RANSLEIGH ROGUES

Where these notorious rakes go, scandal always follows …

Max, Will, Alastair and Dominic Ransleigh—cousins, friends … and the most wickedly attractive men in Regency London. Between war, betrayal and scandal, love has never featured in the Ransleighs’ destinies—until now!

Don’t miss this enthralling quartet from Julia Justiss.

We met Max, Will and Alastair in

THE RAKE TO RUIN HER

THE RAKE TO REDEEM HER

and

THE RAKE TO RESCUE HER

Now follow Dominic’s adventures in

THE RAKE TO REVEAL HER

AUTHOR NOTE

When I first envisaged the Ransleigh cousins I knew Dom was going to return from Waterloo with serious injuries and struggle to recreate his life—with the help of a remarkable woman (and, in this case, her passel of orphans!). What I didn’t know was how personal this story would become.

In August 2012 my husband, father-in-law and I were rear-ended by a vehicle travelling at high speed. My husband, riding in the back seat, had his pelvis fractured in eight places and broke the C-2 bone in his spine. For six weeks he was totally paralysed from the chin down. Slowly, over the next seven months of hospitalisation, through extensive physical therapy and unrelenting effort, he gradually retrieved the use of his arms and legs. Today he continues to work towards normality, fighting chronic pain with a smile.

Dom’s injuries, fortunately, are less severe—but as they prevent him from resuming the occupation he’s always pursued they’re equally difficult to accept. But Dom—a hero, like my husband—rejects self-pity and fights off depression. Persevering to find himself again, he responds to the unusual and unlikely heroine who reaches out to him and leads them both to a happy future.

I hope you will enjoy their story.

The Rake to

Reveal Her

Julia Justiss

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JULIA JUSTISS wrote her first ideas for Nancy Drew stories in her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After publishing poetry in college she turned to novels. Her Regency historical romances have won or been placed in contests by the Romance Writers of America, RT Book Reviews, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne du Maurier. She lives with her husband in Texas.

For news and contests visit www.juliajustiss.com

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To my husband and hero:

Never give in.

Never give up.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

AUTHOR NOTE

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Suffolk—spring 1816

His ears still ringing from the impact of the fall, Dominic Fitzallen Ransleigh levered himself to a sitting position in the muddy Suffolk lane. Air hissed in and out of his gritted teeth as he waited for the red wave of pain obscuring his vision to subside. Which it did, just in time for him to see that black devil, Diablo, trot around the corner and out of sight.

Headed back to the barn, probably, Dom thought. If horses could laugh, surely the bad-tempered varlet was laughing at him.

It was his own fault, always choosing the most difficult and high-spirited colts to train as hunters. Horses with the speed and heart to gallop across country, jumping with ease any obstacle in their paths, but needing two strong hands on the reins to control their headstrong, temperamental natures.

He looked down at his one remaining hand, still trembling from the strain of that wild ride. Flexing the wrist, he judged it sore but not broken. After years of tending himself from various injuries suffered during his service with the Sixteenth Dragoons, a gingerly bending of the arm informed him no bones were broken there, either.

His left shoulder still throbbed, but at least he hadn’t fallen on the stump of his right arm. Had he done that, he’d probably still be unconscious from the agony.

Resigning himself to sit in the mud until his muzzy head cleared, Dom gazed down the lane after the fleeing horse. Though the doctors had warned him, he’d resisted accepting what he’d just proved: he’d not be able to control Diablo, or any of the other horses in his stable full of hunters, with a single good hand.

Sighing, Dom struggled to his feet. He might as well face the inevitable. As he’d never be able to ride Diablo or the others again, there was no sense hanging on to them. The bitter taste of defeat in his mouth, he told himself he would look into selling them off at Tattersall’s while the horses were still in prime form and able to fetch a good price. Sell the four-horse carriages, too, since with one hand, he couldn’t handle more than a pair.

Thereby severing one more link between the man he’d been before Waterloo, and now.

Jilting a fiancée, leaving the army, and now this. Nothing like changing his world completely in the space of a week.

Could he give it all up? he wondered as he set off down the lane. Following in his hunting-mad father’s footsteps had been his goal since he’d joined his first chase, schooling hunters a talent he worked to perfect. Before the army and between Oxford terms, he’d spent all his time studying horses, looking for that perfect combination of bone, stamina and spirit that made a good hunter. Buying them, training them, then hunting and steeplechasing with the like-minded friends who called themselves ‘Dom’s Daredevils’.

Stripped of that occupation, the future stretched before him as a frightening void.

Though he’d never previously had a taste for solitude, within days of his return, he’d felt compelled to leave London. The prospect of visiting his clubs, attending a ball, mixing with the old crowd at Tatt’s, inspecting the horses before a sale—all the activities in which he’d once delighted—now repelled him. Sending away even his cousin Will, who’d rescued him from the battlefield and tended him for months, he’d retreated to Bildenstone—the family estate he’d not seen in years, and hadn’t even been sure was still habitable.

He’d sent Elizabeth away, too. A wave of grief and remorse swept through him as her lovely face surfaced in his mind. How could he have asked her to wait for him to recover, when the man he was now no longer fit into the world of hunts and balls they’d meant to share?

Ruthlessly he extinguished her image, everything about her and the hopes they once cherished too painful to contemplate. Best to concentrate on taking the next small step down the road ahead, small steps being all he could manage towards a future cloaked in a shifting mist of uncertainty.

Fighting the despair threatening to suck him down, he reminded himself again why he’d left friends, fiancée, and all that was familiar.

To find himself...whatever was left to find.

Wearily he picked up his pace, his rattled brain still righting itself. He traversed the sharp corner around which his horse had disappeared to find himself almost face to face with a young woman leading a mare.

They both started, the horsing rearing a little.

‘Down, Starfire,’ a feminine voice commanded. Looking up at him expectantly, the girl smiled and said, ‘Sir, will you give me a hand? I was almost run down by a black beast of a stallion, which startled my mare. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying enough attention, and lost my seat. I’ll require help to remount.’

His mind still befuddled, Dom stared at her. Though tall enough that he didn’t have to look down very far, his first impression was of a little brown wren—lovely pale complexion, big brown eyes, hair of indeterminate hue tucked under a tired-looking bonnet, and a worn brown habit years out of date.

The unknown miss didn’t flinch at his eye patch, he had to give her that. Nor did her eyes stray to the pinned-up sleeve of his missing arm—the sleeve now liberally spattered with mud and decorated with leaf-bits, as was the rest of his clothing. Heavens, he must look like a vagrant who’d slept in the woods. It was a wonder she didn’t run screaming in the opposite direction.

His lips curved into a whimsical smile at the thought as her pleasant expression faded. ‘Sir, could you give me a hand, help me remount?’ she all but shouted.

Dom flinched at the loud tones. She must think me simple as well as dishevelled. As his mind finally cleared and her request registered, his amusement vanished.

The images flashed into his head—all the girls he’d lifted in a dance, tossed into saddles...carried into bed. With two strong arms.

Anger coursed through him. ‘That would be a bit of problem.’ He gestured to his empty sleeve. ‘Afraid I can’t help you. Good day, miss.’

Her eyes widened as he began to walk past her. ‘Can’t help me?’ she echoed. ‘Can’t—or won’t?’

Fury mounting, he wheeled back to face her. ‘Don’t you see, idiot girl?’ he spat out. ‘I’m...impaired.’

Crippled would be a better description, but he couldn’t get his mouth around the word. He turned to walk away again.

She hurried forward, the horse trailing on the reins behind her, and blocked his path. ‘What I see,’ she said, her dark eyes flashing, ‘is that you have one good arm, whether or not you choose to use it. Which is more than many of the soldiers who didn’t survive Waterloo, including my father. He wouldn’t have hesitated to give me a leg up, even with only one hand!’

Before he could respond, she shortened the lead on the horse’s reins and snapped, ‘Very well. I shall search for a more obliging log or tree stump. Good day, sir.’

Bemused, he watched the sway of her neat little bottom as she marched angrily away. With well-tended forest on either side of the lane—deadfall quickly removed to provide firewood for someone’s hearth—he didn’t think she was likely to find what she sought.

Turning back towards Bildenstone, he set off walking, wondering who the devil she was. Not that, having spent the last ten years either with the army, at his hunting box in Leicestershire or in London, he expected to recognise any of the locals. That girl would have been only a child the last time he’d been here, seven years ago.

He’d probably just insulted the daughter of some local worthy—though, given the shabby condition of her riding habit, not a man of great means. He meant to limit as much as possible any interaction with his neighbours, but in the restricted society of the country, he’d likely encounter her again. Perhaps by then, he’d be able to tender a sincere apology.

* * *

Stomping down the lane without encountering any objects suitable for use as a mounting block, Theodora Branwell felt her anger grow. After a fruitless ten-minute search, she conceded that she might have to walk all the way back to Thornfield Place before she could find a way to remount her horse.

Which meant she might as well abandon her purpose and try again tomorrow.

Not the least of her ire and frustration she directed at herself. If she’d not been so lost in rehearsing her arguments, she would have heard the approaching hoofbeats and had her mount well in hand before the stallion burst around the corner and flew past them. After all the obstacles they’d ridden over in India and on the Peninsula, how Papa would laugh to know she’d been unseated by so simple a device!

No sense bemoaning; she might as well accept that her lapse had ruined the timing for making a call on her prospective landlord today.

She had Charles to check on, she thought, her heart warming as she pictured the little boy she’d brought up. Then there were the rest of the children to settle, especially the two new little ones the Colonel had just sent her from Brussels. Though the manor’s small nursery and adjoining bedchamber were becoming rather crowded, making settling the matter of the school and dormitory ever more urgent, Constancia and Jemmie would find them places. But she knew the thin boy and the pale, silent girl would feel better after a few sweetmeats, a reassuring hug, and a story to make them welcome.

How frightening and strange the English countryside must seem to a child, torn from the familiar if unstable life of travelling with an army across the dusty fields and valleys of Portugal and Spain. Especially after losing one’s last parent.

It was a daunting enough prospect for her, and she was an adult.

The extra day would allow her to go over her arguments one more time. She liked Thornfield Place very much; she only had to convince Mr Ransleigh, her mostly absentee landlord who had now unaccountably taken up residence, that turning the neglected outbuilding on his property into a home and school for soldiers’ orphans would cause no problem and was a noble thing to do.

A guilty pang struck her. She’d really been too hard on the one-armed, one-eyed man in the lane. Though he might have been injured in an accident, he had the unmistakable bearing of a soldier. Had he suffered his wounds at Waterloo? Recovering from such severe losses would be slow; frustration over his limitations might at times make him wonder if it would not have been better, had he never made it off the battlefield.

She knew it was. She’d have given anything, had Papa been found alive, whatever his condition. Or Marshall, dead these five years now.

The bitter anguish of her fiancé’s loss scoured her again. How much different would her life be now, had he not fallen on that Spanish plain? They’d be long married, doubtless with children, her love returned and her place in society secure as his wife.

But it hadn’t been fair to take out her desolation on that poor soldier. Wholly preoccupied with her own purpose, she only now recalled how thin his frame was, how dishevelled his rough clothing. When had he last eaten a good meal? Finding employment must be difficult for an ex-soldier with only one arm.

He’d not carried a pack, she remembered, so he must be a local resident. Country society comprised a small circle, she’d been told, much like the army. Which meant she’d probably encounter the man again. If she did, she would have to apologise. Perhaps in the interim, she might also think of some job she could hire him to perform at Thornfield Place.

Satisfied that she’d be able to atone for her rudeness, she dismissed him from her mind and trudged down the lane back towards Thornfield.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Theo finally reached the stables and turned over her well-walked horse. Dismissing her irritation over an afternoon wasted, she entered through a back door, to have Franklin, her newly hired butler, inform her that a visitor awaited her.

Since she had no acquaintance in the county beyond the village solicitor she’d written to help her find staff, she couldn’t imagine who might be calling. Curiosity speeding her step, she’d reached the parlour threshold before it struck her that, according to the dimly remembered rules of proper behaviour her long-dead mama had tried to instil in her, she ought to have gone upstairs to change into a presentable gown before receiving visitors.

But the identity of the lady awaiting her drove all such thoughts from her head. ‘Aunt Amelia!’ she cried in surprise and delight.

‘My darling Theo! I’m so glad to have you home at last!’ the lady declared, encircling her in a pair of plump, scented arms.

Theo’s throat tightened as she returned the hug of her last remaining close relation. ‘I’m so glad, too, Aunt Amelia. But what are you doing here? And how did you know I was at Thornfield Place?’

‘I’d hoped you’d come to see me in London after you left Brussels. When you wrote you’d already consulted Richard’s lawyer, found a suitable country manor, and wished to get settled there before you visited, I just couldn’t wait.’

‘I’m so glad you’ve come, although I fear you’ll not find the establishment nearly up to your standards. I’m still hiring staff, and everything is at sixes and sevens.’

Pushing away, she surveyed the lady she’d not seen in over five years. ‘How handsome you look in that cherry gown! In the first crack of fashion, I’d wager—not that I would know.’

‘You’re looking very well, too, my dear—though I can’t in good conscience return the compliment about the habit.’ After a grimace at the offending garment, she continued. ‘Now that you’re finally back in England, we must attend to that! One can understand the unfashionable dress, living in all the God-forsaken places my brother dragged you, but how have you managed to keep your complexion so fresh? I thought to find you thin and brown as a nut.’

‘I’ve always been disgusting healthy, or so the English memsahibs used to tell Papa.’

‘Unlike your poor mama, God rest her soul.’ Sadness flitting across her face, she said, ‘I still can’t believe we’ve lost Richard, too.’

Steeling herself against the ever-present ache of loss, Theo said, ‘I’m glad you’ve given up your blacks; the colour doesn’t suit you.’

‘You don’t think it too soon? It’s only nine months since...’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Since Papa fell at Waterloo,’ Theo replied, making herself say the words matter of factly.

‘It just doesn’t seem fair,’ Lady Amelia said, frowning. ‘My brother surviving all those horrid battles, first in India, then on the Peninsula, only to be killed in the very last action of the war! But enough of that,’ she said after a glance at Theo—who perhaps wasn’t concealing her distress as well as she thought. ‘Shall we have tea?’

‘Of course. I’m devilish thirsty myself,’ she said drily. ‘I’ll ring for Franklin.’

After instructing the butler to bring tea and refreshments, Theo joined her aunt on the sofa.

‘How long can you stay? I’ll have Reeves prepare you a room. It’s a bit hectic with the children not settled yet, but I think we can make you comfortable.’

‘Children?’ her aunt repeated. ‘So you still have them—Jemmie, the boy your father took in when his sergeant father died? And the little girl you wrote me about. Besides Charles, of course. How is the poor little orphan?’

‘Doing well,’ Theo said, her heart warming as she thought of him. ‘A sturdy four-year-old now.’

‘Goodness, that old already! His father’s family never...’

‘No. Lord Everly’s commander, Colonel Vaughn, wrote to his father again when I returned with Charles after the birth, to inform him of the poor mother’s death in childbed, but the marquess did not deign to reply.’ She neglected mentioning how she’d rejoiced at learning she’d be able to keep the child. ‘So, he’s still with me. Indeed, I can’t imagine being parted from him.’

‘You’re quite young enough to marry and have sons who truly are your own,’ her aunt replied tartly. ‘I suppose you had to do your Christian duty and accompany that unfortunate girl, enceinte and grieving, back to England after Everly was killed. I do wish you’d made it to London for the birth, though. How unfortunate to have his mama fall ill, stranding you at some isolated convent in the wilds of Portugal! Naturally, after her death, you felt obliged to take charge of the infant until he could be returned to his family. But with that family unwilling to accept the boy and Richard gone—are you sure you should continue caring for him? As for the others, would it not be better to put them into the custody of the parish? Under a colonel’s guardianship, such an odd household might have been tolerated in the army overseas, but even with your papa present, such a ménage here in England would be considered very strange.’ She sighed. ‘You were ever wont to pick up the stray and injured, even as a child.’

‘I’m sure you would have done the same, had you been there to see them, poor little creatures left on their own to beg or starve.’

‘None the less, without Richard... It’s just not fitting for a gently reared girl to have charge of...children like that.’

Theo laughed. ‘After growing up in India and all those years following the drum, I don’t believe I qualify as “gently reared”.’

Her aunt gave her a fulminating look. ‘You’re still gently born, regardless of the unconventionality of your upbringing, and are as well, I understand, a considerable heiress. Despite your...unusual circumstances, I wouldn’t despair of having you make a good match. Won’t you come to me in London for the Season, let me find you a good man to take your father’s place in your life?’

With a firm negative shake of her head, Theo said, ‘I can’t imagine a prospective suitor would look kindly on the idea of taking in a child not his own. Since I won’t give up Charles, I doubt my fortune is large enough to tempt any man into marrying me. That is, any man I’d consider marrying.’

‘You do yourself a disservice,’ Lady Amelia protested. Giving Theo a quick inspection, she said, ‘Your figure is fine, your complexion lovely, and those brown eyes quite luminous. I’m certain my maid could do wonders with that curly dark hair. You’re a bit taller than is fashionable, but with the proper gowns, I think quite a number of eligible gentleman might come up to snuff. You are the granddaughter of an earl, after all.’

Waving Theo to silence before she could protest again, Lady Amelia continued. ‘If you love Charles as you say you do, you must know the best thing for him would be for you to marry! Give him a father to pattern himself after, someone who could teach him all those manly pursuits so important to gentleman, and introduce him to the clubs and societies he must frequent to be accepted by his peers. As for the other children... I don’t wish to set your back up, but it really would be better for them to be placed in an institution where they can learn a vocation. You do them no favours, to raise them above their stations.’

Ignoring her aunt’s words about Charles, which had the uncomfortable ring of truth about them, Theo said, ‘I don’t intend to raise the others above their stations. In fact, arranging for their proper care is the main reason I decided to come here. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to having a settled home again myself, something I’ve not had since we left India.’

She left unspoken her fear that making a life alone in England, the ancestral home in which she’d never lived, whose ways often seemed as strange to her as India’s would to her aunt, might prove a daunting task.

No matter, she would master it. She must, for the children and for herself.

‘I did wonder why you chose a manor in Suffolk. As I understand the provisions of the will, Richard left you numerous properties, along with your mama’s considerable fortune. Why did you not settle on one of them?’

‘The solicitor informed me that all the properties are let to long-term lessees, whom I wouldn’t wish to displace. So I asked Mr Mitchell to find me a suitable country manor to rent, something with a sturdy outbuilding nearby of sufficient size to be turned into a dormitory and school. A place where the children can learn their letters and be taught a trade.’

Her aunt laughed. ‘Goodness, that sounds like a great deal of trouble! Wouldn’t it be simpler to send them off to the parish? It’s only two children, after all.’ At the look on Theo’s face, she said, ‘It is just the two?’

‘Well, you see,’ Theo explained, well aware of her aunt’s probable reaction to the news, ‘Colonel Vaughn told me before we left Brussels how much he appreciated what Papa and I had done for the orphans. After Waterloo, I...found two others, and in a reply I’ve just posted to his letter enquiring about the possibility, I assured him I would be happy to take in more.’

‘Theo, no!’ her aunt cried. ‘You can’t mean to bury yourself in the country and turn into some glorified—orphanage matron, looking after the children of who knows who!’

‘Who else will look after them, if I don’t? Should I just stand by and see the offspring of our valiant soldiers end up in a workhouse? Besides, I need something useful to do with my life, now that...now that I won’t be running Papa’s household any longer,’ she finished, proud to have made it through that sentence without a tremble in her voice.

‘My dear Theo, you’re far too young to behave as if your life is over! I know you believe you buried your heart when Marshall fell at Fuentes de Oñoro. But I promise you, one can find love again—if you will only let yourself. I’m certain Lieutenant Hazlett wouldn’t want you to dwindle away into an old maid, alone and grieving.’

‘At seven-and-twenty, I imagine society already considers me at my last prayers,’ she evaded. Though it had been more than five years now, she still couldn’t speak of the horror of losing Marshall. Loving so intensely had led to intolerable pain, all she could endure. She had no intention of subjecting herself to that ever again.

Besides, she could never marry someone without telling him the truth—and she didn’t dare risk that.

‘I’ll not argue the point—for now!’ her aunt said. ‘But I would like to persuade you to come to London. Though I perfectly understand why you felt it your duty to remain with Charles’s mother during her Hour of Need, I was so disappointed when you didn’t come stay with me as we’d planned. I’ve hoped since then we’d have another chance for me to spoil you a bit, after all the time you’ve spent in the wilds, billeted who knows where, never knowing where your next meal might come from, and with the worry of impending battle always weighing on you!’

‘One never completely escaped the worry,’ Theo admitted, ‘but battle was the exception. Most of the time was spent training, moving between encampments, or billeted in winter quarters. Provisions were generally good, with game to supplement the soup pot. As for accommodations...’ she chuckled, remembering ‘...Papa and I shared everything from a campaign tent to cots in a stable to the bedchamber of a marquesa’s palace! It was a grand adventure shared with marvellous companions, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

It had also brought her Charles, and, she thought as a stab of grief gashed her, a fiery passion she didn’t expect ever to experience again.

Which also reminded her that not all the companions had been marvellous. After the devastation of her fiancé’s death, one officer who was no gentleman had sniffed at her skirts, certain she must eventually succumb to the blandishments of a man of his high birth and social position.

The only benefit of leaving the regiment was she’d never have to deal with Audley Tremaine again.

‘Game in the soup pot and a cot in a stable!’ her aunt cried, recalling her attention. ‘Call me pudding-hearted, but I prefer a bed with my own linens under a sturdy roof, awakened by nothing more threatening than the shouts of milk-sellers.’

‘Campaigning would not have been for you,’ Theo agreed. ‘But I must leave you now to check on the children. Constancia—you remember Constancia, the nursemaid I brought with me from the convent after Charles was born?—will show you to your room. I hope you’ll make a long visit!’

‘I am due back in London shortly, and you’ll have much to do, getting your establishment put together. Unless I can dissuade you from this enterprise? Coax you to leave the children with those used to dealing with orphans, and concentrate on your own future?’

‘Abandon them to a workhouse?’ Theo’s heart twisted as she thought of those innocents turned over to strange and uncaring hands. ‘No, you cannot dissuade me.’

Lady Amelia sighed. ‘I didn’t think so. You’re as headstrong as Richard when you get the bit between your teeth. The whole family tried to talk him out of going to India, but no one could prevail upon him to remain at home, tending his acres like a proper English gentleman, once he’d taken the idea in his head.’

‘I do appreciate your wishing to secure a more suitable future for me,’ Theo assured her. ‘But having never lived in England and being so little acquainted with the society’s rules, I fear I’d be an even greater disappointment than Papa, were you to try to foist me on the Marriage Mart.’

‘A lovely, capable, intelligent girl like you? I don’t believe it! Though I admire your desire to aid those poor unfortunates, I refuse to entirely cede my position. I still think marriage would be best for you and them, and I shall be searching for a way to make it happen!’

Theo laughed. ‘Scheme, then, if it makes you happy.’

‘It’s your happiness I worry about, my dear. You’re still so young! I want you to find joy again.’

Joy. She’d experienced its rapture—and paid its bitter price. She’d since decided she could make do with contentment, as long as Charles was safe and happy.

‘I expect to be happy in my life, helping those “poor unfortunates”,’ she told her aunt firmly as she kissed her cheek.

So she must be, she thought as she walked out of the room. It was the only life left to her, a choice she’d sealed years ago when she left that Portuguese convent with a swaddled newborn in her arms.

Chapter Two

By the time Dom, beyond exhausted by the long walk home, arrived back at Bildenstone Hall, all he wanted was a glass of laudanum-laced brandy and something soft on to which he could become horizontal. Instead, he was met at the door by the elderly butler, Wilton, who informed him the Squire, Lady Wentworth and Miss Wentworth awaited him in the parlour—and had been waiting more than an hour.

‘Send them away,’ Dom ordered, limping past the man, desperate for that drink to ease the headache that was compounding the misery of his throbbing wrist and shoulder.

‘But, Mr Ransleigh,’ Wilton protested as he trailed after Dom, ‘the Squire said the matter was urgent, and he would wait as long as necessary to see you today!’

The words trembled on Dom’s lips to consign the lot of them—the Squire, Lady Whomever, the girl in the lane, Diablo and the butler—to hell and back. With difficulty, he swallowed them.

While Dom hoped to socialise as little as possible, he’d known that, once the Squire learned the owner of the most extensive property in the county had taken up residence, courtesy demanded he pay a call at Bildenstone Hall. Though his head pounded like an anvil upon which a blacksmith was hammering out horseshoes, he knew that it would be the height of incivility to send away sight unseen so distinguished a neighbour.

Unless he wished Wilton to tell that worthy and his party that, having fallen off a horse and been forced to walk home, Mr Ransleigh was in no fit state to receive them.

He might not have resided at Bildenstone Hall for years, but beyond doubt, every member of the gentry for miles around knew of ‘Dandy Dom’ and his exploits on the hunting field and in the army. Call it foolish pride, but even more than being branded as churlish, he dreaded being considered a weakling—a conclusion his injuries might make strangers all too quick to draw.

Dredging up from deep within the will that had kept him in the saddle through the fatigue and strain of many long campaigns, Dom said, ‘Very well. Tell them I’m just back from...riding the fields and will need a few moments to make myself presentable.’

‘Very good, Mr Ransleigh,’ the butler said, obviously relieved not to have to deliver a message of dismissal to a man of the Squire’s stature.

Hauling himself up the stairs, he rang for Henries. He had his mud-spattered garments removed by the time the batman arrived to help him into clean ones. Battle-ready within minutes, he squared his tired shoulders and headed for the stairs.

Though he ached for a soothing draught and a deep sleep, he figured he could stay upright for the length of a courtesy call. He was too tired to wonder why Lady Somebody and her daughter had accompanied the Squire.

A few moments later, he forced a smile to his lips and entered the drawing room.

‘Squire Marlowe, how kind of you to call! And whom do I have the honour of addressing?’ He gestured to the ladies.

‘So good to see you, too, Mr Ransleigh, after so many years!’ the Squire replied. ‘Lady Wentworth and Miss Wentworth, may I introduce to you our illustrious neighbour, Mr Dominic Ransleigh. A captain in the Sixteenth Light Dragoons who charged into the teeth of Napoleon’s finest, one of the heroes of Waterloo!’

‘Ladies, a pleasure,’ Dom said as the callers curtsied to his bow.

‘We’ve heard of your gallant deeds, of course, Mr Ransleigh,’ Lady Wentworth said. ‘Everyone in the county is so proud of you.’

‘We were all of us delighted to learn you intended to take up residence at Bildenstone Hall again,’ the Squire said. ‘Your father and mother, God rest their souls, were sorely missed when they abandoned Suffolk to settle at Upton Park.’

Had the neighbourhood felt slighted by his father’s removal to Quorn country? Dom wondered, trying to read the man’s tone.

‘When she learned I meant to call today,’ the Squire continued, ‘Lady Wentworth, head of the Improvement Society for Whitfield Parish, begged leave to accompany me. With her lovely daughter, Miss Wentworth, the ornament of our local society who, sadly, is soon to join her godmother for the Season in London.’

So that was why Lady Somebody had come, Dom thought, his mind clearing as he caught this last bit. As closely as news about his family was followed, he suspected that word of his broken engagement had already made it to Suffolk. The nephew of an earl with a tidy fortune and important family connections would be considered an attractive prospect by country gentry like Lady Wentworth, regardless of his physical shortcomings.

Equally obvious, the enthusiasm engendered in her mother by his matrimonial assets was not entirely shared by the daughter. Dom noted her gaze travelling from the pinned-up sleeve to his eye patch and back, her expression a mingling of awe and distaste.

First the girl in the lane scolding him for making excuse of his limitations, and now Miss Wentworth’s fascinated disdain. As if he were the prime attraction in a raree-show.

He had the ignoble urge to sidle up to her and see if she would flinch away. When his continued attention finally alerted her that he’d caught her staring at him, she coloured and gave him what he supposed most men would consider an enticing smile.

With her pretty face and glossy blond locks, she was as lovely as the Squire had pronounced her—and he felt no attraction at all.

Perhaps he ought to relieve her anxiety by assuring her he was in no danger of falling for the charms of an ingénue who’d probably never set foot outside her home parish. Then, rebuking himself for his uncharitable thoughts, he turned his attention back to the mother, who was nattering on about her reasons for accompanying the squire.

‘...take the liberty of accompanying Squire Marlowe, when in the strictest sense, I should not have called until my husband, Sir John, called first. However, there is a matter of urgency at hand. My society oversees the parish poorhouse, where honest folk in need are offered assistance. As I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s imperative that such unfortunates, their morals already weakened by low birth and squalid surroundings, not be made more vulnerable by exposure to additional corruption. As they certainly would be, were children of that sort allowed to reside here!’

‘Children of that sort?’ Dom echoed. ‘Forgive me, Lady Wentworth, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Have you not yet been informed of the matter?’ the lady cried, indignation in her tones. ‘Infamous!’

Resigning himself to the fact that, though Lady Wentworth’s main purpose might be to show off her attractive daughter, her secondary one was not likely to be quickly accomplished, Dom said, ‘Shall we be seated? I see Wilton already brought tea; can he refresh your cups?’

Resisting the devilish urge to seat himself close to Miss Wentworth, and see whether the inducements of his wealth and lineage won out over her distaste for his damaged person, he took a chair opposite the sofa.

After Wilton had served the guests, he turned to the Squire, hoping his explanation would prove briefer. ‘Won’t you acquaint me with the matter?’

‘Certainly,’ the Squire said. ‘Two days ago, Mr Scarsdale, the solicitor in Hadwell, mentioned to me that Thornfield Place, which abuts your southern boundaries, had been let by a Theo Branwell. He then informed me that this man, already in residence, intends to approach you about renting the old stone barn your father once planned to turn into a cloth manufactory. For the purpose of setting up a home for soldiers’ orphans.’

‘A terrible prospect!’ Lady Wentworth cried, seizing hold of the conversation. ‘Having been with the army, Mr Ransleigh, you know better than we how rough a life it is! Lord Wellington himself referred to the common soldiery as “the dregs of the earth”. Only consider the offspring of such persons, growing up around vulgarity, drunkenness, and the company of...’ With a glance at her daughter, she leaned closer to whisper, ‘Camp-following women!’

Settling herself back, she continued in normal tones. ‘They could not help but have been corrupted since birth. I’m sure you understand our horror at the prospect that such children might be lodged nearby. Unthinkable enough that gently raised folk be subjected to their presence! Only consider how much more injurious association with them would be for the orphaned poor, with their innate bent to depravity. As head of a society devoted to their well-being, I felt it my Duty to speak with you at once about this nefarious scheme. Doubtless, this Mr Branwell means to play upon your sympathies as a former soldier. But as a gentleman of wit and discernment, I’m sure you could not wish to lend yourself to such an enterprise.’

In truth, Dom didn’t wish to lend himself to anything, particularly not to the lady whose strident voice was intensifying the pounding in his head. Knowing that responding would encourage her to embellish, likely at enough length that he got a good eyeful of her beauteous daughter’s neatly turned ankles, he meant to give her no excuse to prolong the interview.

‘I understand your concern, Lady Wentworth, and yours, Squire Marlowe. I assure you, when and if I’m approached by Mr Branwell, I will give the matter my most careful consideration. After such a long wait, I’m sure you must be pressed to return to other engagements. I myself am overdue to consult with my steward,’ he lied smoothly. ‘So you must excuse me, but do finish your tea before you depart.’

He rose as he spoke, continuing quickly. ‘Squire, a pleasure to see you again. Miss Wentworth, I wish you well on your Season, and best of luck with your society, Lady Wentworth.’

Deaf to their expressions of gratitude and protestations that they were in no hurry, Dom bowed and left the parlour.

Retreating to his chamber with as much speed as he could muster, he barely made it to the bed before his legs crumpled under him. Bracing himself with his good arm, he sank face-down on to the blessedly soft, flat surface and fell instantly to sleep.

* * *

With dim memories of having awakened in the dark to glug down a glass of the laudanum-laced brandy at his bedside, Dom pulled himself from sleep late the next morning, groggy and aching. He took another quick swallow of the brandy, thinking as he sank back against the pillows that he’d not indulged in strong spirits before breakfast since his salad days at Oxford.

After a few moments, the liquor soothing the sharp edges off his ever-present pain, Dom felt human enough to ring for his batman. Hot coffee and a hot bath would dispel the grogginess, after which he could dress and ready himself...for what?

Once, he would have headed for the barns to check on his horses. How he’d prided himself on his reputation for finding the most spirited yearlings with jumping promise and bending the difficult horses to his will, schooling them to jump obstacles they’d rather avoid. Gloried in the excitement of sitting astride a ton of barely controlled wildness while galloping through woods, fields and meadows, jumping streams, brush and fences.

There’d be no more of that, as yesterday had demonstrated with painful clarity.

He should go to his study, check the London papers and the current prices for prime hunters at Tatt’s. Or write to some hunting enthusiasts, asking if they were interested in purchasing any of his horses.

His spirits, already at a low ebb, sank even more at the prospect.

No, he couldn’t face that today. He’d go poke about in the library, which was as respectably large and well filled a room as he remembered. The pleasure of reading, a pastime often indulged while in winter quarters on the Peninsula, had been restricted by the dearth of books available. The single bright spot in his decision to retreat to Bildenstone was having access to the wealth of volumes his grandfather had accumulated.

Finding something intriguing would distract him from his misfortunes and raise his spirits, he told himself. Maybe he’d wander outside to read, see if the gazebo in his mother’s garden was still a pleasant place to sit.

He needed to start figuring out his future...but not yet. Once the additional aches of yesterday’s disastrous episode faded, he’d be in a better frame of mind to move forward.

* * *

An hour later, fed, dressed and feeling marginally better, Dom walked towards the library. Encountering the butler on the way reminded him of the previous day’s meeting, and he paused.

‘Wilton, I don’t wish to receive any more visitors. I mean no one, not even if God Himself turns up on my doorstep!’

Looking pained at that sacrilege, Wilton nodded. ‘As you wish, Mr Ransleigh.’

‘That’s what I wish,’ he muttered, and continued to the library.

After browsing through Caesar’s Commentaries, lamenting his inattention during Latin studies, Dom settled on a volume of Herodotus. The day having turned cloudy, he abandoned thoughts of the garden and settled in a wing chair before a snug fire.

As he’d hoped, the discussion of the struggle between Xerxes and the Spartans soon absorbed his attention.

* * *

When Wilton bowed himself into the room later, he realised enough time had passed that he was hungry.

Unwilling to leave the comfortable chair, he said, ‘Would you ask Cook to prepare some of the ham and cheese from last night, and bring it here to the library?’

‘Of course, Mr Ransleigh. But first...’ the butler hesitated, an anxious expression on his face ‘...I’m afraid I must tell you that...that a young lady has called. I explained that you weren’t receiving anyone, under any circumstances, but she said the matter was urgent and she would not leave until she saw you.’

Yet another lady on an urgent errand that would not keep? Who might it be now?

Though he’d happily tilled his way through fields of accommodating beauties before getting himself engaged, he’d always been careful; he had no fears that some dimly remembered female stood on his doorstep with a petit paquet in arms.

Curiosity was soon submerged by a lingering irritation over yesterday’s unwelcome visitors. ‘You didn’t admit her, did you?’

‘No, sir. Following your instructions, I closed the door—in her face, as she refused to move, a thing I’ve never done in my life, sir!’

‘Sounds like problem solved,’ Dom said. ‘Eventually, she’ll tire of waiting and go home. Will you have that tray brought up, and some more coffee, please?’

The butler lingered, looking even more distressed. ‘You see, sir, as the young lady arrived at just past eight this morning, while you were still abed, I felt no hesitation in refusing her. But it’s now nearly two of the clock and...and she’s still waiting.’

Annoyed as he was to have yet another person try to intrude upon his solitude, Dom felt a revival of curiosity which, as he reluctantly reviewed the situation, intensified.

He hadn’t mingled with society here for years, and only a few knew he’d returned to Suffolk. He had no idea who the woman might be, or what matter could be compelling enough to prompt her to come alone and wait for hours to consult him.

Arguing with himself that he would do better to ignore the caller, and losing, he finally said, ‘Who is it? Not the girl from yesterday, surely.’

‘Oh, no, sir,’ Wilton said, sounding scandalised. ‘Miss Wentworth’s mama would never allow her to call alone on a single gentleman. The Young Person didn’t give me her name, saying it wouldn’t be known to you anyway.’

It would be scandalous for an unmarried girl to call on him, Dom belatedly realised. He’d been out of England so long, he’d initially forgotten the strict rules governing the behaviour of gently born maidens.

Maybe she wasn’t so gently born.

There might be possibilities here, he thought, his body now taking an interest. Not that he was sure he was yet healed enough that such pleasant exercise wouldn’t cause him more agony than ecstasy. ‘You called her a “young lady”, though. Why, after such brazen behaviour?’

‘Well, she is young, and in speech and dress, she appears to be a lady, however improper it might be for her to come here.’

‘Alone, you said.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What has she been doing all this time?’

‘When I last glanced out, she’d seated herself on the brick wall at the end of the courtyard. She appeared to be reading, sir.’

‘She hasn’t knocked again?’

‘No, sir. I suppose, sitting where she is, she knows the household must be aware of her presence.’

So his unwelcome caller had been waiting for hours. Without trying a second time to force herself upon them.

Reading a book.

Persistence he understood, but he knew few men, and no females, that patient.

After an irresolute moment, that bedevilling curiosity overcame his body’s urging that he remain seated. Dom rose from his chair and paced to the mullioned windows.

Glancing out, he could see, below to his left, the three-foot wall that set off the courtyard spanning the space between the two Tudor wings projecting from the main block of Bildenstone Hall. Sitting there, wrapped in a cloak, was a female, her figure so foreshortened by height and distance that he couldn’t accurately estimate her shape or stature.

The day, already gloomy when he’d made his way to the library, had darkened further. As he gazed at her, a gust of wind rattled the window.

‘It’s going to rain shortly,’ he said, after a soldier’s inspection of the clouds. ‘That should send her on her way. I’ll have that tray now.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Wilton said, looking brighter. Apparently feeling that, having discharged his duty to the fairer sex by informing his master of the girl’s presence, he could now absolve himself of responsibility for her welfare, he trotted off for the tray.

A responsibility he obviously felt he’d transferred to Dom. Though his will tried to tell his conscience he wouldn’t accept the charge, within a few minutes of seating himself again, he felt compelled to return to the window.

The rain he’d predicted was pelting down from clouds that didn’t look likely to dissipate for some time. The girl was still there, though she’d tucked the book away and huddled in upon herself, as if to provide the smallest possible target to the besieging rain.

Her choice, he told himself, returning to his chair.

But after a few more minutes of reading the same paragraph over and over without comprehending a syllable, he tossed down the book and returned to the window.

She sat as before, huddled on the wall.

Uttering a string of oaths, Dom stomped to the bell pull and yanked hard.

A few moments later, Wilton reappeared, panting. ‘I came as fast as I could, sir!’

Dom walked back to window and stared down at the female, still sitting immobile as a gargoyle rainspout on a cathedral roof.

Probably didn’t shed moisture as efficiently, though.

‘Damn and blast!’ he muttered before turning to Wilton. ‘I suppose we’ll have to admit her before she contracts a consumption of the lungs.’

‘At once, sir!’ Wilton said, sounding relieved. ‘I’ll show her to the small receiving room.’

‘Better put some towelling down to protect the carpet. She must be drenched.’

Wondering when he was going to find the solitude he sought, angry—but more intrigued than he wanted to admit by the mysterious female—Dom exited the library and headed for the receiving room.

After entering, he took up a commanding position before the cold hearth—the lady might have won the first skirmish, but Dom had no intention of looking defeated—and awaited his uninvited visitor. Underscoring the caller’s lack of pedigree, she was being conducted to a small back parlour, rather than the formal front room into which the Squire and his ladies had been shown yesterday.

Dom wondered if she’d recognise the subtle set-down.

He heard the murmur of approaching voices and his body tensed. To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to the encounter.

But then, this female had already shown herself a skilled campaigner. Using neither force nor threat nor any of the tears and tantrums upon which ladies, in his experience, normally relied to soften male resolve—relying instead on his own sense of honour and courtesy—she’d induced him to yield.

The female entered. He had only a quick impression of a tall girl in an attractive, if outdated, green gown before she bent her head and sank into a curtsy.

‘Thank you for receiving me,’ she said, her throaty voice holding no hint of the reproach he would have anticipated from someone subjected to so long and discourteous a wait.

His unwilling admiration deepened. Yet another good tactic—unsettle an opponent by not responding in the expected manner.

Noting she was not, in fact, dripping on the carpet, as she rose to face him, he said, ‘I suppose I should apologise, but you seem no worse for a drenching, Miss...’

‘No need to apologise. My sturdy cloak has protected me through many a...’

Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as Dom’s brain added together luminous brown eyes, pale skin, and slender form.

‘You!’ she cried at the same moment Dom realised he recognised his persistent visitor.

The girl from the lane.

Chapter Three

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

Recovering first, the girl sighed. ‘Oh, dear, this is...unfortunate! I suppose I should start by apologising for being so judgemental and inconsiderate yesterday. I do beg your pardon, Mr Ransleigh.’

If she could be magnanimous, he supposed he should be, too. ‘Only if you’ll accept my apology in return. There was no excuse for my rudeness...even if I’d just had my limitations rather forcibly demonstrated.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘The stallion!’ she said. ‘You were riding that black beast that nearly trampled me.’

No point in denying what, with impressive quickness, she’d already figured out. ‘Until he dumped me off,’ he admitted.

‘I don’t wonder he unseated you. I expect you’d need the hands of a prize fighter to keep that one under control.’

‘True. But, oh, can he fly like the wind! And jump anything in his path,’ Dom said wistfully, remembering.

‘Waterloo?’ she asked, pointing to his arm.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He nodded an acknowledgement before the memory surfaced. ‘I seem to recall you saying your father fell there? My condolences on your loss.’

Anguish showed briefly on her face before she masked it. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

Watching, Dom felt her pain echo within him. It had been difficult, losing comrades with whom he’d ridden and fought, but he’d never lost anyone who was truly family. How much more agonising would it have been had some battle claimed one of his cousins—Will or Max or Alastair?

Recovering her composure, the girl said, ‘Had I known you were recuperating, I should have asked first for your lady mother. That is, I imagine she is here, caring for you during your recovery?’

‘I’m afraid I lost my mother years ago.’

‘Ah. So who is here, assisting you? Surely your family didn’t leave you to cope alone.’

She must have sensed his withdrawal, for before he could utter some blighting set-down, she said, ‘Now I must beg your pardon again! I didn’t mean to pry. I should confess at the outset that, never having resided in England, I have trouble remembering the rules governing polite society. I’ve spent my life in the compounds of India or in the army, where everyone knows everyone else’s business. I’m afraid I’m deplorably plain speaking and have no sensibility at all, so if I say something you find intrusive or inappropriate, just slap me back into place, like Papa’s sergeant-major always did when I was too inquisitive.’

Having just been given permission to ignore her question, he felt unaccountably more inclined to answer. Unlike his former hunting buddies and the society maidens who had spent the war safely in England, she’d evidently lived through it with the army. She understand hardship, danger—and loss.

‘My cousin Will found me on the field after the battle, had me removed to a private house and cared for, then stayed with me until I was able to be transported back to London, about a week ago. He urged me to accompany him to our cousin Alastair’s home, so our aunt could tend me. But she would have cosseted me within an inch of my life, and I...I didn’t think I could bear that.’

She nodded. ‘Sometimes one must face the bleakest prospects in life alone.’

The truth of her words, uttered with the poignancy of experience, resonated within him. The death of her father and returning to an England she didn’t know were certainly bleak enough.

‘But here I am, taking up your time while you’re probably wishing me at Jericho! Let me state my business and leave you in peace. I’m Theodora Branwell, by the way,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘My father was Colonel Richard Branwell, of the Thirty-Third Foot.’

She offered the hand vertically, for shaking, rather than palm down, for a kiss. Amused, he grasped her fingers for a brisk shake—and felt an unexpected tingle dance up his arm.

Startled for an instant, he dismissed the odd effect. ‘Dominic Ransleigh,’ he replied. ‘Though I suppose you already knew that.’

‘Yes. I recently leased Thornfield Place, specifically because it abuts your property. Or rather, one particular part of your property.’

Suddenly the connection registered. ‘Theodora—Theo!’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’d been told to expect a call. Except the folk hereabouts seem to think you’re a man.’

A mischievous look sparkled in her eyes. ‘Though I didn’t deliberately try to create that impression, I might not have used my full name when I contacted the local solicitor. So, you’ve been told that I’d like to lease the stone building in your south pasture and convert it into a home and school for orphans?’

‘I have. I must warn you, though, the neighbourhood isn’t happy about the idea. To quote the head of the Improvement Society of Whitfield Parish, whom I had the misfortune of receiving yesterday, such children, growing up around “vulgarity, drunkenness, and the company of loose women” must have been “corrupted at birth” and could only be an affront to decent people and a deleterious influence upon the county’s poor.’

Miss Branwell’s eyes widened at that recitation. ‘No wonder you didn’t wish to receive anyone today.’

While Dom swallowed the laugh surprised out of him by that remark, she turned an earnest look on him. ‘Surely you don’t share that ridiculous opinion! You’re a soldier, Mr Ransleigh! True, the conditions in the army were...rougher than those the children might have encountered in England. I would argue, though, that the hardships they’ve survived make them stronger and more resilient, rather than less suited for society.’

Like she was? he wondered. Stronger, perhaps. Suited for polite society—that might be another matter.

‘Besides, what they become will be determined, not by the circumstances of their birth, but by how they are treated now,’ she went on. ‘The best way to avoid having them fall into vice is to make them literate and give them training in a proper trade. Do you not agree that is the least we can do for the orphans of the men whose valour and sacrifice freed Europe from Napoleon’s menace?’

Though her words were stirring, Dom found himself more arrested by the lady delivering them. How could he have thought her a little brown wren?

Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, her enticing bosom rising and falling with every breath, her low, throaty voice vibrant with conviction.... As his skin prickled with awareness and his body tightened in arousal, he felt himself almost physically drawn to her.

Surely a woman so passionate in her defence of the orphans would bring that passion to every activity.

To her bed.

‘What happened to Christian charity, to compassion for the innocent, to leaving judgements to God?’ she was demanding.

Her reference to the Almighty a rebuke to his lust, he told himself to concentrate on the subject, rather than the allure of the lady. ‘Abandoned for preconceived notions, probably,’ he replied.

That brought her flight of oratory to a halt. Sighing, she said, ‘You’re probably right. But...you don’t share such notions, surely?’

She gestured towards him as she spoke. He had to force himself to keep from taking her hand, now near his own. Tasting her lips, still parted in enquiry. So nearly tangible was the pull between them, surely she must feel it, too?

For a moment, she did nothing, simply standing with her hand outstretched. Just as he was concluding that his previously reliable instincts must have gone completely array, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Some connection pulsed between them, wordless, but eloquent as a sonnet.

Hastily, she retracted her hand and stepped back. ‘I shouldn’t harangue you—though I did warn you I’m deplorably outspoken! If allowing me to use your building would put you at odds with the neighbourhood, perhaps I should come up with another plan.’

Dom thought of yesterday’s call by Lady Wentworth. How many other mothers of marriageable daughters lived within visiting distance of Bildenstone Hall? Finding himself at odds with his neighbours might not be a bad thing.

‘What would you do if I refuse permission?’ he asked, curious.

She shrugged. ‘Break the lease on Thornfield and make enquiries about settling elsewhere.’

‘Wouldn’t that be a great deal of trouble? To say nothing of the disruption to the children.’

‘Having known nothing but following the drum, they’re used to disruption and trouble.’

Despite his automatic inclination to do the opposite of whatever the officious Lady Wentworth had urged, with his desire to be left in solitude, he had been leaning towards refusing, should the then-unknown Theo Branwell approach him about renting his property.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Apparently sensing his ambivalence, Miss Branwell’s face brightened with new hope. ‘Would you consider it? I promise we shall not intrude on your peace! You needn’t make a final decision now; let us stay on a provisional basis. If you find the school a disturbance, you can send us all packing!’

That sounded reasonable enough—and might have the added benefit of keeping the Lady Wentworths of the area at bay. ‘Very well, I agree.’

‘Splendid!’

The delight in her smile warmed him, and he couldn’t help smiling back.

Though she’d claimed she would not cut up his peace, with that...something simmering between them, Dom wasn’t so sure. With a little shock, he realised that for the first time since the urge for solitude had consumed him, the possibility of company didn’t displease him.

‘Do I have your permission to inspect the building at once, while the solicitors discuss terms?’ she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

‘Certainly.’

‘Thank you. I need to determine what materials and supplies might be necessary to make it suitable. I shall cover all the costs of renovation, of course.’

‘The building hasn’t been inhabited for years,’ Dom felt it necessary to warn her. ‘My father constructed a second floor, intending to convert it into a weaving factory, but the rest of the work was never completed. Getting it into shape may be quite costly.’

‘My father left me well provided for.’

Suddenly it occurred to him how odd it was for a girl of her age and situation to undertake such a project. ‘It’s one thing for a Mr Theo Branwell—doubtless an idealistic cleric of some sort—to open an orphanage. Why are you doing this?’ he asked. ‘If I have relations to cosset me, surely you have family in England to take you in—or find you a proper husband. Maybe a prospective fiancé waiting in the wings?’

He wasn’t sure what imp had induced him to add that last, but at the stricken look on her face, he instantly regretted it.

‘He fell at Fuentes de Oñoro,’ she said quietly. ‘For many months afterward, I wish I’d died, too. But the orphans needed someone. Now, with Papa gone, so do I. I’ve sufficient funds for the endeavour, and some of the children have already been with me for years. We’re good for each other.’

So that explained why such a vibrant girl wasn’t already riveted, mothering a quiverful of her own children. The odd notion struck him that though he missed Elizabeth, he’d never felt he would perish without her. Shaking off the thought, he returned to the topic at hand.

‘I should probably go with you to inspect the building.’

‘You needn’t! I’ve just promised we wouldn’t be any bother. Your estate agent can accompany me.’

Again, she’d offered him a graceful way to disengage—and again, he was curiously disinclined to take it.

‘Not having seen the building in years, I’ve no idea what would be a suitable rent,’ he countered.

‘I have seen it—at least from the outside—and had a figure in mind,’ she said, naming one that sounded quite generous to him.

‘You are certainly...well organised,’ he observed, substituting a more flattering adjective for the one that had initially come to mind.

‘Managing, you mean,’ she acknowledged with a smile. ‘You’re quite right. You see, I’ve overseen my father’s household since I was the merest child. Then, on the Peninsula—well, you were there, you know how it is. Having to anticipate movements, preparing for every contingency! Water, or none. Provisions, or none. Shelter, or none. Having your gear and supplies ready to move at a moment’s notice, should battle threaten or the army’s plans change. Which,’ she added with a chuckle, ‘they always did. Which regiment were you in, by the way?’

Before he could answer, she waved her hand in a silencing gesture. ‘There I go, prying again, after just assuring you I would not. Please excuse me.’

‘It’s not prying to ask about the experiences of a fellow campaigner,’ he replied, surprised to discover he meant it. ‘I was with the Sixteenth Light Dragoons.’

‘Did you charge with the Union Brigade against D’Erlon’s Corps at Waterloo? A magnificent effort, I was told.’

Dom shrugged, having never sorted out his feelings about the event that had so drastically altered his life. ‘When the trumpet sounds, one goes.’

‘Duty, in spite of fear or likelihood of success, Papa always said,’ she murmured, grief veiling her face again.

‘Duty,’ he agreed, struggling himself with a familiar mixture of pride, sadness and bitter regret for what he had lost that day.

After a silent moment, both of them doubtless recalling what duty had cost them, Dom shook himself free of the memories. ‘When do you want to inspect the property?’

‘Now, if possible.’

‘I appreciate that you don’t mind the damp, but the weather is rather inclement. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait until tomorrow?’

‘Oh, no! I’m impatient to begin. Besides, the worst of the rain is over now. But truly, you needn’t bother yourself to accompany me.’

‘It won’t be a bother. If I’m to reside here, I must know what’s going on with the property. Did you come on horseback?’

‘Yes, but as I recall, the building isn’t too far from the manor. We could walk.’

Was she recalling his admission that he no longer possessed a horse he could ride? he wondered. ‘If you’ll wait until I get my coat, I’ll escort you. By the way, in spite of what you saw me wearing yesterday, I do own a coat respectable enough that you needn’t fear being seen with me.’

To his puzzlement, she gave a peal of laughter, quickly stifled.

‘What?’

She shook with silent mirth, her eyes merry. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Come, you must tell me. Have pity on a man whose face now frightens children.’

That sobered her. ‘You can’t be serious! Don’t you ever look in a glass? You must know you are quite handsome.’

It being obvious by now that Miss Branwell was incapable of toadying or flattery, he knew she spoke the truth as she saw it. His spirits, consigned to the lowest of dungeons after yesterday’s ignominious ride, climbed several storeys at this verbal confirmation that the unusual girl who attracted him so strongly found him attractive, too.

As he gazed at her, their physical connection, simmering just below the level of consciousness, intensified again. Struggling to resist its pull, he said, ‘Now, tell me what was so amusing.’

She remained silent for a long moment, her eyes locked on his. Then gasped and shook her head, as if breaking a spell.

That, he could understand. He felt a bit enchanted himself.

‘What was amusing,’ she repeated, as if trying to recover her place in the conversation. ‘Well, you see, reflecting upon your appearance after parting from you yesterday, I concluded you must be a poor, unemployed ex-soldier. I’d decided to make up for my rudeness by hiring you to perform some tasks at Thornfield Place.’ Another chuckle escaped. ‘How ridiculous! Thinking I was doing a favour, offering odd jobs to a man who owns half the county!’

‘Not so ridiculous, given how disreputable I looked,’ he said, amused, but also touched by the compassion she’d felt for a chance-met stranger—and a surly one at that.

No wonder she had a heart for homeless orphans.

‘You’ll wait while I get my coat?’

‘I really shouldn’t task you with this...but if you are truly sure it wouldn’t be an imposition, and I’m not keeping you from other matters?’

‘It won’t be, and you aren’t.’ He refrained from mentioning he had nothing on his calendar—now or any subsequent day. ‘I consider it an opportunity to become better acquainted with my new neighbour.’

Which, though perfectly true, he thought as he left the room, was certainly singular, given his original intention not to mingle with any of them.

Chapter Four

Reviewing their conversation as he climbed the stairs, Dom marvelled at himself. Was the solitude he’d sought wearing on him already, that he felt such a lift at the prospect of inspecting some musty old building?

But thinking about London, or Leicestershire, or even Elizabeth, still brought an automatic shudder of distaste. Perhaps what he really sought was not so much solitude, but a world completely different from the society he’d once enjoyed and the company of those who’d known him there.

Miss Theodora Branwell was certainly different. Though his little brown wren had been more attractive today in a green gown that accentuated her graceful figure, made her skin glow and emphasised her lovely dark eyes, were the stunningly beautiful Lady Elizabeth to have entered the room, most men wouldn’t have given Miss Branwell another glance.

Compared to Elizabeth, who’d been trained since her youth in the art of conversation designed to make her companion feel himself the most fascinating man in the room, Miss Branwell, with her frankness and total lack of subtlety, would be considered unpleasantly plain-spoken and offensively inquisitive.

And yet, though he’d always appreciated Elizabeth’s beauty and avidly anticipated the pleasures of the wedding bed, he didn’t remember ever having the sort of immediate, visceral reaction he’d felt for Miss Branwell. Perhaps that response was intensified, coming as it did after Miss Wentworth’s distaste and representing as it did the first time since his injuries that he’d felt a sense of his own masculine appeal. The first evidence as well that a woman who attracted him could find him desirable for who and what he was now, rather than as the damaged remains of the man he used to be.

But enough analysing. Like today’s rain, Miss Branwell had blown a freshness into his life, lifting his spirits and imbuing him, for this moment, with a sense of lightness and anticipation he hadn’t felt in months. He’d accept it as a gift from Heaven.

Recalling that the walk to the stone building was rather far, he took a swig of the laudanum-laced brandy at his bedside. He didn’t want to end up so cross-eyed with pain by the time they arrived that he was incapable of accurately assessing the building. Or appreciating the company of the lady he was escorting.

Miss Branwell awaited him in the entry as he descended the stairs. ‘I took the liberty of asking your butler if there was a pony trap we might use. He’s having one sent up.’

‘Afraid I might collapse on you?’ he tossed back. And regretted the hasty words, as his mind jumped to other ways he might cover her that had his body immediately hardening in approval.

‘...nursed enough soldiers to know,’ she was saying by the time he got his thoughts back under control. ‘You have the look of a soldier still recovering from his injuries. Did you suffer a lingering fever?’

‘For months,’ he confirmed, no longer surprised at how easy he found it to speak frankly to her. ‘I wasn’t well enough to leave Belgium until quite recently.’

She gave him a quick inspection that his body hoped was more than an assessment of his level of recovery. ‘You’re still rather thin. In my judgement, you should have more careful tending—but that’s for you to decide, so I shall not mention it again. However—’ She stopped herself with a sigh. ‘No, excuse me, I shall say nothing.’

Dom shook his head with a chuckle as they walked out to the vehicle a groom had pulled up outside the entry. ‘You shall have to tell me, you know.’

She looked back at him, smiling faintly as she shook her head. Remembering her rebuke of the previous day, he offered her a steadying hand as she climbed into the vehicle, savouring more than he should the touch of her gloved fingers.

She didn’t turn to see if he had trouble climbing up himself. And though, army veteran that she was, she probably could drive the trap better than he, she made space for him on the bench seat and waited for him to take the reins with nary a solicitous look nor a concerned enquiry about whether he felt well enough to handle them. That, after just pronouncing her nurse’s opinion that he was not fully recovered.

A tiny glow of satisfaction lit within the gloomy depths of his battered self-esteem. She assumed he was adjusting to his handicap, continuing with his life. Expected he would eventually master it.

As he would. Feeling better about his condition than he could remember since his wounding, Dom motioned for the stable lad to release the horse and jump up behind them.

After yesterday’s fiasco with Diablo left him doubting his ability to do anything, his spirits rose further as he discovered he could handle the single horse and simple carriage with ease. The expertise honed through years of practice returned without thought, and as the trap rattled down the lane, he found himself relishing the business of driving.

As Miss Branwell had predicted, the rain had ceased, leaving the air cool and scrubbed clean. Dom exulted in the wind ruffling his hair, the scenery flashing by, the taut feel of the reins in his hand and the horse responding to his commands. With a rush of gratitude to the Almighty, he realised at least one of the pleasures of his former life wasn’t totally lost to him.

Of course, this was only a pony trap, the nag pulling it far from a high-stepping carriage horse. But effortlessly controlling horse and vehicle felt...good. He told himself to stop equivocating and just enjoy it.

His mastery of the reins allowed him to enjoy watching Miss Branwell as well. After noting her chattiness at the house, he was encouraged to discover she could remain silent as well. Sitting relaxed, her hands resting on the rail to steady her over the bumps, she gazed from side to side, her eyes bright with interest. Trusting this one-armed soldier to drive her safely while she investigated her new surroundings, he thought, buoyed by her confidence.

The spring woods just coming into leaf were lovely, and so was his companion. Though, he noted in a reprise of the discriminating standards from his days as ‘Dandy Dom’, the battered-looking bonnet and well-used cloak would go, if he had the dressing of her.

Then again, he’d rather have the undressing of her.

Preoccupied by reining in that line of thought before it bolted into ever more inappropriate directions, he started when she cried out, ‘Goodness, what is that, just ahead?’

Squinting in the direction of her pointing finger, he saw around the corner a stretch of lane bordered on both sides by an expanse of flowers. ‘It’s a bluebell wood,’ he replied. Not having been at Bildenstone during the spring for years, he’d forgotten this part of the lane, less densely treed than the one they’d travelled yesterday, was home to thousands of the little bulbs.

‘Can you slow down?’

‘Of course,’ he said, reining the horse to a stop.

She gazed around her in delight at the sea of blooms surrounding them. ‘It’s as if an ocean had been cast down under the trees! How beautiful!’

Looking at the expanse, he realised it was beautiful. And that, had she not been with him, he would have passed through it, preoccupied by his own problems, with scarcely a glance.

Turning back to him, she said, ‘I can’t get enough of gazing at the woodlands here, the tall trees with their leafy canopies. After the dry plains of India and the scrub of Portugal and Spain, I find them endlessly fascinating.’

He, too, would do well to appreciate every simple pleasure, instead of brooding on what he’d lost. To the attraction and interest she’d generated in him today, he added gratitude for bringing him to recognise that truth.

‘We are fortunate in our forests,’ Dom replied, clicking the horse back into motion, ‘especially those lucky enough to possess a bluebell wood. Now, what was it you were going to tell me and decided not to?’

He laughed at the surprise on her face. ‘Did you think I had forgotten? I must warn you, I have a mind like a poacher’s trap. So...confess.’

‘Very well, but as I had resolved to say nothing, you may not afterwards accuse me of interfering! It’s just...I noticed that your butler is rather elderly. I expect, having been around him for years, you haven’t marked the passing of time, but the truth is, he struggles to open that heavy door. Does he still bring in the tea tray? I imagine it’s difficult for him. Of course, that’s only my observation. It’s really none of my business.’

Dom recalled Wilton carrying in the service to his callers yesterday, lugging a tray full of victuals from the kitchen up to the library for him this afternoon.

‘It’s been more than seven years since I visited, and years before that since the family resided here,’ he admitted. ‘Beyond noting in a general way that Wilton had aged, I’m ashamed to say I never considered whether resuming duties he’d not had to perform for years would be hard on him.’

He’d come up from London in a laudanum haze that enabled him to bear the jolting of the journey, then shut himself in the master’s chamber and, until yesterday, hadn’t set foot out of the house. To his mortification, he hadn’t given a thought to how his unexpected arrival must have upset the routine of the handful of servants who’d remained to oversee Bildenstone Hall during the family’s long absence, or the strain on all of them required to extract the place from its holland covers and make it habitable.

‘Even though I don’t intend to entertain, I should probably hire more servants,’ he admitted. ‘While I’m at it, perhaps I will put Wilton out to pasture.’

‘Oh, I don’t think—’ she began before closing her lips.

Dom laughed outright. ‘You might as well tell me the whole. I promise not to accuse you of interfering.’

‘Wilton has been long at Bildenstone Hall?’

‘He’s been butler since I was a lad.’

‘Then I don’t think I’d retire him—not immediately, after such a long absence, lest he feel you are dissatisfied with his service. Why not find someone to serve as under-butler, whom Wilton can train up as his eventual replacement? Then, after a suitable interval, you can offer him a cottage nearby and a generous settlement for his lifetime of loyalty. If the family hasn’t resided here for some time, it probably would be wise to hire more staff, which will also earn you the good will of the neighbourhood— paying jobs are always prized, especially now, with so many being let go from the army.’

‘That sounds like excellent advice. If you have any other suggestions, pray offer them.’

She uttered a delightful gurgle of a laugh. ‘As if you thought I could keep my opinions to myself! Goodness, though, your family must possess some magnificent properties, if they chose to leave the beauties of Bildenstone for another location.’

‘It’s worse than that—Papa actually had to purchase the other property. Having always loved hunting, both haring and fox, he happened to meet Hugh Meynell, now of Quorn Hall in Leicestershire.’

He paused, but as no hint of recognition dawned in her eyes, he continued. ‘Meynell, another hunting enthusiast, believed there was no reason that hounds couldn’t be bred for a good nose and for speed, which would allow fox hunting at any time of the day, not just early in the morning when the foxes, weary after a night of hunting, return to their dens too tired to outrun the slow hounds. My father thought it an intriguing idea, and along with Meynell and some others, experimented with producing fast-running hounds. So absorbed did he become in the project, he determined to obtain a property in Quorn country, where he could continue the breeding experiments and hunt with Meynell’s pack.’

He paused, remembering. ‘I’d just outgrown my first pony when we relocated to Upton Park. It took only one hunt to make me as keen about the chase as my father. So I can’t say I regretted leaving Bildenstone, despite the beauties of its bluebell wood.’

‘Appreciation for flowers isn’t generally a trait possessed by young boys,’ she replied. ‘I don’t wonder you found the excitement of Leicestershire much more to your liking. So you devoted yourself to the hunt?’

‘Single-mindedly. Which reminds me,’ he said, recalling her hours waiting on his wall. ‘What would you have done if I’d not relented and admitted you today?’

Following the sudden change in topic without a blink, she said, ‘Waited a bit longer, then tracked down your estate agent. When I first proposed to lease Thornfield, I was told your family hadn’t occupied the property for years, so finding an owner in residence was an unwelcome surprise. If the agent thought you were indifferent to the use of the building, or were not planning to remain long at Bildenstone, I would have proceeded. Otherwise, I would have made plans to go elsewhere.’

He had to laugh. ‘You really are resourceful!’

‘Papa always said you can never count on the enemy to do what you expect; for a sound battle plan, one must devise alternates for every imaginable contingency.’

He smiled down at her. ‘I hope you don’t consider me the enemy.’

She gazed up into his eyes. ‘No, I consider you...’ Her words trailed off, her lips slightly parted as she stared at his face...his mouth.

Attraction crackled like heat lightning between them again, scorching his face, leaving his mouth tingling. Immobilised by its force, Dom wasn’t able to tear his gaze from hers until the jolting of the vehicle over a particularly large bump forced him to return his attention to his driving.

Chapter Five

Patting her flaming cheeks with one hand, Theo took a deep breath, her heart thudding as she surreptitiously watched Mr Ransleigh manoeuvre the pony trap.

Goodness, what was wrong with her? First her runaway tongue, and now this firestorm of sensual awareness!

Granted, she’d never been shy about expressing her opinions, but what had possessed her to be so free with her advice—to a man she’d scarcely met, and one with whom she needed to establish good relations, if she hoped to settle her orphans at this location? If that almost instantaneous sense of rapport she’d felt with him was an illusion, she might have doomed her mission before it even began.

And yet, she was convinced Mr Ransleigh, too, felt the connection between them.

After an initial surprise and dismay upon discovering her potential landlord to be the one-armed man she’d been so rude to in the lane, she’d been immediately drawn to this ex-soldier, who matched her apology with a generous one of his own. Then, to confirm that his life had, like hers, been upended in the aftermath of Waterloo and to learn they shared the same army experiences...

Having made her awkward way these last few months through an unfamiliar civilian society in an unfamiliar land, to stumble upon someone who’d been part of the world she’d lost was like coming home. Within a few moments, she’d been more comfortable in his company than she’d felt since leaving the regiment in Belgium.

Yet at the same time, upon meeting the man again, properly garbed and in his own element, she’d been struck by the potent masculinity he radiated, in spite of his injuries. The fever-induced thinness of his frame only served to emphasise his impressive height and the broadness of his shoulders. Caught up in gazing at the strong chin, sensual lips and brilliant blue eye, she’d several times, like a moment ago, lost track of where she was in the conversation.

A fact as sobering and even more dismaying than learning the identity of her new landlord.

Just sitting beside him in the pony trap, close enough that the next bump in the road might bounce her into contact with his body, kept her heartbeat skipping at an accelerated pace. The air between them seemed to simmer with a palpable tension.

As an unmarried woman, society might expect her to be an innocent, but she was no stranger to passion. In the arms of the man who’d intended to make her his wife, she’d revelled in kissing and touching, eager to explore Marshall’s body, wanting him to explore hers. Though she’d lived mostly in the company of men for the years since his death, not until today had she felt again that unbidden, instinctive, intensely physical connection.

She knew exactly how powerful it could be—and how dangerous.

Oh, this would not do at all!

She should have insisted on delaying this visit until Ransleigh’s estate agent could accompany her.

Instead, disbelieving, intrigued—and tempted—she’d permitted his company, compelled to discover if that incompatible pairing of feelings—welcome ease, and dangerous attraction—would dissipate upon further acquaintance.

Well, it hadn’t. Despite the distractions of the drive and the delight of the bluebell wood, the ease had only increased, and so too the attraction. As evidenced a moment ago by her losing track of every thought save the impulse to run her finger over his lips and watch that undamaged eye drift closed as she tangled her fingers in the shaggy mane of blond hair and pulled his mouth to hers.

Just recalling that desire sent another flush of heat through her.

But there was no time now for her to figure out what she was going to do about this unwelcome complication, with Mr Ransleigh pulling up the pony trap in front of the stone building. Forcing her thoughts away from that dilemma, she made herself calm.

The spark that singed her fingers as he helped her down momentarily distracted her. But Theo would never have survived the last four years had she not been able to summon the will to focus only on the problem at hand.

Putting a deliberate distance between them, Theo followed Mr Ransleigh as he led her on an inspection of the stone building.

The fact that the structure appeared nearly perfect for her purposes helped her concentrate. Originally designed as a barn, the building had a main floor of smooth paving stones; the stalls had been removed, leaving an open, rectangular space that would do well as a schoolroom. The hayloft above, its partially floored area finished out and with railed wooden stairs constructed to reach it, would serve splendidly as a dormitory.

‘This will be excellent!’ Theo declared as, having made use of the railing rather than her escort’s arm to steady her, she returned from the upper floor to the main room. ‘It will require very few alterations: partitions upstairs, to divide the boys’ area from the girls’, and cordoning off a small section on this floor to install a kitchen, where meals can be prepared and girls can be schooled in cooking and household management.’

‘Are you sure?’ Mr Ransleigh said dubiously. ‘It looks like a cobweb-infested wreck to me.’

‘Compared to some of the structures I had to make habitable on the Peninsula, it’s a virtual palace! I dare say the roof will not leak, half-drowning some hapless orphan in the middle of the night, nor a wall give way, letting in cows to munch next morning’s bread, nor do I see any ancient piles of rotted straw that might house a host of vermin.’

‘Sounds like you were billeted in the same places I was,’ Ransleigh said.

‘Doubtless,’ she agreed, dragging her mind back before it could jump to contemplating the idea of being billeted...or bedded down...with her compelling landlord. ‘A good scrubbing and a competent carpenter, and I believe I can turn this into just the school I envisioned. If you’re agreed, I’ll consult the solicitor at once to find the necessary workmen, so they may begin as soon as the lease is signed.’

‘You might consult Bildenstone’s steward, Winniston. He seems to have kept the manor house in reasonable repair, despite the family not having resided there for years. And he would know where to find the craftsmen you’ll need.’

‘That would be most helpful, if it won’t be too much bother.’ Laughing ruefully, she shook her head. ‘Here I’ve been assuring you I wouldn’t intrude on your peace! I’ve already dragged you from your house and am now thinking of imposing upon your estate manager.’

Mr Ransleigh shrugged. ‘He hasn’t been imposed upon for years. Every soldier needs a little prodding to keep him marching in the right direction.’

‘Very well, I shall ask. Now, I should allow you to get back to Bildenstone and whatever business I interrupted when you felt obliged to accompany me here.’

Theo worked to keep the wistfulness from her voice. Unwise as it was, she was enjoying this outing more than she could remember enjoying anything in a long time. The easy camaraderie and sense of shared experience made her forget for a while that she was now alone in an unfamiliar world. And his tantalising presence revived dim memories of what an energising delight it was to bandy words with a handsome man, a titillating buzz of attraction humming between them.

Settling the details of the lease was a matter for solicitors; once they completed their tour today, there would be no need for her to consult again with the property’s owner. She would go back to her children and their needs, and firmly shut behind her the door into this glimpse of what life spent with a congenial, beguiling man might have been like.

Since that life was lost to her for ever, the sooner she did so, the better.

Setting her shoulders, she walked back to the pony trap and hauled herself to the bench before her escort could offer a hand.

Which didn’t mean she was any less cognizant of the simmering heat of him, once he climbed up beside her, she thought with a sigh.

‘That was exceedingly dusty,’ Mr Ransleigh said as he set the vehicle in motion. ‘Can I offer you tea when we get back?’

Theo steeled herself against the temptation to accept. ‘That’s very kind, but I shouldn’t.’ A more disturbing thought occurred and she frowned. ‘Indeed, now that I think of it, with you being a bachelor and having no lady mother in residence, I seem to recall that it would be considered improper of me to take tea at your house—or indeed, even to call upon you.’

She sighed with exasperation. ‘English mores! Dashed inconvenient, with you being our landlord, but there it is. I only hope I haven’t blotted my copybook already! It wouldn’t help the children’s reception—already dubious, according to what you’ve told me—if your servants carry tales hinting that I’m a lightskirt.’

Her companion choked back a laugh. ‘You really are plain-spoken, aren’t you?’

‘I’m completely devoid of maidenly sensibilities,’ Theo admitted. ‘Perhaps I should try to acquire some, if it will make the idea of the school more acceptable to the neighbourhood.’

‘Though you may be right, I’d hate to see it. I find your candour refreshing.’

‘So is a dunk in the Channel, but most people would rather avoid it,’ Theo said wryly. ‘I’ll have to learn to curb my tongue—and think more carefully about my actions.’ She made a mental note to ask Aunt Amelia, before she returned to London, to review with her the most important rules of propriety.

‘You’re probably right about tea,’ Ransleigh allowed. ‘Talking over experiences on the Peninsula, it’s too easy to fall back into army ways and forget the rigid notions of conduct that apply here. Since I’ve been back in England less than a month, after years away, my memory of those rules is probably as rusty as yours. But let me assure you, no tales of our lapses today will be heard beyond the walls of Bildenstone—or the offenders will answer to me.’

Surprised, she looked up at him. Though linked by their memories of campaign, he was still little more than a stranger. No connection between them required him to watch over her reputation, and she was impressed that he intended to do so.

He truly was an officer and a gentleman.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to go to such trouble, but I do appreciate it.’

‘Don’t want you to run afoul of the Lady Wentworths of the county before you’ve even got your building renovated,’ he said, turning his attention back to his driving.

* * *

All too soon, they arrived back at Bildenstone Hall. Once again resisting the temptation to continue their conversation, Theo refused his offer to proceed to the drawing room while a groom fetched her horse.

‘There’s no need for you to tarry here, truly!’ she said when he gallantly insisted on waiting outside with her. ‘I shall be off as soon as Firefly is brought up. The children will be missing me, and there’s still so much to do, getting the house up to snuff and filling in until I can secure a teacher.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t intend to teach the children yourself?’

‘No. While we were with the army, I helped Jemmie with his letters and sums, but we hadn’t the materials, nor I the training or inclination, to give him a proper schooling. Not that the children should study languages and philosophy—just gain a thorough grounding in reading and arithmetic. While they learn, we shall ascertain what most interests them, then train them to that trade, for which I’ll need to hire instructors as well. I doubt I could sit still long enough to manage a classroom. I have to be out and about, moving around, accomplishing things.’

‘I can appreciate that. After months of being cooped up, mostly bedridden, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this drive in the fresh air.’

‘Then you must drive about often—as long as you don’t tire yourself. You’re not fully healed yet, remember.’

‘Don’t worry. My arm and shoulder will remind me, should I be tempted to forget.’

From the stable lane, a groom paced up, leading her mare. ‘Here’s Firefly,’ she said, turning back to him, ‘so I will take my leave.’

After giving the mare a quick inspection, Mr Ransleigh nodded his approval. ‘Good, deep heart, nice level croup, and well muscled—she must be a fine goer.’ Reaching out to stroke the horse’s neck, he crooned, ‘What a lovely lady you are! Such a graceful neck, pretty eyes and small, perfect ears!’

As the mare nickered and leaned into Ransleigh’s massaging fingers, Theo chuckled. ‘I believe she’s preening for you. Which is quite a compliment! Firefly doesn’t take to just anyone. You must have a way with horses.’

‘I’ve always loved them. Spent most of the last fifteen years when not in the army breeding and training them. Hunters and steeplechasers who—’ Abruptly he went silent, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Even if I just had my limitations forcefully demonstrated, his cryptic comment came back to her as she recalled the fractious stallion who’d almost trampled her. But oh, he can fly like the wind and jump anything in his path.

‘You trained that black beast from yesterday,’ she said, putting it all together.

‘And many more like him,’ Ransleigh said tightly. ‘For all the good it does me now.’

All horses he could no longer ride. Theo felt an ache in her chest. One more loss, one more joy stolen from him. How terribly cruel life could be!

‘It must have taken remarkable skill, just to get him to accept a rider,’ she said, wanting to ease the tension in that clenched jaw. ‘He looked like he would have enjoyed running us down.’

He rewarded her with a slight smile. ‘He would have, the evil-tempered devil.’

The urge to linger and question him further teased at her. Clenching her teeth against it, she told herself she should bid him farewell before this intriguing man charmed her any further.

‘Well, I must be off. You’re welcome to call any time at Thornfield Place and meet the children. Or not, as you choose,’ she added, unhappily aware he was unlikely to take her up on that offer.

Before the groom could assist her, Ransleigh offered his hand. ‘You were right,’ he said as he lifted her into the saddle. ‘I can do it, if I want to.’

Our last contact, she thought with a little sigh as he released her boot. ‘I am sure you will soon be able to do whatever you wish, Mr Ransleigh. Thank you again for giving my orphans a chance.’

With a wave of her riding crop and a foolish sense of regret, she turned Firefly and set off towards Thornfield.

She felt the warmth of his gaze on her back, all the way to the turn in the drive.

* * *

By the time she’d ridden most of the way home, Theo had convinced herself she’d not really responded as strongly to Mr Ransleigh as she’d first imagined. After all, it was only natural that she would feel comfortable around a man who’d spent nearly as many years with Wellington’s army as she had, especially after more than a month of dealing with civilians.

Nor did she deny he attracted her. The scarred face and eye patch did nothing to detract from his commanding profile, nor the missing arm from the vitality that emanated from him, despite the fact that he was not fully recovered from his injuries. Indeed, in her eyes, the marks of the suffering he’d endured in defending his country enhanced his already arresting physical attributes.

But that attraction, like the welcome relief of finding herself once again in a soldier’s company, had doubtless been heightened by not having experienced the feeling in so long.

She could only imagine how much more potent his appeal would be when he was fully healed. A heated flutter stirred in her stomach.

Fortunately, she was too old and wise now to be caught again in passion’s snare. Or she certainly should be—she need only remember the agony she’d suffered over Marshall.

Still, she was a woman, and vain though it might be, she was glad she’d worn the most attractive of her gowns for the call. She’d couldn’t help being pleased that, if her instincts were correct, that compelling man had found her attractive as well.

A flush of embarrassment heated her face as she suddenly recalled she’d actually told this wealthy, well-connected bachelor how handsome she thought him.

Drat candour! Hopefully, he would only think the comment shameless—and not suppose her to have marital designs upon him. The very idea that he might interpret her comment in that manner made her a little sick.

Nothing she could do now to correct that impression, if he had so interpreted her remark. With any luck, there’d be no further need to contact him, so any awkwardness on that score could be avoided.

Then perspective returned, and she had to laugh at herself. How foolish of her to think this commanding man, whose wealth and pedigree doubtless focused upon him the attention of every woman in the vicinity, would think twice about any supposed lures cast his way by a plain, outspoken spinster—with a crowd of orphans in tow!

The only lasting result of her visit today was her landlord’s agreement to lease her the property. Once she was immersed in overseeing its renovation, adding that task to those of getting Thornfield running properly and finding the necessary teachers, today’s interlude would fade to a pleasant but vague memory.

Ignoring the eddies in her stomach that warned otherwise, Theo fixed that conclusion firmly in mind and turned Firefly down the drive to Thornfield’s stables.

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