The silence tortured her as she turned and walked the long distance back to Otterburn Castle.
Chapter 2
Newcastle, Northumberland 1850
The air in Newcastle hungthick with coal dust as Alex prepared to ride. A train ticket would have been more economical, but his destination was nowhere near the closest station. Moxham, his man-of-all-work, or his valet, or his steward—the man served as all three—brushed off Alex’s lapel and handed him the reins. The servant cleared his throat. “I promise this horse was the best animal I could find with the money ye gave me.”
“Thank you, Moxham.” He appraised the horse, looking into its surprising blue eyes. “I shall call him Cobalt.” Alex looked back toward the rooms he rented in town. Buying a horse was the only purchase, besides the absolute essentials and Moxham’s wages, that he’d allowed himself to make in the last nine years.
“And, sir,” Moxham said, “if I might suggest, be sure to stand up straight. Our being hunched is always givin’ away our past. And pat down yer hair before ye knock on their door. If ye do those things, they will never guess where ye’ve been.”
Alex nodded to his friend and attended to his hair. Add pomade to the list of things he hadn’t wanted to buy to deplete his already meager funds. He attempted a grin toward his servant but feared his expression most likely belied his nerves. He mounted without another word.
For early April, the air held a crisp chill, but he welcomed the feeling on his perspiring brow. It would take nearly an hour of steady riding, but he hoped and prayed his journey would be worth it.
He rode fast, and soon increasingly thick forests closed in on him, bringing with them memories of his past. He’d not been back to his childhood home in nearly a decade, not since his father and mother had been taken away. That day his mother had told him to run, and he had, taking only what he could carry to the nearest town and searching for work.
From that day on he’d been left on his own. To her credit, his mother would not leave his father’s side, but both had told him he’d be better off never associating with them again.
As a scared, dejected almost-fourteen-year-old boy, he’d ended up in Newcastle and found work as a coal miner. He was still small enough then that they’d wanted him for the deepest, smallest, most dangerous routes. Memories of dark, craggy walls and tight, choking passageways filled his mind, along with the smell of pungent sweat and the sight of carts and air so full of dusty coal particles that one could hardly breathe. At least he’d been able to survive the backbreaking pits and save long enough to elevate himself.
His was a conflicted relationship with the mines. They had given him a livelihood, but there was still so much risk and so much wrong with how they operated. It’d taken years and calculated decisions, but having gained a leadership position was loads better than having no choice but to go underground. Still, he remembered his past and wanted more than anything to help others in those basest of conditions.
Now he had Moxham, and he had the favor of Mr. Cartwright, the owner of Newcastle Mining Company. As the company’s new acquisitions manager, it was Alex’s job to ensure growth and development. If all went according to plan, he could become second only to Mr. Cartwright and finally have enough money and prestige to have a place in the Society he’d once belonged to. Maybe even a place beside the people he’d once thought of as family: the Roylances.
He shook his head, realizing he ought to leave the horrors that haunted him behind him.
He pulled on his horse’s reins, and as he continued at a slower pace, the path took hold of him and conjured memories of a different sort. In a rush he remembered his time here, running his father’s hunting dogs, before his family fell to ruin. Those days had been nothing but easy, carefree, opulent. How many times had he played near this very road, never dreaming all his luxury would be ripped away in a fraction of a moment?
He felt as if he’d had two separate childhoods: Alex before the mines and Alex after. Now grown and ready to secure his future, he wasn’t sure how his two boyish selves could melt into one cohesive whole.
“Woah, there,” he called to his horse, the road suddenly seeming unfamiliar. He leaned down and patted his horse’s withers. He studied the space around himself, the general thickness of the woods different from the image in his memory. He rode on, noting a stream. The only stream he recalled had never flowed so near the road.
After traveling several more minutes in what he hoped was the right direction, the road rose up a small hill, which he almost recognized, though it did not look as he remembered either. He stilled his horse completely and, from the small vantage, attempted to gain his bearings. The trees were so tall he couldn’t see his destination in any direction. Was it possible he wasn’t even close to the castle?
In the stillness he heard another horse’s hooves pounding quickly toward him. “There you go, girl!” he heard a feminine voice call. Before he could think about his predicament further, the voice materialized into a beautiful woman in a forest-green riding habit, her hair completely tucked into her hat, sitting sidesaddle atop a buckskin mare.
“Oh, woah, girl!” the young woman called, not seeing Alex until she crested the hill. The morning’s heavy clouds and the shade from the brim of her large hat made it hard to discern her exact eye color, but her striking features were clear as she reined in her animal and drew to a stop several yards away.
Alex felt for his hat immediately, grateful to meet anyone on this confusing road. As he tipped it in her direction, he said, “Good day. I beg your pardon for startling you and your beauty of a mount.” He wasn’t about to mention how uniquely pretty he found her.
Her wary mare performed a half circle as the young woman stared at him. Her hold on the reins proved she was a skilled horsewoman. She looked behind her and pulled down her own hat, casting more of a shadow over her beautiful countenance as she seemed to gather her wits. “I... should not have been galloping so.”
“In my estimation,” he shot back with a smile, “you ought to gallop as often as you’d like.” She stared at him more intently then, and he wasn’t sure why she looked so uneasy. Perhaps he should leave her presence as quickly as possible and get on to his errand. “Would you be so good as to point me in the direction of Otterburn Castle? The road did not turn as I expected, but I have not been in these parts for many years.”
“Oh yes, my, um—I mean, the owners have diverted a few streams and cleared some of the wood as of late.” She pointed to his left. “If you go just that way, it will take you to the main road that leads to the park.”
“I thank you,” he said and then made a quick turn in the direction she’d indicated. What a mesmerizing face she had, at least the part he’d glimpsed under her hat, yet her alarm at seeing a stranger had been evident. He tried to think of those intriguing eyes—had they been blue?—and not of the conversation awaiting him as he galloped down the descending road. He needed this to work. He wanted reconciliation and friendship, but at the very least, he needed this land and the coal within it.
***
Charlotte Roylance didn’t wait half a minute after the mysterious man was out of her vision to turn her own mount around and gallop in the other direction. He’d get to the castle via the road she’d mentioned much faster than her, so she had no time to waste.
Could it really, truly, behim? His facehadseemed hauntingly familiar, but it was his declaration that he used to know these woods that had confirmed it for her. If only she’d thought fast enough to verify his name.
Why had Alexander Jenkins come back? She hoped it was to rekindle a friendship with Christopher, and in the same breath she shuddered, fearing how her brother would receive him. During the last nine years, Christopher’s references to the Jenkins family had become increasingly vehement. He seemed to double every angry remark his father had made of the family. To them, the elder Mr. Jenkins and his family were the measuring stick of disaster.
As she rode, she recalled Alex’s face. It was the same as she’d remembered and yet so different. More manly and more complicated somehow. What stories did his past hold? Whatever had happened, none of it had diminished his confident smile. She had to admit she found him even more handsome than the many times she’d recalled the boy she knew, especially seeing him atop his horse, grown, and in a gentleman’s jacket.
