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-The Viscount's Journey-

Chapter 1

"Beg pardon, Mr. Peabody. You say I have to marry Miss Miriah Carrington before I gain the inheritance?" Lord Garrett William Rashley clutched the arms of the leather- bound chair and glared at the gray-haired fellow sitting behind the massive mahogany desk. "Why?"

"Simply because your uncle wished it, or he would not have stipulated such a measure." The solicitor pushed back the glasses slipping down his narrow nose. "He paid me handsomely to carry out his orders, and I shall. Remember, you have until November, my lord. If you fail to marry, the inheritance will go to your younger cousin."

Gathering his papers, the solicitor stuffed them into his leather satchel and pulled his short, bony frame from the massive chair that dwarfed him. He bowed then shuffled across the carpeted floor and quit the room.

Garrett propelled himself out of the chair and stalked to the tall window that overlooked the grounds at Rashley Hall. A sparrowhawk swooshed by and flapped its short, rounded wings. The dashing gray bird keck-keck-kecked as it taunted Garrett with its freedom. Less than six months of independence was all he had left.

"Uncle Charles knew my feelings about matrimony, since the day Dorothea left me at the altar. Why would he do such a despicable thing, forcing me into a life I cannot abide?" Garrett ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at his older half brother, Joseph, the Baron Rashley, clad in a brown waistcoat and buff colored pantaloons. One of his knee-length booted legs rested over the other. "He never married, yet he expects it of me. It is hardly fair."

"Perhaps your uncle was not happy in his bachelor state. Maybe he didn't want you to be lonely in that huge house." Joseph pulled his tall frame out of the high, wing- backed chair and laughed. "After all, you do enjoy our children. And it's plain to see that your Uncle Charles expects you to produce an heir for the estate."

"Stuff and nonsense, Joseph." Garrett paced across the worn carpeted floor. "Why couldn't he have willed the estate over without strings attached? You are lucky that Rashley Hall was entailed to you by our father. No stipulations there."

"Matters are not always as easy for a second son. You are fortunate that you were your mother's brother's favorite nephew, or another of your male cousins would have inherited. One of them still may if you do not marry. You cannot let that happen. No one is as fond of Finchston Park as you."

Joseph was right. He did care for Finchston Park. He also shared his uncle's love for hunting and fishing. Uncle Charles had treated him as the son he'd never had. Garrett had admired him for his patience with him after Garrett's mother left them. No one had to tell him that he was a trying child during that period. Besides, he loved his uncle. Rather than admitting those facts, he said, "Thank you for heaping guilt on me, Joseph."

"What's a half brother for if he cannot make one feel low?" Joseph winked at him.

He smiled at Joseph, who at thirty-three was older by five years. "And now, you tease me." Garrett had to admit that he was a little envious of his half-sibling, not for having inherited the title from their father, but for having found the perfect wife. Garrett made his mistake in putting his hopes in Dorothea. But she failed him.

"You take matters too seriously, Gar. Perhaps this Miss Carrington possesses a fine sense of humor, and that is why Uncle chose her for you."

"Whatever his reason, why did he not tell me before he put it in writing? That baffles me no end." Garrett plopped down in the chair causing the leather to squeak. Uncle knew the misery Garrett endured after his failed engagement, not to mention the previous pain of his mother's abandonment when he was a child. He didn't trust his judgement in women enough to risk his freedom.

"Are you jealous that you were not the firstborn son?"

"Of course not, Joseph. And I do not hold you responsible for my lot in life. In fact, I admire you for the way you have run Rashley Hall since Father's death eleven years ago. You carry responsibility well. My heart would not be in it as yours is. My association with the place is tainted by unpleasant memories." He frowned. "I do not understand how Father could stand the place after Mother left."

"He forgave her long ago. No good comes out of harboring grudges and past hurts. You must move forward, Gar. Nothing will change the past. I married. Look at Jennifer. She has not left me, nor will she do so. Why can you not trust a lady? Abigail has been more of a mother to you than a half sister. All ladies are not like your mother."

"You're forgetting my botched engagement to Dorothea Haversham. She didn't have the audacity to show up at our wedding." Years and hard-learned wisdom enabled him to build a wall around his pride and no lady would cross that barrier.

"Gar. The two of you were miss-matched from the beginning. Jen and I both concurred that Dorothea used you to make that fellow Cheetham jealous and it worked. Be thankful she did not go through with the ceremony."

"You are correct on that account." Garrett sighed. "From that very day the thought of marriage has never entered my mind." Nor did responsibility until now. He'd never dreamed he would have the chance to own Finchston Hall.

"Perhaps your Uncle Charles thought he could do better in choosing a bride for you. He knew you wouldn't take a wife after Dorothea unless one was forced upon you." Joseph quickly amended his statement, "Forced is doing it a bit too brown..."

"I believe your choice of word is most appropriate. He did this on purpose to settle me down. Hunting and gaming was not what he wished me to do with my life after the Peninsular War, and I very well know it." Garrett drew in a deep breath. The scent of old tobacco reminded him of the long hours his Father sat closeted in this room working figures and reading. Now the walls were closing in.

"Gar, may I inquire if you know the lady in question?"

"Yes, I did chance to meet her over four years ago. If I remember correctly, she was thin and quite small...with blond hair and blue eyes. At least I think they were blue. I danced with her once or twice at different functions. Come to think of it, there were two sisters, and I'm not sure which one was Miss Miriah." He put his fist to his lips, rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and tried to visualize the girl.

"Well now, what do you propose to do, Gar?"

"The only thing I can do if I want the inheritance."

"Indeed. You should visit the estate. It may fill you with a sense of pride merely by being there. That is, if returning to London for the remainder of the season matters not to you?" Joseph came to stand beside Garrett's chair. "And it certainly would give you the opportunity to call on Miss Carrington while you are in the neighborhood."

"By all means, I must rush to her door." Garrett spoke in a sarcastic tone. He hated being pushed into this arrangement, and the shortness of time only heightened his sense of losing his freedom. No longer was he in control of his life.

"With the title the Regent bestowed upon you for your chivalrous service during the siege at Badajoz, you have become a prize catch in the eyes of many a young maiden and her mama. You, my little half brother, have a title after all." A deep laugh rolled from Joseph's throat. Garrett shot a menacing glance at him.

"As if a title is what I have coveted all these years. And what do you mean by 'little'? We are at of the same height with one another." He stood and leveled a look at Joseph.

"I meant it metaphorically, of course."

"Indeed," Garrett muttered as he took a turn about the room, pondering the land that held more appeal than the title he had acquired. "You know Joseph, the land and the money will come in handy to support me. I may not have to turn to the East India Company for a living after all."

Garrett flicked a piece of lint off the back of a stuffed chair. "I believe I shall ride out on the morrow and pay a call on the Carringtons. There is nothing else I can do to own land except through an inheritance such as this, is there?" Garrett turned his gaze outside to the hedgerow of cherry-plum trees across from the library window. He had helped his father's gardener plant the small saplings the spring of his eighth birthday, a year after his mother left.

How could a mother leave her only child? He ran his fingers through his hair. Was Dorothea so much like his mother that she would have done the same had they married?

"I am always here to give you counsel if you need to talk." Joseph slapped him lightly on the shoulder as he came to stand beside him.

Garrett glanced at him and saw the similarity between his half brother and himself. Their golden-brown hair and light blue eyes came from their father. At least he didn't look into the mirror and see much of his mother staring back at him.

His thoughts came back to earth as Joseph added, "Of course, you could always turn to prayer."

"Don't start with me on that subject. You know I attended services with you and Abigail when I was younger. I prayed every day for Mother to return home. God didn't answer my prayers. Then I was left at the altar two years ago." He ground the words out harshly, and turned on his half brother. "Where was God then, Joseph? He wasn't there!"

Joseph bowed his head.

"You don't understand how faith works, Garrett."

"Really. Sometime you must astonish me with how it does work." Garrett turned and marched out of the library. Pain burned into the core of his heart. Doubts replaced the faith he had been raised to believe in as a child. And what faith he had deserted him at the altar of St. Mary's Church. He slammed the door behind him as if to wake the dead.

Garrett reached Finchston Park before the dark of the late May sky overtook him. As he inhaled deeply, it amazed him that he could never get enough of the fresh clean air of England since the war. Birds trilled from the branches of the oak trees, and leaves rustled in the brisk breeze.

He surveyed his surroundings to get an idea of his holdings. Deer grazed on an adjacent carpet of grass in a park-like setting. From what he could see of the grasslands and apple orchards, the steward maintained the grounds and the Palladian house in satisfactory fashion. Sunlight glanced off the pale Bath stone of the impressive structure. The site was spectacular. It was easy to see why his uncle had such pride in his grand home.

"Dante', this will be all ours when I marry," he told his horse. Looking at the house, he imagined himself standing at the head of the stairs, a blond lady at his side. The image of his father and mother came to mind, and he shook his head to erase the memory. At the sound of hooves kicking pebbles, he turned and forced a smile as his former military batman, Isaac Denby pulled up beside him. "How does the place look to you, old man?"

"A fine looking estate, Garrett. I mean, my lord. I must start calling you proper-like before I join the other servants in that magnificent house as your valet." The wiry man nodded toward the manor below the rise.

"I suppose you must, but in private you have my permission to call me whatever you wish. You earned that right by serving me in the war." Giving the big chestnut Thoroughbred a pat on the neck, Garrett nudged him onward down the slope leading toward the front entrance.

A footman emerged from the servant's doorway below the outside entrance and took the horses' reins.

The stone-faced butler came down from the portico on one side of the double crab- pincer staircase and greeted them in a regal manner. "Good afternoon, my lord."

"Good afternoon, Hopson." Nodding toward Isaac, he added, "This is Isaac Denby, my valet. Are our rooms ready?"

"Yes, My lord. We prepared them after we received your missive yesterday. Dinner will be served at your convenience."

"What is the usual time for dinner here?"

"Six of the clock, my lord."

"Then I shall be down for dinner at the appointed time. I prefer, Hopson, to adapt to my surroundings as opposed to having them adapt to me." Garrett mounted the steps, followed by Isaac. At the top of the stone staircase a footman held open the massive front door.

This house and its land represented the end to the carefree life Garrett lived. For the first time, responsibility filled him with a sense of pride in the legacy his uncle had left him. Joseph had been right on that matter.

Garrett stepped into the foyer and glanced around at the Roman interior. It was a bit too ornate for his taste, but he presumed that could change with a lady's touch and a few of his own ideas sprinkled in. Roman statues had never appealed to him, outside of a museum. The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the high-ceilinged hall. The housekeeper had done a marvelous job in preparing the place on such short notice. Holland covers had most likely hung over the furnishings since Uncle's death, until yesterday that is.

Upon entering his suite, he inhaled the sweet scent of roses. He didn't care for flowers in his room, but he suspected that the fragrance was to cover the musty smell of rooms left vacant for too long a time. After all, Uncle had been ill for the past eighteen months and had not entertained guests for a couple of years before that.

"Isaac, please find another location for the vase of flowers by the bed. Preferably not in this room. I cannot sleep with so much fragrance nearby."

"Aye, my lord." His valet removed the vase.

After a night of tossing and turning, Garrett awoke at first light. Too many uncertainties kept his mind occupied. For one, what would he have to say to Miss Carrington after reappearing in her life? What if she was besotted with another? He could not marry her if her heart was otherwise engaged. He'd been through that once before.

Isaac came into the room and blinked. No doubt, he was surprised to find his master already out of bed and washing his face. "I did not expect you up and about so early, sir."

"I couldn't sleep." Garrett dried his face with a soft cloth, adding, "Fetch my riding coat and top boots, will you please?"

The valet bowed and went to the clothespress as Garrett buttoned his shirt at the neck and tucked it into his trousers. Turning, he saw Isaac carrying a tan coat over his arm along with boots dangling from his hand.

The smell of an early blooming honeysuckle hedge wafted through the open windows of the dining room. It reminded him of the many hours he spent bowling as a youth on these very grounds. After a cup of coffee, Garrett stepped out to the stable for a morning ride before breaking his fast.

Solitude helped him think. He needed to work out a plan of action. The day before leaving Rashley Hall, he had sent two letters. One went to Finchston Park, and the other to Mr. Carrington to inform him of his coming visit. A reply should arrive as soon as this morning.

Giving Dante' his lead, he raced over the lush hillside. It was just as he remembered so long ago. Spring was a vista of beautiful colors. Everything appeared new and green. Perhaps this was a good omen. His life was changing. Could it be that it was budding anew, like the spring? Hope filled his heart for the first time in years. Perhaps Uncle Charles wanted his will to be a beginning for him. He hoped it was so.

The scent of chamomile growing wild in the field permeated the air, and a warm breeze blew against his face making him feel alive again. War had taken so much from him. Memories of a soldier falling with his horse and the scent of cannon fire mingled with death often haunted his nights. A new beginning, he thought with conviction in his heart. Yes, Uncle Charles had wanted that.

Garrett rode back to the stable. Dismounting, he gave Dante' over to the head groom after rubbing the horse's neck. With lighter steps, he walked back to the house. Hopson waited for him inside the doorway. A letter rested on his palm. Garrett tore the seal and scanned the brief contents.

My Lord,

It will be a great pleasure to have your company at Greenly Court. Your Uncle Charles was a close friend and I will be honored to join friendship with you as well. We are home for the afternoon, if you wish to pay a call for tea. Yours faithfully,

John Carrington

Garrett folded the letter and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. This afternoon he would meet his fate. In no way would he let on to the gentleman that his intention was to see Miss Miriah Carrington. It would do him no good to rush his fences when he was not familiar with the young lady. If she was the one he was thinking about, she had seemed shy when he set eyes on her last at a country dance.

A thought struck him. Though the solicitor had not mentioned it, was it possible Mr. Carrington knew of the arranged marriage?

Drawing in a deep, steady breath, Garrett dismounted Dante' and turned him over to the waiting groom while his gaze took in the unimposing structure. The house was much smaller than Rashley Hall or Finchston Park. Of course, Mr. Carrington was a country gentleman, not a titled man of wealth and holdings as Garrett's father and uncle had been. Pebbles grated under his boots as he stepped toward the portico of the house. There was no grand staircase or imposing entry, just four simple steps. From the Jacobean look of the house, it reminded him of a church.

The door creaked open to reveal a portly gentleman with long, bushy, white side burns, who stood half a head shorter than Garrett. He surmised the smiling man to be Mr. Carrington.

"Welcome, Lord Rashley, to our humble home."

A small lady, whose gray hair peeked from the edges of a lace cap, came to stand at her husband's elbow. Mrs. Carrington curtsied as her husband bowed.

"Yes, please do come in and welcome, Lord Rashley."

Garrett noticed her face was delicately lined.

"Thank you." He stepped inside. After his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he glanced about at the Jacobean plasterwork along the ceiling of the hall. "You have a lovely home."

At one end, a fine oak staircase led to the second floor, the structure being no larger than two stories and an attic. Not the least imposing, the house felt warm due to his impression that the inhabitants were of a friendly nature.

Mrs. Carrington led the way to the parlour on the left of the hall. The room was cozy and cream-colored, adding to its brightness. Garrett stood while she rang for tea then sat after she had done so.

The door opened and all heads turned at the sight of a petite auburn-haired young lady. Bounding to his feet, he noticed her gaze barely meeting his before she looked down at her slippers.

Good heavens, she is even more shy than I remembered, he thought. Wait a moment. She is not blond.

"Lord Rashley, this is our eldest daughter, Ann," Mr. Carrington made the introductions.

"Ann is engaged to be married three months from now to Mr. Sumner of Exeter," Mrs. Carrington added. Garrett let out the breath he was unconsciously holding. This was not his intended bride. The other sister must be the blond. He felt a momentary reprieve.

"My felicitations, Miss Carrington." He bowed slightly, then turned to Mr. Carrington and forgetting his intention to appear disinterested in seeing Miss Miriah, he asked, "Do you not have another daughter? Miss Miriah Carrington, I believe?"

"Why, indeed we do. She is away from home for a time. Her uncle is a vicar and recently widowed. He needed her until he finds a suitable housekeeper."

"I see." A log fell in the grate and Garrett stared at sparks from the popping wood in waiting silence.

A maid bustled in with the tea tray and biscuits, setting them down on the table close to Mrs. Carrington.

Garrett accepted his tea and took a sip of the hot brew. A moment later, he smiled at Miss Carrington as she offered him a choice of teacakes. He looked across at Mr. Carrington to find the gentleman studying him over the rim of his teacup.

"Perhaps you wish to meet Miriah, Lord Rashley?"

Garrett didn't have to look at the two ladies to know that their attention was directed at him after such a statement.

"Why, yes. I met her once, but that was four years ago. I had hoped to see her again." It didn't hurt, he supposed, to sound a little disappointed that she was not there. After all, she was his prime reason for visiting.

"But, of course." Mr. Carrington's teacup clinked against the saucer. "I have only to send a letter to her this afternoon."

"Is she so far away?" Like the ticking of a clock behind him, his freedom was ebbing away as well.

"Swithingham is less than twenty miles from here. She could be home by tomorrow afternoon."

"It is very convenient that she is close by then." He bit into the sweet treat. After swallowing it, he tipped the cup to his lips once more.

Mr. Carrington turned the conversation to farming and livestock. His wife joined in with amusements to be had in the village, who was ailing, and news of a neighbor who had just given birth to twins. Miss Carrington sat quietly, glancing up at him on occasion. A hint of a smile touched her lips.

"I remember, Miss Carrington, that you were a very good dancer when last we met." Garrett remarked on a guess.

"Thank you." She blushed at his words. He hoped, for her sake, that she was better acquainted with Mr. Sumner and that the man had the talent needed to draw the young lady out of her shyness.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind. What was Miss Miriah Carrington like? If she wasn't the shy sister, why couldn't he remember her?

After tea, he took his leave. On the way home his mind raced back to the time of his last visit to Finchstonbury and the assemblies. He had danced with several young ladies. Which one was Miriah? There were two young ladies with blond hair and one was rather chatty. Surely that wasn't Miriah. He didn't have the patience for constant chatter. Now that he thought about it, there was another young lady with dark hair and pouty lips that had struck his fancy. But now that he was older, he knew she was not what he wanted in a wife.

Shrugging his shoulders, he turned the spirited Thoroughbred toward the home woods.

"Father, why was it necessary for me to rush home?" Miriah Carrington peered at her father with anticipation as he sat before the crackling fire in the library. He didn't look any more out of sorts than Mother had. "I assumed Mother was ill and that I would find her abed this afternoon." She kissed her father's forehead, stood back and tugged on the fingers of her gloves then slipped them off.

"Ah. I'm sorry if I alarmed you, Mya. I simply wished for your return." He gestured with his hand for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk, then added "We had a visit from our new neighbor."

"And who might that be, Papa?" A light laugh escaped her. "I don't recall anyone moving into the vicinity."

"Remember old Mr. Brownhill? He passed on six months ago, or so."

"Why, yes I recall. So, you mean to say Finchston Park has a new resident?" She turned round eyes on her father. "And you wished me to return home for the express purpose of meeting this new neighbor?"

"Indeed." He nodded, then added with merriment in his voice, "We had a visit from Lord Rashley, just yesterday. The Rashley who lately returned from the Peninsular War."

"Lord Rashley?" Her pulse quickened. In her dreams, day or night, her knight-errant bears the handsome likeness of Garrett Rashley.

"Yes. The nephew to the late Mr. Brownhill you know."

"His visit signifies' nothing. In all probability he has paid calls on other families in the village as well." For a moment she stared into space and visualized looking up into his light colored eyes. His tousled medium brown curls had reminded her of pinecones from her ambling in the woods.

"I think he has not." Mr. Carrington broke into her musings.

"And how have you come to such a conclusion, Papa? Did he hasten to our door the moment he arrived in the village?" She didn't wish to build her hopes that Lord Rashley had come to see her.

"Indeed, he did arrive day before yesterday, but he sent a missive ahead, franked from Surrey, requesting to pay his respects."

Miriah digested this piece of information with suspicion. She recalled hearing stories of a broken engagement since she had seen him last.

Her father cleared his throat and continued. "And what is more, he asked about you by name, before your mother or I had mentioned you."

Her head shot up and she stared, wide-eyed at her father. "I scarce can believe that." She felt heat rise in her cheeks.

"Yet, it is true just the same. After meeting Ann, he looked about, then inquired if we had another daughter."

"You see, he only mentioned my name after hearing Ann was already spoken for. It is highly preposterous that he would remember me after only two dances over four years ago. Besides I doubt he would even have reason to recollect my name."

"There you are wrong. He did recall your name, for we had not mentioned it. And what is more, he asked as to your whereabouts and what distance you were from home. In fact, he was most pleased when I informed him you could be home as soon as this afternoon. Now what do you say to that, Mya?"

"Well, Papa," she stammered, "surely there is some other explanation to be had."

"Indeed, and that is to say he has his sights set on you, my dear."

"Papa, don't be ridiculous." She stood and padded over to the narrow window. Could he have paid more attention to her than she thought? Yet, he was engaged to another since then.

"Now, hurry along up to your room and freshen up. I dare say we will expect the gentleman shortly." He pushed himself out of the rosewood chair and stepped up behind her. "And have a little faith, my girl."

His hands against her shoulders, her father turned her toward the door and gently urged her out of his domain.

Miriah trudged up the wooden stairs. Was Papa right in mentioning faith? Could Lord Rashley be the answer to her prayers for a husband? She smiled to herself at the thought of divine intervention and her steps became lighter as she neared her room.

She splashed water onto her face, neck, and arms, then blotted the dampness with a towel. It was comforting to be in her old room again. It was much smaller than the one at the parsonage, but it was her room. The mulberry bed cover reflected her intense passion, and the pale ivy print paper on the walls soothed her soul. Like her inner self, the room's colors were a contradiction of her feelings.

Pulling open her wardrobe, she reached for the blue sprigged muslin. Amy, the housemaid, came in to help her dress. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of Miriah's stomach as she merely thought about Lord Rashley as Amy smoothed her fair hair.

Perhaps Lord Rashley had forgotten her penchant for droning on in idle chatter, as she was want to do when she was nineteen. This would be her chance to show him how much she had changed. Yet, she did slip up on occasion. She hoped today would not be one of those anxious times. She always chatted when she was nervous. It was possible he would turn tail and leave as other gentlemen had done, if she started rambling again.

Before she left the room, she stared into the looking glass, studying her image closely. Her looks were no different from the plain country miss he'd stood up with four years past. Loose curls framed her oval face. A blue ribbon laced through the chignon at the back of her head matched the wider ribbon at the high waist of her pale blue dress.

Could he have been thinking of her all this time, as she had been thinking of him? She didn't wish to fool herself that he had, but her heartbeat quickened just the same.

Never had she shared her girlish tendre for Lord Rashley with anyone, not even Ann. True, she was a little envious of Ann for being betrothed, but she never let on to anyone.

Yet, no man has come close to offering for her. No one wants a chatty wife. So, why has Lord Rashley come to see her?

She touched a hand to her hair and took a deep steadying breath, then reached for the door.

Her mother and Ann were already seated in the parlour. Papa sat in his favorite high-backed chair and eyed her over the top of the Morning Post.

"You are in looks, Mya, dear," her father spoke as she came farther into the room.

The door opened again before she had a chance to reply. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed the stern look on Francis' face as her brother marched into the room. She preferred to see him smiling as he used to do in his salad days. Of course, that was before he became a solicitor who made his own living by taking his clients' cases to the barristers.

Perhaps he was resentful of his status as a younger son. Their older brother, Stephen, showed more patience and had a friendlier demeanor. He also stood to own this house and its lands one day. What a pity Stephen wasn't here to lift her confidence.

Miriah sighed and thanked the good Lord for making her a female whose chief obligation at the age of twenty-three was to find a husband. Unlike a man who had the responsibility of running an estate. Taking up a book, she sat on the divan beside Ann, who worked on a needlepoint design for chair cushions.

The clock chimed the half-hour. At the same instant, the sound of the knocker signaled a guest. Miriah sent up a silent prayer and tried to relax her taut nerves. Even Ann sat up straighter and dwarfed her by two inches. It seemed odd that the taller of the two was the shy one. As Miriah's mother had told her once, God had given her the presence to speak her mind because of her smallness. If only she could keep her conversation to precise words without prattling on.

The parlour door opened.

"Lord Garrett Rashley," the maid announced.

He entered the room and bowed. Miriah stole a glimpse up at him as a flood of memories came back to greet her. He was exceedingly handsome, and tall. She averted her eyes lest he thinks ill of her for staring.

Her heartbeat quickened as it had the last time she had seen him. Back then, she had the opportunity to touch his hand as he took her through the steps of a country dance. For over four years she had relived that dance in her dreams.

"...my youngest daughter, Miriah, Lord Rashley."

Embarrassed for missing part of the introduction, she looked up to find the subject of her thoughts gawking at her. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Chapter 2

"Miss Miriah Carrington." Lord Rashley masked his expression and took her hand in his. As he bowed, his spicy scent tickled her nose. The tingly sensation of so long ago came over her again. Did he feel it, too? If he did, he was poised enough not to let it show. His eyes, the color of a clear blue sky, stared back at her. For once, she couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Please take a chair, my lord." Her father waved him to a chair across from her. As she sat between her mother and Ann, she noticed Francis standing aloof with a somber face. If she didn't know any better she would think he was blue deviled that Lord Rashley was here instead of Francis's particular barrister friend, Mr. Hastings. She had reminded Francis time after time that she had no feelings for the older man.

Lord Rashley's soothing voice brought her back to the present. "I trust you had a pleasant journey, Miss Miriah Carrington?"

"Why yes, my lord." His inquiry released a flood of words from her lips. "The weather is remarkably fresh during the spring months. And the blooms of the bluebells and golden dandelions so pleasant to behold, don't you think? Not to be outwitted by the pleasant perfumed scent of the sweet woodruff and its ivory blooms." She drew a breath and gestured with her hands as she continued, "The sun is so vividly bright and the skies so blue and clear. I vow I am in my element driving through the countryside in May. Of course there were those four straight days of horrid thunderstorms at the beginning of the month, but that is another matter. And how about yourself?" She ended her babbling on a nervous laugh.

His lips twitched before turning up in a half-smile.

"I enjoy spring as much as I do autumn."

She berated herself mentally for her babbling. Why was it that she forgot how to control her vexing habit in front of the one man that meant so much to her?

"Speaking of the out-of-doors, how did you find the fields and cattle at Finchston Park? Has the steward looked after the place properly?" Mr. Carrington asked, diverting Lord Rashley's attention.

Miriah took the opportunity to collect herself and study Lord Rashley more closely. His tousled hair was almost a sandy color mingled with acorns, the same shade as the pony she had ridden at Grandpapa's when she was a child. Their conversation continued, and she sat mesmerized by Lord Rashley's deep melodic voice. It soothed her much like keys to the pianoforte while playing a slow, romantic tune.

The scar on his jawline wasn't there when last she saw him. He must have acquired it during the war. If given the opportunity, she vowed to ask which battle he had fought.

"My lord, have you visited the parish church since your arrival?" Francis spoke for the first time, interrupting her thoughts.

"Why, no. Does it warrant my attention? Is it in need of repairs?" Lord Rashley leveled a look on Francis.

"Not to my knowledge. But it is your responsibility, or have you forgotten that fact?" Francis's accusing tone was not lost on Miriah.

"I am very well aware of my responsibilities and I shall converse with the local vicar in due time. You speak as if you expect me to withdraw all funds from the church." The chill in Lord Rashley's voice reached his eyes as he glared across the room at Francis. If he had looked at her in such a manner, she knew she would shiver to her toes. She slanted a look at Francis.

A knife could cut the tension in the room. Miriah glanced up at Lord Rashley's stone features to see a muscle flex at his jaw.

"I am only implying that your dear uncle took an active part as patron. He saw to the needs of the vicar and the parish. It is my concern that you carry on the role with some degree of continuity."

"And why would I not?"

"There are those who believe you are not a religious man. Then, it is understood that you will apply your monies in other endeavors, Lord Rashley. Is that a safe assumption?"

Where did Francis come up with such a story? Miriah had never heard such talk.

"I shall honour my duty to the church. As for being religious, that is neither here nor there. I owe you no explanation on that account."

She spoke the first thought that came to mind to divert his attention from the annoyance of Francis.

"Lord Rashley, would you care for some tea and macaroons?"

Garrett spurred Dante' across the open meadow. A brisk run would do them both good. The sun shone bright overhead and a crisp breeze ruffled his hair beneath his beaver hat. Over the ridge and down toward the placid lake, horse and rider kept up their steady pace. Near an outcropping of oaks, he pulled up the reins and dismounted.

"Of all the girls in the county, why did it have to be the chatterbox?"

He looked over at Dante', who responded with a flick of his ears. Garrett imagined the Thoroughbred as more than a horse; Dante' was his confidant.

"She makes up for her older sister's shyness excessively. And that 'holier than thou' brother. Reminding me of my responsibilities. Inquiring if I am religious. If I want Miss Miriah Carrington to know my feelings on religion, I will speak to her in private, not in front of her family. It is simply none of their business. Her brother is attempting to paint an unpleasant picture of me in Miss Miriah's eyes. But why am I not a worthy suitor?"

Squatting down on the bank, he reached for a tall piece of grass next to his knee and snapped it off an inch above the ground.

"Can you imagine what life with her will be like, Dante'? Not a quiet moment to be had, for sure. What compelled Uncle Charles to saddle me with one such as her? It is absurd, indeed!" He stood abruptly and threw the remnant of grass aside.

"Of course, her sparkling blue-gray eyes gazed directly at me as I talked to her. She showed a keen interest in my every word." He inhaled the scent of the swaying grass.

"I suppose there is nothing, but that I should court the miss. Perhaps I shall simply ignore her incessant drivel."

Taking Dante's reins, he mounted and turned the horse toward the home woods. It wouldn't hurt to write his sister, Abigail, and ask advice. If necessary, he would invite her to Finchston Park along with his young niece and nephew. Not that he wanted company just yet, but he desperately needed to talk to one of the two women he did trust.

The next afternoon, Garrett stood on the threshold of Greenly Court. The maid showed him into the familiar cream colored parlour where Mrs. Carrington and Miss Miriah Carrington sat reading.

"Lord Rashley, ma'am." The maid curtsied and closed the door behind her.

"I trust I am not interrupting." He spoke as he bowed to the ladies.

"Why no, not at all, my lord." Mrs. Carrington waved a hand in her daughter's direction and added, "we were simply reading."

"It is a lovely afternoon, and I came to inquire if Miss Miriah Carrington would care to take a walk up the lane, since she is fond of spring." His gaze moved across the bright room to find the lady in question looking at him open mouthed before she glanced down at the book resting in her lap, recollecting herself.

A rose tint flared over her fair skin. He smiled inwardly at the affect he had on her.

"What a lovely suggestion," Mrs. Carrington said.

"Allow me to fetch my wrap. I will be but a moment, my lord." Miss Miriah Carrington curtsied and hastened from the room.

"Is Mr. Carrington about?" He slanted a look toward Mrs. Carrington.

"No, my lord. He and Francis have gone to visit an acquaintance, but they shall return shortly."

"I see." Garrett found the thought of Frances' absence satisfying. He didn't relish another confrontation with the man.

Shortly, Miss Miriah Carrington returned to the parlour with a fawn-colored Norwich shawl draped about the shoulders of the brown print muslin dress.

Garrett led her down the hall, her gloved hand resting ever so lightly on his arm. The pleasant scent of lavender touched his nose as he studied her fine facial features and chignon at the back of her head. Once outside, she dropped her hand to join it with the other behind her back. He followed suit. They walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke.

"Are you settled in at the Park, my lord?" The cool breeze sent a stray flaxen curl over one of her blue-gray eyes. With a wave of her hand she flicked it away.

"That depends on what you mean by settled. My things are unpacked and in place. However, I am trying to adjust to the status of owner as opposed to a houseguest."

A smile grew from her shapely lips to her twinkling iridescent eyes. He saw a gleam of interest in their depths.

"I am sure it shan't take too very long before you are comfortable with being the lord of the manor, so to speak. You certainly look the part of the master." There was sincerity in her voice that gave him to wonder if she had ever left the countryside.

"Have you been to London?" He asked.

"No, I have not. Nor, may I add, do I wish to go to London. I have heard so many tales that I feel I would not like it." She quickly amended, "But that certainly does not mean it is not a nice place to visit. It is just that if I had been there I might have a different opinion of it. I don't mean to say -- "

"You need not explain on my behalf. I simply wanted to ascertain if you had been."

"Oh." She looked away, perplexed.

"My apologies. It was not my intent to interrupt."

"On the contrary. I should apologize for my rambling. Mother warned me against my chattering ways. I seem not to know when to hold my tongue. It is a failing I have. I am sure you have noticed it, my lord." She ended her conversation with a little laugh. Another habit she had, he mused. He found that one strangely appealing.

"Perhaps you could teach your sister, Miss Carrington, to speak more openly like you, and she could teach you how to be less talkative like her. Then the two of you would be as perfect as two peas in a pod." He smiled down at her.

"What an...odd way of putting things, to be sure."

"Why not indulge me, and tell me what this beautiful spring day means to you." His gaze took in the land, the trees, and the sky.

"That is easy enough for me." They came to stand on a slope that wandered down over a green field. A herd of diminutive Red Dexter cattle grazed peacefully below. He watched her take a panoramic view of all she could see, noticing the top of her golden- blond tresses on a level with his shoulder. The expression on her face changed as he imagined her searching for the appropriate words to describe the scene before her. Then she spoke in a serious vein.

"This beautiful spring day is a gift I treasure from heaven above. There is the smell of freshness that only God can give to each of us. There is newness of life in the spring calves, and lambs, and ducklings, and baby birds. New life is everywhere. You can inhale the sweetness of the flowers."

Her voice had an ethereal quality he hadn't noticed before, and found it pleasing. He listened intently as she continued. "There is an honesty about the land that has nothing to do with spring in particular. It is just here in the land. I want to stay and admire the country forever. What more could one want out of life than the peace God gives one? And it is here for me." She paused a moment, then added, "And you?"

"You see all that?"

"Yes." She turned to him. "Now, what do you see, Lord Rashley?"

Looking away, he said, "I am too cynical to see anything as clearly as you."

"'Follow me and I shall show you the way and the truth' the Good Book says."

At her Biblical recital, he stiffened. For he did not wish to hear those words.

"I am not a religious man," he answered.

"I understand. And it is beyond me to judge you for your feelings."

He threw her a glance to find her scrutinizing him. At that moment, he admired her for standing up to what she believed, knowing his feelings were different from hers. It struck him that she was no milk and water miss.

"Do you enjoy fishing, my lord?"

The change of subject caught him off guard. "What?"

"I said, do you enjoy fishing?" Laughter filled her voice as she smiled up at him.

"Of course. What man doesn't?"

"Francis for one." She answered. He flinched at the mention of her brother's name. "He'd rather have his nose in a law book. But that is neither here nor there. Would you like to go fishing in our pond tomorrow or some other day? I love to fish myself."

There was merriment about her that he found infectious and it glossed over any uneasiness he temporarily felt. He returned her smile.

"Ladies don't fish."

"Well I happen to, my lord. My older brother, Stephen, taught me the intricacies of the sport. And Papa never minded when I joined him down by the water. Perhaps, it is your belief that ladies are too delicate for such sport. Then, I feel extremely sorry for your narrow mindedness. I believe in plain speaking. I hope you do not hold that against me."

"Indeed not, I find I much prefer it. But you needn't tell me something I had suspected on my own." After he spoke, a shadow fell over them and both looked up into the sky. He glanced down at her upturned face. The color in her eyes reflected the hue in the dark cloud. "What is nature telling you now, Miss Miriah Carrington?"

"It says fishing is highly unlikely tomorrow, for it shall rain." Her gaze moved from the heavens to him. Then she amended, "It will have to be day after the morrow I am afraid."

"The clouds in the sky told you that? I have seen clouds come and go without the benefit of rain. Why do you propose rain?"

"I have lived in the country all my life. It is second nature for me to watch the weather."

"Perhaps we had best return to the house. For I am quite sure I have overstayed my visit." He offered her his arm and led her down the hill and toward the house.

"Would you like a glass of lemonade and a scone before you take your leave?"

"I really ought to be going."

"But you mustn't hurry off. Father and Francis are to return shortly. Unless of course, you do not wish to see them?"

Did she sense his reason for leaving was Francis? What a remarkably perceptive young lady Miss Miriah Carrington was, to be sure.

"I shall stay long enough to have lemonade. Then I really must be going."

As he walked along the stone drive, she squeezed his arm lightly and spoke.

"I completely forgot. Francis and I are to leave day after the morrow. I am in charge of the parish social and have to return to tie up loose ends. It is to be Saturday on the church grounds in Swithingham. Would you wish to join us? Papa and Mama are coming for the day. There will be puppet shows, three leg races and games."

Looking into her eyes, Garrett was drawn to the warmth he saw in them. The desire to please her was strong. And the feeling was new to him.

"I would be happy to attend if that is your wish," he answered, though he knew he would feel like a fish out of water at a church social.

"I most certainly would like that." She smiled warmly up at him, then just as quickly her expression grew serious. "You mustn't go if it is not what pleases you. I cannot bear to cause you vexation if you really do not wish to join us."

"Believe me. It would take a grave act to force me into doing what I do not wish to do, Miss Carrington."

Three days later, Miriah strolled past a gathering of children.

"Pray, what is he doing here?" Francis's cutting words surprised Miriah and she turned to see the subject of her thoughts riding up to the churchyard. Hadn't Lord Rashley said he wished to please her? Her heart turned somersaults.

She watched Lord Rashley scanning the crowd from the back of the big Thoroughbred as he reigned it in to a stop. He dismounted with ease and straightened his beige greatcoat over his lean frame. Buckskin breeches hugged his well-formed legs to the tops of his brown, knee-length boots. He wore a wool beaver hat atop his loose brown curls. Brows shaped as birds wings, arched above a pair of searching blue eyes. His nose was as straight as an average aristocrat. The angular shape of his jaw brought to mind his determination. To her, he was the most handsome man she had ever encountered. She inhaled and let her breath out slowly.

"Why doesn't he go back to London where he belongs?" Francis sidestepped a lad pushing a hoop.

"How unkind of you." She noticed Lord Rashley stood a head taller above other men in the church crowd. His gaze found her and she felt the familiar butterflies flitter inside her body.

"I have seen his sort before, they haven't a care for their responsibility toward their tenants or to the church. Now, Rupert Hastings is quite different. He stays up into the night to plan his cases and final speeches to plead before the bench. He's an honest, respectable man."

"How odd. You failed to mention Mr. Hastings faith. Does he have faith, Francis? Is he so impeccable that you must stand behind him even if he doesn't? Yet you claim Lord Rashley to be the worst sort of fellow. It is true he has little faith..." Her gaze held Lord Rashley's as he wove his way through running children toward them.

"You mean no faith! It is likely that he has never graced the pews of a church in his whole life. I have heard stories of his rakish existence. Believe me, he is beyond redemption from what I have heard."

"Francis! God does not give up on lost sheep. Why must you?" She turned and walked through the maze of boisterous parishioners to stand in front of Lord Rashley. Her heart determined that she would see him enjoy this beautiful day.

"Lord Rashley, I am so pleased you have come." She curtsied to his bow.

"I told you I would. Did you not believe me?" There was a teasing quality in his mellow voice.

"But of course." She flashed him her most gracious smile. "May I offer you some refreshment?"

"I would prefer to stretch my legs first."

"A stroll would be most pleasing to me also." As she walked beside him, she inhaled his woodsy scent. Then her arm brushed against his. The touch sent a spark through her body. She glanced up to find him looking the other direction as if he found the small crowd to be of interest all of a sudden. It was as if he felt uneasy with her.

A cat darted between them, followed by a barking dog. He reached a hand to steady her, then dropped it. Her arm felt warm from his touch.

"What is that group of children doing over there?" Her eyes followed the direction he pointed. Adults and other children were shouting at young boys who were attempting to run in pairs.

"Oh, they are racing with a leg tied to each other." She laughed.

"Will they not fall?"

"It is a distinct possibility that they will. Do not tell me, sir that you have never participated in a three-legged race. 'Tis a lot of fun. Let us go and cheer them on. What do you say?"

He looked down at her with sparkling eyes and a broad smile then offered his arm to her. She found herself walking faster to keep up with his long stride. His laugh was rich and warm, and she found herself laughing as well.

"I wish I were a child right now. Then I would not be envious of what these children have, but would share it with them."

Her heart went out to him.

"And what is it they have that you covet?" She had to ask. Was it loneliness she saw in the depths of his cool blue eyes? If so, she wanted nothing more than to erase the look with one of warmth and love.

"This is a social is it not?" he asked, a bitter edge of cynicism in his voice. "Let us go about and enjoy it."

Children from the three-legged race giggled nearby.

He glanced over her shoulder and she turned around. A makeshift stage stood below a stand of chestnut trees and children and adults sat on the grass watching a puppet play. She fell in step with him as he changed directions and strolled toward the audience lounging in the shade.

At the back of the small crowd, Miriah sat and pulled her skirt under her legs. He dropped down beside her and rested his arms across his knees. The lines of his face softened as he watched and laughed along with the others. Since his arrival at the social, she saw in him a sensitive man hiding behind indifference. She knew that, deep inside he was hurting, and one day she would learn the truth of his pain.

"Miss Miriah Carrington." Miriah turned at the lilting voice behind her. It was Rebecca Sneed who exuded beauty from her round hazel eyes and pouty lips set in porcelain skin, framed with a thick mane of black hair. "You have done a great job for your uncle in organizing this nice social," Miss Sneed said as she lowered herself beside Miriah and glanced pointedly across Miriah's lap. "Lord Rashley, I never thought to see you here."

Miriah looked back at Lord Rashley to see him staring at Miss Sneed. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and looked dumbfounded.

"Yes, well...you see I am here. And I'm sorry I do not recall your name." He seemed to tell the truth but Miriah doubted that any man could forget this lovely young woman's name. Now that she thought of it, she was more surprised that he remembered her own name. Miriah had no claim to prettiness or great fortune. Although she does have connections on her mother's side.

Swallowing her pride, she introduced the charmer to Lord Rashley.

"May I present Miss Rebecca Sneed?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Sneed. I do believe we danced in Finchstonbury when last I was at my uncle's, before I left for the war."

"Of course, my lord. And a very fine dancer you are, I recall. Perhaps we can share a few more dances at the next assembly in Finchstonbury or here about."

Miss Sneed's high-pitched laughter grated on Miriah's nerves like a squeaking door. She wished the lady would find a diversion and leave her and Lord Rashley in peace. She immediately chastised herself for her unchristian-like attitude toward the lady. But she could not change her desire to be alone with Lord Rashley.

"Are you staying at Finchston Park, my lord?"

"Yes. I have recently moved in. My uncle has departed, you see -- "

"Yes, yes, I remember that," Miss Sneed broke in. "But I was not aware that you had actually moved into the estate. Surely you are in want of a lady to put it to rights for you, sir."

Miriah looked away and sent up a silent prayer to hold her tongue. It would not do to loose her temper at the impertinent Miss Sneed. A sharp comment wouldn't recommend her to Lord Rashley either. And she did want to please him.

"You think I cannot manage my own estate, house and all? I assure you that I am not a simpleton."

Miriah breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared he was of the same feeling as she about Miss Sneed's forward nature.

"You take my meaning wrong, sir. I assure you. I simply meant..."

"I know what you meant, Miss Sneed. But I prefer to handle matters my own way. I always have and always will. And a lady will never run my life for me. For I prefer to handle my affairs myself. Do you understand my meaning?"

"Yes, of course, to be sure." The lady looked chagrined before she glanced over at the church. "Excuse me, Miss Miriah Carrington, Lord Rashley. I believe my father is looking for me."

Lord Rashley helped Miss Sneed to her feet. Miriah made to stand, but was stayed by his hand and a look. The beauty walked away, and Lord Rashley sat back down on the grassy slope, close to Miriah.

"What a brazen young lady." His breath warmed her neck as he whispered close to her ear. "If I were her father, I would lock her in a room until she learned her manners."

Miriah turned to find herself inches from his handsome face. His gaze held hers as he uttered, "I expected to hear a diatribe of plain speaking come from your lips."

"I came very close to voicing my opinion, then I thought better of it." Her gaze went to his lips. His smile grew to show his straight white teeth. Blinking, she looked up as warmth stole over her cheeks.

"Miriah, you are not overseeing the food tables for Uncle Henry." She jerked her head a degree to where Francis stood behind them. His irritated tone brought her back to reality. "Besides, Mr. Hastings would be offended if he were here to see you sitting so close to my sister, Lord Rashley. Please remember where you are and remove yourself, sir."

"What?" Lord Rashley leaped to his feet.

"Francis!" Miriah jumped up without assistance as she and Lord Rashley spoke at the same time.

"I did not know Miss Miriah Carrington had an understanding with another." Lord Rashley's sharp glare directed at Francis could have cut ice on a frozen pond. A muscle in his jaw tightened.

"But I do not have an understanding with Mr. Hastings or anyone else for that matter." Lord Rashley slanted her a look. "Francis is merely speaking from wishful thinking on his part." Miriah followed Lord Rashley's gaze to her hand clinching his sleeve. With the speed of lightening she released her hold on him. "Francis does not speak for me, my lord."

"Miriah -- " Francis tried to cut into the conversation.

"I was in hopes that he did not." Lord Rashley's eyes searched hers with what she thought was understanding in them.

"Lower your voice, Miriah. People are beginning to look." She glanced back at Francis who peered about him. Red heat covered his face.

"You should have thought about that before you confronted me. And besides, I am here to help my uncle. He commended me on how well I organized the tables not more than three-quarters of an hour ago. All that matters is that he is pleased. Furthermore, it is no concern of yours, or Mr. Hastings as far as that goes, whom I choose to socialize with at this or any other function I may attend in future."

She marched away, leaving two sets of eyes to stare after her.

Francis knew she had a temper, and he shouldn't push her as he had done. For her sake, it would have been better that Lord Rashley didn't know of her temper. More than likely, he saw her in a less favorable light, now.

Approaching the food table, she looked about. Nothing appeared amiss to her. There were plenty of meats, cheeses, breads, and desserts.

She balled her hands at her sides. This was Francis's way of coming between her and his lordship. It appeared to her that Francis was playing the matchmaker and attempted to push her in the direction of his associate, Mr. Hastings. She seethed with anger toward her brother, for the single state was preferable to being wed to a man close to her father's age. Even if Mr. Hastings was good looking in an older gentlemanly way. A chill stole over her and she shivered.

Heavy steps came up beside her.

"Let us go for a walk, shall we?" Lord Rashley's mellow voice was uncompromising yet oddly gentle. "Please."

Her shoulders drooped and she turned to walk beside him toward a copse of trees. Stopping under the shade of a big oak, he glanced back in the direction of the church then looked down at her.

"You gave your brother a set down he deserved. But you most likely need time to cool your heels before some unsuspecting soul speaks and you let loose that tongue of yours." She looked down at her feet and felt ashamed of her actions. He reached his finger under her chin and raised her face to his. "It is all right. Francis had it coming. You simply need time to compose yourself."

She felt her lower lip tremble. He touched the pad of his thumb lightly to one corner of her mouth. "Where is that pretty smile that warms a cloudy day?"

Her lips obeyed his touch. And he, too, smiled in return.

"Do you like to go riding? I have a sporty carriage I will allow you to drive some day. Did your older brother teach you how to handle the ribbons?"

She knew he was trying to draw her out of her somber mood.

"No, I did not have the opportunity, my lord. Would you teach me?" She laughed.

Chapter 3

Sunlight sent a ray of light over the top of the low hanging clouds. The late afternoon air was warm against Garrett's face. Pulling on the reins, he slowed Dante' to a walk to cool the animal and give himself opportunity to think.

Time spent alone was precious to his well-being. He had his fill of new acquaintances, and superfluous conversation hours ago at the church social. Life was changing fast enough, and he needed time to consider his future with one high-strung female.

He had felt a kinship with Miriah the instant she jumped to her feet and issued Francis a cutting set-down this afternoon. If the uncivil man were his brother, he would do the same and more.

Garrett inhaled the fresh scent of Meadow Fox-Tail grass, mingled with the smell of a sweating horse. Birds interrupted his solitude as they chirped in the low hanging branches of trees that lined the road.

"She possesses a fighting spirit, and stands up for what she believes. I admire her for that." He was talking more to himself than to Dante'. The horse's ears perked up as if he were listening. "I could teach her how to control that temper. If she would permit it."

His thoughts turned to her other characteristics. There was nothing in her personality to remind him of his unfaithful mother. No, Miriah was strong-willed and spoke her mind. Sneaking off in the dark of night would not be her way. She would be forthright about her feelings and expect the same from him.

Miss Sneed, on the other hand, he did not trust at all.

"Dante'." He patted the animal's neck. "Did you see that Sneed female? She all but threw herself at me in front of Miss Miriah. I cannot believe the audacity of that chit. She may be pretty, but she is also trouble. I must contrive never to be alone with her."

After a momentary silence, he added, "On the other hand, what did you think of Miss Miriah?" He waited as if he expected the horse to answer. "Her looks are quite pleasing. With regard to her habit of rambling, she seems to be trying in earnest to change. If she fails, I will endeavor to travel to London, or go hunting with my friends on occasion."

It was dark by the time he reined Dante' in at the front of the manor. After going up to his room and quickly changing his clothes, he returned below stairs to the dining room for a quiet dinner alone.

Two servants shuffled back and forth as they carried the dishes in and out of the room. The distinct scent of poached salmon reached Garrett before the servant placed the dish in front of him. With deliberate slowness, he indulged in each coarse. The meal was excellent, even if it was only for himself.

His thoughts turned to Uncle Charles, who left him an allowance to live on until he fulfilled the terms of the will. Garrett hoped he could live up to his late uncle's wishes. As much as he was against marriage, he would do anything for his uncle. And yet, there was an inkling of doubt about marriage that haunted him from his past.

As he ate, the day's events played in his head.

"Perhaps I should not have gone to the social after all." He mumbled to himself as he placed the fork beside his plate.

"Why must I marry?" He looked up at the ceiling. "I value my privacy. You knew that, Uncle Charles."

He ran a hand through his hair and clasped his hands behind his head. A fleeting thought came to him from the darker side of his mind. If he married Miss Miriah Carrington, he would be rich beyond his means. Money could buy him anything and take him anywhere. She was merely a resource toward that goal. The will required he marry. It didn't stipulate that they live together. Perhaps he could stay with her long enough to produce an heir, but afterward he could go where he pleased without her.

Closing his eyes, another thought flashed through his mind. His mother had taken herself off for her own pleasure. His eyes flicked open. What he was considering was not the same, was it? He still chastised his mother for the action she had taken so many years ago. And think of the pain she had caused. No, he could not do that to Miriah. What was more he could not do that to his child, unlike his mother, he could not live with the guilt his leaving would cause.

He reached for his glass of claret and swirled the dark purplish red liquid. There was nothing for it but that he should court Miriah. Yet, he preferred not to court her at her uncle's. She didn't need a distraction from finding a suitable housekeeper for her uncle. There was no telling how long that would take. In the meantime, he would patiently wait for her to return home before he began the courtship. And it wouldn't hurt to pay his half brother's family a visit.

After dinner, he marched up the stairs with resolution in each step. He resolved not to rush his fences again. After all, he had little time to himself as it was.

"Denby, pack our things. We are going to depart at first light and pay a call on Joseph in Guildford."

"Yes, sir." His valet headed for the dressing room and followed Garrett's directive.

A short time later, Garrett laid his head back against his thick pillow and stared into the darkness of his room. Riding over to Guildford would put distance and time between him and the goal to enhance his financial independence. What little freedom he had was his to control for the time being. He needed to take coming events much slower.

Miriah was not indifferent to him, or she wouldn't have stood up against her brother for him. Not that he wasn't capable of handling Francis. Yet, when Garrett had seen fire in her eyes, it had behooved him to see how she would handle her brother's intrusion. Garrett was not disappointed. And he admired her independence.

He remembered their earlier conversation after her father's summons when Garrett took her for a walk. The more he talked with her, the more he noticed her as quite the opposite of his mother and former fiancé. If he didn't know any better that day at the pond at her father's, he would think she was trying to pull things out of him he did not know existed. She brought up religion and caused him pain. Yet, with her keen sense of perception, she changed to the subject of fishing in a most delightful way to make him smile. What a puzzle she was, to be sure.

Never before had he known a lady who cared what he felt, other than his sister, Abigail, and Joseph's wife, Jennifer. Perhaps, Miriah did not want to be under any man's thumb.

The sky opened and a deluge of rain pounded the earth as Garrett watched from the narrow window. It hadn't been much over two weeks since he sat in this very room at Rashley Hall and learned of his fate.

"Was the spring planting done? Have you harvested the corn, Gar?" Joseph interrupted his thoughts.

"Why yes, it has been planted. But I think it needs more than two weeks to grow." Sitting in a high-backed wing chair, Garrett stretched his legs and stared at the yellow flames. He watched the gray smoke rise up the chimney. "The tenants have done well."

"Has the house gone to wrack and ruin?" Joseph leaned his head back against a cushioned chair in the library.

"The place is not in such bad repair as I had first thought. The steward has continued the upkeep after Uncle Charles' passing. I will need to refurbish the inside of the place, but I will wait until I marry and let the lady handle household duties and what have you. I understand ladies like that sort of thing. Besides, it will keep her occupied." His tone was matter of fact.

"And what about the lady? Have you reacquainted yourself with Miss Miriah Carrington?" Joseph looked over at him with a keen eye. "Was she the sister you envisioned her to be?"

"Not really. But -- " Garrett smiled at his older brother before adding, "she is pleasing to the eye. Yet she does tend to rattle on at times."

"But can you overlook such a flaw in her?"

"At first I did not think so, but then her manner of speaking improved upon me. I think she is making a conscious effort to quell her chatty way." He gazed unseeing into the fire in the grate, and continued. "She may inquire after your past, yet she knows when she has touched on a sensitive subject. Then with a spark of humor she turns the conversation around and makes you laugh. It is quite refreshing, really. I feel that she does not so much want to be entertained as she desires to entertain."

"She sounds a veritable paragon."

"Not a paragon exactly. She is a person of deep faith though. And she sees things through the eyes of that faith."

"That is not a bad quality to have in a wife." Joseph spoke softly. "In fact, it is the very quality you need in a wife. She may teach you a thing or two about the necessity of faith."

"You know my feelings on that subject. Don't play the father with me on that issue." Garrett sat up to rest his arms over his knees to get closer to the fire.

"What about her looks? Is she flaxen, raven, redhead, or brunette? I have forgotten what you said at the reading of the will." Joseph moved to a chair opposite his.

"My mother's hair." He whispered.

"Blond hair does not make her the same person as your mother. It is what is inside the person, not the color of the hair or eyes that make a person act as another. When will you learn that fact, Gar?"

"When I looked at her that first time, Joseph, I saw my mother's flaxen hair. Then too, Miss Miriah Carrington's features are petite like Dorothea's." Garrett put his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his curls. "I was duped once -- could it possibly happen again?" He groaned and bowed his head.

He felt Joseph's hand on his back as his half brother came to stand beside him and massaged the tautness of his muscles at the base of his neck.

"All I can say is that your uncle must have had his reasons why the two of you should be together. It is highly unlikely that he would have chosen the first female that came to mind." After a few moments of silence, Joseph spoke again. "Mayhap, this marriage plan of your Uncle Charles' was meant to be a new beginning for you."

Garrett raised his head and turned side ways to speak. "She spoke of new beginnings."

"Who?"

"Miss Miriah Carrington. She was describing the outdoors, and what it meant to her at this time of year. I recall her mentioning new beginnings."

"I think you had better hurry back to Finchston Park and marry this girl. She sounds too good to lose to another."

"But she has this brother, a solicitor, who appears not to like me, and the feeling is mutual. He has another man in mind for her to marry. She did ring a peel over him about it. Said she did not have an understanding with this other fellow or anyone else. Hastings I believe is the man's name. And she said Francis does not speak for her."

"Ah, she speaks her own mind." Joseph turned his back to the fire.

"Indeed, she does."

"Is this other fellow, Hastings, close by?"

"Evidently not, or he would have put in an appearance at the church social."

Garrett shared with Joseph details of where Miriah had been and of her father sending notice for her to return home. He told of his attendance at the church social. He omitted the part about seeing Rebecca Sneed.

"So you see, I did not want to appear overly enthusiastic. Everything was progressing far too quickly as it was."

"Cold feet, hey?"

"No. I needed time to think. And what can be done about her brother? How can I keep from causing pain in the family when he is likely to cause a stir over my request for her hand in marriage?"

"Let us put our heads together, shall we?" Joseph walked to the window. Garrett stood up and began to pace the room. "Is her brother protective over her? Maybe he is looking out for her security, do you suppose? Or is he only interested in her for his own selfish reasons?"

"He is not looking out for her welfare, that I can assure you." Garrett put his fist to his lips and thought. "Perhaps, if members of my family were to meet the Carrington's, they might see that as a gesture of good will and accept my suit more readily, no matter what her brother may say to the contrary."

"It is worth a try. And it certainly will not hurt to show our support for you. When would you wish us to pay a visit?"

"Before the end of the week? Do you suppose Jennifer and the boys could be ready to leave Guildford with you by then?"

"I will discuss it with her when she returns from her afternoon calls. That is if this rain does not delay her."

Miriah ran her hands up and down her arms as she stared out at the early summer turbulence. Rain pelted the window. Treetops were tossed about in a fitful and gusty wind. A clap of thunder roared close to the house shaking the glass in it's casing and she jumped back from the window a couple of steps.

The last conversation with Lord Rashley, when she lost her temper with Francis, played over in her mind as she continued her surveillance of the storm. Did something she said offend him and cause him to stay away? Perhaps it was because of Francis's insinuation that Garrett was sitting too close to her. Somehow she doubted that was the case. He wouldn't be moved by Francis' opinion.

Five days had passed since the church social. In that time, she had found her uncle a suitable housekeeper through a church member. After two days, Miriah had returned home.

She was disheartened to learn Lord Rashley had not called or sent notice of any kind. It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed him whole. He was nowhere to be seen. There was talk among the servants that he had simply ridden out of the county.

Was he coming back? She was not so certain.

"Mya, dear, are you taking a chill?" Her mother's voice called from her chair near the fire.

"No, Mama." She looked back at her mother and halfheartedly smiled.

"Perhaps what you need, is a cup of chamomile tea. I'll ring Maybury." Mrs. Carrington started to rise.

Miriah stayed her mother with words of assurance. "Really, Mama, I am fine. I will ring for tea, but I prefer the Bohea, not the chamomile."

"Whatever you say, dear." Her mother sat back and eyed her curiously. "Perhaps you are pining for a certain gentleman. Believe me when I say he will return."

"That is absurd, I am not pining for anyone. Least of all a gentleman." She chastised herself for the lie.

Her mother simply smiled after a long, studied look, then added, "he has more than not had business to attend to elsewhere. Mark my word, you shall find him at our door soon after he returns."

"Mama." Miriah sighed and rolled her eyes. If only she could feel so positive. Perhaps, Francis' words had reminded Lord Rashley that he was showing her too much attention and that was not his intent after all.

She wished the rain would stop so she could go outdoors for a walk over the wet grass and smell the freshness that accompanied rain. Activity was what she needed to turn her thoughts from such folderol.

Four years ago, she had become infatuated when she first set eyes on Lord Rashley. Passage of time did nothing to dim the warmth that burned in her heart at the sight of him. Could this be true love? Surely infatuation would not have lasted over the years.

Sitting in a chair closer to the heat, she stared into the yellow flame. The image of his handsome face so near to hers at the church social lit a blaze in her heart. They sat so very close, and she was mesmerized by his lips. It was obvious that he knew her thoughts at that particular moment. She had wanted him to kiss her. Would he have done so if Francis had not walked up on them? A heat, not from the hearth, burned in her cheeks.

The clank of a silver utensil against china and the scent of strong, black Bohea tea brought her out of her reverie.

Hours later, Miriah smoothed the front of her drab brown spencer then stepped outside. She drew in a deep breath. The fresh smell of rain-covered earth filled her senses with peace. An emotion she was far from feeling when thoughts of a certain gentleman haunted her. With no direction in mind, she started for a grove of trees west of the house.

Drops of water fell from nature's green canopy. She looked up to see bright sunlight flicker through the branches. Like always, the sun was brightest after a long rain. With quick steps she made it to the crest of the rise and looked back to see nothing but the path between the trees. She was alone, which suited her needs at the moment.

Walking out into the sun, she came to one of the large outcroppings of rock that dotted the landscape. The boulder was tall enough to lean her back against it. She scanned the horizon. On yonder hills, similar rock formations protruded from the green earth. They had been there for centuries. Just as suddenly, a new thought came to mind. Perhaps God wanted her to see that not everything in life is smooth as a carpet of grass. Life had its outcroppings too.

There were outcroppings between Lord Rashley and herself even now.

Pushing away from the rock, she strolled down the hill and along a different path. It felt good just to walk and listen to the leaves rustle overhead in the trees and to feel an occasional spray of water sprinkle her head. Stopping, she looked up to see a squirrel chase another from one tree to the next. When she looked back up the path, she froze.

So intent was she on the small animals, she didn't hear the approach of the horse and rider. Astride a chestnut Thoroughbred sat the object of her thoughts. His hands rested across the pommel of the saddle, his gaze fixed on her. The horse strutted slowly toward her then stopped a few feet away.

"Miss Miriah Carrington." Lord Rashley touched the brim of the beaver hat perched at an angle on his head, and nodded. "I was just on my way to pay a call at Greenly. Where you heading somewhere in particular?"

"Why...no my lord. I was only out for a walk."

"Would you like some company?"

"Of course. If...if you would like to join me." Her heart fluttered wildly against her ribs. She couldn't believe her eyes. He was here, looming before her in buckskin breeches and a long, tan riding coat. His light-blue eyes softened as he smiled down at her.

After a moment, he climbed down and waited for her.

"Were you just beginning your walk?" He asked. "I did not think to ask if you wished to be alone. Do you?"

"It is not imperative. And yes, I haven't gone far. I simply had to relieve the boredom of days spent indoors. It is awfully confining. Do you not agree?" She asked but didn't give him time to reply. "I would think that you would like to be out and about as opposed to being cooped up indoors. Most men prefer to be riding daily and hunting. Or any number of things that take them out of doors. Looking over their estates, curricle rides -- "

"Enough." He interrupted her with a deep, throaty laugh. "You have exhausted me from all the pursuits you have put me through in the last minute."

"I am sorry. I seem to be -- "

"It is quite all right." He started to walk along the path and she fell into step with him.

She wanted to ask where he had been all week, but she didn't want to disturb the quiet that settled between them. Besides, she couldn't allow herself to show an interest in him least he form the wrong opinion of her. It was really rather pleasant just to be near him and listen to the twigs crack below their feet.

After a few minutes, Miriah could not contain herself. "My lord-"

Lord Rashley grabbed her arm and turned her quickly to face him as his mouth descended on hers. She didn't have time to react. No longer did she wonder what it felt like to be kissed, especially by him. His lips were warm against hers. Then the kiss ended. He stared at her for a moment, dropped the Thoroughbred's reins and put an arm about her waist and drew her to him. "Francis is not about, is he?"

"No," she whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers in a slow, deliberate motion. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. His tender lips on hers felt foreign and wonderful at the same time. Utter elation ignited within her.

Finally, he held her at arm's length and smiled down at her.

"I do believe I had better return you to the house. I fear it would be dangerous indeed, if we were to remain alone much longer." Dropping his arms from hers, he turned and took Dante's reins in both his hands and looked back at her. "I should not have taken advantage of you while you walked alone on your father's property. It was an ungentlemanly thing to do. However, I cannot say I am sorry I did it."

She couldn't control the warmth that stole into her cheeks and looked down at the ground to hide her flushed face. Not one retort could she offer him in a set down or otherwise. His kiss had indeed rendered her speechless.

"Would you rather that I leave you to your privacy and ride on ahead to the house?"

"No." Her voice sounded high to her own ear. She stepped beside him and led the way back down the hill in silence. Never before had she been in company without uttering one word for so long. Perhaps if she spoke once more, he would be inclined to kiss her again. Yet, she didn't want him to form the wrong impression of her. For she certainly held a regard for him and his kiss only deepened that regard.

A servant took hold of his horse as Miriah led Lord Rashley to the entrance of the house. She handed her bonnet to a maid and continued to the front parlour. His steps echoed close behind her.

"Mama. Papa." Could her parents tell by looking at her that she had been kissed? Warmth stole over her cheeks at the thought. "Lord Rashley came upon me as I was out for a walk and has come to call." She stepped farther into the room and turned back to see Lord Rashley bow to both her parents.

"I presume you are as happy as I to see the sun after the past two days of rain." He offered congenially.

"Of course. The sun brings out the best in all of us." Mr. Carrington drawled as he motioned Lord Rashley to a chair.

"Refreshments are in order after your ride over here." Miriah's mother smiled warmly up at the guest.

"Tea will do nicely, thank you." He smiled at Mrs. Carrington as he sat near Miriah on the divan. "Actually I came to offer you an invitation. My family will be arriving at Finchston Hall tomorrow. I would like all of you to come for dinner day after the morrow and meet them."

Miriah didn't miss the speaking glances exchanged between her parents.

"But of course, we will be happy to attend." Mr. Carrington glanced at Miriah as he replied.

She listened intently as her father discussed government affairs with Lord Rashley. Not that she had an interest in it. But it did afford her the opportunity to study him closely, much as she had done the first time he came to call.

Her gaze took in the strong lines of his tanned features. It was an attractive face she could never tire of looking upon. Long lashes framed his almond-shaped, heaven colored eyes. The scar on his chin caught her attention as it had earlier. She reflected on how it came to be there. Perhaps a Frenchy's bayonet grazed him.

"Miriah dear, please serve the tea." Her mother broke into her thoughts. She hadn't noticed when the servant had delivered the tray.

"Of course, Mama." She felt her cheeks redden and hoped no one else observed her embarrassment. Stepping over to the tea tray, she poured the steeping brew.

After serving Lord Rashley and her parents, she resumed her seat and joined the conversation regarding the weather.

"I so adore the out-of-doors after a prolonged rain. It smells so fresh and alive. The colors are muted at first from the rain, but the sun glistens on the grass and leaves and makes them veritably brilliant. Do you not think so, Lord Rashley?" Miriah glanced sideways to see her mother glaring at her. As if she needed reminding that she was falling back into her old habit. She glanced over at her guest and waited for his answer.

"Yes, the colors are brilliant after the rain." Lord Rashley took another sip of tea.

"Father, this will help your crops no doubt. There will be more grain to harvest in the fall. I am sure of it."

"Yes, my child. Would you please pass Lord Rashley the plate of pastries, Miriah?" Her father looked at her pointedly, reminding her that she had forgotten to offer the sweets along with the tea.

"Oh, yes. Where have my manners gone?" A light laugh escaped her as she picked up the plate of treats. "Try the scones, they are cook's specialty."

"Only if you will have one." A broad grin brightened his features.

"Of course I shall. But you go first." She waited until he picked up the sweet white breaded treat. After choosing one for herself, she returned to the sofa. It was really disconcerting for him to watch her eat. Self consciously, she dabbed a napkin to her lips to wipe away any crumbs.

"Do you expect a sizeable harvest?" Mr. Carrington asked their guest.

Lord Rashley turned his attention away from her. "Yes, it looks very promising. The steward is well worth his keep."

"I am glad to hear that." Her father responded.

"Lord Rashley, you have invited us to meet your family and we know nothing about them." Miriah spoke in the lull in the conversation. "Please tell us, do you have brothers or sisters, or perhaps both?" Miriah had never heard him mention his family until the invitation today. It would be better to know a little about them before actually meeting them.

"Well, there is my half brother, Baron Joseph Rashley and his wife, Lady Jennifer and their three sons. Then there is my half sister, Lady Abigail and her husband, Lord Samuel Moreland and their daughter and son."

"How nice. Are you the youngest then?" Miriah tried to guess.

"Indeed, I am. Abigail is four years my senior and Joseph is five." He looked at her for a long moment as her father introduced another question concerning farming.

From a sideways glance, she noticed her mother rolling her eyes at her and knew she was in for a scold. But she could hardly sit still, she felt all bubbly inside. She was about to pay a visit to Finchston Hall to meet his family.

Mother had told her not to pry. Yet, he was kind enough to answer each question she threw at him even though he did not expound on any one topic.

After tea, Lord Rashley excused himself and said his good-byes.

"Until day after the morrow then, Miss Miriah Carrington." He bowed but didn't take her hand. His gaze held hers a moment longer and she imagined a deeper emotion in them. She hoped it was so. Why else would he invite them to meet his family if he didn't have feelings for her? Her eyes followed his tall frame until the door clicked behind him.

"You see, Miriah. I told you he would come." Her mother came up beside her and added with a worried expression, "Why did you not pay heed to me when I tried to catch your eye. You rattled on so."

"I am sorry, Mama. You know how I get when I am excited."

"Yes, dearest. I know." Her mother patted her hand. "Just think, we are to dine with his family."

Miriah felt almost giddy. She floated up the stairs later to prepare for dinner with her family. In a mere two days she would be sitting to dinner in his house. How wonderful. How exciting.

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