Prologue
When approaching Forest Grange from almost any direction, few, if any, guests would have imagined that the beautiful property, and the ancient woods surrounding it, had ended up in the Trease family by way of an improper incident in the roof of the old barn many generations before.
Of course, Hopper Trease had no inkling at all that his quick thinking (which saved the reputation of a future monarch) would result in such a generous gesture on the part of the crown. But then again, it’s not every day that a gentleman headed for the throne found himself so close to being caught with his breeches down. Literally. Thus scandal was averted, and Royal gratitude came Hopper’s way via a surprise gift of considerable acreage, and a modest manor.
Hopper, in the meantime, had wed one of the milkmaids involved in the above-mentioned scandalous incident, and was thrilled to find himself raising a family in the grand surroundings of his own property.
And so the generations of Treases, having acquired the title of Viscount of Lesser Banthorpe (and a good chunk of the county, including the entire village of Lesser Banthorpe), continued to multiply and thrive in their treasured home, amongst some of the finest forested land in the country.
The current Viscount, Lord Hawthorn Trease, along with his wife Hazel, has raised four children. Ashe, the eldest, is now married and in residence at Forest Grange, Cherry, the first daughter, recently wed the Duke of Belcaster and lives at Belcaster Hall. The twins, Holly and Willow, as of this writing, are single.
Yes, all the children bear the names of trees. It’s tradition and lets the family get a little ahead on the numerous jests about their surname. (That’s their story and they’re sticking to it.)
Holly Trease has shrugged off such jests for years, as has her not-identical twin, Willow. Both relish the fact that they have a lovely home and two affectionate parents, and they tolerate their older brother and sister much better these days, since both are wed, and out of their hair.
A voracious reader, Holly devours anything and everything on her father’s shelves, and has recently obtained a much-desired treasure—her own telescope—which she has installed in a remote wing of Forest Grange, the farthest away from the rest of the family.
Loving her observations, not only of the moon but also the star-filled skies, she is surprised and shocked one night to catch a glimpse of something happening much closer than the nearest planet.
It looked as if a man was being set upon, most violently, by two other men. Holly is hard pressed to believe what she’s seeing, so clearly silhouetted against the fading light. Not being a young woman who would let an event such as that pass without investigation, she makes plans to find out what happened as soon as dawn arrives.
Andthat’swhen our story begins…
Chapter One
In Which Miss Holly Trease Experiences a Shocking Surprise, but Rises to the Occasion
“And where are you off to at this hour, Miss Holly? ’Tis awfully early for you to be going out…” The rich tones of the Forest Grange butler welcomed Holly as she hurried down the staircase.
“Good morning, Ferguson,” she managed an innocent look. “I find I want to stretch my legs, today. This might be one of the few nice days left before winter sets in, and I have a lot to do, so I thought I’d get an early start with a breath of fresh air.” Always quick on her feet when it came to creative excuses, Holly gave him her best smile. “I can assure you I’ll be back in time for breakfast, especially if Cook is baking some of those lovely spiced buns, that I could swear I smell?” She sniffed, closing her eyes.
“You have a good nose, Miss, but you’re very bad at making up Banbury tales on the fly.” He gave her a suspicious grin. “Be that as it may, I shall expect you to return within the hour. After that, duty will force me to mention to your Mama that you left the house early, and she will not be pleased, since guests are arriving this morning.”
“Really?” She tipped her head to one side, thinking. “I don’t believe Mama mentioned it.”
“Visitors to see your Papa, I understand. But in case your presence might be required, best to be here, and ready.” He lifted his chin slightly. “I shall do my best to save you a bun.”
“You are wonderful, Ferguson. I will be back in time, I promise. Thank you.” Pushing any thought of visitors to the back of her mind, Holly managed to hold her eagerness down to acalm walk until she had cleared the house. It was bright, but still cold enough to turn her breaths to puffs of mist, and she was glad she’d thought to grab her gloves as well as her warmest cloak.
Then she ran, knowing exactly where the spot was that she’d observed last night. Less than five minutes later, she arrived at the small hill where the fight had taken place.
Breathless, she looked around.
A natural undulation in the land had lifted this area above the others, and it was one of the few places that hadn’t been covered with trees. The forest had apparently decided it was too much effort to grow there, and Holly could recall many evenings when she, and sometimes her siblings, had watched the sun set, or sprawled on their backs to gaze at the moon and stars on clear nights.
There was nobody there this morning, but as she bent down, she could clearly see signs of a scuffle. The grass was trampled and torn in a couple of places, flattened in others, all quite obvious since the cold night’s frost had whitened the damaged blades and created a sort of map for her to follow. She bit back a gasp as she found, in one place, droplets of what might be dried blood and marks of something being dragged…
Heart thumping fast beneath her bodice, she followed the trail to the edge of the little hill and looked down…
“Oh, dear God.” She scrambled over the slope to the body she saw lying on the bank of a small stream. A man, and he was not moving.
At his side in moments, she knelt next to him in the cold grass.
He wore no hat, but had a thick travel cloak, now tangled around him. A good thing, since it must have allowed him some warmth during the chilly night, and also kept the damp from his clothing. Nervously, Holly assessed the situation.
He certainly wasn’t a tramp or a field hand. His garments were quite smart, with no signs of stains or tears. Looking beneath the cloak, she saw a well-cut black jacket, a cravat that looked as if it might be silk, although a bit crumpled now, and a mostly clean white shirt. His head wound had obviously bled down and dappled it, but she knew that such injuries could bleed copiously.
Ripping off a glove, she touched his hand. The skin was cool, too cool, but not ice-cold, so she took a breath and reached for the side of his neck, hoping that was where she’d find a pulse. If he had one.
