“A little.”He gestured to a stout two story stone cottage off to the side of the main house.“That was home.And the brick building that looks like a garage is the garage.Although, when I was growing up here, it was still the old coach house and stables.After my father left, the late earl converted the coach house and stables into the garage to house his extensive car collection.”
“Are there no stables anymore?”
“I don’t think so.Alec doesn’t ride—he can, of course—but he’s more interested in cars.”
“What about you?Do you ride?”
He shot her an amused glance.“I would be a very poor stable master’s son if I didn’t ride.I can ride, and enjoy it, but haven’t in years.There hasn’t been opportunity.”
“I suppose it’s not easy to keep a horse in London anymore.”
He laughed, the sound a warm low rumble that filled Cat’s chest with warmth.
“Unlike the Regency era?”he teased.“When it seemed so glamorous to ride in Hyde Park and Rotten Row?”
“I’m sorry,” she answered, wrinkling her nose.“That era never seemed very glamorous to me.All I could think about was the horse manure—because there was a lot of it—and how manure and rain and mud would wreak havoc on your horse and carriage wheels, never mind your boots and clothes.Just think of the hems of those ladies’ lovely riding habits.”
“You’re not a romantic then.”
“History was messy, and chaotic, and incredibly fascinating.”She flashed a smile.“Disease, death, war, corruption… I can never get enough of it.”
“You’re practically rubbing your hands with glee.”
Cat laughed.“I do love history, especially your history here.It’s so different from what I learned as a girl growing up in Michigan.”
“Yes, but you Americans have your own history.”
“Which came from yours, which I appreciate, and also embrace.”
“So, you’re claiming the earlier years?The Celts, the Romans, the Anglo-Saxon?”
“As well as the Feudal, the Medieval and the Renaissance.”She sighed happily, surprised by her happiness.Any time she could talk about history she felt good, comfortable in her skin.“Michigan did have a big wave of English and Scottish immigrants in the 1800s, drawn to southern Michigan’s farmland as well as growing cities like Grand Rapids, Ann Arbor—which is where I grew up and then Kalamazoo where my grandmother lived.”
“Is most of your family English?”
“Scottish and English.My ancestors were farmers and railway workers, helping build the Michigan Central Railroad which put Kalamazoo on the map.”
He smiled at her.“You do like your history.”
“I do.It runs through my veins.”She glanced toward the old stable, now the Sherbourne garage, and then to the stone cottage where they’d left the girls.“My head is clear.I think we should go back.And, if you can, maybe you should get back to work too.”
Chapter Five
Rhys did havework to do, an overwhelming amount to do, but he couldn’t focus on the writing and editing until he spoke with his daughters.In the cottage, he paused outside the girls’ bedroom door, the faint light from the hallway spilled across the worn floorboards.Inside the room he heard a murmur of low voices.
He knocked once and pushed the door open.
Jillian and Olivia sat together on the bed, a book open between them that neither was reading.Olivia’s eyes were red.Jillian’s cheeks were blotchy, but the moment she saw her father, her chin lifted in defiance.
“Would one of you like to explain what happened this afternoon?”he asked quietly.
Jillian’s tone was steady, almost too calm.“We went for a walk.”
“Without telling anyone.”
“We weren’t far.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.“That’s not the point, Jilly.”
