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It was less than a ten-minute walk up the lane to Hockley Hall, and now that they were official friends, Archie never stopped talking. He took such delight in everything, from the gnarly oak tree which he said looked like it had a face to the drift of early snowdrops which were almost blooming on the side of the road. Nothing was mundane or taken for granted because he seemed to appreciate the beauty in all he saw and that was infectious. It certainly made Sophie pause and take stock again. She must have walked this exact route at least a thousand times in the decade she had lived here with her aunt, knew it like the back of her hand and could probably navigate it blindfold, yet with Archie beside her she saw it with fresh eyes.
‘My horse is called Alan and he is five. He’s a Welsh pony.’
‘Alan is a funny name for a horse.’
Archie laughed. ‘That’s what Rafe says but I like the name. I can even spell it.’ He held up his hand and counted the letters on his fingers. ‘A-L-A-N.’
‘Very clever.’
‘I like words with four letters.’
As much as she adored it, she couldn’t think of a response to that comment. ‘What colour is Alan?’
‘Grey and he stands thirteen hands.’ Sophie had no idea how tall that was, or even what made a Welsh pony different from any other horse, but nodded as if she did. ‘But Atlas is a thoroughbred, and he stands over sixteen hands and can jump over a whole hedge. He’s Rafe’s horse and he can be a bit grumpy like your cat. I am not allowed to ride Atlas under any circumstances, but I can groom him and feed him apples.’
‘Do the apples make him less grumpy?’
Archie shrugged. ‘Rafe says Atlas is a law unto himself and chooses what mood he will be in depending on the weather. Sometimes the apples make him happy and other times he just spits them back at you, so Rafe says you never really know where you stand with him so it’s best to always be on your guard.’
Which pretty much summed up exactly how she currently felt about Rafe. The previously solid ground wasn’t quite as steady as it had been less than an hour ago now that she had met Archie, and the more his brother waxed lyrical about his biggest hero, the more unsteady that became. Saint Rafe had apparently left the army solely to care for Archie after their father had died. They spent hours together every day doing all the sorts of idyllic things which most brothers only dreamed of doing with each other if only they had the time, like riding and fishing. He was in the process of teaching Archie to read—something he apparently hadn’t been able to do before the paragon became his guardian—and had taught his younger brother how to care for horses in preparation for the stud farm he planned to create.
‘How old were you when you learned to ride, Archie?’ She already knew it would have been Rafe who had taken the time and patience to teach him at some point. But before he could answer and as they turned the bend towards the imposing wrought iron gates of the hall, a shout went up.
‘Found him!’
Then several men spilled out of the gates all pointing in their direction and obviously all on a quest to retrieve their master’s missing sibling. Hot on their heels was the new master of Hockley Hall himself, except this time all the easy charm and arrogance had been replaced by the twin emotions of frantic concern and relief.
‘Archie!’ He dashed towards his brother, his breathing clearly laboured as if he too had been in a mad panic. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ It was more a rhetorical question than one he expected an answer to because the second he came within arm’s length he grabbed Archie and hauled him into his arms to check him over. ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt? I’ve been worried sick!’ Then he cupped his cheeks to admonish him gently. ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to wander off without telling me? Especially here when you haven’t yet found your bearings!’
The younger man burrowed against him as the elder Peel hugged his brother tight again, the intense affection between them as clear as the striking bright cobalt-coloured irises they also shared. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe. I didn’t mean to get lost.’
‘I know you didn’t—and I am sorry for shouting—but you scared the life out of me.’ Still holding his brother tight, Lord Hockley’s blue eyes searched hers, but it wasn’t just gratitude swirling in their stormy depths. There was an unease which unsettled her although she couldn’t quite ascertain why.
‘I found Archie in the lane outside my house.’ Without thinking she used the rolled-up newspaper she still carried to point the direction and his expression altered as he saw it. Instinctively he gathered his brother closer as if he feared she was about to attack him with it—because they both plainly knew what he had done behind their backs to put in it.
‘I was lost.’ Archie’s voice was muffled by the broad expanse of his significantly taller brother’s chest. ‘But Sophie knew the way home, so she helped me find you.’
He released his brother but tucked Archie behind him, ruffling his hair with obvious affection before he turned back around. ‘Thank you for returning him safely, Soph... I mean, Miss Gilbert.’ The thanks were tempered by a stiffening of his shoulders, almost as if he were bracing himself for an outraged onslaught.
She acknowledged it with a curt nod, not ready to lower her own guard even though the soft part of her heart clearly wanted to despite his inconsiderate attitude towards the village. ‘It was no trouble at all—my lord.’ It was also best to keep things as formal as possible. In fact, if her silly soft heart was so inclined to waver on the back of one tender moment between the duplicitous new earl and his delightful younger brother, it was probably best to keep things clipped and formal at all costs, so she held her cold stare for a few moments to make sure he knew she still despised him and all he stood for.
Only then did she offer a genuine smile to Archie while the damning newspaper seemed to vibrate in her clenched fist. He glanced at it again during yet another awkward, pregnant pause, and to vex him Sophie tucked it behind her back while she bobbed an insincere curtsy at the enemy before smiling again at her new friend. ‘I shall bid you a good day, gentlemen.’ Sophie couldn’t help but take pleasure in the flicker of confusion in Lord Hockley’s eyes before he smothered it. It would do him good to be left unsettled. As much as the elder Peel deserved a good thwack around the head with The Times for his underhand behaviour, now was neither the time nor the place because it would upset his brother and she still hadn’t formulated a plan of attack to thwart the lord of the manor. ‘Enjoy your afternoon ride, Archie, and I hope you get your puppy soon.’
Then she spun on her heel and marched back down the lane towards the village, trying and failing not to feel some sympathy for the selfish wretch who held the entire fate of the village in his blatantly responsible and disconcertingly caring, big hands.
