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PART ONE
~ One ~
SCOTT HANOVER DID not stand on ceremony when visiting Easton Manor. In fact, no one at the manor could remember a time when he had done more than wave himself inside.
Perhaps this was due to his boyish charm or the warmth of his smile or the undeniable truth that he was held in open affection by Miss Easton and, therefore, all her staff.
As far as the Easton staff was concerned, she was their darling, one they had watched grow from infancy. They had become quickly accustomed to young Scott and Felicia playing as toddlers together as they mothers enjoyed tea, and from there the two babes developed a comfortable and cozy friendship as they grew into young adults.
So it was with ease that Scott marched past Dasset into the open hall and called in stentorian accents, “Flip, you zany! Where the deuce are you?”
He waited only for a moment of silence to advance before he turned to the elderly but stately retainer and asked amiably, “Where has she gone off to now? She was supposed to meet me by the pike twenty minutes ago.”
Dasset sighed and shook his head. “Something dreadful has happened, sir. It was the morning mail.”
“Dreadful, you say? The morning mail?” Scott’s dark blond brows arched with surprise over his fine blue gaze. “What mean you? Where is she?”
“Miss Felicia was overset by something she received in the morning mail,” Dasset attempted once more to explain. “You and Miss Felicia, I know…are close, so you might know better than I where she went off to.”
Scott knew the last two years had been difficult for Felicia. She had lost her father more than twenty-three months ago, and it had been sudden. The doctor couldn’t even name what had taken him. Shortly after that, her stepmama had taken ill and died. Felicia had always told him she was sure her stepmama had fallen ill and died from a broken heart. She had been close to both of her parents and it had been a sad shock to lose them one immediately after the other in this way.
Scott had stood beside her throughout this ordeal. He was only a few months older than she, and both were still so young. He had already turned one and twenty, but she had about two months before she would attain her majority. He thought about this as he contemplated the butler and demanded, “What, dash it, Dasset, was in the mail?”
“That is just it. We don’t know.” Dasset sighed heavily. “Miss became very agitated and ran out of the house.”
“Who was the letter from?” Scott was like a dog with a bone he was bent on having.
“From the Duke of Somerset,” replied Dasset.
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Scott, putting a hand through his uncovered blond locks. “What could her supposed guardian want now? He has never bothered with Flip before now. All she ever got from him was some curt message after her stepmama’s funeral.” He frowned darkly.
“I am sorry, sir, I didn’t see …” offered Dasset sadly. Then he brightened. “I don’t think, however, that she took her horse.”
“Did she not? Right, then, I know where she went,” Scott said, moving with some determination towards the door.
It didn’t take him long to make his way to where he was sure his friend would be. When he caught sight of her, he stopped for the fraction of a moment to measure her mood.
Felicia, whom he had always called Flip, looked like no more than a hoyden of a girl, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chin under a worn day gown of faded blue muslin. Green grass whipped in the wind all around her, and he t
hought for just one moment that she looked a veritable child. Yet, as he watched her long lovely, black hair fly around her face, and as she turned those bright green eyes to him, it occurred to him that she wasn’t a child any longer but a beautiful young woman. He sighed for it, because he rather thought he would always prefer the hoyden to the young woman she would soon of necessity become.
* * *
Felicia hugged her calves, unaware that her friend was presently making his way through the tall grass to her. She had been quite overset and had nearly sobbed over her dilemma.
She looked down at her simple gown of blue muslin and at her feet encased in comfortable but well-worn boots and sighed. If anyone was to take her seriously, one day soon she would really have to dress more like a lady.
The news she had just received was an example of how she would be treated like a wayward child otherwise, and she wasn’t.
How could she bear it? That awful man was coming to take her away from her home, no doubt marry her off to some horrid person just to be rid of her. At least that was what his letter had hinted at.
He hadn’t bothered with her in so long. Why now? And why take her to Swindon, away from everything familiar, away from her friends?
How could she bear it?
How dare he?
She was mistress of herself, mistress of her home, and past the age where she needed a guardian. She would, after all, turn one and twenty in just two months.
Deuce take him for an odious old man. He hadn’t bothered with her since her stepmama’s death. Why should he do so now?
There would be the devil to pay if he tried to bully her into doing something she could not, would not, like, and no one could force her into marriage. No—she would run away first. That was what she would do: run and stay out of his clutches until she turned one and twenty!
What had gotten into the old fidget’s head to bother her now?
Hunting season was upon them, and she so enjoyed working the hounds. Her life was here in her home … with Scott and all her servants, who were more family than servants.
Her parents had been wrenched from her, but at least she still had her home. He could not force her to go to some awful place, could he?
Yes, he could. He could threaten to send away her staff. His letter hinted that he would brook no argument. Was he ruthless? She had heard about such men.
She had to keep out of sight for two months, but how?
She shaded her eyes from the sun as she heard someone approach and then heard Scott call out, “There you are, you miserable little thing!”
She jumped to her feet and hurried towards him. “Scott!” she cried out.
