“You might pray for your brother.”
“Now you sound like Father.” I smiled to cover my discomfort at the advice.
“Your father gives that advice often. My uncle’s journals reflect it. My tenants speak of a different man than I remember. Can a man break free of his past? Can he be no longer bound by the chains of his family?”
Rafe had asked me before if a man could change. I had struggled to answer him then. But what if I was wrong?
“I have long wondered the same about Daniel,” I answered.“Truthfully, I am weary of ever hoping for him to grow up. I suppose we are the sum of the choices of those before us. But we can choose differently, yes?”
“With God’s help,” Rafe challenged gently.
But could a man change himself without divine intervention? As my father had pointed out to me once, Seneca’s stoicism made nary a dent in Nero’s depraved behavior. A man could have all the wisdom in the world and still be deceived. Even Solomon, with all his wisdom, had gone astray. It was a painful thought, slicing far too close to the bone and marrow, piercing through my esteem for the theories of enlightenment and man’s achievements. If Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, could go astray, why not me?
And I had not stayed close to God to keep within that circle of safety. I had chosen the path of science and reason, but I was no longer certain it served me.
“Lord Hawthorn, your collection of maps is astounding,” Mr. Harrington called out from the other end of the library. Father shushed him, much to my surprise. But the moment between Rafe and me was lost.
With his lips curved, Rafe pushed away from the window to answer Mr. Harrington’s questions, leaving me behind in a pool of sunshine. I let him go, my heart and mind replaying our conversation.
I could not deny my growing fascination with the new viscount of Hawthorn Abbey.
Annabelle was not impressed with me, nor did she impress me. Mr. Whittle held the reins while I debated how to mount.
“Oh dear, it’s been so long since I’ve ridden a horse,” I murmured as I eyed the mounting stool. Rafe offered a hand, assistingme as I eased onto the sidesaddle. I took the reins, my gloved hands hiding my damp palms.
“You are truly fine?” he asked.
I would be. Annabelle was exactly as Rafe had described: old, tame, and completely indifferent to a new rider. I exhaled and gripped the reins with my gloved hands.
Father and Mr. Harrington had similar mounts. Nothing too exciting. Nothing, of course, like Chaucer. Astride that behemoth, Rafe motioned for us to follow. Father and Mr. Harrington gleefully trotted into the orchards while Rafe waited for me. He towered over the short cob I rode, moving as one with Chaucer while I awkwardly perched on my mount, who at the moment refused to budge.
I laughed nervously, hoping she would take a step with the simple pressure of my foot. At last, she inched forward, ambling at a pace that would take all day.
Rafe regarded me with a lopsided smile. “Perfectly safe, I assure you.”
“I’ll never leave the courtyard at this pace.”
He held Chaucer back even though the thoroughbred pawed at the ground in a bid to stretch his magnificent limbs.
“It would be far better for you to feel comfortable. She’ll feel your fear if you are not careful. Of course, you can give her a little kick if needed, but there is no rush.”
Except that I had already lost my chaperones, leaving Rafe and me alone. We passed the stables and took the bend around the orchard. With a few surviving flowers blooming in the older section of the orchard, the faint scent of apple blossoms was conspicuously absent. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, imagining the fragrance from seasons past. Beyond the older orchard were the battered rows of saplings, each one struggling to survive. How hopeful to think that in four years they would be draped in veils of white.
“When the orchards return to full health, you really ought to serve cider while Mr. Perry opens a tourist stop on his property. Imagine the visitors who would trek through for history and a cup of cider,” I told him. I had not pried into his affairs regarding the Crown, but I did worry for him. I wanted him here.
“A charming idea,” he said as he easily kept pace with me, but he made no promises.
“If you do rent the abbey grounds to the Dilettanti, will you leave Bramnor?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His gaze shot to mine. “I don’t want to leave Bramnor. Not anymore at least.”
A husky laugh escaped me. “Good. I should think the village would be very dull without its lord at the helm. I’m glad you found a reason to stay.” I gestured to the rows of trees.
“Yes, I could not imagine abandoning the treasure I have found in Bramnor,” he said thickly.
A taut silence ensued as we drifted beside the gladiator mosaic, which, to my delight, appeared staked and roped to mark its location. But I was distracted from it as I tried to excavate the meaning of Rafe’s words. If I were a younger miss, I might cling to a helpless desire that he meant I was the treasure. Foolish, of course.
“Where are your guests?” I demanded suddenly as I pivoted in my saddle while shielding my eyes with one hand from the bright sun.
