The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,1
I’ll soar above you one of these days. No matter how tall you get, I will always be a shadow looming over you.”
She laughed. If confidence were height, Wes would be a giant. “So the betrothal does not upset you?”
“The betrothal?” He shook his head. “No. How it will get in the way of going off to war is what I worry about.” He ruefully shook his head. “But they’ll be done with the whole business of Bony before I get to him.”
“Why would you want to go to war?”
“Why not?” The grin on his face was almost contagious. Almost.
“Death.”
“Glory.”
“Amputations.”
“Sacrifice.”
“Fear.”
“Courage.”
“Fine.” She fluttered her hand in between them. “Go to war. I shall wave a kerchief in your direction as you march off to death.”
His eyebrows lifted. “And not shed a tear?”
“Not a one.”
“I would like a tear from you, Laney. One.”
Her head cocked to the side, a smile finally cracking her face. “I don’t produce tears for fools. And you, my future husband, may just be a fool.”
{ Chapter 1 }
Gruggin Manor, May 1826
Yorkshire, England
Laney stood outside the front of Gruggin Manor, the perfectly folded white handkerchief clutched in her hand. There, just in case.
Though she didn’t think it likely.
Laney had cried the entire Irish Sea full of tears during the past week, waiting for this moment.
But this morning she’d woken up, not a single tear to tip her eyelashes.
She was dry. Done.
Though her eyes were still puffy, red. And permanent mottled pink splotches had morphed onto her face that refused to ease no matter how many warm washcloths she draped over her cheeks.
Everything would be easier after today.
Everything had to be easier after today.
Her toes shifted on the grey gravel of the drive, the grinding of the flecks of stone the only sound save for the slight swish of skirts behind her.
Mrs. Hosler the head housekeeper, Mary the maid, Mr. Flanders the butler, Mrs. Jones the cook, and the two footmen, Larry and Cory, stood behind her, lined along the entrance to Gruggin Manor.
That was it. That was all.
She’d never trusted the jarring turnabout of her brother’s fortune—the money he’d sent from London to support Gruggin Manor during the last six months. The only deference she’d given to their family’s increased fortunes was to hire the two footmen and the maid. She’d gotten by with just Mrs. Hosler, Cook, and Mr. Flanders for years and had never trusted that she wouldn’t have to do it again, no matter how her brother had implored her to hire more staff.
What did he care? He hadn’t been back to Gruggin Manor but five times since they had buried their father years ago.
The far-off sound of crunching gravel reached her ears just before the noses of two black horses appeared over the steep hill that led to the wide expanse unfurling out from the front of the manor. The house was hugged tight by the forest on the other three sides and she’d always taken comfort in the embrace of nature around the manor.
The open expanse before her made her fidget. Too exposed. Nowhere to hide.
The team of horses strained up the last incline of the drive, the dark, long wagon behind it crunching hard through the gravel.
Two men sat on the front bench of the wagon, a driver and another man.
A huge man.
They drew closer.
A man she recognized.
Her legs quivered, jelly replacing her bones.
It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.
The wagon still a few furlongs away, her breathing shifted into panting that she hoped the staff couldn’t hear. Panic snaked about her chest and she had to dig her heels into the gravel in an attempt to remain upright.
Breathe. Control yourself.
But what in the almighty hell was that man doing? Here? Now?
Of all the cursed minutes and seconds and days and years since she’d last seen him.
Why now?
The horses drew closer. Closer. Snorted breaths heaving from their nostrils in the cool morning air.
Even with the distance between them, the man’s look was trained on her, his dark eyes skewering her as they had long ago.
Just enough distance she could pretend she hadn’t seen him yet, didn’t recognize him.
Vital seconds she needed in order to calm her breathing. Set in place a mask of indifference. Stiffen her spine.
The long black wagon pulled into the circular courtyard of Gruggin Manor. The crunching of the gravel steady until the horses stopped in front of her.
Silence.
Her look avoided the wide bench along the front of the wagon and she turned around to the staff.
“Thank you. I