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“My Teutonic friend. I do not care for slang expressions. Nor do I care to be compared to an American. Let us say this race would have ended with a victory for Austria though.”

“We will say nothing of it, Harold, old boy. It is forfeit. I will beat you fair and square another day.”

“Shall we walk the horses the rest of the way, old man?” Harold suggested.

He reached to his saddle strap where a top hat had been tied. Deftly undoing the leather cord securing the hat, he dusted the brim with his sleeve and then placed it on his head. Max merely wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand, then wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers. He barked a laugh.

“Yes, quite enough excitement for one day, eh? That was quite the surprise. My heart is still in my throat. You are the last man I would have expected to do something so daring.”

“My friend, I am an Englishman. We have not risen to pre-eminence in this world by behaving…daringly. But rather by bringing order and laws to places where there were previously none. I would suggest that the problems the Americans now have in their country come from the lack of such order. You will find no frontiersmen here but, equally, no chaotic frontier.”

“True. The English have the reputation for being solid and conservative. As do many of my countrymen. We are not Italian, after all,” Max chuckled.

“The very idea!” Harold replied.

They rode at a gentle trot now with ash and birch trees providing shade against the midday sun. The air was thick and moist, carrying the scent of leaf and earth and the sound of tinkling water flowing by. The castle came and went from view as the path wandered through the park, following the stream. As it did, different views were revealed, each discrete from the other and hidden by trees and undergrowth.

“As you are in a daring mood, my staid English friend, perhaps you would give more thought to my suggestion?”

Max’s eyes twinkled with the merriment of a devil. Harold frowned, focusing on the path ahead and tugging the brim of his hat lower.

“A ball? Such things have always struck me as frivolous and that fact has not changed.”

The trees fell away, exposing the riders to bright sunlight. Max, who had not secured his hat and subsequently lost it during the race, raised an arm to shade his eyes. Before them was a waving sea of green grass, spotted with deer. Over it all was the spreading white stone of Redwood Castle.

“A very impressive home. And of great antiquity, I understand,” Max said.

“Built on the remains of a medieval castle, itself built on the remains of a Norman motte and bailey,” Harold said, no little pride in his voice.

“So, who will you leave it to?” Max asked, looking at Harold.

“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it? An heir for the Dukedom.”

“Exactly, my friend. For me? I will find a wife at some point to take care of me. I’m almost ready to settle down. Perhaps a few more voyages. But, I am not a Duke. Just an old soldier.”

“Whereas I have the duty of Redwood on my shoulders. Yes, my father never tired of making that point.”

And how I hated it every time he did. But both he and Max make a good point. It must be faced. There comes a time when a man must face his responsibilities.

“What exactly is the problem? Most men would leap at the opportunity to court some lovely young lady,” Max said.

“The problem is I cannot see how anyone who would attend such an event would attract me in any way. Dancing. Music. Conversation with people with whom I have nothing in common, nor wish to have. I find the idea tiresome and hold nothing but contempt for anyone who does not.”

“But it is the most effective way of finding a wife. All those eligible women gathered together in one place. All with the same objective in mind. The Major Harold Clauder I knew at Waterloo would find that compelling reasoning,” Max said.

Harold scowled, realizing that he had been argued into a corner. There was no escaping Max’s logic. As much as he had always despised social functions, and balls, in particular, there was no doubt that it was the most efficient way to fulfilling his duty to the Dukedom of Redwood. Finally, he nodded.

“You are right.,” he sighed. “Very well, I will attend.”

CHAPTER3

“Should we invite Lord and Lady Lichfield?” Ruth asked.

“Certainly,” Simon replied.

He sat behind the mahogany desk that, in his father’s time, had been a sea of paper. Ledgers and books of accounts had dominated the space. Now, a neat pile of accounts occupied one corner. Simon tried to ignore the empty expanse of leather-topped wood and the lack of activity it signified.

Not my fault so no reason for me to feel guilty.

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