Page 7 of My Lord, My Rogue
He thought back to that fateful day three years ago when Lancaster had returned home from the war. Not only had he found that Lady Radcliff had jilted him, but that she was dead, presumed to have taken her own life. Not satisfied to leave things as they were, her husband had asserted a fairly convincing story of her last night, accusing her of duplicity—a tale that had angered Lancaster to the point of challenging the man to a duel. Having drawn first blood, Lancaster had ended the duel, satisfied and willing to walk away. Incensed at having lost, Aster had attacked Lancaster from behind, forcing Lancaster to defend himself and gravely wound Aster.
There was no way the lady on horseback could be Honora.
“I thought it was the earl’s property. Perhaps we should make a quick ride over and make sure the woman’s horse is under control,” Lancaster returned in solemn tones. He turned his horse and urged her in the direction the woman had disappeared only moments before.
I have no choice but to follow and confront a ghost.
Chapter 3
Two hours earlier
Honora felt the sudden need to roam and think—perhaps a ride on Biscuit would do her wonders. It had been almost a month since she had found time to exercise the horse and needed the feel of the wind in her hair and a chance to visit her old haunts. The day was perfect with dry, mild weather, which was an improvement over the wet and chilly weather of early winter. It had been an age since they had been to the apple groves. The apples had been picked months earlier and were being made into applesauce, cider, and wine. With no hard freezes yet, the possibility existed that the pickers had left a few too small apples behind. Biscuit loved nothing better than a fresh apple. That settled, she made her excuses.
“Papa, Mama, would you mind watching Oliver while I exercise Biscuit?” she asked as she watched Oliver and Papa rocking in a chair in front of the hearth in the study. Oliver’s eyes were closing fast.
“I would have enjoyed an outing with you. Yet, I cannot get enough of this boy. If you take a footman, it will make me feel better. I know how you feel about that.”
“How about this, Papa?” she ventured. “It has been so long since I have had time by myself, I feel I should like a little. If I tell the stable hand exactly where I intend to ride . . .”
“Honora, I know you are a capable horsewoman. However, I insist on the groomsman accompanying you. You can ask him to drop back while you ride alone. Otherwise, I should call your mama and have her hold Oliver so I can go.”
Honora recognized when her father had decided. His eyes had locked gazes with hers, and his mouth pursed in that way that said,decided.
She resolved to do as he said. She could not help it if the groomsman could not keep up. She understood. Her parents had still not totally forgiven her for making them think her dead. Until Bridget had finally sent word to tell them otherwise, all they had had was David’s story that she had jumped to her death. Everyone still assumed she had—certainly a relief for David, leaving him to cast wider nets to settle his debts.Her thoughts always returned to this.It only made her annoyed and sad. She wanted peace from the penance she still suffered over her decision, she realized. Until she got it, somehow, she would never be free of the resentment and anger she felt, especially toward herself.How could she have hurt everyone like that? Adam, Evie, her parents? Even David had probably been due better.Honora shook her head, attempting to dislodge the thoughts.Damn, if she did not need that ride now!Papa would have his way on this.
“What you suggest, Papa, sounds fine. I shall not be gone too long. Maybe an hour or two.” Without waiting for a reply, she kissed the top of Oliver’s head and squeezed a hug with her father before running upstairs to her room to change. Her rose velvet riding habit would be perfect. The jacket would supply plenty of warmth. She would leave off the hat with the maroon plume.How else could she ride like she wanted?
She started quickly up the stairs until she came up behind Bridget, who was treading carefully, balancing a tall stack of folded and pressed sheets. “That’s quite a bundle of sheets. Do you need help?”
“No, m’lady. I should'a made the stack smaller,” the maid replied cheerfully. “I’m helping the maids freshen the rooms and am almost at the top,” she tittered.
The size of the stack would have proved difficult to carry up the narrow back stairwell. As long as they were not entertaining, her parents were not sticklers about that sort of thing.
“My parents are watching Oliver while I ride Biscuit,” she said, unable to control the excitement in her voice. “Do not worry. I can dress myself, Bridget. There is plenty for you with getting Mama’s room the way she likes it,” Her habit buttoned down the front. She could easily handle that.
“Yes, m’lady. I will see it cleaned and pressed for the next time, when ye return. Yer half boots are in the bottom ’o the closet,” Bridget added with a tone of relief in her voice. Her mother was not overly demanding, but she liked to have the bath readied, fresh towels, lavender scented soap, and fresh linens on the bed when she visited. Her parents shared her father’s suite, which made things easier, as well.
Thirty minutes later, Honora found herself in front of the stable while Randall retrieved Biscuit. A velvety neigh announced the entrance of the beautiful black and white mare she had raised from a foal.
“Would you be able to follow us, Randall? It is the deal that I made with Papa. I promised him you would come with me,” she said, wearing a forced smile.
“I’d be ’appy to go, Countess,” the groomsman replied.
Randall would also be protective, she realized. He had helped with her escape and had said nothing to make her doubt his loyalty.
“Will ye be heading into the groves?”
She laughed. “Biscuit loves fresh apples. I am hoping we find a few for her. However, if we do not, I am taking some carrots.”
“You spoil that horse, my lady,” Randall said, laughing. He hooked his hands together above the mounting block and helped her onto her horse.
She adjusted herself in the saddle and waited for Randall to mount her father’s gelding. As soon as he emerged from the stable, she squeezed Biscuit’s sides and they took off into a canter. She patted her mare’s neck, eliciting another velvety neigh from her pet. Once they were out of sight of the back of the manor where she was certain Papa was watching from his study, she squeezed her horse’s flanks, happy to be riding astride and not side-saddle. The brisk air felt wonderful against her face. She ran the edge of the property—the side that ran next to Lord Willington’s property. A large pond separated the two estates, fed by several tributaries. Sometimes, she would see the Willington’s small herd of cattle wading into the water from the other side.
The land had soft-pastured hills and was not as rocky as the other side. Normally, she stayed within sight of the manor house, feeling as long as she could see it, she could escape anyone’s notice. Throwing caution to the wind, she pressed Biscuit into a full gallop, enjoying the breeze against her face and in her hair. Glancing back, she saw Randall held his own, maintaining his distance as she rode up onto the ridge.
Honora enjoyed the beauty of the pond. She loved watching the swans and wished she had time to take a walk. Conscious of her time limit, she stayed focused on the groves ahead. Her grandparents had planted the apple trees years ago, spacing out several groves that ran for a mile along the length of their property.
A slight movement in the distance to the right of her caught her attention. It was two gentlemen on horseback. She could not make their faces out from the distance but sensed it was a meeting she needed to avoid. “I am sorry, Biscuit. We will not be getting to look for rogue apples today. Get me away from here and the pocket full of carrots I have with me are all yours!”
