Page 15

The cloudy grey English day was overtaken by the light of her smile as she playfully teased the gelding’s muzzle. The smile took over her entire face. It wasn't just a curve of the lips. A small dimple creased her cheek, and her nose scrunched slightly. Her dancing brown eyes narrowed, curving at the corners where laugh lines gathered, as though the lines themselves refused to be left out of the amusement. Had he ever smiled like that?

Her soft laughter carried over to him, and she glanced up. “Excellent choice of mount, Your Grace. Storm is a beauty, though he doesn’t live up to his namesake, considering he is the opposite of stormy in demeanor.” She cocked her head. “We’re not always as we seem, are we?”

“And sometimes we are exactly as we seem,” he murmured. What one saw was what one got with him.

She studied him for a moment, then sat up in her saddle. “I’m returning to Ironcrest now. We can speak of the matter you wished to discuss, and I can report on my visit on the ride back. Does that suit?”

He nodded.

Their mounts fell into step. “Tell me of your visit first.”

Her gaze slid to his, and her lips tilted at the corners. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

There was something in her tone, a glimmer of mischief whispering between her words. One that inspired all sorts of images to manifest in Rafe’s mind. Ones he very much hoped he could make come to life.

“I was meeting with the tenants impacted by the fires. They’re concerned they won’t be able to afford rent. They didn’t say as much, but they’re concerned about making ends meet with more than just rent. I think we should draw up a one-year term lease for the present year granting them relief on rent.”

“To be paid back in future years?”

“No, Your Grace. They wouldn’t be responsible for paying it back.”

Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “So, my estate absorbs the cost.”

“Yes. If we force them to come up with rent, or to pay us a debt, even over an extended time period, we’re forcing them to sell livestock, food stores, machinery. That leads to poorer quality of life, poorer output, and poorer future harvests. You also risk losing tenants completely. A year of lost rent is much easier to swallow than loss of that rent in perpetuity.”

He frowned and stared out across his vast estate, the immense structure of Ironcest Castle in the distance, the darkening storm clouds building over it. Apt. “And where do we come up with this loss in income?” He could understand not forcing his tenants to pay money they didn’t possess, but the estate couldn’t run without income.

“I have a few ideas⁠—”

Thunder crashed in the distance, and the horses’ ears flicked toward the sound. Raindrops splattered across Rafe’s white gloves and dotted over his greatcoat. “Looks like the storm’s coming in quickly. Let’s ride in and finish the discussion in your office.”

Miss Dawson nodded, and they nudged their mounts into a canter. The storm had other plans, though. The skies opened up moments later, and the winds picked up. Rain whipped over Rafe’s face and trailed down his neck; his gloves soaked through almost instantly. And it wasn’t going to get any better. The sky was nearly black in the distance, exactly where they were heading. A flash of lightning speared through the dark clouds, quickly followed by a rumble of thunder.

“This way, Your Grace!” Miss Dawson shouted, her voice barely audible over the drumming rain. Then she veered her mount to the left.

Rafe hastened to follow, his attention locking on the vague shape of a dwelling through the downpour ahead. He kicked his mount into a faster pace, trailing close behind Miss Dawson. She turned toward a small barn and brought her mount up, hopping off seamlessly while her horse was still walking, and led her steed into the barn. Rafe copied her. The enclosure only contained one stall, but it was large.

“Storm and Zephyr get along well,” Miss Dawson said. “They’ll do well together in here. I just need to wipe them down and see to their tack. I’ll get you comfortably settled in my cottage and then quickly attend to them.”

Rafe shook his head. Absolutely not. He wasn’t going to leave her out here to take care of two mounts alone. The wind whistled ominously through the barn. And he wouldn’t feel comfortable until she was inside the cottage as well. He started working on his own mount’s tack.

She glanced at him. “I can do that, Your Grace.”

He grunted, and she chuckled softly.

“As you wish.”

They worked fast. The creak of leather loosening and the metal clack of buckles being undone mingled with the heavy drumming of rain on the barn roof. Intermittent thunder boomed, vibrating through the structure. Vibrating through Rafe.

Rafe grabbed a brush and made quick work of brushing down Storm’s coat. Pawing hooves and snorts from the horses drifted around them, accompanied by Miss Dawson’s soothing murmurs.

A flash of lightning lit up the barn, and Storm’s head reared up, his ears flattening backward.

“Easy,” Rafe said softly. “You can’t possibly be scared of a storm. You’d be doing your name a disservice.”

Storm curled his head around and nipped Rafe’s shoulder. Amusement flitted through Rafe’s chest. Apparently, Storm didn’t take too kindly to that insult. He tossed the brush aside and waited at Storm’s side while Miss Dawson finished with her mount. Storm’s head fell to Rafe’s chest, and he stroked the horse's neck absently, his attention trained on Miss Dawson's swift and efficient movements. She was so…capable. She lived on her own. Had a job all her own. Cared for his entire estate all on her own.

Her gaze flitted to him, then down to where Storm was attempting to bury his muzzle in Rafe’s chest. She turned back to her work.