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“Come, Jupiter, hup, hup!” Shaking off his hold, Felicity transitioned upward into a less turgid trot and headed away from the farms and down the road. Let him think he’d offended her, perhaps; perhaps next time, she thought, her heart pounding, she might steal a kiss from him.
* * *
“…thirty-thousand hectares. Not as vast as Northumberland’s holdings, but respectable.” Was he droning on and on? Alfred had never needed to talk so much in his life. “There are several tenant farms, in addition to the ones we’ve passed, scattered over the acreage on the opposite side of Edenbrook, ten in number, of one thousand hectares per share. We have sheep and cows and goats and crops. Despite rumors to the contrary, this is a working estate.”
Good Goddess, she hadn’t said a thing for miles. All he wanted was that she’d see how much would soon be at her feet, how much he had to offer her. All his wolf wanted him to do was to get off this ridiculous beast, take her into the woods, and lose himself in her, body, mind, and soul.
She had been scanning their surroundings, and Alfred reckoned she was keeping an eye out for the big doggy. Big doggy! Bates had told him of Her Grace’s vociferous defense of his wolf, so she was not searching out of fear. The notion she thought the beast couldn’t take care of himself made his heart ache—but pleasurably, in a way he’d never known was possible. She posed a few questions here and there, but he couldn’t tell from outward signs what she was thinking. He scented interest, concern for the “dog,” and her lingering arousal from his stolen kiss—and distress, likely due to that damned letter from her damned cousin.
“Is that building inhabited?” She pointed with her crop to a small holding tucked back from the road.
“It is in use.” He received her irritated look with equanimity. Explaining an odd little shack was not high on the List of Things That Required Explanation; there was plenty to distract her. “Here is the village.”
Several dwellings lined the road, which debouched onto a square. These he would be more than happy to explain. “As you can see, Edenbrook widens here, thus the mill. The blacksmith is beyond that, and the baker is down the square. We hold market day on Saturday and small market on Wednesday, as is common in rural parts.” As they processed down the road, the villagers flocked to the sides, offering their deference and beaming with joy at the sight of them. “We are largely self-sufficient. Each holding produces its own dairy via cows and chickens, and the wealth of the overall harvest is shared out.”
“It seems as though each house is a shop,” Felicity observed. “Or a guild?” Elaborate signage hung from the eaves of the majority of the buildings and were nothing like anything she’d seen before.
“Our villagers are, in the main, artisans and craftsmen,” Alfred said. “Weavers and potters, carpenters and masons, blacksmiths and goldsmiths—we even have a resident composer.”
“How remarkable,” Felicity said, smiling around at the villagers who had gathered in front of the village green. “I have never heard of such.”
“Our people enjoy expertise not in the usual run of things.” Alfred drew Juventus to a halt and sprung out of the saddle. He was over to Jupiter’s side in a heartbeat, reaching up without ceremony and lifting Felicity out of the saddle and slowly down the length of his body. “I am keen to encourage their talents, no matter how outlandish their dreams.”
“Then they are fortunate.” She held his gaze, her hazel eyes gone a brilliant green in the sunlight.
“Far be it from me to thwart natural talent and the ambition to make good of it.”
A throat cleared, long and loud, and Alfred turned to the source. “Miss Felicity Templeton, if I may introduce Mr. Sebastian Gambon, the, eh, mayor of Lowell Close.” The large and bristly-looking man had a long, sober face, and his eyes, though smallish, twinkled with welcome.
“Your Grace. Ma’am.” The Gamma of the pack bowed to Miss Templeton. “Welcome to Lowell Close,” he went on, turning and offering his arm. “If I may continue the introductions?”
“Thank you, Mr. Gambon, I would be honored.” Felicity accepted his escort, and they moved through the crowd; Alfred watched, accepting the reverences made to him by those who were not enraptured by his mate. His artisans brought out their goods to show off, and Miss Templeton displayed true interest in all that came to her. As he shook hands, kissed elderly cheeks, and listened to his people, he kept an equal part of his attention on the reception of his mate. All were enthralled, and he saw more than one eye glisten with a tear.
When Gambon and she rejoined him, a small group of senior pack members gathered around, and the publican offered them all the last of the winter ale. Felicity sipped at the hearty brew with reluctance, and Alfred refrained from offering to finish it for her. He’d learned his lesson there.
“How fares your sister, Alf, Alfred—Your Grace? asked one of the women. “We do miss her about the place.”
“All is well,” he replied. “And I assure you she holds you all in her thoughts.”
“Any sign of a pup or two?” asked one of the villagers.
“Did he say pup?” Felicity asked.
“I am sure you misheard, ma’am.” Gambon didn’t miss a beat.
“It’s a term of endearment,” said Alfred, “specific to the locality.” Everyone nodded, and the unfortunate interlocutor turned tail and ran.
“Speaking of pups,” said Felicity, “I was near to the meadow only yesterday and came upon a rather large dog—”
“More beer, my dear?” Alfred asked. He turned to the man beside him. “I apologize, Harper, I am treading on your patch. Harper is our resident bard.” Everyone laughed and laughed. “Come, let us walk around the green before we turn for home.”
The duke offered his arm and led her around, Gambon on her other side. As they circled the green and Gambon gestured toward ginnels and larger streets that fed away from the square, Alfred wondered if she would pass comment on the breadth and wildness of the village green, a smaller sibling of the untamed park of Lowell Hall. Her forehead wrinkled, but she said nothing, looking about with interest, but he sensed that there was growing consternation underneath the courtesy and tact.
“How do you find the village?” he asked.
“It is as unique as to be expected. It is as though something’s missing, however…”
“Well, we’ve no church,” Gambon offered. “We had a chapel; we’re more chapel-going folk.”
