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Teviotbrae, Scotland

Sebastian Coburn had been born on the same estate where he now lived. One might think he’d not gone anywhere or seen anything other than this corner of Scotland. But one would be mistaken.

He had spent much of his life traveling Britain and even attending Eton as a boy. His father had died when he was very young. Upon the untimely death of his mother nearly four years ago, he had returned to Teviot Castle, where his grandfather lived. As the principal landowner in the area, his grandfather was styled Angus Coburn, Laird of Teviotbrae. Sebastian, himself, would acquire the same dignity upon his grandfather’s passing.

For now, he was known simply as “Sebastian of the Home Farm.” All the local people, of course, knew his connection to the laird. But Grandfather had decided that Sebastian needed to show the people living in the vicinity that he would both be a good steward of the land and a valuable addition to the area. And thus, Sebastian had been assigned to work the home farm on the Teviot Castle estate, living in the humble home there, tilling the fields, repairing the buildings, depending upon the income generated from his efforts to sustain himself, rather than calling upon the income he received from his late father’s accounts or living on the land nearby that he had inherited upon his father’s death.

In making the Teviot Castle home farm his home and his occupation, he had gained an ever-increasing love for the land and for the people. He further found himself increasingly humbled to know that the well-being of the area would one day depend so much on the decisions he made. But he didn’t know if he was making any difference to anyone.

“I think your mind is off in the clouds again, Sebastian,” young Connall McCrory said, rightly acknowledging that Sebastian was distracted. “Best snatch up your thoughts and bring ’em back to earth.”

“While I do that,” Sebastian tossed back, “why don’t you snatch up those nails we pounded straight so we can finish this up before the storm brewing breaks.”

Sebastian didn’t sound as Scottish as the others who lived here did. He’d been away too long, educated in England and raised by an English mother. He’d picked up a bit of it during his four years as Sebastian of the Home Farm, but knew he’d likely always sound a bit out of place. The people of Teviotbrae had accepted him anyway, a bit of mercy for which he was deeply grateful.

“Do you suppose the foxes’ll manage to get into the hen house after this?” Connall was quite careful with the nails as he brought them over to where he and Sebastian had been working. The bits of metal came dear; they didn’t dare risk losing one.

“I wish I could say they won’t,” Sebastian said. “But they manage to outsmart us more often than I’d care for.”

“Are you saying we’re nae so clever as foxes?”

“This is the third time we’ve rebuilt the hen house, thinking we’d managed to thwart them,” Sebastian said. “Draw your own conclusions, lad.”

They began hammering the last boards of the newly reinforced wall in place. Connall often worked with Sebastian on the Teviot Castle home farm. It was too much work for one man alone. It was very nearly too much for him and his fourteen-year-old farmhand. Still, they managed it.

“M’sister’s found herself a new position,” Connall said.

“Has she?”

“Aye.” Connall held out another nail for him. “She’s to be an upstairs maid.”

An upstairs maid? Only the castle employed enough servants for the maids to be so specifically employed. “Whereabouts is she working? Has she had to leave Teviotbrae entirely?”

“Nae.” Connall shook his head. “Though she does have to live at Burnwick House, in the servants’ quarters.”

Burnwick House was empty. Had been for a year now. “It’s been let, has it?”

“Aye. And a full staff brought on.”

A full staff meant the house had been taken by someone of means, likely a family. “Odd that the laird didn’t tell me of these new arrivals.”

“The laird does nae usually whisper his thoughts in the ears of the home farmer.” Connall tossed him a knowing look. All the area knew Sebastian’s identity, and all the area knew the laird required that home farmer be the entirety of his identity for now.

“What do you know of the people who’ll be calling Burnwick House home?” Sebastian asked.

“From what the whispers say, it’s a Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield. We believe they’ve children, though how many or how old, no one seems able to say. And they’re coming directly from London.”

London was a fair bit away from Teviotbrae, and in more than merely miles. The wealthy of the capital city had decided ideas about what gave a place and people value. And none of those things could be found here: deep coffers, bustling streets, endless strings of frivolous Society activities. Sebastian had known a bit of that world during the one Season he’d spent there.

He had not enjoyed Town overly much. But Town, it seemed, was coming to him whether he wished for it or not.