Cousin Harrison’s country estate lay three miles from the village of Temple Ewell in Kent, and a short half-day’s ride from the coast. After Leonora’s complaints trailed off into silence, due either to exhaustion or defeat, Harriett began to enjoy the carriage ride. It was a perfect, English summer’s day, the verdant countryside dotted with motionless black and white cows. The road wound past a watermill on the River Dour. White clouds scattered across the pale blue sky made the view look like a Constable painting she’d seen on display at the Royal Academy.

After mid-day, the carriage passed through Pendleton’s elaborate wrought-iron gates and drove into the park. When they emerged from the trees, the imposing southern aspect of the baroque mansion presented itself, giant urns and statues ornamenting its parapet balustrade. Harriett felt the house didn’t suit Cousin Harrison at all; it seemed far too elaborate and fanciful for his parsimonious personality. It had suited her mother’s cousin, Aunt Elizabeth, perfectly, however, whose childhood home it had been. The carriage rocked to a stop, and a groom stepped forward to put down the step and open the door.

A lean, thin-faced butler stood at the front door. “Mr. Everard is in the small salon, milord.”

“You’re new are you not?” her father said. “I don’t believe I know your name. Rumbellow has been here since the year dot.”

“O’Hara, my lord.” The Irishman bowed again. “Rumbellow passed away two months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it an illness?”

“A terrible accident befell him my lord. He fell on the stairs I believe—broke his neck.”

“He liked a tipple, Elizabeth told me. But she was fond of the man,” Mama observed, as they divested themselves of their traveling cloaks, pelisses and bonnets into the arms of a maid.

They followed O’Hara past one echoing room after another, all under covers with the sour smell of neglect. They found their relative ensconced in the small, stuffy room with the curtains drawn. He lay on a sofa wrapped in a shawl, close to a roaring fire, despite the mildness of the day.

Leonora raised her eyebrows at Harriett as if to say, and for this, I’ve missed one of the best balls of the Season?

“Harrison, so good to find you looking well.” Her mother sank onto an uncomfortable looking curly-legged Louis XIV armchair.

“Not according to my doctor. About time you came to see me.” He sniffed. “I may well have died by now. How long has it been?”

“When you have children, your time is never your own, “Mama said. Harriett thought she hid her annoyance well.

“Perhaps if we open a window, Harrison, let in some fresh air,” her father suggested, tugging at his cravat.

Mother unfurled her fan, casting father a warning glance. “I wonder if we might have tea. It’s been a long, tedious journey.”

Cousin Harrison stared up at Harriett with pale, cold eyes. “Don’t just stand there like a stuffed goose, girl. Pull the bell.”

When the tea arrived, Harriett left her parents to their attempts at a civil conversation and wandered out onto the porch. The tallest tree, an aged oak, rose up above the park. She had played there as a child, when Aunt Elizabeth was alive. It had been a very lively place then and a delight to visit. One saw things differently as an adult. What seemed thrilling back then was no longer the case. Disheartened by the dreary state of the house, Harriett roamed along a path through the trees dressed in their summer green, recalling how she’d made up stories and narrated them to an audience of birds.

Before she knew it, she’d walked over a mile and stood before the stately old oak tree that she used to climb. She paused, remembering that Pendleton lay on a rise above a wide green valley, and the tree offered a wonderful view all the way to the Channel from its topmost branches. One might see the French coast on such a fine day. It was undignified for an adult, but who would see her? She looked around. Finding no one in sight, she untied her poke bonnet, divested herself of her cinnamon-brown spencer and pulled off her kid half boots. She rolled down her stockings and tucked them into her shoes. Gathering her cream percale carriage dress up around her knees, she eased herself onto the lowest branch, and began to climb. Pleased, she quickly got into the swing of it. She’d been an excellent climber when she was young. Such a practice stayed with one into adulthood, apparently, although she was now a little more cautious. She’d climbed half way and stopped to consider her way forward when a figure rose from the shrubbery below her. He stood examining something, in his hand. He looked up and caught sight of her then shoved it into his pocket. Whipping off his hat, he stared up at her in surprise. “Can that be you, Harry? It must be. Taller, but as skinny as ever.”

From her lofty perch, Harriett took a deep breath. “Gerard.”

“’Tis I.” He came to stand below her. “So, you can still climb that tree.”

“Why ever not?” She put a foot on a lower branch in an attempt to climb down without affording him a revealing view up her dress, and soon found it impossible. “Turn your back, will you?”

He gave a sly look at her bare legs before he turned away. “Are you sure you don’t require my assistance?”

“I’ll ask if I do,” she said ungraciously. She reached the bottom branch and stood holding on, while considering whether to jump and possibly fall in a heap at his feet. In the end, she swallowed her pride. “You might help me,” she suggested.

Gerard turned around and put up his arms. She leaned over and rested her hands on his broad shoulders. He gripped her waist and lifted her down. For a moment, he held her close against his chest, causing a rush of sensation to pass through her. “Not so scrawny after all,” he said with a grin.

His hard male body pressed against hers, his mouth close enough to kiss, unsettling her. She struggled within his arms. “Put me down! You are just as outrageous as ever.”

He set her on her feet and stood with legs spread and arms folded, studying her. “You always were tall for a girl.”

In her bare feet, Harriett’s head reached his shoulder and Gerard stood well over six feet. “Too tall for beauty, or so I’m told,” she said pragmatically.

His dark brows rose. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Beholding Gerard, Harriett quite agreed. With his well-shaped mouth and the cleft in his chin, he was still the handsomest man she’d ever set eyes on. She bent to pick up one of her boots.

“Allow me.”

Her cheeks burned. “No. I have to put on my stockings. Would you turn your back again, please?”

“What gentleman would refuse?” He turned away.

Harriet was securing her blue satin garter around her stocking when he swiveled to face her. She hastily pulled down her dress. “You agreed not to look.”

He grinned. “I didn’t say I was a gentleman. May I assist with your shoes?”

“No, I—”

“Nonsense. We are cousins after all.”

In truth, their connection was distant at best, he being the only son of Cousin Harrison’s brother. Very aware of that fact she leaned back against the oak’s trunk, and gazed down at his dark head, as he crouched at her feet. Harriett stiffened when he grasped her ankle. Her senses swam at the gentle touch of his fingers. He eased her foot into her half boot and fastened it. She almost lost her balance and had to resort to holding onto his shoulder which felt broad and strong. She quickly let go.

Seemingly less affected than she, he tackled the other.

He tied the laces with nimble fingers. When he’d finished, Harriett released the breath she’d held. After he rose, his touch on her ankle seemed to linger. She picked up her bonnet and donned it. “I’m not sure I should thank you. Touching my ankle was quite disreputable.”

His blue eyes beneath dark brows gazed into hers. “But you didn’t stop me.”

She frowned. “We should return to the house. It’s a long way, I’ll be missed.” Harriett tied her bonnet ribbons firmly and strode out along the path. She remembered when she was fifteen, and he twenty-two, he had appeared rakish and incredibly grown up. Somehow, six years later, she seemed to have caught up to him.

He grasped her arm. “Why rush away? I want to talk to you. We haven’t seen each other for years.” He fingered an auburn lock which had freed itself during her exertions. “I remember your hair, how it glowed like fire in the sun and fell past your waist, always untidy.”

“You used to pull my braids.” She stared up into his deep blue eyes, which held a hint of amusement.

“I’m itching to do it again.” He gave the lock a gentle tug.

There was a pause. Harriett’s breath quickened. “Were you digging in the shrubbery?” she asked, to steady herself. “Surely Harrison can afford gardeners.”

“Indeed he can.”

She waited for an explanation, but apparently, she wasn’t going to get one. He continued toward the house. “Let’s have afternoon tea, I’m parched.”

She followed him as he strode across the lawn; his long legs encased in leather breeches and scuffed riding boots that she doubted a valet had ever laid a hand on. A brown cloth coat hugged his slim waist. He looked very much what he was, a farmer. But he was also a peer of the realm, who apparently chose not to come often to London. She wondered if he took his seat in the House of Lords.

“I rode over from Foxworth,” he said. “Often do. To keep the old chap company.”

“That’s good of you.”

He gave her a level look. “I’m not after his money. He won’t leave me a penny. The old family feud. Told me so often enough.”

“People with money wield such power, don’t you think?” Harriett said thoughtfully. “They have everyone dancing attendance on them, and then when they finally die, they are not remembered with fondness.”

“Perhaps Harrison doesn’t allow anyone to get close enough to know him.”

Harriett doubted Harrison had hidden depths of kindness, but one could never be sure.

“You are not yet betrothed, Harry.” It wasn’t a question, as she wore no ring. and no one in the family married or departed this earth without a great deal of notice.

“I haven’t found anyone I like well enough to spend the rest of my life with,” she said as they mounted the steps.

“Nor have I,” he said, removing his hat.

She crossed to the front door studying the dark curls on the back of his neck, suddenly reluctant to share him with the family. It was disturbing how Gerard made her pulse race in a way Mr. Ducksworth had failed to do.

“What is it you look for in a wife?”

He grinned. “Someone with a sense of humor, perhaps.”

Harriett wondered if he would change his mind when he saw Leonora. She sorely lacked a sense of humor, but it didn’t seem to worry men at all.

“And what about you, Harry? What sort of husband do you seek?”

“Someone who doesn’t quote reams of his own prose to me,” she said, thinking of Mr. Ducksworth.

He laughed. “Not romantically inclined, then, young Harry?”

Harriet felt very grownup when he looked at her with those blue eyes. She definitely had the ability to be romantic with the right person, but she merely shook her head.

“Living in London, I would have thought some Pink of the Ton would have snapped you up by now.” He cocked his head with a grin. “Hopefully not one who favors so ridiculously a high collar he cannot turn his head.”

Mr. Ducksworth’s intricately tied cravat swam into her vision. “Certainly not.” She turned to continue along the corridor.

They entered the parlor, where her parents greeted Gerard warmly. Her mother sent the maid for a fresh pot of tea.

“Good to see you, lad,” Harrison said, throwing off his shawl.

“You seem much better today, sir,” Gerard said. He strolled over to the window and opened the curtains. Without a murmur of complaint about the sun shining in his eyes, Harrison began an inventory of his ailments, some quite disgusting in Harriet’s opinion.    She longed to cover her ears or leave the room, but was a captive audience along with her parents, and could do neither.

“When you feel up to it, we need to discuss some estate matters,” Gerard said to Harrison.

Harrison nodded and slumped limply in his chair as if it was all beyond him.

Leonora wound a golden curl around her finger, and released it to spring back and nestle against the flawless skin of her cheek. “Why don’t you come to London, Gerard? We haven’t seen you for ages.”

He smiled at her. “Confess, you hardly remember me at all.”

Leonora gave a peal of laughter. “I do too. That last time was when you were home from Oxford.”

“I keep to the country these days. I’m a farmer.”

“But you are now an earl since your papa died, are you not?” she said, earning a sharp glance from her mother.

“A slightly impoverished one.” Gerard took a cup of tea from her mother. “Thank you.”

“But you have that big house and acres and acres of land,” Leonora persisted.

“Mortgaged to the hilt,” Gerard said mournfully, taking a proffered cucumber sandwich.

“Sorry to hear it, my boy,” her father said. “I always thought your father to be a good manager.”

“There was a savage downturn in the market. He had some failed investments in his final years, I’m afraid.”

Father nodded. “Bad times can descend on us all.”

Leonora bounced to her feet. “Might a maid show me to my room? I’d like to change my clothes.”

“Oh, you can’t stay here!” Harrison puffed out his cheeks in dismay. “The rooms are all under covers. I only use two or three these days. This place is too expensive to run.”

“But, Harrison, I wrote to you,” her mother spluttered.

“I never read letters, a complete waste of time.”

“We’ve come all this way,” Mama said desperately. “The horses are spent.”

“Is there a decent hostelry nearby?” her father asked. “We can visit you again tomorrow before we return to London.”

“I wouldn’t recommend the one just outside Temple Ewell. It’s a poorly run place. And there’s nothing else for miles,” Gerard said. “But it’s of no consequence; you are most welcome to stay with me at Foxworth.”

“Is there a posting-house? Perhaps I can travel by stage to London.” Leonora gazed hopefully at her parents. “I could still attend Lady Frodsham’s ball.”

“You shall do no such thing,” Mama said. “Thank you, Gerard, we’d be most grateful to spend a night under your roof.”

Gerard nodded. “I’ll be pleased to escort you there. I’ll send for your carriage.”

After Gerard left the room, silence descended.

Mama gazed at Harrison her forehead wrinkling. “I do hope we find you in better spirits tomorrow, Cousin.”

Harrison waved a hand airily. “I don’t expect to be in better spirits ever again. But call tomorrow if you must.”

“Well, I never,” Mama murmured as they crossed to the waiting carriage. “He never suffered from a surfeit of charm, but I declare he’s become most impolite. A positive recluse.”

“I thought he looked quite well,” Father said in an annoyed tone. “Apart from the blasted heat in that room which made us all break out in a sweat.”

“Don’t swear, dear,” Mama said, as he assisted her inside.

Father winked at Harriett. “Harrison would make an archdeacon cuss.”

♥♥♥

Gerard rode his roan along the country lane ahead of the Edgerton carriage. He’d been uneasy about their visit, but welcomed having family around him again. It made him realize that he’d cut himself off from society of late. It was some time since he’d gone to an assembly. He looked forward to the evening. He liked Lord and Lady Edgerton and it was agreeable to have two pretty ladies to entertain. The girls had grown up since he’d seen them last.

He mustn’t get ahead of himself, for what could he offer a wife, when he was barely earning enough to keep his estate functioning and his tenants’ roofs over their heads? Not to mention the other business, that rendered him patently unsuitable to be a husband. Once confronted with a vision of feminine beauty, however, breathing in her fragrance, and listening to the delightful peel of her laugh, made him yearn for a different life. He had to keep a cool head, and resolutely dismissed any romantic notions. That would have to wait until the situation changed and matters improved. Lord Edgerton had his own financial concerns. He would want to see his daughters better settled.