“Well, firstly, not all women desire such things. Perhaps…well, your sister-in-law often felt confined by Crosswood. But not all women would.”
I began to speak.
He cut me off with a quick shake of the head. “Secondly, not all women require dancing. Or require a man who flatters them. Many women want the steadiness of a man who respects her. Who wants to cherish and treasure her. Who will care for her. You, your lordship, are more than capable of doing all those things.”
I pursed my lips.
He grinned. Then easily pulled himself into Rupert’s saddle.
I was now steady astride Maestro, so we were off.
Three hours later, we returned. We had only visited a fraction of my tenants, but a sense of accomplishment settled in my chest. If we repeated this process every other day for two weeks, we would have visited just about everyone whose livelihood I held in my hands.
The awesome responsibility of being the earl of Hartridge had never dawned on me because I was so far down the line of succession—my father, my brother, any male child he might have.
I had already dealt with a visit from the solicitor.
The man had pointed out I should marry and endeavor to produce an heir.
I waved off the notion, even as I acknowledged the truth. I had responsibilities and definitely needed to remain alive to fulfill them. A wife for the earl. A child—if not several—to ensure the continuation of the lineage.
“You must be tired, my lord.” Percy had dismounted and now guided Maestro to the ramp so I could finally unseat myself.
My arse ached, although this was not even close to the longest period of time I had ever spent in a saddle. Campaigns were brutal beasts, and I had been fortunate to be a member of the cavalry and afforded a horse.
With some difficulty, I managed to dismount.
Although Percy was there to steady me, I did not wind up requiring his assistance. He handed me the cane he insisted I use. He argued gentlemen often used them. He also, less tactfully, pointed out if my thigh were to give way and I fell, that would be far worse.
He was not incorrect on that assertion.
Our groom took the horses away, even as I gave Maestro one last, longing glance.
“He remembers you. Now, let’s get you clean.”
Despite being astride a horse and the weather being clear, I still managed to accumulate a fine layer of dirt on most of me. The damp and chill from the incoming storm enveloped me now that I had stopped moving. “Yes, a bath. Then dinner. I want to test your knowledge of local lore.”
He grinned. He quite enjoyed our nightly conversations about all things British.
I had been in France so long, I had begun to lose my sense of home.
Perhaps an exaggeration.
I had bought my commission just before Britain declared war on France.
Perfect timing.
My days of being a rake were to be behind me.
Well, except for the occasional dalliance on the continent.
I fought in France and, when France declared war on Portugal, I was part of the fight in Lisbon. Only to return to France.
When Napoleon was exiled to Elba, I believed I would come home.
Only to have him escape and continue the war.
Until the decisive victory at Waterloo.
