Miss Bainbridge had been very clear. She did not expect to be wooed or even loved. She had hinted at a nice, simple business arrangement, to be settled at the altar. William found her frankness refreshing. After all, he didn’t need love. His mother had loved his father – the sentiments not really returned – and look at where that gother. Miserable, weak, and broken, distanced from all of her children except one, a shell of a woman.
No, William did not need love, and he was not searching for it. He needed a wife, for many reasons, and it was becoming clear that he was not going to find one here in London.
With a sudden determination, he sprang to his feet and strode towards the bell-pull in the corner. He hauled on it, and the butler appeared a few moments later.
“Your Grace?”
“I am departing for Bath today,” William declared resolutely. “Not on the morrow. Are my belongings properly packed?”
The butler blinked. William did not have a reputation as being impulsive. He never did anything unexpected, not without a very good reason.
“Almost, I believe, your Grace.”
“Excellent. I would like to leave within the hour. Send word to Rosewood House to let them know to expect me, and have my carriage prepared.”
The butler recovered. “At once, your Grace.”
He bowed and left the room, leaving William standing by the window, restless for some reason he could not put his finger on. He reached out and took the muslin-wrapped locket and slid it into his pocket.
Chapter Two
There was a hint of rain in the air, unusual for July. Some drops came on Lavinia’s cheeks as she hurtled through the forest, hunched over the neck of her horse.
Stepper was a fantastic beast, an almost blood-red stallion with a thick mane of blond-gold hair, seventeen hands high if he was an inch, and frankly the fastest beast Lavinia had ever ridden.
And, more to the point, he washers. He was the foal of the first horse she’d been given, a mare called Rosemary, and she had chosen the stud herself. And now, here was Stepper, the two of them having long since outdistanced the groom who was meant to be accompanying her.
The two of them abruptly burst out of the forest, coming to a gradual stop at the top of a steep, treeless hill, its rocky slope overlooking the house and grounds below.
Panting for breath, Lavinia sat up in the saddle, combing back long red hair from her sweaty neck. It had come undone from the hasty plait she’d tangled it into that morning, hanging down to the middle of her back. The sun was shining again, regardless of the hint of rain, and her skin was entirely too pale to withstand the sunshine for long.
From her vantage point, the Brennon estate looked luxurious and beautiful. One couldn’t see the missing roof tiles and overgrown garden from here, on account of them having to dismiss most of the gardeners. She couldn’t even see the tiny outbuilding where she and her younger sister, Gillian, had hidden from debt collectors for close to two hours.
Shivering, Lavinia felt the joy from her ride begin to fade away. Their finances were so bad that they had only half participated in the Season, bouncing from place to place instead of having a proper residence, staying with friends and hiring lodgings. The humiliation was intense. It was meant to be Gillian’s first Season, and they had to count their pennies. It was awful.
Abruptly, Lavinia turned Stepper’s head away from the view and began heading back into the forest. It was almost time for breakfast, and her mother would not be pleased if she was late.
Again.
***
“You are late, Lavinia,” Lady Brennon said peevishly, glowering at her oldest daughter over the rim of her teacup. “Again.”
“My apologies, Mama,” Lavinia answered brusquely, throwing herself into her usual seat. “Lord, I’m famished.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Could you be alittlemore ladylike?” Lady Brennon burst out.
“I never say that I am hungry,” Gillian chipped in smugly. “I always say that I’m not hungry, even if I am. It is much daintier and more ladylike, don’t you think, Lavvy?”
“Is it ladylike to starve to death?” Lavinia wondered aloud.
“Probably,” Gillian shot back. “Also, you smell badly of horse.”
“Oh, that is enough,” Lady Brennon sighed, waving her hand. “I relinquish all hope for my daughters. Owen, do convey your sentiments to them.”
Lord Brennon, a short, good-natured man with a happy, round face, put down his newspaper and pulled a face at Lavinia.
“Pray, leave the young ladies be, Faye. They may find solace and enjoyment in the tranquility of the countryside, may they not?”
