hapter Two

The sun rose on the horizon, on a brisk morning, as Ernest, of singular purpose, skipped down the back stairs. On the ground floor, he paused to assess his appearance, brushed a speck of lint from his navy-blue hacking jacket, adjusted his cravat, and smoothed his hair. Nervous, though he could not say why, he paced for a few minutes, swore under his breath, and turned on a heel. After exiting the house via the terrace doors, he cut across the rose garden and traversed the graveled path that led to the stables.

In the yard, he signaled a hand. “Prepare two horses. My stallion and the sweet-tempered chestnut mare, which will require a sidesaddle.”

“Aye, my lord.” The stablehand nodded.

To the right of the carriage house sat a charming cottage, in which the stablemaster lived, and it had been his home away from home, once. It had been his sanctuary. After Hen departed Garring, the modest abode functioned as a painful reminder of his loss. Rolling his shoulders, he knocked on the door and folded his arms.

As anticipated, Graham set wide the heavy wood panel. “My lord, am I remiss in my duties?” He peered toward the stables. “Are the hands not at their posts, or is there something you require of me, personally?”

“Everything is fine, Graham.” Ernest unfolded his arms. “I came to ask Hen to accompany me on a ride.”

“Of course, my lord.” Casting a deep-set frown, the stablemaster stepped aside. “When last I checked, she was washing dishes and tidying the kitchen. Will you come inside, while I fetch her?”

“Thank you.” The humble but clean accommodation harkened to so many happy reveries, as Ernest revisited his personal history and countless hours spent in play. There, he was naught more than a lad of no account, with no expectations or responsibilities. He was simply Ernest. And so much of his childhood revolved around Henrietta, his little bird, and she was mistaken in her assertion, because he never forgot her.

Rather, he tucked her in that special part of his memory reserved for the most meaningful moments of his life.

Isolated from the harsh realities of his less-than-charmed existence, she could remain whole and pure, a balm to provide comfort and succor during his darkest days, and of those there had been many since they parted. Often, he summoned her, envisioning her as some benevolent angel swooping in to save him, and in his reveries she never disappointed him.

What he had not anticipated was the remarkable transformation of the girl to the irresistible woman. In so many ways, she presented a blank canvas. She was the ingénue. The provincial. The delicate flower just waiting to be plucked, and normally he looked past such frivolities, because his tastes ran toward the more seasoned ladies, when it came to his mistresses.

But when it came to Hen, his thoughts turned in a decidedly different direction, despite their long separation, and it was his body that all but screamed his choice. Because in all their years apart, no woman had commanded his senses as had Hen, and he could not ignore his reaction to her, when he knew not her true identity. Indeed, it was as though their estrangement had never happened. As a lad, he had been attracted to her. As a man, he had to have her.

“Good morning, Ernest.” Pretty as a picture, with her brown locks artfully arranged in a pile of curls, and a frock of impeccable design, she could have passed for a noblewoman, if not for the apron. Still, such pedestrian accessories did not deter him from his goal. “Papa said you wished to see me.”

“I had thought we might tour the ancient yews, as we did when we were young.” He doffed his hat and cleared his throat. “That is to say, it would be my honor if you would accompany me.”

To his delight, she squealed, clapped her hands, bounced with unveiled enthusiasm, turned on a heel, hiked her skirts, and ran down the hall, as she peered over her shoulder and shouted, “Give me five minutes to change into my habit.”

The stress of his adult responsibilities seemed to melt in the face of her uninhibited spirit, reminding him of his younger, bolder self, because never had he inspired such a strong reaction in a woman beyond the confines of his bed. In her glowing gaze, Ernest spied the ardor of an untroubled soul and recalled a time when he, too, enjoyed an unfettered existence. His heart raced, and a renewed zest for adventure charged his nerves.

Once, in a place that seemed naught more than a fantasy, he expected he would marry Hen. Would build a life with her. Would create a family with her. Would spend his days endeavoring to keep the smile on her delicate countenance. Would grow old, together. Yet all those fanciful dreams changed in the blink of an eye, and he knew not why or how it came to pass.

As if by some cruel twist of fate, he transported back to that portentous afternoon, when he ventured to that very spot and found her gone. Her father’s words echoed in Ernest’s ears, the emptiness, the agony wrenched his insides, and he wiped his brow. Innocence died in that moment, and he cried himself to sleep for weeks, afterward, until his sire shuffled Ernest off to Eton.

“My lord, do you hear me?” With a playful titter, she elbowed him, and he came alert. “You seem lost. Is something wrong?”

“Sorry, my dear Hen.” He mustered a half-hearted chuckle. Then he actually looked at her, and his senses ignited.

Garbed in lavender wool, the customary ladies accouterment struck him as unremarkable, at first glance. Upon further inspection, the riding habit boasted vibrant blooms that appeared hand-painted on the bodice and the cuffs of the sleeves, and the cut fit her feminine physique like a glove and emphasized her narrow waist and tempting curves. The matching hat boasted a perky white plume and begged for attention, as if anyone could ignore Henrietta Graham.

“Shall we depart?” Unaware of his timorous state, she blinked and favored him with a glimpse of the endearing dimple on her left cheek.

“You are beautiful, Hen.” If not for her father’s presence, Ernest would have taken her in his arms and kissed her. Instead, he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her in his wake, as he marched outside.

In the stable yard, he spared not a word, as he lifted her to the sidesaddle. Once she was settled, he gained his mount, turned toward the path that led to the limestone dales, and heeled the flanks of his stallion.

The cold breeze sliced through his hair, as he set a blazing pace, and his lady urged the mare faster. Side by side, they charged the dirt path, winding their way through the thick foliage, laughing as they rode. At last, he ducked to evade a low-lying branch and soared, as the landscape yielded to the resplendent valley, until they approached the lea, where he slowed his horse.

“Do you remember the time I fell, while attempting to secure a cluster of cowslips?” He pointed to the steep ravine. “You wanted them to adorn your coif.”

“I was seven, but do not put the blame on my shoulders.” She giggled, and how he had missed that sound. “If you recall, I warned you not to risk it, as did Barrington and Florence, but you insisted.”

“Because I would do anything for you.” Despite the carefree air, something functioned as a very real barrier between them, and he would have a full accounting, because he had so many questions, yet one occupied him to the detriment of all else. Drawing to a halt, he snagged her lead. “Why did you leave me?”

And so it was done.

“But I did no such thing.” All of a sudden, her shimmering visage broke, and tears welled in her brown eyes. “Why did you not bid me farewell, when my father sent me away? I searched and searched for you, but you never came to me. So when I arrived in Kent, I faithfully dispatched letters, every week, then every month, until I gave up, because I could not bear the absence of any return missive. Is that any way to treat a friend? Did I mean nothing to you?”

“I knew nothing of your departure, until you were gone, and I never received any letters. But I would have you know I wrote to you. I faithfully dispatched notes, which I gave to my father to frank, every week, until he sent me to Eton.” Like a soldier on post, he spent countless hours on guard for a messenger, always hoping that each new day might bring him word of his little bird, but his prayers went unanswered, and it amazed him how much it still hurt, after so many years had passed. “Had I known of your impending departure, I would have protested, as you were my little bird. You were my Hen.”

“As you can see, I am no longer little.” Oh, he could see plenty, as she sniffed, and he admired the swanlike curve of her neck. “And I was but a girl of eight. How could I refuse Papa’s command, given it was so sudden, and I had no chance to delay? He sent me to Tunbridge Wells, to live with my aunt and uncle, because he said I needed a mother’s influence. Did you expect me to defy him?”

“No.” In truth, he wanted her to be happy, even if that happiness was predicated on his absence. Still, they were together, again, were they not? “Were you happy there? Were they good to you?”

“Uncle Jasper was very kind. He loved to read, and he took an active interest in my education. Sadly, he died of a fever, two years after I arrived.” After pulling a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket, she daubed her nose. “By far, the best part of my experience was working in Aunt Charlotte’s dress shop.”

“Oh?” As they did when they were children, they twined their fingers while they advanced at a slow gait, and the meager connection did much to warm him. “Is that where you procured your charming attire, as you are quite stunning?”

“Actually, I made what I am wearing.” With unmasked pride, she lifted her chin, in an affectation he well remembered. “The design is my signature creation, featuring hand-painted flowers, and my skills were well known and rather in demand, in town.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you sew?” In that instant, he studied the expertly made cuff and elegant style. “That you are in trade?”

“I am, indeed,” she replied with gusto and more than a little pride, which he adored. “Does that shock you?”

“Given your well-known preference for all things frilly and flowery?” He snorted and tore his gaze from her ample bosom. “No. But I am surprised by your ingenuity, and you are obviously very talented.”

“Thank you.” If only he could stop obsessing over her mouth.

“I kissed you, yesterday.” Why in the bloody hell did he have to remind her of his err in polite decorum?

“Did you?” Ah, she teased him.

“I will not apologize.” Oh, no. Never would he express regret for that priceless treat.

“I expect not.” Hen stiffened her spine.

“And I will do it again.” Ernest stole a side-glance and discovered her watching him.

Again, she favored him with her flirty dimple, as she canted her head. “Oh, I would hope so.”

In that instant, he burst into laughter.

“It is so good to have you home.” He nudged his stallion closer to her mare and brought Hen’s gloved hand to his lips. “I missed you, more than you will ever know.”

“And I missed you.” To his relief, she met him halfway, as he leaned toward her, and they shared a tender kiss. “My sweet Ernest, was it so easy to forget me?”

“What do you mean?” He caressed her cheek and claimed another kiss. “I could never forget you.”

“But you did not recognize me, when I landed in your lap.” The anguish in her expression struck him as a punch to the gut. “Yet, I knew you from the moment you called to me.”

“Dear Hen, you mistake devastating grief, which led me to bury my memories of you, for indifference.” In frustration, he drew rein, jumped from the saddle, lifted her to the ground, and pulled her into his arms. As he cradled her head, he kissed her hair. “When I lost you, I was shattered, and nothing has gone right without you, but I long ago accepted the fact that I would never see you, again, so I concealed all traces of you in my personal history, else I might not have survived. Yet, you were with me. You have always been with me, my little bird.”

“Do you think you are the only one who suffered?” She nuzzled his chest and clung to his lapels. “Despite my youth, I yearned for you, as you were my knight in shining armor, but I could not disobey my father. And I grieved, oh, how I mourned, as did you.”

In some sort of wretched self-torment, he evoked an array of convoluted vignettes, Hen screaming, clawing, resisting, as her father dragged her to a traveling coach, while Ernest kicked her sire’s shins, none of which he could reconcile with the kind stablemaster.

“How could he do that to us?” Relentless agony assailed Ernest, as he reflected on her absence, and he mulled what might have been, had she not been stolen from him. “For years, I was lost. With you gone, I ventured into these woods, desperate for any connection to you, however fleeting. And I counted the days, imagining that when I arrived at a certain date, you would return to me. But each successive disappointment chipped away at my resolve, until I surrendered to the misery and yielded any memory of you to the most wretched parts of my soul, that I might persist.”

“I used to conjure visions of you, to keep me company, especially when I was afraid.” Shifting in his arms, she positioned herself perfectly to receive another kiss, and he lingered, as he savored her intoxicating flesh, until she wrenched free. “Oh, Ernest, I was so alone without you.”

Given her distress, he speared his fingers in the hair at her nape, pulled her impossibly close, and took her mouth in a bruising kiss. She could have resisted. Could have retreated. He would have honored her withdrawal, but instead she parted her lips and beckoned with a flick of her tongue, and Ernest unleashed the desire he had been holding in check for so long.

~

After a few blissful, heated, achingly desperate minutes, Ernest ended their kiss, but he kept Hen firmly anchored in his embrace, and that was just fine with her, as she clung to him and shivered with the unspent passion he provoked.

“What was that?” She swallowed hard and hugged him about the waist, because nothing they shared as children compared to what she experience, in that moment. “What happened to us?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.” He chuckled and tightened his grip. “But I know that I will never again let you part from me.”

“All right.” In light of her quick response, he chuckled and released her.

“Come.” With a shrug, he doffed his heavy coat, spread it on the ground, and led her to sit. After plopping beside her, he scooted closer and draped an arm about her shoulders, just as he did when they were young. “It is striking that, even after all this time, I still know you better than I know myself.”

“Is it not?” She shook her head and marveled at the truth of his statement. Did he wonder, as did she, about their respective fates had they remained at Garring Manor? “Even now, I feel as though I can anticipate your every move, as if I could complete your sentences, because our thoughts remain in perfect alignment.”

“Just like when we were children.” Furrowing his brow, he compressed his lips. “Despite everything that has happened to me, despite what I endured in your absence, you remind me of the person I aspired to be, of the man I would be, for you.”

“What troubles you?” How she ached for the bright, energetic boy she once knew, because the grown Ernest appeared a shadow of his former self. Indeed, he seemed broken and sad. “What did your father do to you, in my absence?”

“How did you—of course, you would know.” Averting his gaze, he picked up a stick and stabbed at the ground. “You know how he treated me.” When she nodded, he sighed. “It got much worse after your departure. Although I will never quite understand his motives, he drove me even harder than before, sometimes resorting to violence to achieve his means. Yet he always insisted he was doing it for my benefit. Needless to say, I did not shed a tear when he died.”

“I am so sorry I was not here to support you.” Cupping his cheek, she turned him to face her. “But I am here now, and I will always be your friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” He frowned. “There was a time when I would have been rather more than that.”

“But we were playmates, and you did not expect Barrington to choose me as his partner for lady of the manor, when he was smitten with Lady Florence, even then.” At one point, they made a pact to live in a neighboring estate and raise their offspring, together, as the fearless foursome. Of course, that was just a childish notion. “Do you claim an attachment, after these eleven years?”

“What if I do?” Suddenly, he pounced, and she found herself pinned by six feet of aroused male, yet she feared him not, because he was her Ernest. “What if I would realize our dream?”

“What are you saying?” Dare she hope? Did he cherish the same future she coveted? The one that included her, Ernest, and a house filled with children?

“Oh, I think you know.” With that, he bent his head and claimed her mouth, and then Henrietta could not form a single coherent response.

Unprepared for the sheer, undeniable force of his ardor, and too inexperienced to resist, she gave herself without restraint and uttered no protest, when he set his palm to her breast. Strange and altogether foreign sensations sparked and lanced through her, as he pressed on her caresses she could not quite interpret. Heat poured through her veins, and her ears rang a carillon of excitement, when he loosened the bodice of her riding habit and slipped his hand inside, to cup her bare flesh.

Pushing hard, she came up for air. “Ernest, do not play with my affection. What are your intentions?”

“We need to form a plan, and I must talk with my brother.” Sitting upright, he counted a list on his fingers. “First, I want you to move to the main house, as the stable yard is not an appropriate place for you to live, given what I have in mind. Second, I want to give you a London season and a come-out ball.” Then he grew quiet. “After a month, we will post the banns, which will give us ample opportunity to reacquaint ourselves, and we can marry at St. George’s in Hanover Square, with the best of society in attendance.”

“Are you mad?” For a few minutes, Henrietta feared she might swoon, and she slumped to the side, as his words echoed in her brain. “We have not seen each other in eleven years, and we are just reunited. How can you offer for me, with any sincerity?”

“Because I am the same person who adored you, so long ago, my little bird.” He tipped her chin, bringing her gaze to his, and she could lose herself in his blue eyes. It was the determination in his stare that convinced her of the truth in his candor. “And I wager you feel the same about me.”

“I do,” she answered, without hesitation. “As sure as I know my name, I do not doubt you.”

And so it was done.

“Then let us return to Garring, as there is much to be arranged, and I would not waste another second.” Ernest scrambled to his feet, taking her with him. Then he dropped to a knee, as he held her hands in his. “Dearest Henrietta, my childhood love, my little bird, will you consent to be my wife and make me the happiest man in the world? Will you bear my children and be my partner in all enterprises, for as long as we both shall live?”

“Yes.” Of course, she should have known he would make a formal proposal, because he was anything if not proper. When he stretched upright, to seal their pact with another searing kiss, she uttered a silent prayer that she was not dreaming, because it appeared her fondest wish had, at long last, come true. “But I thought we were to tour the ancient yews.”

“Not so, anymore, my lady.” With palms at her hips, he lifted her to the saddle. “As I said, there is much to be done, and I would have you settled in a guest room, by this evening.”

“What is the urgency?” Never had she seen him so focused and deliberate, and it did much to reassure her. Yet, his actions also flung her into a sea of uncertainty, because she remained a stablemaster’s daughter, and he was a gentleman’s son. “And have you spoken to my father?”

“Darling Hen, I have waited eleven years for this moment, so you cannot accuse me of rushing you to the altar.” He leaped atop his stallion. “As for your father, I will talk to him after I discuss the matter with Barrington, as he is the head of the family.” Then he flicked the reins. “Yaa.”

At full gallop, they retraced the path, and she studied Ernest’s profile, as they drove their mounts harder and faster. Hints of the blithe boy invested his countenance, as he glanced at her, grinned, and winked; yet she struggled to draw breath, as everything seemed to spin out of control. By the time they trotted into the stable yard, countless questions plagued her.

“Ernest, there is no need for me to move my belongings, as I am quite content in my little room in the cabin.” With infinite care, he pulled her from the mare. “Please, I would savor the events preceding our nuptials, because I never presumed it would happen, when I returned to Derbyshire.”

“My dear, I will brook no refusal, as I want you near me, now and forever.” In a scandalous display of familiarity, he kissed her in the yard, in full view of the hands—and her father. “I shall send two footmen to collect your things, so you should gather the items and be ready.”

With that, he set her at arm’s length, dipped his chin, and marched toward the main house, leaving her to confront her none-too-happy sire, as evidenced by the red flush in his cheeks and foreboding frown.

“Hello, Papa.” She ignored his disapproving manner. “I have wonderful news to share.”

“Henrietta Katherine, just what are you about, engaging in such shameless behavior in front of the servants?” Grabbing her by the elbow, he led her into a stall. “I will not have you cavorting with Lord Ernest, as some sort of low woman, because you are no rich man’s courtesan, and hell will freeze before I allow it.”

“But I am not cavorting with him.” She rubbed her abused appendage and rued his harsh words, which belied a cruel assumption based on the difference of her birth—one she did not wish to confront. “Papa, the most amazing thing happened. Ernest asked me to marry him, and I accepted his proposal.”

“What?” He pressed a clenched fist to his chest and then spat. “No. It is out of the question. I forbid it.”

“Why?” Confused and alarmed by the vehemence of his response, she retreated a step. “What have you against Ernest?”

“He is of the noble class, and you are but a stablemaster’s daughter. Believe me, it is not a good idea.” Never had she seen her father so angry, as he wagged a finger in reproach. “You will not marry Lord Ernest. In fact, I think it best that you leave Derbyshire, as soon as I can arrange it. I have been saving a bit of money, and I could send you to Paris, to open a new boutique. You would like that, would you not?”

“Paris?” Stunned, she could scarcely organize her thoughts. “Papa, I am only just returned. Why would you send me away? And I mean to be Ernest’s wife. Indeed, I am to move into the main house, today.”

“No.” Baring his teeth, he shook his head violently. “I will not allow it. You are my daughter, and I say where you do and do not live. Under no circumstances will I permit you to act as Lord Ernest’s whore.”

“How dare you speak to me thus.” Hurt, she fought tears, because she expected her father to greet the joyous news in the same spirit with which she welcomed Ernest’s proposal. “I care for Ernest, and he wants me. How could you deny me the chance to improve myself with a man who wants naught more than to grant my every desire?”

“Because so-called society will never accept you, regardless of Lord Ernest’s good intentions.” Papa averted his gaze and scowled. “They will treat you with disdain. They will mock and shame you. They will cast you out and delight in your misery, because to them you will always be a stablemaster’s daughter and nothing more.”

“What need have I of their good opinion, when I have Ernest?” Despite her pretty words, her father seized upon the one concern that provoked a mountain of doubts, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Still, Henrietta had to fight for what she wanted, and she wanted Ernest. “Dearest father, I love you, and I would never purposely disobey you. Rather, I would honor your wishes, but in this instance, I cannot. I must follow my heart, which knows no silly rules, and it lies with Ernest.”