“Good morning, Mrs. Harding.”
Caroline stared up at Captain Grafton who was mounted on his horse and led a second one. She felt slightly feverish, but not enough to stop her accompanying Captain Grafton on his excursion to his family home. It was a bright clear morning of fractured sunlight and hard frost that made even the industrial buildings sparkle with crystal light.
“How do you expect me to ride?” Caroline asked. “How do you even know that I can ride?”
He raised an eyebrow. “All ladies learn to ride.”
“But I don’t have any suitable clothing.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to borrow something from the shop.” He pointed at the door. “Hurry up. I don’t want to keep the horses standing around in this weather.”
Caroline ran back inside calling for her mother. To her immense relief Marie found an old riding habit that had been brought in to be taken apart and the velvet fabric reused. Caroline put it on with some help, borrowed her mother’s green hat, and reemerged to find Captain Grafton walking the horses up and down the street, his expression one of impatience.
He came over, dismounted, and tied his horse up. He wrinkled his nose. “You smell like mothballs.”
Caroline smoothed a hand over the worn velvet. “It’s the best I can do unless you would prefer me to ride naked?”
“Like Lady Godiva?” He studied her. “I might enjoy that.”
Ignoring his lascivious leer, she placed her hand on the pommel of the sidesaddle, only to have him reach both hands around her waist and boost her up into the saddle. She scrabbled to find her balance and gather up her reins.
“I haven’t ridden for years,” she confessed. “I hope I remember what to do.”
“I’m sure it will come back to you. We’re not going far.”
She glanced across at him as he mounted up. “I didn’t realize your family seat was so close to Millcastle.”
“It’s not something I advertise. I left home at eighteen before Millcastle became an industrial center so not many people know of the connection.” He led the way along the narrow-cobbled streets toward the west side of the town. “In truth, I haven’t been there since I returned to England.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because my family chose to disown me, and I decided to repay the favor when I came back.”
“They disowned you because of your dishonorable discharge from the army in India?”
“Yes.”
“I suspect most families would have done the same thing.”
“Without even listening to an explanation of the events surrounding said dismissal?”
“You are suggesting there were extenuating circumstances attached to the event?” Caroline asked as she bent her head to avoid an overhanging branch.
“I know what happened, Mrs. Harding. That’s enough for me.” He stood up in his stirrups and looked past the smoke and grime to the green hills beyond. “As soon as we clear the town, we can increase our pace.”
Caroline held on tightly to the reins and followed the captain out of the town, and into the hedge-lined fields beyond its borders. It was so pleasant to simply breathe in air that didn’t make her cough. There was very little traffic in the narrow lanes, for which Caroline was extremely thankful. Her mare appeared to be very docile, but she knew from past experience that horses were easily spooked.
Captain Grafton rode his horse with all the ease of the landed gentry and had probably learned to ride before he could walk. She tried to imagine him lording it over everyone on a huge estate and could see it all too easily. His ancestors had risen to power at some point, and that grit and determination had enabled Captain Grafton to rise up again—if not in such a socially acceptable way.
Knowing how easy it was to fall from grace, Caroline admitted to a perverse admiration in his achievements. If she were a man she would probably have done the same thing.
“Come on, Mrs. Harding! Tally ho.”
With a sigh, she shortened her reins, jabbed her horse with her heel, and took off after Captain Grafton, praying she wouldn’t break her neck.
Eventually, he slowed down and pointed to a break in one of the high hedges. “We’ll approach the house from the back and maybe avoid my mother in the process.”
Caroline was fairly convinced that Mrs. Grafton would not be so easily shaken off, but she didn’t comment.
“Follow me closely.”
“As if I would wander off by myself,” Caroline murmured. She’d enjoyed the ride more than she had anticipated. The sense of freedom, of being above the ground, and traveling at speed was quite exhilarating.
He led her through a small copse of trees and across a broken stone wall where a gate had once stood. The ground sloped down toward a large country house built of honey colored stone. Caroline caught her breath.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I suppose it is.”
He sounded almost as surprised as she was.
“Has it been in your family for long?”
“About seven hundred years.” Captain Grafton shrugged. “It’s a hodgepodge of building styles, roof lines, and staircases going nowhere. The best thing to do would be to knock it all down and start again.”
Caroline didn’t even bother to reply to that. He was trying hard to sound nonchalant, but there was a wistful note in his voice that told a different story.
“We’ll go down to the stables, leave the horses there, and enter through the kitchen.”
Caroline followed obediently behind him as they clattered into the cobbled stable yard, and an old man came out to greet them.
“Good Lord! It’s you, sir!” His face split in a wide grin. “Welcome home, Master Francis, welcome home.”
Captain Grafton helped Caroline dismount, and then turned to shake the man’s hand.
“Mr. Potts, I’m amazed you’re still alive.” He turned to Caroline. “He put me up on my first pony and very patiently followed me around the countryside making sure I didn’t kill myself.”
“Aye, you were a wild one, sir.“ Mr. Potts chuckled. “Broke a few bones, but nothing serious.”
“Indeed. I’ve come to see Mrs. Musgrove. Is she still at the head gardener’s cottage in the grounds?”
“No, sir, she’s in the house under the care of her ladyship herself.”
“Then I suppose we should go in.” Francis offered the man another handshake. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Potts.”
His smile faded as he took Caroline’s arm and marched her through another door, across a walled kitchen garden, and into the house. The slate floor was scrubbed clean. Several doors opening off the corridor showed an indoor laundry room, a second scullery, and what looked like a place to prepare cut flowers. Everything looked extremely well kept.
When Captain Grafton opened the door into the kitchen, the hum of conversation stopped abruptly, and there was the screech of chairs being pushed back. By the time Caroline squeezed past her companion the whole room was standing and staring at them.
A woman who Caroline assumed was the cook was making a great show of flapping her hand in front of her flushed face. “Oh, my goodness! I thought I’d seen a ghost!” She sank into her chair and one of the maids fussed around her.
“Good morning.” Captain Grafton inclined his head. “I’m here to see Mrs. Musgrove. Would one of you be so kind as to take me up to her?”
“I will, Captain.” The butler bowed low. “And I will inform her ladyship that you are here.”
“No need to do that.” Captain Grafton said. “I won’t be here for long.”
As if he’d conjured her with his words, his mother appeared in the doorway and smiled at him.
“Thank you so much for coming, Francis. Mrs. Musgrove will be thrilled. Mr. Robinson will take you up to her, and then you can join me, and?” She turned an inquiring eye toward Caroline who curtsied.
“Mrs. Harding, ma’am.”
“Ah, then you can join Mrs. Harding and I for tea in the small drawing room when you are finished, Francis.”
From the look on the captain’s face, Caroline wondered whether he would leave without her and fervently prayed that he would at least leave her horse. The prospect of tea with her employer’s mother was far too alluring to turn down.
She followed her hostess through a maze of corridors, a huge hall with suits of armor standing against the walls, and into a charming, low ceilinged room bathed in sunlight. The furniture looked well used, and there was a desk against the wall covered in paperwork.
“I hope you don’t mind the informality. This is my favorite room.”
Caroline glanced over at her companion. “It is lovely, ma’am—or should that be your ladyship?”
“I’m Viscountess Wesley, Or Lady Wesley if you prefer. My late husband was a viscount.”
Caroline blinked at her. “Does that mean that Captain Grafton is now a peer of the realm?”
“Seeing as he is the only one of my children still living, then yes.” Lady Wesley sat down and gestured for Caroline to do the same. “Obviously Francis has made no effort to claim the title, or take his seat in the House of Lords, but it is, indeed, his.”
“Good Lord.” Caroline murmured as she removed her gloves.
“I assume he didn’t mention it to you then?”
“No, but there is no reason why he should. We are not on such intimate terms.” She raised her gaze to meet Lady Wesley’s and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Your son employs me as his bookkeeper.”
“I find that quite hard to believe.” The haughty challenge in Lady Wesley’s hazel eyes reminded Caroline all too forcibly of her son’s. “You are obviously a lady.”
“A lady who has fallen on hard times and has a family to support. My mother works in the dressmakers you visited in Millcastle, as do other members of my family. We live over the shop.”
“What of your family? I cannot believe that a young woman such as yourself was unable to find shelter with your relatives.”
“My father died in India. I do not have any family to speak of.” Caroline refused to be bullied. “My late husband’s family, who live in Millcastle, refused to accept my mother and sisters into their home, saying they could not afford to house us all.”
“How very ungenerous of them.”
“Indeed.” Caroline smiled. “On that, at least, we can agree. I started dealing with the books for the owner of the dressmakers and came to Captain Grafton’s attention when he needed someone reliable to help with his own business interests.”
Lady Wesley shuddered. “I hear about his ‘businesses’. They are hardly befitting a man of his rank.”
“A rank he chooses not to claim, which I suppose leaves him free to pursue whatever career he wants,” Caroline pointed out.
“A gentleman has a duty to his family and his past,” Lady Wesley stated. “Francis needs to remember that.”
A maid came in with a tray of tea and cakes and set it on the table beside Lady Wesley.
“Thank you, Jess.” Lady Wesley held up the pot. “Would you like some tea? We might as well have it now before it goes cold. Francis might be a while.”
Caroline settled herself in the chair and devoutly hoped that her unpredictable employer would make an appearance soon sparing her from any further questions from his rather formidable mother.
Francis took his time walking down from Mrs. Musgrove’s bedchamber where he’d received a welcome that had almost brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t actually cried, of course, he never did, but seeing his old friend so wasted by disease, and being unable to do anything to make things better for her hadn’t sat well with him. She’d held his hand, the strength in her fingers so light he could barely feel it, and spoken to him about love, and duty, and many things he had tried to forget, or ignore.
He’d listened, though, and not contradicted her. She deserved that much. He remembered running into her kitchen with his older brother and being given whatever miracle had just emerged from her oven, of being happy, of feeling loved.
There was that damn word again. Why hadn’t he listened to his worse instincts and refused to come back to this house, which held so many happy memories for him? He hadn’t set foot in it since he’d left for his military service in India, so proud in his stiff new uniform, so willing to uphold the values of his beloved country and die for it if necessary.
Well, he’d come pretty bloody close to dying, and that was due to the staggering incompetence and mismanagement of the British army command. And when he’d objected to their draconian tactics, he’d been the one singled out for punishment and a quick and dishonorable discharge from his duties.
Hearing voices, he paused in the corridor just before he reached the door into his mother’s private sitting room. From what he could decipher, Mrs. Harding was holding her own against his mother, which didn’t surprise him in the least. He tapped on the door, which was ajar, and went in.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Harding.” He smiled at her, ignoring his mother. “We will need to be getting back fairly shortly.”
His mother rose and came toward him, putting her hand on his arm. “Please have some tea, Francis. At least give me that.”
He moved away from her touch and pulled out a chair. “If you insist.”
“If you had bothered to read any of the letters I’ve sent you, this confrontation and conversation wouldn’t even be necessary.” She poured some tea and passed him the cup. “You might not choose to undertake your responsibilities to this estate, your title, and your tenants, but there are matters that need to be discussed for the future.”
“I fail to see any signs of a calamity.” He sipped his tea. “The place isn’t falling down, and you appear to be in excellent health.”
“And you expect me to stay here and manage everything for you forever?”
He shrugged. “You’ve always managed everything. My father and brother were too busy hunting, shooting and fishing to attend to the business of the estate.”
“That isn’t quite true.”
“I’ll allow that my father showed a peripheral interest in the place—mainly to ensure he had the finances available to pursue his real interests—but my brother wasn’t involved at all.”
“How would you know? You went to India and never returned.” His mother raised her chin, her gaze fixed on his.
“Charles wrote to me regularly.” He raised his eyebrows at his mother’s shocked expression. “Didn’t you know that? He told me exactly how things stood here, the arguments about his gambling, his womanizing, and his debts. He thought it all a huge joke until it wasn’t, and he was shot dead in a stupid, pointless, duel over a worthless, married woman.”
Mrs. Harding cleared her throat. “Captain Grafton…”
“Yes?” he turned to find her biting her lip.
“Perhaps we should go. The weather is definitely worsening.”
His mother stood and faced him. “Regardless of what happened in the past, Francis, and who is to blame, you are still the owner and lord of this estate, and other properties. One day I will die, and it will all be on you.”
He bowed. “Then let’s hope you live a very long and very happy life, Mother. Please send me word on Mrs. Musgrove. Good day to you.”
Caroline picked up her skirts and followed Captain Grafton back to the stables. There was no sign of Mr. Potts, but the horses were saddled and ready to go.
“Why were you so horrible to your mother?” Caroline asked, as she made sure the pins in her hat were secure.
“Horrible?” He looked down his nose at her. “She bloody deserved it.
She spoiled and ruined my brother, she neglected me, and sacrificed us both to her damned twin gods of family and respectability.”
“She simply attempted to converse with you and work out what will happen to your family estate and title.”
“She never ‘simply’ does anything. She got me here to see Mrs. Musgrove, not for some sentimental reason, but because she wanted to force me to come here and deal with her on her terms.”
“It is your family home.”
“I don’t give a damn about this bloody place.” He swung around on Caroline so quickly that she took an involuntary step backward. “I’d burn it to the ground if I could.”
“I don’t believe you.” she met his furious gaze. “The fact that you are so angry indicates that you do care.”
“And when did you decide you had the right to determine what I’m thinking?” he snapped. “We share a bed, Mrs. Harding, we fuck. That’s hardly a bond of love or matrimony.”
Caroline glared right back at him. “The fact that you think you can just throw all of this away?” She flung out her hands. “That it means nothing to you when for the vast majority of the population this place would be considered paradise! Your conceit is unbelievable.”
She put her gloves on over her shaking hands. “If I could live here, have this life back, I would go down on my knees and pray every night to God in thanks.”
“And we both know how pretty you look down on your knees,” he sneered.
Before she even realized she meant to do it she slapped his face, so hard his head snapped back. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers hard and unyielding.
“Get on your damned horse, Mrs. Harding, before l give into temptation, and leave without you.”
She wrenched her wrist free, marched over to the mounting block and managed to get up by herself.
He rammed his hat down on his head and set off much too fast. Caroline had no intention of chasing him down. She’d keep him in her sights, and if the worst came to the worst and she lost him, she was fairly certain she would eventually find her way back to Millcastle.