Page 56 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“Tris, please, Dora.” He gave her hand a little shake, then drew his away. Still, he needed to be quite sure. “You are certain you would not prefer to stay here? Your father has even made enquiries about an estate close by.”

“You may be assured, I will be most happy to remove to your estate, Tris.” A fleeting curl of her lips passed for a smile. “It is in Yorkshire I believe my father said.”

“My principle estate is, yes. I live in London most of the year, where I have a townhouse in Mayfair. After the wedding, I thought we might journey to Italy for some months.”

“To Italy?” Her voice rose almost to a squeak.

“It is a lovely country and I would like very much to show it to you. When we return we’ll journey to Yorkshire.” He took her gloved hand between both of his and placed a warm kiss on it. “Perhaps you will find it as lovely as this estate.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face and she grasped his hand. “That sounds wonderful, Tris.”

Her horse stamped. Almost reluctantly, she let go Tris’s hand and clucked to Gretchen, patting the animal’s neck. “I cannot wait to see Yorkshire. Is the estate large?”

“Almost two thousand acres.”

“Goodness.” Gathering her reins, she stared off into the distance. “The temperature is dropping. Let us head to the village.”

“Should we perhaps return to the house?” He had an idea what her answer would be, still he’d ask.

“Oh, I believe we can pay a short visit,” she spoke quickly, slipping her reins through her fingers over and over. “If we’re in luck, Mrs. Pierce will have some warm bannocks in her shop. They are quite the best I’ve ever had.”

“I cannot wait to taste one.” Tris motioned for her to take the lead. “Would you like to hear more about my estate? You will be mistress there soon.”

Her blue eyes matched the sky. “I’d like that very much.”

Once they cleared the woods, Tris pulled the roan up beside her and they started at a brisk walk. “The estate is called Marshall Manor, on the border of Cumbria. A lovely prospect in summer, but the Dales are fierce in winter.” He eyed her and nodded. “I think you’ll love it.”

* * * *

Finishing Mrs. Pierce’s warm bannocks, which were every bit as good as Dora claimed, Tris marveled at all the people who seemed to know of their visit to the village. Before he’d taken a bite out of the delicious bread, slathered with fresh butter, half the populace seemed to have entered the baker’s shop. They admired Mrs. Pierce’s new grandson, swaddled and in his mother’s arms, spoke to the head crofter, Mr. Craddock and two of his six daughters. Young Jimmy Vyne arrived to purchase bannocks and stayed to talk about the spring crops while Tris’s toes froze in his boots.

He finally urged Dora outdoors, and toward her mount, when she spied a black and white dog, bounding over the drifts.

“Jasper!” she called, backing away from her horse and kneeling to embrace the shaggy shepherd. “Where have you come from?” She peered around, then glanced at Tris, brows puckered. “He belongs to old Mr. Blake, but I don’t see him anywhere. I hope nothing is wrong.” Fending off Jasper’s enthusiastic advances, Dora continued searching for sight of his master.

“Does Mr. Blake live in the village?” Tris asked, grabbing the reins of both horses. He, too, scanned the fields and roadway for sight of the dog’s master.

“No, he lives at one of the outlying farms.” She rose, her brows set in a deep V. “I hope he’s not ill. Jasper’s usually right at his side.”

“Shall we ride out to his farm to check on him?” Tris took measure of the sun’s position. Much as he commended Dora’s concern about her tenants, the shadows of afternoon lay deep on the snow. He wouldn’t want to be caught far from the manor house after dark. “We may just have time before tea.”

“Yes, thank you.” Cheeks pink with the cold, she flashed him another brilliant smile that went straight to his heart. “It would put my mind at ease.” She loosed Jasper and Tris cupped his hands for her to mount.

The small foot, encased in shiny black leather, made him smile unaccountably. She would be a gracious and caring viscountess for his estates. Guilt assailed him for taking her away from the people she obviously loved and who loved her, still he’d be damned if he settled here. He had his own people to think of. Dora settled into place and Tris grabbed his horse, preparing to mount, when a loud call of “Halloo, Jasper,” rent the air.

“Mr. Blake?” Dora twisted in the saddle.

Yipping, Jasper raced toward an ancient board wagon pulled by a small pony just rounding the corner of the baker’s shop. The elderly little man at the reins could be no one but Mr. Blake. His worn brown coat, threadbare in places, barely seemed to cover his diminutive frame. His face lit up at the site of Dora. “Miss Harper it is. I’ve not seen your lovely face these two months. A Merry Christmas to you.”

“And to you, Mr. Blake. I was surprised to see Jasper and not you.” At once, Dora slid nimbly out of her saddle to the ground. “I never see one without the other.”

“Aye, well, Jasper’s a sight faster ‘an me these days.” He ruffled the fur on the excited dog’s ruff. “He’s always loved boundin’ through the snow.”

They continued speaking, but Tris heard nothing.

Christmas. Christ, had it only been three days since he’d seen Violet? It seemed a year at least. The fleeting contentment he’d enjoyed with Dora vanished like a snowflake in the sun. Much as he was coming to admire his future wife, his heart twisted at the thought of the woman he’d left in London. The woman he might never see again but would never forget. His love, his soul.

“My lord?”