be long forgotten—if not overshadowed by some other, ever greater transgression. So, come, Father dearest.” She looped her arm through his. “Let us ride while the sun is shining and we still have our good name. I will race you to the village green.”
The ride over the open hills and uplands of the western portion of Clarivaux’s vast acreage was an exercise in exhilaration. Lady Fayth, whose regard for her mount was suspect at the best of times, gave herself to the race and easily outdistanced her father—which was not entirely surprising for a man with both weight and age against him. She was strolling on the village green when he joined her.
“You ride like a hellion,” he told her bluntly. “It will be a miracle if you do not break your pretty neck one day.”
“Thank you, Father,” she replied. “But I thought you were constitutionally unable to believe in miracles. Your brother Henry believes enough for both of you—is that not what you always say?”
“Hmph!”
Lord Fayth patted the neck of his mount and looked around. “I fancy a tot of ale. Let us have a drink.”
“None of that,” his daughter chided. “It is much too early in the day, and besides, we will have tea waiting for us at home, remember.”
He gave another snort and dismounted. Lady Fayth strolled to her father and took his hand. “Someone has to keep an eye on your well-being, my lord. What will you do without me?”
“Do without you?” he wondered. “It is what to do with you that keeps me awake nights.”
“I am in earnest, sir.” She pressed her father’s hand for emphasis. “You know I only have your best interest at heart. Who will look after you while I am away?”
“I daresay I shall survive the ordeal, my dear, onerous as it may be. I only hope Henry can say the same when the year is out. All being well, I shall come up to London for Christmas.” Across the green, His Lordship’s eye caught the sign of the village bakery. “If we are not to imbibe a stirrup cup, let us at least bring home something tasty to have with our tea.”
They tethered their horses on the green and strolled to the bakery, where Lord Fayth selected an assortment of sweetmeats and fruited breads to be boxed and taken back to the manor as an accompaniment to afternoon tea. Owing to his seat on the board of the East India Trading Company, Lord Fayth, like his father before him, enjoyed a ready supply of the new commodity and saw it as his sworn duty to propagate the use of the substance in every way possible.
Upon their return, they saw that another horse had joined theirs on the green. The rider was nowhere to be seen. “There is a splendid animal,” Sir Edward said approvingly. “The man who owns that knows something of horses, I daresay.”
Lady Fayth regarded the creature with its shiny black coat, white fetlocks, and white blaze star in the middle of its broad forehead. She did not share her father’s passion for all things four-legged, but knew a good nag when she saw one. “It is a fine specimen,” she agreed. “I wonder whom it belongs to.”
As if in answer to her question, they heard a voice calling to them and turned to see a man just then emerging from the inn. “I say, hello there!” he called again.
They stopped and waited for him to approach. “Is this your horse, sir?” asked Lord Fayth.
“Indeed it is, sir,” replied the stranger. Lady Fayth cast an appraising glance over the tall man striding quickly across the green towards them. He carried himself with a bold confidence that seemed well-suited to his dark good looks. “This is Aquilo,” he said, indicating the horse.
Lady Fayth regarded the man instead: with his long black hair, proud moustaches, and flamboyant sideburns, the stranger gave every appearance of one who was part horse himself.
“I hope you do not mind sharing a bit of the green?” Before either of them could answer, the fellow bent his long torso in a crisp bow. “Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland, at your service. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“I am Sir Edward Fayth, and this is my daughter, Haven,” answered her father.
Lady Fayth smiled and offered her hand, which the man who called himself Burleigh accepted and, after the briefest hesitation, raised to his lips. His eyes, however, never left her face. “Charmed,” he said, as