded at them curtly and repeated the same thing she told Anne and Esther. “I am well.” Then she turned and walked up the stairs that led to her bedchamber.

She didn’t want to cry anymore, she’d gone through so much, yet she stood through it all. She wanted to have some time alone, some change of clothes and then peace and quiet. From the corner of her eye, she saw everyone watching her as she walked. Only Darlene, her lady’s maid, knew to walk behind her, quietly.

“Mother!” she heard Victoria call from downstairs, and she wondered where she’d run out from. Katherine didn’t want to see her yet. She ignored her daughter’s tearful cries, knowing full well that the people she trusted were down there to care for her.

 

*****

 

“It’s alright to want to be left alone, Katherine. I had wanted to be left alone, too.”

Slowly, Katherine turned. She was about to head down to meet everyone who awaited her. Perhaps she’d kept them there in silence for too long. She’d wanted to show them that she was fine, but the voice stopped her.

Lady Louise Willington, the Dowager Marchioness of Bowmount, stood there in a black muslin. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were red rimmed. She pressed her lips in a thin line before she spoke.

“When Victor’s father left me and ran after the quick-rising actress, Sarah Balfour, I was heartbroken. I was shattered. I loved him very much, and his affair was a betrayal. But most of all, I knew that I could do nothing about it. That was the moment I lost him. We were never on good terms even until his death. While he gambled away all we had and drank himself to stupor.” Louise sucked in a breath and breathed out harshly. “I had to keep everything together; I had to make sure the little that was left, the little I could manage, was enough to give my son a good life. But it only got worse when he died, and we lost everything.”

Katherine creased her brows, wondering what and why Louise was telling her this.

The Dowager Marchioness went on. “When I lost Victor’s father and was left with two children to fend for, I was enraged. Angry. I was so lost in my hatred for him, for how he ruined everything.  I directed my hatred at Anne, but still, it affected my son, as well.”

Katherine clenched her teeth. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Dowager Marchioness stepped forward; her lips curled upward in a sad smile. “Because I know how angry you were at Victor as he left. You didn’t want him to go.”

“I was scared,” Katherine whispered. She had been frightened that storms would beset Victor’s ship.  She had been right.

“I know. Do not let your guilt be the reason you keep away from Victoria. It was irresponsible of you to leave her. You have to know something, dear— be strong, for yourself and your daughter.” The Dowager Marchioness’s eyes were glistening with tears.

Katherine creased her brows, knowing full well that the tears were not only from Victor’s death. Katherine and the Dowager Marchioness had never really been close, but they had mutual respect for each other. Katherine rarely ever spoke to her; they never argued over anything. The Dowager Marchioness never outright expressed hate or anger towards Katherine, and yet, there was something there. Katherine felt that the Dowager Marchioness simply saw her as a means of escaping the debt Victor’s father had put them all in. Now, Katherine was moved to inquire what the problem actually was.

“Pray tell, is there something more that I should be worried about, other than burying my husband?”

Louise nodded slowly. “Victor is dead. You bore him no son. Therefore, this house now belongs to neither of us. The former Lord Bowmount had a sister Victor’s Aunt. She lives in Flitwick, a small town far from here.” The Dowager Marchioness’s eyes widened. “She has a son, and he is the next in line. Katherine, we have to brace ourselves.  Her son will come to claim what is his. The moment the news of Victor’s death reaches them, this manor is no longer ours.”

Katherine felt her blood drain from her face. Of course, of course! The blasted rules that left a lady vulnerable. The manor was no longer hers the moment Victor’s death was announced. None of it was hers anymore. Nothing for Victoria. Everything that Victor had worked so hard for, everything that she had invested all her dowry in, would be given to some stranger who only had to set foot inside to lay his claim. Without knowing the sweat that Victor had put into everything, and without knowing how much she had given to see the rise of the house of Bowmount.

She felt as though she had been punched as the reality of her situation hit her. Everything that belonged to her alone that had been in her name alone had been put into reinstating the house of Bowmount. Bowmount Hall was for the male heir. She sucked in a breath as everything clicked. She had nothing. Nothing to her name, nothing for herself. Nothing. And her husband’s hard work was gone, to undeserving strangers who knew nothing of it.

“Katherine, you must be strong —”

“I am strong,” Katherine said sharply. “I am strong. No one will take away what Victor put such hard work into rebuilding. No one!”

“Katherine, it’s not your call,” the Dowager Marchioness whispered. “It is how it will be.”

“We would have nothing.”

The Dowager Marchioness shook her head immediately. “We would have something to live with dignity and ensure Victoria’s future. Isn’t this important too?”

“You know what I mean,” Katherine said. Of course, she knew they would have something. They would be given a relatively satisfying yearly income that ensured their comfort. Money and grain and anything for survival. Any other lady in her place would be more than satisfied. But not Katherine— to her, the estate was important.

Victor had put in much work to put it all together and no amounts of money, or support from her own family could replace what her husband struggled to create.

Staring at the Dowager Marchioness, Katherine wondered what she must have gone through when Victor’s father had died, leaving her penniless. Had she been faced with this? Had she felt so empty, so weak that she needed to prove that she was strong? Katherine wondered a lot of things, and above all, what it felt like to lose everything at the snap of a finger.

“Katherine —”

Katherine squared her shoulders as she cut her off. “We won’t think about anyone taking away what my husband worked and sacrificed his life for. I won’t let it happen. This is our home.”

“Katherine —”

“We will focus on Victor’s funeral and mourning him. We will give him the respect he deserves. We won’t cloud our minds with rubbish. This is our home!” she thundered. “This is my home!”

The Dowager Marchioness looked like she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together, nodded once, squared her shoulders, and clenched her teeth.

Katherine went on. “We will get ready for Victor’s funeral. We have nothing to fear. We won’t let anyone take our home from us.”

Louise said nothing, her jaw only clenched, and her hands clasped together. Katherine stared at her green eyes, seeking a response, an assurance, some kind of hopeful words.

“Promise me that we won’t lose what Victor worked for. We will keep it together, won’t we, Mother?” Katherine breathed. She felt like she was suffocating. She had never had such a long conversation with Louise and not one where she needed to say, Mother, in seven years. And yet, one day and everything had changed. Everything. Even Louise was showing her vulnerable side.

“Katherine, this is a reality that we must face,” she said, sternly.

Katherine shook her head. “We will keep this manor and everything else my husband worked for before his death. We will let no one claim what is ours.”

“Katherine…”

She began to mutter to herself, assuring herself that everything belonged to her. To her daughter. For their future. She turned back to the Dowager Marchioness. “No one will take it all away from us.”

Louise wanted to say more, but she relaxed her shoulders and nodded very slowly. “No one will take anything from us, Katherine. We will make sure.”

Katherine was not sure why the Dowager Marchioness said that, and with such faith, with such eagerness, with such sincerity and certainty. Perhaps it was the realization that both of them were in this together, that they had been the most important people to Victor before his death. But as Katherine turned, knowing well that the Dowager Marchioness was solidly by her side made her feel stronger. She raised her shoulders as she walked down the rest of the stairs. All she had to think about was Victor’s funeral. That and her daughter’s future. No one would take what was hers away from her. No one.

Chapter 2

Seven Months Later

Lord Arthur Shepherd, Marquess of Bowmount had expected that the path that led to his Uncle’s home would be quite distant from the rest of Somerset, as the Bowmount Hall was a frontier, one of the greatest frontiers of England — save for its tragic fall, he sighed, shaking his head softly and opting to stare outside, rather than think too much about the fall of the house.

He didn’t like change, movement, adjustment. He hated it. When his mother had told him of his inheritance, he had been stunned and had refused to go. His mother had insisted that he left right away to claim what was his. But Arthur had thought that it was disrespectful, to simply storm into the Bowmount Hall and claim everything while they were grieving.

His heart clenched again, for a cousin that he barely knew and for his young widow, whom Arthur had never met. He recalled seeing Victor a few times when they were younger.  Hearing of Victor’s death had saddened his mother, left her down for days, knowing that he had no heir. His mother never liked the Dowager Marchioness, Victor’s mother. They never got along. And she barely knew Victor’s wife, so she kept insisting that he go there, to claim what rightfully belonged to their family. Arthur didn’t know Lady Katherine Willington. He had never met her, but his mother had. She had described the current Lady Bowmount as unpredictable, fierce, and unreadable.

Her persuasion left Arthur no other choice than to write to them, expressing his condolences. The reply he received from Victor’s widow had been cold; nothing more than a brief thank you. He shook his head. Perhaps he was overthinking, but he felt odd about her reply. He felt as if she was angry at him. Perhaps it was just him. What had he expected her reply would be like?

Then he wrote to the house again, announcing his arrival. He hadn’t felt that he needed to state that he now owned the estate and the manor, but his mother had made sure he included why he was coming. To claim what was his, being the next in line, after Victor. The next reply had been from the Dowager Marchioness, Lady Louise Willington. She had written him a short response, straight to the point.

We await your arrival, Lord Arthur Shepherd, Marquess of Bowmount.

He was not sure if the reply was a sign of acceptance or a mockery, but either way, he felt most uncomfortable by the change. He had, however, proceeded to inform them of the date of his arrival. He had predicted that he would arrive late evening, instead, he arrived midday.

He poked his head outside the carriage and called to the coachman. “Are we almost there?”

His eyes took in the large house, built like a castle, with wood and high stone slabs. The combination amazed him. The pillars by the large entrance door caught his attention. He stared up at it. The green grasses cut low and clean surrounding it looked beautiful. He blew out a breath just as the driver announced.

“My Lord, we have arrived.”

Arthur nodded, knowing that they had indeed arrived. He alighted the hackney, his black valise in his left hand, and his right hand clenched to his side. He paid the coachman and turned to stare up at the mansion as the carriage rolled away.

Nodding to himself, Arthur muttered words of encouragement to himself before he ran up the stairs and raised his hand to the door to knock. He knocked twice and stepped back, staring at the door as though it led to a foreign land.

There was no response. He knocked on the door again, louder this time. The door swung inward, opening to reveal a man. He seemed about middle-aged, but his hair had no grey in it. His cheeks were chubby, and so was he. The man raised a brow at Arthur. “Yes?”

Arthur smiled at the man and raised his trunk. “Hello, I am Arthur Shep —” He stopped, he was not simply a barrister now, he was more.

The man still raised his brow, questioning. His dark hair seemed too dark for one who looked like he was aging.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Lord Bowmount. I sent a letter to inform the family of my arrival.”

The man’s eyes widened a fraction, and then his expression turned still as he bowed stiffly, and most unwillingly. “Welcome, Lord Bowmount.”

He pulled the door wide open, so that the daylight filled the hallway. Arthur stepped through the threshold, feeling very self-conscious. This was now his home. He felt like he had stolen it.

The man breathed out, and then with a slight bow of his head again, said, “Lord Bowmount, welcome —”

He nodded curtly, although he didn’t like when he was called Lord. It was foreign to him, new. Everything was new. To himself, he was still simply Mr. Shepherd. Not a Lord with all of what he was seeing. The excess light in the hallway soon faded as the door was closed.

“Did you arrive with a coach? A coachman, valet?” The man behind him asked. Arthur sensed his question was asked irritably. He ignored it and turned to the man with a small smile.

“No, I came alone.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Alone? A Lord such as yourself has traveled far to settle in your new — to settle, and you have come with no carriage or coachman, or valet? ”

Arthur was tempted to smile, and he did. “You sound as though I have done something atrocious.”

The man raised his nose and squared his shoulders. “I haven’t said such. I was only asking. It’s most unusual, My Lord.” He looked away from Arthur, his gaze bouncing around, as though waiting for something. After a while, he said. “Come with me, My Lord. I presume you do not mind waiting in the drawing room while I inform the ladies of your early arrival?”

Arthur shook his head. That was indeed the right thing to do. “I shan’t mind. Lead the way.”

He was led through the wide hallway, with closed doors at every corner and a bright light from the be very end of the hallway, where a large window was situated, sending sunshine into the house. The man, whom he presumed was the butler, stopped at the large door on the left and pushed it open. Arthur blinked at the large settee at the corner, before taking in the rest of the furniture. He walked in to take his seat on the blue velvet settee beside the shelf.

Arthur felt uncomfortable. The house was quiet, as though no soul lived in it. It had been seven months since the death of his cousin. Surely, the household had recovered a fraction. Why then was a large home so lifeless? He crossed his left leg over his right and set his valise beside his feet. He relaxed into the settee, exhausted from his tiring journey.

“Excuse me?” A voice distracted him from his rest. He opened his formally closed eyes and sat up.

A young girl with dark hair pulled back in a chignon and dressed in a plain grey cotton dress stared back at him. Her large brown eyes were blinking in horror. She was a maid. He knew this from her dress, and the white pinafore she wore over it. She seemed to be surprised that he was sitting there. She recovered quickly and curtsied, though he could tell that she was confused as to who he was.

Then slowly, she said. “Lord Bowmount.” It was a statement that sounded like a question. He was about to respond to her when they were interrupted.

“Darlene!” a voice called. The voice was cool, feminine, strong, and sharp-edged. The voice came with authority. “Whom are you speaking with?”

Darlene looked to the side, into the simple opening by the corner. She looked at him briefly, curtsied, then walked away. He heard whispers, before the clump of shoes echoed in the hallway.

From the corner, he saw a black dress peek out before he saw the lady who wore it. She stepped into the hallway slowly, but with certainty. He froze as he took the lady in. There was a kind of authority the woman emanated. He sucked in his breath as the lady came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. He blinked, wondering if she was truly Victor’s widow.

Standing inches away from him was a woman who possessed everything he had so often seen, but with so much more. She had golden blonde hair, and blue eyes that were so bright they seemed to dance and sparkle as she watched him. Her cheekbones were high, and they suited her face well. Her lips were small and plump and pink — they looked as though she pouted. They attracted his eyes.

He felt his insides twist at the sight of her. It was as though time stood still and all he could do was to stare at was her. She stood with both her hands clasped, her shoulders squared, and her jaw tilted upwards. His mother had been right. Lady Katherine Willington, Marchioness of Bowmount, was fierce. But no one had told him that she was beautiful and breathtaking, beyond anything he’d ever seen before, anything he’d imagined. The way she stared him down made him go still, because he was mesmerized by what he saw, and her gaze intimidated him.

Arthur rose and bowed. “I am Arthur Shepherd, Lord Bowmount’s cousin. I wrote to you about my arrival, Lady Bowmount.”

He saw her raise her brow for a second before her lips turned down and her gaze dimmed. Her quick change of mien was unsettling. “You must be Lady Bowmount, I presume?” he blurted, uncertain if he was right. However, he trusted that it was indeed she who was Victor’s widow. She was dressed as a lady, stood as one would, wore black, which would signify her mourning, and she was in Bowmount Hall.

She creased her brows; her lips turned down in a slight frown for only a second before she went back to her blank stare. He swallowed hard at the movement. Her gaze flickered to his, and for a second, it held his. He parted his lips to speak, but was still captivated. Finally, he looked away from her and spoke. “Lady Bowmount, my condolences about Victor. He was a great man.”

Lady Bowmount said nothing. She simply blinked and cast her gaze down for a second before they rose again. Every move she made caused him to go more and more still. He was not sure what was going on, but suddenly he was afraid to be there, standing before her, or even talking to her.

He went on. “It’s been such a long journey from Flitwick. But after a bit of time to refresh myself, I would like to sit and discuss the details of the manor and title with you.”

Lady Bowmount narrowed her eyes at him. “Very well.”

With one glance beside her, she said, to someone whom he could not see, as they were all standing behind the door. “Mr. Stewart, show Lord Bowmount his bed chambers.” To Arthur, she said coldly, “Welcome to Bowmount Hall.”

With those words, she turned and walked down the hallway, leaving him standing there, staring at the open doors of the waiting room.

From beside him, the man he’d seen earlier walked in front of the door. His jaws were still, but he bowed. “Lord Bowmount, I shall take you to your bedchamber.”

Arthur nodded once. He picked up his trunk from beside his feet and walked out of the drawing room. He was frozen for a second at the long line of people who stood in the long hallway. They all bowed as he walked past them, while the butler proceeded to introduce them all.

“This is Analise, the cook,” he said, and pointed at the plump lady who curtsied with a grim face.

As they walked on, he introduced all the other workers. Fin, the stable boy, Darlene, the lady’s maid, Amelia, the nurse maid for Lady Victoria, Gerald and Randalf, the coachman and Lord Bowmount’s Valet, respectively.

“And I am Richard Stewart,” the butler said once he was done introducing all who stood by the hallway. Arthur watched as they bowed and curtsied and walked away. He was stunned at the number of people that had been employed. Last Arthur had heard, Bowmount Hall had fallen and they could no longer afford to pay workers, so all had left. If this many workers now worked at Bowmount Hall, he wondered if he would be able to do what Victor had done.

“Abigail is the Dowager Marchioness’s Lady Maid,” Richard said as they walked through the hallway and passed what looked like a salon.

Arthur thought he’d seen the Dowager Marchioness inside, but he was not quite sure because Richard was walking at a quick pace and he followed behind him. If that was the Dowager Marchioness, why hadn’t she come to acknowledge his arrival.

He didn’t understand what was going on. He had not expected to be welcomed with open arms. It was the law that he inherit, so he wasn’t sure why he was being treated with such disdain. The quietness. The scorn from Darlene and the butler, the cold welcome from Lady Bowmount. He didn’t understand any of it at all. Katherine had said welcome, but he felt anything but and in his own house. As he walked behind Mr. Stewart, he wondered what they had planned for him. The entire household seemed to be burning holes through his skin when they stared at him. He pressed his lips together. Something was not right. There seemed to be a conspiracy amongst them all.

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Chapter 1

Kinsale, Ireland

The two horses leapt over the hedge simultaneously, the paler of the two pulling ahead as they galloped along the cliff’s edge. To their right, the River Brandon was calmer, barely a ripple as it glistened under the mid-July sun. David often liked to take this route, strolling along to smell the rich salt in the air. This was one of his favorite places. But when his brother was flying on ahead, intent on making their late morning ride a race, it was hard to stop and admire the view. Peter loved a race.

Then again, so did David.

Peter reached the point where the cliff edge had a steady drop down into a cove. A little private area that was barely used by anyone other than themselves when they were children. He adjusted his hat and gave David a triumphant grin.

“I’ve won!” he declared. “Again! For someone who spends every day in the saddle, you’re rather slow, David.”

David rolled his eyes as he smiled, trotting up to join his brother. “I got distracted with the view.”

“Ha! You’re not willing to admit that I beat you fair and square.”

“And last time I checked, you weren’t always this combative when someone graciously accepted a loss.”

David’s twin smirked and turned his white horse towards the mainland. “When you live a life at sea, you find out things don’t go by the same rules as on land. Speaking of which,” he made a face at the ocean behind them, “I want to get away from here. I don’t want to smell that stench.”

David laughed. “You work on a ship!”

“Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy my job when I have shore leave. Come on!”

Peter set his horse off at a quick canter. David urged his horse after him, not willing to be left behind. He and Peter only had a few days before Peter went back to sea again, this time sailing to the Caribbean, transporting people heading to live on the many islands out there. David didn’t want to waste time squabbling. Then again, Peter liked a good argument.

It was good to have his brother back. Kinsale wasn’t the same without him, especially with their father in such a subdued state. Peter had been at sea when their mother died after a long illness. David and his brother Geoffrey had to watch as their mother, who had been the peacemaker, the one who tempered the boys’ fiery behaviour with her calm approach, withered away in her bed. She passed away in their father’s arms, and Ian Harrison hadn’t recovered from it.

David was still struggling from his mother’s death himself, but it was nothing compared to Viscount Harrison. Ian was a shadow of his former self. They had been married for twenty years, and their marriage had been strong, solid. Now Ian was on his own, and he didn’t seem to know how to cope. Geoffrey was the most worried about their father, and he was close to tears whenever his attempts to cheer Ian up failed.

David felt like he was stuck in the middle. Now, at least Peter had come back. With a few days for a bit of fun and distraction, it was like they were children again.

“What’s going on?”

“Hmm?” David hadn’t realized he had slowed down. Now Peter was slowing his pace to fall in beside David, giving his brother a curious look.

“You went off in your own world there. What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking that we need to do something about Pa.”

“Like what?”

“Stop him moping.” David winced. “I know that sounds callous, but Ma’s been dead for two years now and yet Pa is still mourning her. I don’t think I’ve seen him crack a smile in months. Geoffrey’s noticed as well.”

Peter snorted.

“Geoffrey always was a soft one. He is always about feelings.”

“He’s only sixteen.”

“And that doesn’t bode well for him as a man. Women might find him sympathetic to their feelings attractive, but it’s not going to get Geoffrey anywhere, is it?”

“Leave off on Geoff. This is about Pa.” David shook his head. “I think he’s slipping away from us. The strong man who was once in charge of this family is not there anymore.”

“Of course he’s there. He’s just preoccupied.” Peter sighed. “Look, David, you needn’t worry so much. I’m sure Pa will be fine. He’s stronger than you think. And two years is the appropriate time to mourn a spouse, you know that.”

“I know that, but…” David sighed. “I just don’t like seeing him so sad.”

The three Harrison sons had inherited Ian’s fiery temper. They were all similar, in that respect. As they grew up, the three boys learned to deal with it in different ways. Peter had struggled the most, which was why Ian had suggested signing him up as a midshipman when he was twelve. Peter had protested, but life at sea had tempered him. He wasn’t as fierce as before, but the light in his eyes had never gone away. If anything, it had grown.

As Ian grew older, he became more somber. David wasn’t sure what to make of the new gentleman sitting at the head of the table. Hopefully, they could get the old Ian Harrison back.

“Well, we’ve got a dinner party to go to tonight.” Peter suggested. “I’m sure we can find a way to cheer him up there.”

David found himself laughing. “At the O’Reilly estate? Are you sure about that?”

“Maybe you’re right. That’s more likely to make him even worse.”

David couldn’t argue with that. The O’Reilly family were their neighbors, and they were absolute bores. But, Ian never turned an invitation down because he was a gracious man. He wasn’t about to be rude to their neighbors, even if Ian rolled his eyes whenever he got a letter from them. There had been talks about arranging a match between David and their eldest daughter Lady Eveline, but that had been quickly scrapped. David was glad about that. Lady Eveline was just as boring as her parents.

“Look, how about we take him out riding next time we go?” David said. “He’s coming with us, no arguments; along the clifftops, just as he used to when he was teaching us to ride. He always love a race.”

“I know.” Peter grinned. “And I always win.”

“Only because Pa lets you. He’s always going to be the best horseman.”

“I’m going to overtake him very quickly. I know it.” Peter nodded out ahead of them. “Just as I know I’m going to be making introductions with that girl.”

“Huh?”

David hadn’t noticed that they were now on the outskirts of Kinsale, in an area called Compass Quay. It was where most of the fishermen lived as it was easier access to the boats to get out and collect their wage in the Atlantic Ocean. Even further inland, the smell of fish was enormous and it was making David’s eyes water. People were going on about their business, barely giving them a glance.

Irish people were more dismissive of their nobility than the English, seeing them as another member of the community, but with finer clothes. David liked being on a more level footing with his workers. Everyone was human, and he found work was so much easier to get done when he wasn’t lording it over them. Peter was not of the same mind, turning his nose up at the villagers whenever they came near.

Whoever thought a sailor would be such a snob?

David followed Peter’s line of sight and saw a girl at the well, turning the handle. What he saw made him stare. She was close to their age, maybe a little younger, with light brown hair loosely tied back, but with most of it falling over her shoulders. She was tall and curvy in all the right places. She wore a simple cloth dress in pale brown with the sleeves rolled up as she turning the handle on the winch.

She was beautiful. Even with sweat beading her forehead under the hot sun and wearing servant’s clothes, she was beautiful. David couldn’t take his eyes off her. He could see why Peter had picked her out, but then he remembered where they were.

“Are you mad?” he hissed. “She’s one of the villagers, Peter!”

“And? Nothing wrong in a bit of fun.”

Peter was smirking, his eyes still on the girl. David groaned. His brother liked women. Even at nineteen, he had started making flirtatious comments at several of the ladies in Irish Society, even the older ladies. Being at sea seemed to have given him some confidence when it came to talking to the opposite sex, something Peter hadn’t possessed when he was younger. Or maybe he was that desperate for female company after being at sea with dozens of men for months on end.

David was aiming for the latter.

“I don’t think seducing a village girl would be classed as fun,” David pointed out. “I bet you she’s not even old enough.”

“Then let’s go and ask her.” Peter kicked his horse into motion, setting off on a quick walk. “Come on, you can see how it’s done.”

David hurried after him. “Can’t you keep your mind out of the gutter for more than a few minutes?” he hissed.

“You go to sea for months on end and you’ll see how hard it is to cope without a woman.”

“You were sent to sea to keep you out of trouble.”

“Well, it’s clearly not worked.” Peter laughed. Then he turned away, his smiling fading as he sat up in his saddle. “Whoa, look at that.”

The girl had unhooked the bucket, full of water, and was now dragging it off the lip of the well. She had also been approached by three young men. They had surrounded her, effectively pinning her against the wall. One of the lads was saying something to the girl, his hand touching her face even as she shied away.

David felt a knot hardening in his stomach. Then he shook himself. What was wrong with him? Why was he getting so worked up over another man touching her?

He had been in Peter’s company too long.

Then he stared as the girl promptly dropped the heavy bucket onto the lad’s foot, the bucket tipping over and water cascading over the already soggy ground. The first lad howled and staggered away, hopping on one foot as he grabbed onto his toes. The girl then picked up the now-empty bucket and swung it, hitting the second lad in the face. She was grabbed by the third lad, but David saw her jerk her knee up, catching him between his legs. The lad groaned and stiffened up before falling over.

Peter burst into laughter. David couldn’t help but smile. The girl had guts.

“Well, I think we both know what her reaction would have been if you did that to her.”

“She wouldn’t. I’m not that brazen.”

“Excuse me?”

Peter flushed and shifted in his saddle. “All right, maybe I am. But, I can move faster.”

“I highly doubt it.” David laughed.

Then he saw the scene before them had changed. The three young men had disappeared momentarily while they had been talking, and the girl had gone back to drawing water from the well. Mud was clinging to the hem of her skirts, and she was struggling, but didn’t back down as she lowered the bucket. While she was working, her back was to the rest of the square, and she didn’t see the three lads come back out with a few more young men. All of them were focused on her, and they began to spread out as they approached her.

David kicked his horse into gear. “Come on.”

“What?”

“You’re going on about how gentlemanly you are,” David shouted over his shoulder as he galloped away, “prove it.”

The girl was now aware of the trouble she was in. She pressed herself against the well, her body tensed ready for fight. David urged his horse to move faster. In any other circumstances, he would have intervened, but he wouldn’t have felt the same way as this. He had never felt the panic in his chest. He must have been dropped on his head at some point. That could be the only reason for reacting like this.

He reached the girl first, leaning well out of the saddle and grabbing her around the waist. The girl screamed as he lifted her off her feet, and she tried to fight back, but David clung on even as she scratched at his neck. He took them to the far side of the square and pulled his horse to a stop, letting go of the girl as she slid out of his grasp. Then David dismounted.

Back by the well, Peter had arrived. He had jumped off his horse and was sauntering towards the gang, swinging his cane.

“Would you like to try that again with me?” he declared. He pointed the head of his cane at the lad who had touched the girl. “You first, sir?”

The men were beginning to back away. David turned to the girl, who was watching the scene in stunned disbelief. Up close like this, she was even more beautiful. Soft skin turned a golden brown under the sun, and the most stunning blue eyes David had ever seen. He found himself staring, unable to look away.

“Excuse me?” The girl was looking at him strangely. Then David realized he had been staring at her with his mouth open.

He cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The girl flushed and brushed her hands on her skirts. “It’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t handle half a dozen men or more on your own.”

“Are you mocking me because I’m a woman?”

“I would never do that.” Combative. David was surprised to find that he liked that. “But there is a point when you need to admit you need some help. And be gracious when accepting it.”

The girl snorted. “Is that how you were raised? To charge in swords waving around?”

“No sword out for me.” David nodded at Peter, who was still having a stand-off with some of the young men. A few of them had already retreated. “My brother is a bit more wayward than I am and we don’t treat women the way they were treating you.”

They stared at each other. David couldn’t help but stare. Those eyes were captivating. He just couldn’t look away. And she stared back unblinkingly. Finally, she backed down first, licking her lips before looking away.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” David bit back a smile. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Even as she snapped at him, David saw the ghost of a smile. He felt something punch him in the gut. Whoa. If that was how he reacted after a small smile, he couldn’t imagine how his response would be to a full one.

Footsteps had David spinning around. Peter was strutting towards them, twirling his cane and whistling. He gave David a smug look.

“They’ve gone now,” he declared. “They shouldn’t be bothering you anytime, miss.”

The girl sighed. Was she a little flushed in the face? She wouldn’t look directly at David, her hands fidgeting.

“I’m sure they’ll be back later,” she said. “They have a habit of bothering me. Especially when Father’s working and not around to keep an eye on me.”

“Where does he work?” David asked.

“The Harrison estate. He’s one of the groundskeepers.”

David and Peter exchanged glances. That David hadn’t been expecting, and Peter looked equally surprised. Normally, those who worked on their father’s estate lived a little closer, mostly for convenience. They wouldn’t be living in Compass Quay. Peter turned his charming smile to the girl.

“I’m sure if we told Pa about this, he might be able to sort something out. Maybe move you closer to our home.”

“Your father?” Her eyes were getting large, her mouth falling open.

David had a sudden urge to kiss her. He needed to take a step back.

Peter laughed. He didn’t seem to have noticed his brother’s discomfort.“I think we forgot to introduce ourselves.” He took off his hat and bowed. “Lieutenant Peter Harrison, at your service. And this is my twin brother, the Honorable Mr. David Harrison.”

David cleared his throat. Now he was feeling inadequate next to his brother. At least Peter had a title. “Just simple Mister, I’m afraid,” he added.

But she was looking at him. It wasn’t Peter she was staring at, but at him. Then she gave him a sweet smile that David felt deep in his gut and held out a hand.

“Miss Arabella Powell.”

David took the hand, and bowed over it. He kissed her knuckles and glanced up as she gasped. He saw her startled expression, but also how her eyes had darkened. God, she was beautiful.

David cleared his throat and straightened up. He couldn’t stay bowed over her hand forever.

“Would you like us to escort you home, Miss Powell?”

“No, I…” Arabella licked her lips. David was captivated by the movement. “I can manage.”

“Would you like help gathering more water?”

“I said I can manage.” Flushing, Arabella lowered her head and hurried past them, brushing against David’s arm. “Good day, sirs.”

Both brothers watched her hurry back to the well and begin to turn the handle again. Peter made an approving sound in his throat.

“My, she’s beautiful.”

“She certainly is.” David murmured.

“Back off, David.” Peter slapped his cane across David’s chest. “She’s mine. I saw her first.”

“I was simply making an observation, Peter. I wasn’t making this into a competition.”

“But I am.” Peter’s eyes narrowed at him. “Keep away from Arabella Powell. She belongs to me.”

David raised his hands and stepped back. “Steady! You’ve got her. I’m not interested.”

But, even as he said it, David realized that was a lie. He was interested. There had been something in the air between them, and it was intense. David would normally take a step back if Peter had made a claim on a woman, but not this time.

This time, David knew Arabella was his.

 

Chapter 2

London, England

Nine Years Later

David fished out a gold coin from his purse and pressed it into the steward’s hand as he walked past.

“Thank you, Frank. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Good evening, Mister Harrison.”

David collected his cloak and hat from the footman by the door and put them on. He was worn out, and all he had done was sit by the fire and read all evening. Everyone left David alone, knowing that he could get engrossed in a book for hours. It wasn’t until Frank the steward told him what time it was that David remembered he had to go back to his father’s London home and get an early night. It was going to be a long journey down to Cornwall so, David could catch the boat that travelled straight to Kinsale.

He had to get back to Kinsale and check on the land. Hopefully, it was as prosperous as it had been the previous month. The weather was perfect for a solid season and David was looking forward to seeing the books showing profits. They needed it. The profits he would be using for himself. And then, the slate would be wiped clean.

David hated being in debt to anyone, but there had been no way around it. He had built up the reputation of being reliable, of being able to take care of his workers. His father had entrusted the farming land to David’s care a few years before, and David had promised to make it flourish. And it had until recent months. Even with things picking up, it was going to take a while to return to how it had been. David didn’t want to go back to his father and say he had let things get out of hand by not paying close attention to the accounts. Even visiting his son’s extended family in England, Ian Harrison knew everything. He kept his ear to the ground. If he knew what David had done to make sure things kept on track, he was going to be furious. Peter had already seen that side of their father, and David didn’t want to have it directed at him.

It was pitch black as David went outside. He could barely see anything beyond the railings lining the park across the street. The air was significantly colder, and David could see his breath in front of his face. Considering this was the middle of October, that was odd. David was used to it being warmer well into November. Even with the air coming off the Atlantic Ocean, Kinsale managed to stay warmer for far longer.

Then again, this was England. In England, anything could happen, including terrible weather.

Turning up the collar on his cloak, David stepped onto the cobbles and headed in the direction of his father’s house. Whenever he was in town, Ian always let David make use of the lodgings he had bought a few years back shortly after his wife died. David and Geoffrey had used it on frequent visits to London. It was now to be gifted to Geoffrey and his new wife once they came back from honeymoon in the north of Ireland.

For now, David was making the most of it.

“Harrison.”

David stopped and turned. He hadn’t realized there was someone in the shadows. Even as he squinted into the dark, David could barely make the outline of the person lurking there. Until the man stepped out, giving David a smirk. David groaned. Not now. He wasn’t in the mood.

“What do you want, Simpson?”

“Is that all I’m going to get from you?” Stephen Simpson spread his hands. “No polite greeting? No asking after my health?”

“Seeing as you’re as healthy as a horse, I think asking after it would be rather pointless.”

Simpson chuckled. “Point taken.”

David’s skin crawled whenever the man was around. He liked fine clothes, and he swanned around as if he owned half of London. Barely coming up to David’s chin, Stephen Simpson was a middle-aged man with a slightly portly figure, dark hair cut close to his head to disguise the obvious receding hairline, and a slight dusting of a beard across his square jaw. There wasn’t anything remarkable about him, apart from the fact he looked out of place wearing clothes almost as expensive as David’s garments.

But, David had figured out pretty quickly that appearances were deceptive. This man was not one you would ask after his health. He was something else. David tapped his cane on the cobbles.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t your part of town.”

Simpson snickered. “Come on, Harrison, you don’t need to ask. You know why I’m here.”

“And I told you the last time you approached me, you’ll get paid when you get paid. I gave you a specific date.”

He hadn’t missed the date, had he? David was sure he had said at the end of October. He had at least two weeks left. Didn’t he?

“Maybe you did, but the interest goes up from the day you took out a loan with me.” Simpson folded his arms. “And it’s the interest that I’m concerned about.”

“You never said anything about interest.”

“I thought you knew from your brother how I operated. As soon as the loan is taken out, interest immediately starts to build.”

David didn’t know that. He had heard about Simpson when he heard Peter ranting about owing Simpson money for one of his own debts. It was a stupid move to go to the same man who had a book solely for Peter’s debts, but David didn’t know who else to go to. He wasn’t about to ask any of his friends if they knew someone who could let him borrow some money short-term; it would always end up going back to Ian. David didn’t want to feel like a failure when he had that conversation with his father.

“That’s illegal, surely?”

“Any more illegal than you coming to me begging for help?” Simpson shot back.

He had a point. David swallowed. He knew he wasn’t going to like this. “How much is the loan now?”

“Twelve hundred pounds.”

“What?” David thought he had misheard, but Simpson’s smirk said he certainly hadn’t. “That…that’s extortion!”

“A big word for a farmer,” Simpson sneered.

That was ridiculous. He couldn’t do that, surely? David’s arithmetic wasn’t that good when trying to do it on the spot, but he knew the interest on that was not even on the scale. Even if he was late on the payment and the interest was five percent, it wouldn’t have gotten so high. Not unless he didn’t pay the amount loaned for a couple of years.

“You’ll get the money I borrowed from you at the arranged date, Simpson,” David growled. “Not before. And certainly with no interest, seeing as I’m not late.”

He turned away, hoping that this would be the end of the conversation, but then Simpson grabbed his arm.

“I believe you’re going to have to rethink what you’ve just said, Mr. Harrison,” he said quietly. “Remember what happens when money isn’t paid in full or not at all? I’m sure your brother has told you about all the…antics that he’s had involving the two of us. Seeing as sailors are at sea all the time, you’d think he would be a bit more…prompt in paying up.”

David did know. Even when he was being shot at by the French and Spanish on the Atlantic Ocean, Peter Harrison still managed to find time to get into fights in back alleys. David didn’t want to count how many times Peter had come back beaten up.

He shook Simpson off. “You do realize that beating me up is going to have my father coming after you.” He added, “He won’t tolerate your behaviour.”

Simpson chuckled. It wasn’t a very nice sound.

“Threatening me with your father, are you? You were concerned about him knowing you had nothing in your account when you came to me. You didn’t want him to find out that you had been a little careless with the allowance he had given you specifically for the estate.” His eyes seemed to glow in the dark. “Do you really want him to know there’s nothing left?”

He did have a point. Ian would be furious. But he wouldn’t turn his back on David, would he? David squared his shoulders.“He’ll stand by me,” he declared.

“Will he?” Simpson purred. “Or will he disown you for good once he finds out what you needed the money for?”

“Don’t make it sound salacious. You know what I needed the money for.” David shook his hand off and stepped back. “Go away, Simpson. No interest, load paid in full on the last day of October. And don’t even think about sending people after me.”

“I don’t need to.” Simpson dusted down his waistcoat. “I do that myself.”

David looked him over. He was easily a head taller than Simpson, and bigger. What could Simpson have up his sleeve that could overpower him? David had grown up having scuffles with both of his brothers. Dealing with this little slimy bastard would be easy.

He twirled his cane, tapping the head into his hand. Then he snapped the cane out. The heavy end of the cane caught Simpson in the face, knocking him back a few paces. Simpson cried out and clutched at his nose. David lowered his cane and braced his feet, ready for a fight.

“Try it, Simpson,” he challenged. “Just try it.”

Simpson lowered his hands and stared at them. Blood covered his fingers, and David could see more blood on his face. The man looked up at David with stunned outrage. He snarled and started towards David.

“David?”

Simpson jerked back like he had been shot. David looked around to see Peter hurrying out of the club. He hadn’t realized his brother had been inside. Peter jogged over to David’s side.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” David gave Simpson a pointed look. “Mr Simpson was just leaving.”

Simpson bared his yellowed teeth, hissing at him. “I’ll make you pay for that, Harrison,” he growled. “You’ll regret laying a finger on me.”

“Try it.” David advanced on him. “I dare you.”

Simpson faltered and started to back away as David stalked towards him. Then, he hurried away, mumbling something that sounded like obscenities as he crossed the street. David let out a heavy sigh. He then realized his hands were shaking.

“David?”

David looked up. Peter was watching him curiously. It had been a while since his brother had witnessed David lash out. David licked his lips and swallowed. “I’m all right. Just get me out of here.”

Peter nodded grimly. “Happy to oblige.”

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