His sister’s persistence made him smile. She’d come to the entirely erroneous conclusion that he was lonely. That marriage would serve him better than the life of a bachelor. She was wrong, but her concern touched him. He tossed the letter on the leather desktop. Sifting through the rest, he discarded all but one from Williams, the estate manager Dominic had recently employed to take care of matters pertaining to Redcliffe Hall.
Until now, the unoccupied mansion and estate grounds in Northumberland held little interest, as it still eked out a small subsistence, enough to keep it functioning. Ignoring its existence for months, he was now forced to make a decision. He’d hoped to rent the house and sell some of the land, but Williams’s letter deplored the state of it. He urged something must be done. Could his lordship come to Redcliffe Hall to advise him?
Days of travel in the coach, which Dominic detested, and a forestalling of his intention to take a new mistress. Lady Anne Cranston had been at her loveliest tonight, her assets on display in the plunging crimson silk gown, and she left him in no doubt that she was available. He yawned, picked up the candle, and made his way to bed.
Right now, he grasped at the chance to leave London. While away, hopefully, another scandal would engage theton. Prinny, for instance, could be relied upon to set tongues wagging.
Dominic supposed the house was moderately comfortable. Williams’s description had been brief, but he assumed some of his uncle’s staff remained in service. All would be revealed in time. Now all he wanted to do was go to bed.
Chapter One
Northumberland, Summer 1819
The Earl ofRedcliffe was jolted from the seat when his carriage struck a deep pothole and lurched into a ditch. The vehicle tilted at a precarious angle. He shoved open the door and leapt onto the bank beside a small stream and gazed with concern at his coachman, who bent forward on the box, a hand to his head.
“Are you hurt, Grimsby?”
Grimsby rubbed his forehead and climbed gingerly down. “A bit of a banged noddle is all, milord.”
Dominic’s groom appeared to be hopping as he hastened to calm the skittish horses.
“What about you, Fellows?”
“Merely twisted me ankle, milord.” As the chestnuts whickered and strained in their harness, Fellows ran experienced hands over their legs. He shook his head. “No sign of injury.”
Dominic and Grimsby squatted down to examine the undercarriage.
“That front right wheel’s broken’n two, milord,” Grimsby said, stating the obvious.
Dominic stood and brushed his trousers. “We passed a sign a way back saying it was three miles to the village. I’ll fetch the wheelwright. You and Fellows stay with the carriage.”
“No need, milord,” Grimsby said, shocked. “I’m well able to walk.”
He eyed the man’s pale face and the bruise forming on his forehead. “No. I relish a stroll after hours spent in the carriage.”
Dominic left them and strode up the road, breathing in fresh air tinged with damp foliage and wet earth. The trees bordering the route dripped from an early rain shower, but above him, the summer sky was almost cloudless and a clear, bright blue. In the distance, the drying fields shimmered. Since he’d sold out of the army after the Battle of Waterloo, he preferred not to stray far from London, and yet here he was, miles from anywhere.
Surprisingly, after a few days on the road, with the ever-changing view of peat bogs, moorland, and hay meadows, so different from anything he’d seen before, Dominic found he gained some perspective on the last disappointing year. While he didn’t consider himself a rakehell, because he would never coerce a woman, he feared the gossip worried his sister. But even for Evelyn’s sake, he had no intention of marrying until well into his thirties.
As the last mile passed, he considered this trip to be an excellent idea. To leave the sooty gray skies and crammed streets of London for a short spell, not to mention the gossip swirling about seemed exactly what was needed. He hailed a pair of black-and-white cows standing in a field. They remained like statues, staring at him while they chewed. Dominic chuckled. The silence here was positively deafening. He felt untethered from his London life, floating free. It was a good feeling.
He considered it unwise to leave the men and the horses for too long, and careless of the mud sticking to his top boots, he jumped a puddle and broke into a run. Rounding a bend in the road, a few thatched-roofed cottages came into view. A sign welcomed him to Redcliffe Village. It gave him a jolt as reality struck. He was the fifth earl in a family whose history reached back to William the Conqueror.
By the look of the small, quiet village, he feared it could prove grindingly dull. A week or two at most would be enough with Williams’s help to prepare the estate for leasing or sale. Then back to London, refreshed.
The church spire came into view. He walked past the watermill, crossed a stone bridge over the River Tyne, and entered the village.
There were few people about, but it was still early. The coach had departed the last coaching inn at first light. Once the wheel was mended, breakfast would be in order. An inn, the Plough, was farther along the street. After a hearty meal, he could face the neglected estate his uncle had shut himself away in for decades.
He passed a few shops and businesses overlooking the green, not yet open, and approached a barn with the wheelwright’s sign affixed above the door. As he drew near, a young woman, her skirts gathered high to reveal a trim ankle, bolted out the barn door. Her eyes on the path, she cannoned into his chest.
She stared up at him, her bonnet shoved back on her head, saved from falling by its blue ribbons, while Dominic steadied her, his hands on her shoulders. He gazed down into a pair of stunning, violet-blue eyes. “May I be of help?”
She stepped away to a safer distance. “No, thank you, sir.” Something akin to recognition dawned in those wonderful eyes. A frown creased the smooth skin between straight, dark brows.
Dominic swept off his hat. He’d enjoyed the brief moment her fragrant, slim body rested against his chest. Amused, he observed her. From her bonnet to her shoes she was a decidedly fetching woman. “Are you sure?”
“I am quite sure, Lord Redcliffe.” Her voice crisp, she settled her straw hat over her disordered dusky curls. Knew him, did she? He cocked an eyebrow.
