He twisted around and squinted through the dark deluge, searching for the source of the shout. Light flickered through thesheets of water drenching the land. A lantern. He pushed himself to his feet and bellowed, “Here! Bring that light here!”
Jordson, the footman, cowering against the driving rain, came into view. “Your Grace, are you hurt?”
“Help me find the old well. The sides collapsed and took the Bannerlys down after they pulled me free of it.”
The footman stared at him as if he had turned into a horrifying specter.
Forbes grabbed the lantern, then shook the lad. “Help me find that damn well. What the devil is wrong with you?”
Jordson pointed a shaking finger to their right. “The well is gone, Your Grace. Look. There be the old iron pipe what once pumped the water when it had any.”
Forbes staggered into the shallow dip with the rusted pipe jutting up from its edge. He held the lantern higher and slowly turned in a circle. “No. Oh, God, no. Do not do this to me. Not to them!” He dropped to his knees and started clawing at the mud and rocks. “Help me!” he bellowed to the footman. “We must get to them.”
Jordson didn’t move. Just stood there. Staring.
“Help me, damn you!” Forbes shot to his feet, dragged the lad to the center of the dip filling with water, and forced him to his knees. “Dig, you fool, dig!”
The footman scraped at the muddy rocks for a while, then sat back on his heels. “Your Grace,” he said. “They are with God now.”
Forbes shoved the lad, then grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands back to the ground. “God does not need them like I do. They are not gone. Dig, damn you. Dig!”
The footman, the weak light of the lantern revealing his grim scowl, scooped at the muck, slinging handfuls of it to one side. One by one, the other footmen, the stable master, his lads, and the gamekeeper appeared, all bearing lanterns andpained expressions that told Forbes he teetered on the brink of madness.
“We must save them,” he sobbed, pounding the rocky slime with both fists. “They were the only parents I ever had. They loved me, and I loved them.” And yet, as was the way of things, he had never told them just how much they meant to him—how much he needed them in his life. And now it was too late.
He reared up and shook his bleeding fists at the heavens, roaring, “I hate you, God! How dare you turn your back on Ramthwaite Hall and foist all this pain upon me. Never again will your coffers get a single coin from me. You cursed this land to bring forth nothing but sorrow. I hope you are bloody well happy, because I am not Job, and will never darken the doors of your church ever again. In fact, I will raze Ramthwaite Chapel before this night ends!”
A frenzy of lightning exploded across the sky. The massive old oak closest to the well burst into a shower of sparks, then split in two with a deafening boom. Flames engulfed its sprawling branches, sizzling and popping in the rain. Every servant fell to their knees, praying for their duke and release from the curse he had just called down upon Ramthwaite Hall.
Chapter Two
Over sixty years later,
On the road to Ramthwaite Hall
Lake District, England
June 1825
Ross Arthur WilliamKirksey, sixth Duke of Ramthwaite, smiled at his new bride as their carriage rolled along toward Ramthwaite Hall. They had crossed into Ramthwaite lands miles ago but still wouldn’t reach the manor house for a good many hours.
“Are you certain you do not require a stop, my dear?” he asked as delicately as possible. Even though they had married days ago, they were still quite unacquainted. “To walk about a bit? It has been some time since you had some relief from this bouncing carriage.” He was determined to be a considerate husband in the hopes of someday fostering a genuine fondness between them. “Harmony?”
She turned from the window and blessed him with that same infectious smile that had caught his attention and lifted his spirits back at her father’s inn in Scotland. “Dinna fash yerself, Yer Grace. I’d sooner get to yer home rather than dawdle along the way. I’ll have plenty of time to walk about once we reach yer manor house.”
“Ross, my dear—remember? You may call me Ross.” He tipped a kindly nod to soften the reminder. It didn’t matter that she had once been a commoner working in her father’s inn. She was his wife now, a duchess in her own right, and he ached for her to realize that he hadn’t paid her greedy father a great deal of blunt to diminish her worth or flaunt his station bypurchasinga wife. He had paid the hog grubber all that coin to help the innkeeper in the loss of what Ross had observed to be a most valuable asset. Harmony Fergusson had efficiently operated the place—not her drunkard of a father. “And Ramthwaite Hall is your home now too, my dear.”
The brilliant cornflower blue of her eyes sparkled even brighter. “Aye, Yer Grace…I mean, Ross. So it is. Do forgive me. This is all still so new. So unexpected.” She tucked a soft brown curl behind her ear, then teased him with a wiggle of her nose that reminded him of the bunnies he had forbidden the servants to oust from the garden. “But I shall do better. Daren’t ye worry.” She turned back to the window, taking in the land with such excitement it made him look at the verdant meadows and rolling hills with fresh eyes. “And ye say we are on Ramthwaite land right now? Yet we willna reach the manor house till nightfall?”
“Remember the stone bridge?” Silly question. Of course she remembered it. She had remarked on the pair of stone rams guarding it. But he loved her lilting voice with its undertone of something that could only be described as the sound of pure and simple happiness. He would do anything to keep her talking. Her voice soothed his troubled soul. “Those rams at the bridge mark the northernmost border to our lands.”
“’Tis almost as bonny as Scotland,” she said while staring out the window. Then she jerked as though startled and cast a nervous look his way. “Oh my, beg yer pardon. Ye must surely think me ungrateful.” She twitched the slightest shrug. “Yer lands are lovely, Yer Gra—Ross.”
“Our lands, Harmony.” He risked taking her hand in his. “Our lands.”
Her gaze flitted down to his fingers curled around hers, then rose and met his eyes. The delicate curve of her high cheekbones flashed with a rosiness that made him imagine her sprawled across a bed overflowing with satin pillows. He cleared his throat, released her fingers, and clasped his hands in his lap once again. There would be no familiarities. Not yet. He refused to consummate their vows until a comfortable affection had grown between them. How else could he prove to her that he had not purchased her as one would purchase a mare for breeding? He liked Harmony and needed her to like him—perhaps even more thanlikehim, if he dared be honest about his wishes.
He cleared his throat again. “Once you review Ramthwaite Hall, you may redecorate as you see fit. Funds are not an issue.”Damn and blast.He sounded like a solicitor closing a business deal rather than an indulgent husband.
