LORD BYRON
The next morning, Molly brought Lord Hawthorn’s invitation for horseback riding. There was no mention of his other guests. Father eagerly accepted before my nerves betrayed me.
“I don’t ride horseback,” I had protested.
He simply smiled. “It’s the perfect chance for you to face your fear of horses, and you’ll get a much-needed break from the fields. At least let Mr. Harrington inspect the gladiator mosaics and tour the abbey, since you believe it was built with stones from the villa.”
Would we encounter the Dilettanti? I hoped not. All my fervent wishes to have their acknowledgment had fled in light of their behavior.
I selected a dark green riding garment, slightly snug but suitable. I also found an extra tin of salve to present as a token of gratitude.
Rafe’s defense of me the previous day led to Mr. Harrington’s apology, and he silenced Beaumont and his companion, who left sullen and dust covered. Even Mr. Perry chuckled quietly at their retreat. I appreciated Mr. Perry’s determination to retain his land more than ever.
After descending the stairs, I found Father and Mr. Harrington deep in conversation. Mr. Harrington beckoned me excitedly to the writing desk in the drawing room.
“Miss Littleton, I believe this will encourage you. Your father and I discovered a motto inserted into the ring band.Amor vincit omnia. Love conquers all.Eh gad, but I believe this ring must have seen quite a fight and been pulled off in a moment of life or death. No man would abandon so readily a jewel such as this. It is fit for a senator!”
“Remarkable,” I agreed slowly, taking the ring in hand to examine the faint etchings. The men stared at me, as if trying to pierce through my carefully constructed expression.
But why had the ring been discarded for centuries? The inscription felt like a cruel jest. Did love truly conquer all? Once, I had believed my love for my brother would be enough to save him. Instead, it had only deepened the wound within my heart. Swallowing my emotions, I swiftly returned the ring to Mr. Harrington, who eagerly reclaimed it, his eyes gleaming with fascination.
Father straightened. “Letters can wait. We have a visit with Lord Hawthorn this morning to review his mosaic.”
“Splendid idea,” Mr. Harrington cried as he removed his glasses. “We are all invited?”
“Just the four of us,” Father said. He cast a calculating look in my direction. “Bridget, you look especially well this morning.”
If I didn’t know better, I might have thought Father had an unusual sparkle in his eyes.
Rafe welcomed us in the entrance hall, fielding Mr. Harrington’s questions about the twelfth-century abbey.
Mr. Harrington begged for a tour. As we walked through the main rooms, the secretary marveled at the architecture. “Hawthorn Abbey is a rare jewel and worth fighting for. I wish you success with your orchards.”
Rafe glanced at me, his expression unreadable. I wondered what he might be thinking. When we stopped in the library, I had a moment alone with him as my father pointed out favorite tomes tucked away in the massive shelves.
“I brought you something,” I said as I opened my reticule and pulled out the vial of salve.
He took it, bemused. “I am grateful. Despite the smell, your tincture worked wonders.”
“Don’t tease,” I said with a grin as I ran a finger across one of the leather-bound books. “There are far worse remedies to fall prey to.”
“There are. My housekeeper’s daughter suggested devil’s dung.”
Laughter bubbled up, drawing my father’s attention. He grinned when he caught my glance and directed Mr. Harrington to another bookshelf farther away from Rafe and me.
“No man wants to smell of rotten eggs. However, I am grateful for your defense yesterday. This is but a small token of my thanks.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“But I do value it,” I protested, now serious. “I was terrified my work might be all for naught. As hard as we women try to better ourselves and become more than a woman sitting at a hearth stitching samplers, Mr. Beaumont is correct. There are some areas, some societies and professions, that remain forbidden to us no matter how hard we strain for them. To have your support meant...” I inhaled, afraid to lay my soul bare. “It meant a great deal.”
The little muscle jumped within his jaw. How grim I had originally thought him, but I no longer viewed him in the same light. Would he consider Mr. Perry’s offer of a partnership? Could I persuade Rafe not to rent his land? Of course, the gladiator mosaic belonged to him, but if he rented the abbey as well, I would lose access to it.
Liar!my mind cried.You fear you would likely not see him again if he left the valley.
“You are not alone.” His voice dropped to a gravelly note. “And while my experiences cannot compare with yours, it is a painful thing to long for so much more and find yourself excluded, while others feast at a table you cannot join.”
“You lived here as a child, but the memories seem to pain you,” I said, hoping he would share more of his past.
