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“I suppose it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility,” Jackson muttered, for it had not occurred to him Alice should have children.
At that moment, a handsome young man with a farmer’s build emerged from one of the barns. He looked at Jackson curiously, for it did not seem as though the residents of Draycott were used to the presence of the aristocracy in their midst.
“Can I help you, Sir?” he asked, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, for it seemed as though they had just disturbed him from some sort of manual labor.
“Mr. James Burrows?” Jackson said, and the farmer nodded and stepped forward.
“That’s right, and whom might I have the honor of addressing?” he demanded.
“I’m the Duke of Kenwood, Jackson Miles. This is my… companion, Delphine,” Jackson announced, as Delphine stepped forward.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. Is it something to eat you’re wanting? We’re simple people, but we have bread and eggs. My wife…” he began, but Jackson interrupted him.
“It’s your wife I want to see. We’re not here looking for something to eat. We want to talk to her,” Jackson said, and the farmer looked thoroughly confused.
“Charlotte? She’s in the dairy, I think. I’ll call her.” He went off calling the name which did not belong to the woman who would answer.
Jackson looked around him with interest. The child was still standing inquisitively in the doorway of the farmhouse, and Delphine went over to speak to her, smiling and asking her name, which, to Jackson’s surprise, was Annabella – the name of Eloise’s mother. The farm was neat and well-kept. Everything was in its place, and the animals appeared content and well cared for.
“What a beautiful place this is,” Delphine breathed, looking out across the cornfields towards the woodland beyond.
It was a beautiful place, far removed from the gossip and intrigue of the ton. Life here was surely far simpler than in London. It seemed Alice – or Charlotte – had found her happiness. It was a far cry from her sister’s fate, and once again, Jackson’s sorrow at Eloise’s sad future threatened to overwhelm him.
“It is a beautiful place,” Jackson agreed, as footsteps approached.
He turned to find a strikingly beautiful woman standing next to the farmer. She was tall, with fiery red hair and bright green eyes. Jackson was already feeling nervous, and her disarming look – questioning his presence – caused him to falter.
“The Duke of Kenwood, Charlotte,” her husband said, and Jackson stepped forward and offered her his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Burrows.”
Alice took his hand and shook it, still with her gaze fixed curiously on him, as though she was trying to discern a connection between them. She was Miss Alice Snowden, daughter of Viscount Snowden. But here, she was a simple farmer’s wife, her previous life long forgotten. Jackson wondered again if his intrusion would be welcome.
“I’m sure. But what does the Duke of Kenwood want with me?”
It was a legitimate question, one for which Jackson wanted a more formal setting to answer.
“Might we go inside?” he asked, and Alice nodded.
“Come into the parlor. I’ll make a pot of tea. Annabelle, come inside, will you?” Alice called out, and the little girl, who had been running after one of the chickens, followed.
The parlor of the farmhouse was comfortably furnished. It had a large range running along one side, and a table laden with vegetables and jars of preserves stood in the middle. It was harvest time, and the abundance was clear.
“Will you have a scone, Your Grace?” Alice asked, taking a tray from the oven.
There was jam and butter to spread on them, and with the tea made, they sat down to a pleasant refreshment.
“It’s very kind of you to welcome us like this,” Jackson said, glancing at Delphine, who nodded.
“Very kind, My… Mrs. Burrows.” Delphine gave her a smile.
“But what is it you want with me? I have a mind to guess, but I’d rather hear it from you, first,” Alice probed, and Jackson cleared his throat.
“We’ve been looking for you. We wanted… well, you see…” Jackson began, but his well-rehearsed speech was coming to nothing.
He had practiced over and over again, trying to convey the precise nature of the problem which now beset Alice’s sister. He cursed himself for faltering, even as Alice interrupted him.
“You’ve come about Eloise, haven’t you?” she asked, and Jackson nodded.
