Chapter One
Pounding hooves and frustration drove the Earl of Chadbourn in a fog of discouragement toward an unfamiliar fence line. He rode head down into the wind until an unexpected sight startled him out of his dismals. He pulled Mercury to a sudden stop. The fence looked to be in good repair. Thank God, he thought.
Frustration had driven him from his sister's house, but his neck-or-nothing ride across the fields had done nothing to ease his burdens, raise his spirits, or banish his demons. This did.
Can some part of Emery Wheatly's benighted property actually be in repair?
William Landrum, 10th Earl of Chadbourn, badly needed some sign of order. In the two months he had spent struggling with his late unlamented brother-in-law's over-grazed estate, falling fences had been the norm. So had unrepaired tenant cottages, sodden fields, and poorly managed pastures. The only things in good heart he had found so far were those that directly impacted the late Duke of Murnane's personal comfort. If it weren't for Chadbourn's nephew, the duke's son and heir—now his ward—the urge to chuck the whole thing and throw it back on the Crown might be irresistible. He longed to get back to his own land.
Will breathed deeply of the crisp November air, leapt down, and gave his mount a reassuring caress along its neck. He bent to examine the fence, sliding his gloved hand across the top rail. He shook the posts to test their stability. He examined the crossbars. Perfect. The earl admired quality workmanship; he rated this work highly indeed.
A short walk took him past a neatly pruned orchard. The cuttings appeared recent, done just after last week's hard frost. The orchard could not be on the Duke of Murnane's land. Eversham Hall boasted no such careful husbandry. He had ridden farther than planned. What neighbors are these? he wondered. Sylvia never mentioned them, but then, his sister didn't tell him much these days.
The fence turned at a lane and curved past the orchard. Still leading Mercury, he let his curiosity pull him along until a farmhouse came into view. He stood at the top of a gentle slope looking down at a trim thatched cottage, solid barn, and garden beds—neat even in late fall—the dried remnants of flowers to the front of the cottage, a vegetable patch out behind.
In five years of marching through mud and blood, dreams of just such a scene had been his safe talisman, the peace of rural England keeping the horrors of death and dismemberment at bay. Seeing it in reality, after two months of managing Murnane's damaged legacy, warmed his heart.
He walked down the lane bathed in contentment, drawn by the need to absorb the place's serenity and order until barnyard chaos upended his fanciful notions. He had stumbled onto a domestic crisis. He chuckled as he went.
Piglets ran in several directions, while a goat charged up the hill toward him, eyes wide with panic. Two boys ran in circles trying to catch rioting pigs. The more they ran, the more they sent a flock of geese into a frenzy of honking and feathers. A dog barked frantically on one side, only to run to the other and bark more. In the center of the chaos a woman stood, one hand raised above her head and the other holding her skirts above the confusion.
Will's vision narrowed to the woman. Tall and serene, she put him in mind of Athena, striding above the fray to command calm. Intense longing for her serenity, for her strength, and for order filled him. For a moment, he could think of nothing else.
Frantic bleating brought him back to earth. The goat pelted up the hill toward him. He caught the piece of rope dangling from a loop around the animal's neck before it could charge past him. The panicked beast sent Mercury skittering to the side. A hard yank brought the bleater to an abrupt stop, and a gentle hand and soft voice calmed it. He could see that the rope had been violently torn from a longer piece.
There's a story here, he thought, a smile twitching his lips. He led the goat down the lane trusting his horse to follow.
“Enough!” Catherine shouted. “Quiet.” The dog at least obeyed. Her youngest brother, Randy, skidded to a halt and glanced at her sheepishly while he shouted, "Behind you, Freddy. There's one behind you!"
“Frederick, stop this instant and look at me.”
The older of her two siblings stopped his gleeful pursuit reluctantly and turned to look at his sister.
“But the pigs, Cath, I—gore!” Freddy exclaimed. His eyes widened, fixated on a sight past Catherine's shoulder. “That's a fine beast.”
Catherine spun on her heels and gasped. A man—and a fine specimen indeed—stood not ten feet away. Tall and broad shouldered, the man exuded the unmistakable confidence of the upper classes. Sunshine did interesting things with the lights in his soft brown hair and his eyes. She found herself momentarily at a loss.
“This animal belongs to you, I presume?” the man asked. His deep rich voice rumbled through Catherine's bemused distraction. She looked up at the huge bay stallion following the man as meekly as a lamb, opened her mouth to deny it, but caught sight of the ragged rope in his hands. He had dragged her irritable goat home.
“Yes. Rosalinda. Thank you.” Catherine stumbled over the words.
Randy rushed forward to take the rope.
“Thank you ever so much, sir. So frightened she was, I might have had to chase her clear to the road. If she went onto His Grace's land again, the steward said he'd roast her for dinner.” The boy chattered while he tied the animal to the broken gate of the pigsty. “As it is, the mother hog is probably halfway to Wheatton by now.”
Warm brown eyes held Catherine's. She found herself unable to speak.
“I say, sir. That horse is a beauty, Mr.—” Freddy began.
“Chadbourn. At your service.”
Chadbourn? The earl? Catherine looked in chagrin at her third-best work dress with its patched hem and faded colors. The one time someone from that family appeared on their doorstep, and he found her looking bedraggled.
“Chadbourn?” Freddy echoed. “You can't be. They never come here.”
The earl looked confused.
“Frederick!” Catherine snapped, coming sharply to attention. “Mind your manners.”
