Chapter One
Nathaniel Harding reluctantly opened his eyes, wincing at the brightness piercing his eyeballs. He might have had one too many brandies the night before, but he couldn’t let the anniversary of dear daddy’s death go unmarked. As the window finally swam into focus, he noticed that the bottom half was entirely blocked with … bloody hell, was that snow? Swearing, he rolled out of bed and hurried to the window, only to stare in disbelief at the sea of white. It wasAprilfor God’s sake.
He rubbed a hand over the stubble covering his chin as his befogged brain tried to make sense of the completely foreign landscape. Abruptly, he remembered that his monthly supplies were due today and if he wasn’t to starve, he needed to clear a path to his front door, and quickly.
With another, more colourful expletive, he hurriedly began pulling on his clothes. His dog, Ruby, stared at him in disbelief through one bleary eye, before burrowing back into the crumpled bedclothes. Nate shook his head, knowing she’d be out of bed the minute he walked through the door.
As he approached the top of the stairs, he paused for a second, staring down into the gloom below him, absently noting the missing banister spindles, the rotten planks making the stairsa death trap for the unwary. Downstairs in the large reception hall, the panelling was riddled with woodworm – the pieces that were left that is. The rest had long since gone for firewood.
The drawing room, the library, the dining room … simply more of the same. And the kitchen – if it could be called such? Any minute now, he fully expected the whole lot to come crashing down around his ears.
Carlingford Hall. His inheritance. His father’s last joke.
Nate’s scrutiny of his questionable kingdom was interrupted by the predicted clicking of claws on the wooden floor. He turned his head to watch Ruby stretch, her bottom high in the air. A quick shake and a desultory wag of her tail followed.
‘I’m not keen either, Roo,’ Nate muttered, starting down the stairs.
Minutes later, he was shrugging on his old great coat and forcing his way out into the snow, already nearly a foot deep in places. Looking up, he swore again. The flakes were thick, falling from a sky the colour of whalebone. There was no way a horse and cart would get through to the house, and if the snow continued falling like this, digging would be worse than useless.
Nate blew into his hands, trying to decide what to do. His supplies were coming from Corsham, but he had no way of knowing whether the driver would even attempt to get through. Likely the main road would still be passable with the number of carriages using it, but beyond that…?
He shook his head and looked down at Ruby shivering beside him. There was really no choice. He’d have to saddle Duchess and go into town himself. At least he’d be able to bring back enough to feed the three of them until the weather improved.
And with the cold as biting as it was, he’d have the perfect excuse to cover his face.
***
Mercedes Stanhope tucked her hands under her armpits in a vain effort to keep them warm. It was ironic that the weather in the Cotswolds was significantly colder than it had been in Loch Lomond. Indeed, the sun had shone almost continuously throughout her month’s stay at Caerlaverock with Jenny and Brendon - though her best friend’s husband of ten months had repeatedly assured her that such clement weather was not typical of the Highlands of Scotland.
She’d started the long journey back to the New Forest five days ago, and the weather had steadily worsened until finally the squalling rain turned to heavy snow. She could only hope the main road remained passable until they reached their final overnight stop before Cottesmore.
She glanced over at her two companions, snoring loudly in opposite corners of the carriage and shook her head, stifling a weary grin.
When she’d first accepted her best friend’s invitation to Scotland, Mercedes realised she’d need at least one chaperone to make the long journey with her. However, she hadn’t considered that the role might be filled by her step-grandparents. Especially as Reverend Shackleford had been returned from Scotland less than six months.
Apparently, according to Jennifer’s brother Peter, the clergyman had inexplicably made a friend in Brendon Galbraith’s father, Dougal – though Peter assured her that if either were questionedabout their friendship, they would deny it strenuously, likely including a few colourful insults in their repudiation.
The Reverend had therefore magnanimously offered to accompany Mercy on her visit, insisting that his wife Agnes came along on this occasion, presumably to support his chaperoning activities - though where he’d got the idea that Agnes was a champion of a young woman’s finer sensibilities, she had no idea. Indeed, as far as Mercedes was aware, neither of her step-grandparents would recognise a finer sensibility if it wacked them on the head.
In actual fact, Augustus and Agnes Shackleford were very much the last two people her father, the Earl of Cottesmore trusted to take care of his eldest daughter’s morals - or anything else for that matter. It was an opinion he did very little to hide.
Unfortunately, the eldest daughter in question was in truth possessed of very fewfiner sensibilities. She was however possessed of a mostly well-hidden stubborn streak and had made no bones about the fact that she would marry the first man to cross her path if her father did not allow the visit.
While most fathers might well have been happy to hear such an avowal since Mercy was about to enter into her third season, the fact that she’d come under the dubious influence of her Shackleford relatives at the tender age of eight, put the fear of God into the Earl’s heart.
So, with great reluctance, he threw in the towel and allowed Mercy to visit Jennifer in Scotland.
Along with Reverend and Agnes Shackleford.
The month at Caerlaverock with her closest friend - who also happened to be her cousin by marriage - had been glorious. Her step-grandmother’s supposed supervisory role had entirely taken place from a newly acquired chaise longue in the small sitting room, while the Reverend had spent the whole time spreading God’s word to workers in the local whisky distilleries, leaving Mercy to spend her time assisting Jennifer and Brendon with the building of Caerlaverock’s new school for orphans. In between, she roamed the hills and valleys around Loch Lomond with only the Reverend’s little dog, Flossy, and Fergus, Brendon’s wolfhound for company.
She’d been able to push her upcoming third season to the farthest recesses of her mind - until the very moment she left Caerlaverock five days ago. And as the days passed, her anxiety had only increased. She would be home at Cottesmore for barely a week before travelling to London with her father and stepmother and three half siblings.
And this time she had to make a good match. No more declaring a bored indifference with the marriage mart and fobbing off potential suitors whilst secretly waiting for a man who would sweep her off her feet.
She wasn’t afraid that her father would force her into a match she didn’t want. But neither could she remain at Cottesmore for the rest of her life. Not that her stepmother, Chastity, would ever wish her gone. Mercy knew her adopted mother loved her dearly.
In truth, she wanted to be the chatelaine of her own home, but despite her pragmatic declarations to the contrary, she wanted it with a man who loved her by her side.
