In London, Nora had pined for the freedom of home. Now finally home, that freedom continued to elude her. Her father’s indulgence had ended. He expected her to comport herself in Tarrindale Hall as she had in London: as a proper lady. Most of the changes had happened before London, had been creeping in for a year or two, but the time away, and the homesickness she’d felt, had made her forget that and remember most keenly her years of happiness at home—a happiness she could only now reclaim in scraps.
Gone were their breakfasts sharing the news. Instead, when they spoke at all, they discussed Tarrindale. Her father told her of his plans for the day and questioned her about her own, ensuring that each question directed her toward an appropriate activity for her day: ‘Mrs. Pevensey had her fifth, I hear. Another boy. You’ll be bringing our good wishes to her today, I expect?’ or ‘Mr. Evans was round yesterday, asking about the Orchard Festival. The committee meets this afternoon. Shall I tell Timothy to have the car ready, or would you prefer to ride with Dan?’ Or worst of all, ‘I ran into Sir Jeremy. His daughter is lovely, isn’t she? When shall we invite the Lacesmiths to dine?’
Gone were the afternoons spent reading together in his library. Now, her father kept the door to the library and to his office locked. Gone were her rides alone through the family woods or along the shore. Now when she went to the stables, the grooms wouldn’t even saddle her horse unless she agreed that one of them would accompany her. Gone was her favourite saddle—its place on the wall was empty. Only her side saddle remained for her use. Gone were her quiver and bow.
Gone, indeed, was Nora herself.
There was nothing left to her but needlework, dinner planning, and charity. Her father was determined that she be trapped in a cage of his choosing.
Still befuddled by the careening emotional seas she’d sailed in her few weeks at Aunt Martha’s, Nora had taken the shock of her home’s change like a single blow among a hundred. She hadn’t fought him. Her aunt wanted her to submit. Her father wanted her to submit. Their reasons were different, but together they had constrained her world so there was no choice but to give them what they wanted.
So when her father asked after the new mother in town, or an upcoming event that needed planning, or a dinner to host, Nora said, ‘Yes, Father,’ and did what he wanted.
Until he left Tarrindale Hall.
As had been his habit since long before her birth, once each week, her father left home, and Tarrindale altogether, to meet with neighbouring lords. What those men did for that day each week, Nora didn’t know nor care. He left after breakfast and didn’t return home until just before dinner—and if the weather was poor, he might even miss dinner or stay out for the night.
When she’d been younger, she’d disliked those days and spent them lonely for him. Now that her activities had been so sharply curtailed, her father’s absences were the best time of each week, and she could hardly mask her eagerness for his departure.
As soon as he left, and his car could no longer be heard along the road, she’d hurry up to her room and change into breeches and boots—Kate was her reluctant and anxious accomplice—and then run to the stables. She’d caught Dan, the groom most often assigned to her, in a stall in compromising circumstances with a village girl, and she’d had no moral quibble about extorting him to her aid. He’d saddle her horse with one of the guest saddles, and, with a solemn vow not to leave the Tarrindale Hall grounds, she’d ride.
They were all she had, these rides. Galloping astride across the grounds, through the woods, on her own, the wind in her face, her hair flying loose from its pins, she could feel free. For the only time left in her life, she felt free. It was mere fantasy and meant no change in her circumstances, but it was, at least, a respite. When the weather kept her trapped indoors, she spent the day in her bleakest temper. But when the day was fair, Nora breathed deep and thought she could survive a life in any cage.
In early October, just more than a month since she’d returned from London, Nora woke before Kate was in to rouse her. A golden glow peeked through her closed draperies, and she jumped from bed like a child on Christmas morning and tore the drapes open. Autumn morning sun beamed across the grounds and turned the dew-kissed leaves to gemstones. Topaz. Garnet. Tourmaline.
It was her freedom day.
She turned at the knock on her door. “Come in, Kate! I’m already awake!”
Her fretful maid came in with her tray of tea and toast. Nora preferred the gloomy days that Lord Tarrin was away, even if Kate was glum and silent. She feared her father’s ire should he discover his daughter’s waywardness. But Nora would never let Kate, or Dan, or any of the staff be hurt by her actions. They need take no blame.
She plopped before her dressing table and let Kate prepare her for breakfast.
Her father was reading the day’s first post at the breakfast table.
“Good morning, Father.” Nora kissed his cheek and went to the buffet to arrange her plate. Porridge. Ugh. She passed that dish by and selected a piece of toast and a few sausages, then poured her tea.
When she sat, her father stared at her over his reading glasses as if he’d not seen her clearly for some time. Nora felt a frisson of guilty self-consciousness. Could he foresee the way she meant to spend his day away?
“Father?”
“You don’t call me ‘Papa’ any longer.”
No, she didn’t. Papa was the man who’d shared the news with her and allowed her to fly. “It’s a name for a child to use, is it not?”
He considered her for a moment longer before he answered. “Hm. I suppose it is.”
He went back to his letters, and she picked at her toast. Often, he was distracted on the days he left the Hall, and they took their breakfast in silent company.
“There’s news,” he said after a few moments. When he had Nora’s attention, he waved the letter in his hand. “Your brother writes that he’ll be home for dinner this evening and plans to stay in the country with us, perhaps through the holidays.”
“Really!” Christopher preferred the bustle of London and normally could scarcely manage a fortnight in Tarrindale before he announced that he’d go mad from boredom.
“Indeed. I wonder what draws him home. A lady, perhaps? Did you notice his attention fall in any particular direction in London?”
Nora shook her head. Her brother’s attention had cast a very wide net. As usual. “No. I don’t think I saw him dance twice in a night with a girl, much less pay court to one.”
“Well, perhaps he’s ready to learn the workings of the manor. Whatever his reason, it will be a pleasure to have him with us for so long.”
Nora agreed. Christopher didn’t entirely understand her, but he was unfailingly on her side.
“I do wish he’d given us more notice. I’ll have to have his room opened, and inform Gaines and Mrs. Dellen. The staff will be working doubly hard today. Perhaps I should beg off my meeting.”
“No!” Her father’s eyebrows lifted above his spectacles at her emphatic tone, and Nora cleared her throat and continued more calmly. “That’s woman’s work, Father. I’ll see to it. I intend to go over the week’s meals with Mrs. Dellen anyway, and I can certainly speak to Gaines about making ready for Christopher. It’s not so much extra work. You should keep your plans.”
If they had telephone here in Tarrindale Hall, Christopher could have called rather than write, and they’d have had word a day or two ago. But her father was suspicious of these inventions, especially in their ancestral home. He hadn’t yet allowed electricity in Tarrindale Hall, either. Christopher had arranged for the improvements to the London house, without their father’s approval.
She’d pleased her father with her answer, and he gave her a soft, paternal look. “Very well. But I’ll return in time to welcome him home. Thank you, my love.”
Her freedom would be foreshortened, but she’d preserved a few hours. She gave him the smile back that he expected.
It took no time at all to put Gaines on seeing to it that Christopher’s room was opened. Mrs. Dellen fussed about her unexpected extra shop, but she did so with a smile; she loved Christopher best. Then, only an hour after her father’s departure, and with at least four or five hours of her own ahead, she dragged Kate upstairs to free her from the bindings of her proper attire, and she dressed herself in her illicit, masculine riding outfit. The bright day had a chill wind spinning through it, so she wore a groom’s coat over her blouse.
Her horse, a strong gelding hunter, black with a white star between his eyes, had been a gift from her father on her fourteenth birthday. He thus had the imaginative name of Midnight Star, and Nora called him Middy. He was gentle as a lamb and loved a good snuggle, but once he was under saddle—any kind of saddle—he wanted to run and jump and play as much as Nora did. He walked from the stable with his knees up high. The sound of a huntsman’s horn made his ears prick up so high they shook. Together, they jumped fences and streams, they sped through fields, they weaved through trees, as fast as they could go. In nearly five years together, he’d never thrown her, and she’d never fallen. They rode as one, and for those few hours, they could fly.
Christopher was coming home today, and with him, she could ride the way she wanted every day, albeit sidesaddle, so Nora didn’t feel the same desperation to squeeze every second from this ride. Normally, they rode until Middy was lathered and then rested together in the woods for an hour before they rode just as hard back to the stable. Today, when Nora felt her first deep, relaxed breath fill her lungs, she pulled Middy up to a trot, and they meandered through the woods in a wide arc, eventually heading back. When they were clear of the woods again, she urged him back to a full run, and they flew.
As she came in sight of the stable, she saw someone walking from the direction of the house, apparently heading to the stable as well. From her distance, she could only see enough detail in the dark form to know it was a man. Christopher must have taken the early train; he was home in time for luncheon. Mrs. Dellen would come over faint for her lack of readiness. Keeping their pace, she turned Middy toward her brother and charged straight at him with a grin.
So sure was she that it was Christopher, she didn’t really focus on the details emerging until the man pulled up short as she barreled toward him. It wasn’t Christopher. William Frazier stood on the lawn at Tarrindale Hall, changing his course to move out of her way.
She pulled up Middy as sharply as he could. The horse fussed at the pressure of his bit but stopped with an aggravated snort.
“Mr. Frazier?” she gasped before she’d collected enough air into her lungs to speak smoothly.
“Lady Nora. I—” His eyes were fixed on her leg, and for the first time, she felt shame to be seen attired like a ruffian. He looked up at her face. “Hello. I’m sorry to startle you.”
“I’m sorry to have startled you. I meant to be playful, charging at you like that. I thought you were my brother.”
“I’m looking for him, actually. We were to meet in the village, but—”
“In Tarrindale?”
“Yes. I—I have some work to do in the area. Research.” His eyes drifted again to her leg.
William Frazier was staying in Tarrindale? Nora’s heart rattled the bars of its cage. When she spoke, she fought to keep her voice even. “He’s not to be home until later. Our driver is picking him up at the station for the five o’clock train.”
“Ah. I’m sorry. I should have checked with him before I left to make sure of his plans.”
“Why are you walking to the stable?”
He dropped his eyes and might even have blushed. “Nosiness.”
“Excuse me?”
“I walked up the lane and it’s … it’s magnificent. The house, the grounds, all of it. We have nothing like this in America. I turned off the road and started wandering the grounds. I haven’t even been to the house yet.”
To have the gallant knight of her dreams blushing over impolite behavior struck Nora as perfectly delightful. She leaned back and laughed. The vigor of her ride, and the rush of excitement at Mr. Frazier’s sudden return to her life, and Christopher’s imminent return as well, turned her blood and breath to bubbles, and she laughed and laughed, until Middy danced restlessly under his saddle.
When she had the reins on her hilarity, she found Mr. Frazier grinning up at her.
“It’s very good to see you again, Lady Nora.”
“And you, Mr. Frazier.” Middy fidgeted again. “I need to take my horse back. If you’re not scandalised by my attire or my conduct, perhaps you would walk with me in the garden for a while?” She nodded toward the flower garden, arranged within a hedge maze.
“I’m not scandalised, my lady. Far from it.”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse us …”
He stepped back, and she turned and rode to the stable.
Although Nora was petite enough that she could still become disoriented in the hedge maze if she weren’t careful, it was only about shoulder-height to a well-sized man. It had been much taller for hundreds of years, but before she was born, her brother Peter had got lost in it when he was quite young, and it had taken her parents and the whole house staff the better part of a day to find him. Her father had immediately ordered it to be shortened so that he could see over it from any point.
It had apparently caused a scandal in the village, and cries had resounded over the demolition of history, but her father had never again let it grow any higher than five feet, five inches. He was impervious to the stain of scandal when he valued the cause enough.
With every step, Nora felt the breeches around her thighs and quivered with something like shame. She would never have wished Mr. Frazier to see her like this, in mud-spattered breeches and boots, her hair wild and sagging from its pins, the shape of her legs exposed all the way to her hips.
But why not? Why was her body something to be hidden under corsets and skirts? Why was her hair to be trained every day into a work of art? Wasn’t it just the same as the expectation that she never offer, or have, a thought or opinion that was her own? Wasn’t it all men telling women what to do, what to think, what to be?
Not who to be. What.
Who’d decided that a woman’s body and voice were shameful things? Men.
Well, here, alone at Tarrindale Hall with Mr. Frazier, Nora decided that hers were not.
She walked up to the maze with her shoulders square and her head high. He was standing, watching her approach the maze, so she knew how to make her way to him. She didn’t have to guess the path and hope she’d end up where he was; she could go straight to him and never make a wrong turn.
She met him in the middle, where a commodious courtyard had been fashioned from the walls of the hedge. A reflecting pool had pride of place at the centre, surrounded by granite benches and flowering shrubs. The season for flowers had nearly passed, but the varieties had been chosen for the colours of their foliage as well, so even in autumn, the garden burst with vibrant life.
“You went all the way to the centre,” she said as she came into the courtyard and walked up to him. She hadn’t really been thinking of privacy when she’d directed him to the garden—it was simply the nearest comfortable place to be, and there were benches throughout the maze—but now, she couldn’t help but see how hidden they would be, should they sit.
“I’ve never been in something like this. I wanted to see it all.”
“A lady’s reputation might be at stake, should she be found alone here with a man.”
Concern immediately creased his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Shall we go out, then?”
“No.” She gestured toward the nearest bench. “There’s no one near who would judge. My father is away until dinner.” She sat, and he followed, leaving a few inches between them. Nora stared at his thigh, clad in black, so close to her own, clad in dun.
“Your father is away? You’re alone?”
She laughed—and understood something interesting. Here at Tarrindale Hall, she felt stronger than she had in London. She felt comfortable, and herself, no matter that her father wished her otherwise. She felt equal to the man at her side. In London, she’d felt young and vulnerable, a damsel in need of a hero.
“Alone with a staff of twenty. And with you.”
He smiled, and then they were quiet, their eyes locked. Nora hadn’t before had such an opportunity to study his fascinating eyes—brown and green and gold, the colours shifting in the sunlight. That magnetism she felt that seemed to pull her body to his rose up inside her, and she turned away before she moved toward him. She studied the pool instead.
It gave back the blue sky and the rushing white clouds, and she watched the reflected scene for a while, searching for something to say. He was here for Christopher, not her, and she shouldn’t make assumptions.
“You say you have business in Tarrindale?”
“Not Tarrindale specifically. The coast. Probably Dover. Your brother offered Tarrindale as a home base while I research a project I’ve been working on.”
“The Channel tunnel.”
Sparks seemed to flare from his eyes. “You know?”
“Christopher told me about it. He thinks it’s foolish.”
“Yes, he says as much at every chance.” He narrowed his regard and leaned in. “What do you think?”
At first, Nora didn’t know what to say. Her tongue had atrophied from lack of use. “I think … I think that from the first moment a man picked up a bone and used it to break something, no one has ever taken a step forward without a crowd of naysayers at his back. Or hers. There are always people who think the thing that hasn’t been done cannot be done. I think the only knowing is to try.”
Mr. Frazier’s mouth fell open, and Nora worried that he, too, was appalled that she would speak about something of which she had no right to know. But he said, “You are a remarkable woman, Lady Nora.”
“Am I?” She felt warm, as if the heat of his body had doubled her own, and she turned her eyes away from his.
He caught her chin on his hand and turned her to him again. “You are.”
Her heart railed for freedom, making such a commotion inside her that Nora could scarcely think. She would shame herself again if she stayed in this maze with this man for much longer. She’d misread him once before, and she couldn’t take the risk again.
Even were she not misreading him, even if the pull she felt were mutual, what did that mean? Did he want to wed her or simply woo her? If he would wed her, how? Her father would never agree, no matter what her aunt had thought. It was hopeless; whether he cared for her or not was of little consequence to that truth.
Before she made a fool of herself—or more of a fool than she already had—Nora stood. He stood as well.
“I should go in. Luncheon will be served soon. You can join me if you’d like, but it will be humble—it’s only me, after all.”
He studied her closely, like he thought her as confounding as she thought him. “I like a humble meal. Thank you.”
“Go round the front so Gaines can invite you in. Otherwise, were he to find you in the house unannounced, he might have a stroke.”
What she did next happened without thought or sense. Even the impulse to do it went through her unnoticed. She found herself rising up on her toes before him, lifting her hand to pick up a curl of his hair that rested atop his collar, letting its dark silk coil around a finger. He tipped his head, surprised, and she pressed her lips to his cheek.
She’d never done anything like that before in her life. But oh, his beard was velvet on her lips, so much softer than she’d imagined! And his scent—rich and spicy, like old leather and good wool. That hot clench at the bottom of her belly flared and tightened, and her knees shook. She wanted to wrap her whole body around his and devour him.
Shocked at herself, she dropped to her heels and muttered, “Excuse me,” then turned, meaning to scurry away with all possible haste before she abased herself utterly and lost any chance of ever again seeing that look in his eyes when he’d held her chin.
But he gasped, “Nora!” and grabbed her arm, pulling her around, drawing her firmly to his body. Her body touched his at every point. He towered over her, overwhelmed her. “Nora,” he said again, quietly, and slid his other hand over her jaw to push his fingers into her hair. His head descended until his lips hovered over hers. His breath danced over her skin. “May I kiss you?” he whispered.
There was only one proper answer, but it wasn’t the right one. “Yes,” she murmured back, and his mouth covered hers.
A whimper escaped Nora from somewhere. His mouth was hot and his lips soft, so soft, but they’d set off clamoring explosions inside her, and she grabbed the shoulders of his coat lest her legs give way and she fall to the ground.
The hand that had yet held her arm released her, and that arm swept around her waist, and then she was safe. She wouldn’t fall; he held her steady, and she could turn all her attention to his perfect mouth on hers.
Then she felt his tongue, like liquid fire, nudging at the seam of her lips, and she threw her head back in shock.
He held on and looked down on her with heavy-lidded eyes. His open mouth glistened, and his breath shook like hers. “Have you never been kissed, Lady Nora?”
A snap of disappointment hit her at his use of her title again. She’d felt an intimacy between them when he’d used only her name. Now, there was distance again. “Of course not.”
“Would you like me to kiss you again?”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back. He gave her an inch. “What is it you want of me, Mr. Frazier?”
“I want all of you, Lady Nora. But your hand most of all.”
The kiss had clearly befuddled her. “What?”
“I would like to marry you.”
Her knees failed at their task. He held onto her sagging body and kept her from falling, and helped her to sit again on the bench. “You want … but why?”
“Because I love you.”
She covered her mouth with both hands, to be sure to stuff any unseemly cries back down her throat, and he smiled and continued, “I thought what I felt was only infatuation, and I hoped to get to know you better while I was here on the coast before I asked, but seeing you today, talking to you again, I don’t see the point in waiting. I love you, Nora. Would you be my wife?”
Yes! Yes! Yes! But how? How could they? What had changed since she’d left London? Her father wouldn’t consider one failed Season to be the end of the effort to get her matched to a duke or an earl, and Mr. Frazier was neither. Black disappointment shouldered aside her momentary joy, and she sighed. “I would love nothing more, but my father … “
“It’s important to you to have his blessing?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but yes. I cannot defy him so starkly. It would break his heart, and it’s been so broken already.”
“All right, then. I’ll be working here for weeks. Possibly months. I’ll use that time to bring him over to my side.” He grinned and brushed her hair from her face. “I’m very good with words, Nora. I’ll make him see. And in the meantime, we can get to know each other better.”
He leaned close, and, knowing he meant to kiss her again, she pursed her lips and closed her eyes and waited to have that bliss again. But it didn’t come. She opened her eyes—he was right there, watching her with an amused curve at the corner of his mouth.
“Open your mouth for me, Nora.” He took hold of her chin again. This time, with his thumb, he tugged downward until her mouth opened. His hands framed her face, and his mouth was on hers, and his tongue—it pushed into her and found hers—oh! Oh!
Nora grabbed at anything she could—his sleeves, clutching the wool into her fists—as the whole world changed. She was full of colour and light and sound, and oh, how full of feeling she was. His tongue brushed hers, swirled around it, found its tip. His lips moved over hers, supple as silk. His fingers held her face, nearly burned her with their heat. His beard brushed her cheeks. His breath roared in her ears. Or was that her breath? Or was it her heart, her racing, roaring heart, bursting through the bars of her ribs?
He eased away, ending the brilliant cataclysm with a tiny kiss to the corner of her astounded mouth. “Oh, Mr. Frazier,” she gasped. “You are my unicorn.”
“Nora,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
She tried to remember how her eyelids worked.
“Nora,” he chuckled and gave her a nudge. “Come on.”
She made her lids lift and saw him, a swirling blur before her eyes. A galaxy.
“Say my name.”
“William,” she said, aloud for the first time. “William.”
“Can you love me?”
“I can. I do.”
Again he drew her so close their bodies seemed to merge, and again he kissed her. This time, she understood what she should do. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He grunted and groaned, the sounds reverberating in her mouth, and Nora understood that she made him feel the same beautiful things he’d introduced to her.
Her whole life was different now. Her whole world. Hope exploded all around her, all through her. Hope and love and possibility.
She was loved. For the woman she was.