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Samuel ran his calloused hand along the stallion’s noble neck. “Always, my lord.”

Alexander nodded his appreciation and turned to walk around to the front of the house, a wave of homecoming washing over him. It had been months since he’d last been at Bloxley Hall, and he had missed it. No matter how much he wished it otherwise, the hustle and bustle of London seemed to infiltrate his townhouse, constantly humming beneath the surface of everyday life. Here, the slower pace of the country enveloped him, and the gray stone walls that had been protecting his family for generations stood as a sure defense against the world beyond.

He reached the front doors, and Fink, the butler who had been at Bloxley Hall for as long as Alexander could remember, opened them wide.

“Welcome home, Lord Bloxley,” he said with a bow.

“Thank you, Fink. It’s good to be here.” Entering the great hall, Alexander gazed around the vast space. A wide staircase rose from the black-tiled floor to the landing above. Large paintings of his forbears hung in gilded frames around the room, and on either side of the staircase, marble busts of Zeus and Hera stood on tall, white pillars, watching everyone who entered with sightless eyes. Golden lyres leaned against two large urns of freshly cut flowers and completed the undeniably Grecian theme. Alexander shook his head slightly. No one could accuse Lady Bloxley of being timid in her decorating.

“Is my mother at home?” he asked. Evening would soon arrive, and it was unlikely that Lady Bloxley was out unless she had been invited to a social function nearby.

“She is, my lord. She and Mrs. Hunt are in your mother’s sitting room finalizing the details for the annual picnic.”

“No need to disturb her, then.” No one interrupted Lady Bloxley when she was in full organizational swing, least of all Alexander. “When they have finished, perhaps you would be good enough to inform her of my arrival. I shall be in the study.”

Fink bowed. “Very good, my lord. Would you like some refreshment brought to you?”

Alexander hesitated. “Was Cook made aware that I would be arriving today?”

“I believe so, my lord.”

Alexander grinned. He and Cook had a long history that had begun with him pilfering bread pudding from the kitchen when he was a boy and had developed into her making it especially for him whenever he returned home.

“If Cook happens to have any extra bread pudding in the kitchen, I would be happy to take it off her hands,” he said.

Fink’s somber expression did not change, but a hint of humor shone in his pale-blue eyes. “Very good, my lord.”

“It seems as though we may have had this same conversation before, Fink.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

Alexander chuckled. “Please tell Cook that no one in London makes bread pudding as well as she does.”

Fink bowed. “I am sure she will be glad to hear it, my lord.”

Happily anticipating the arrival of his favorite food, Alexander entered the study. Unlike the similarly named room at Claremont House, which he considered his own, this one was his father’s. And he was quite sure it always would be. The painting of his father’s favorite mount still hung above the fireplace, and the large mahogany desk and its matching chair were the ones his father had chosen. Two walls were lined with books, and four chairs upholstered in dark-green brocade stood on the highly polished wooden floor. It was the only room in the house that his mother had not redecorated, and Alexander was determined that she never would.

Dropping into the chair behind the desk, Alexander eyed the ledgers stacked before him and sighed. He would need to meet with his steward to go over the estate’s books without delay. His parliamentary work had taken precedence over his responsibilities to his tenants for too long. Three envelopes lay beside the ledgers. Alexander frowned. He had been gone from London for less than a day and already his business correspondence was catching up with him.

He flipped through the letters, his hands instantly stilling when he came upon a lavender-colored envelope. Miss Hadford. He checked the address. This had not been redirected; she had sent it directly to Bloxley Hall. It must have come very recently, then. Breaking the seal, he withdrew the lavender-colored paper within and began to read.

Charwell Park

5th May 1788

Dear Lord Bloxley,

I am writing to you at Bloxley Hall as I am not certain when you plan to quit London and I wish to ensure that you receive this letter before you go in search of Asher Barton in High Brodmore.

There have been further, rather serious developments in the Stanley household since I last wrote. Mrs. Stanley has become quite ill. We believe she is suffering from the dysentery.

My aunt and I happened to visit soon after she became too poorly to care for the children. Her son, Charlie, took the baby to a neighbor, who has promised to care for him. I took Asher home to Charwell Park with me. He has been here for three days now and has adjusted to the change well. As I suspected, he is a bright child with a curious and cheery disposition.

Mr. Stanley has made no effort to contact me, and I have heard nothing more regarding Mrs. Stanley’s condition. Charlie was going for the doctor when Lady Millward, Asher, and I left the premises. I can only hope Mrs. Stanley’s health has improved and that when she is well enough to care for Asher, she will inform me. Until that time, you will find him at Charwell Park. Please visit at your convenience.

Sincerely,

Jane Hadford