Page 1 of If the Slipper Fits
Chapter One
Femsworth Manor, York County, England 1879
Caden Thurgood came-to with a throbbing head, not entirely certain of his whereabouts.
Disinclined for the moment to open his eyes, he inhaled, long and deep, and allowed a few potentially pertinent facts to reach his consciousness: He lay on his back atop a lumpy surface. Dampness permeated his clothing where his body met the earth.
He grappled with his fingers and found dirt and grass. Muggy, lake-scented air surrounded him like a second skin. Add to that the incessant chirping of overly exuberant birds overhead and sunlight behind his eyelids, and, voila, he discerned he was somewhere out-of-doors.
But where, exactly?
There was nothing for it but to open his eyes. With reluctance, he did so. A gash of diffuse sunlight all but blinded him and he slammed his lids shut, but not before noting the haloed silhouette of a woman wearing an over-large bonnet hovering above him.
“Am I dead?” he heard himself croak, which decided the question. Dead folk didn’t have voices, nor pounding heads.
“It would appear not.”
The soothing, slightly amused tone of the woman’s voice outweighed the risk of cracking open one eye, at least.
She was a pretty one, even frowning at him with such stern…disapproval? No, not that. It was more apt to say she studied him, as a physician might a patient.
As if in support of his theory, she wove cool, gloveless fingers gently through his hair, searching. Mm. Her light touch felt good.
Her tender ministrations coaxed him to sink into oblivion and close his one eye again. He fought the urge, opening both to study her in return.
She indeed wore a bonnet, a hideous one at that. It detracted not one iota from her rich, chestnut brown hair, currently restrained in a loose knot at her nape, and from which several wispy tendrils had escaped.
She had the most remarkable eyes. Tilted, almond shaped, and amber in color which grew lighter closer to her pupils so they appeared to almost glow.
He knew her. Of course he did. But for some odd reason, he could not conjure her name.
He sent her a grin and attempted to sit up.
With seemingly no effort at all she held him down, one palm to his chest. The woman had more strength than the slightness of her frame implied.
“You mustn’t do that. You’ve acquired a nasty bump on your head.” She sniffed. “And seem to have imbibed a fair amount of spirits.”
He'd been drinking? He smacked his lips. His mouth felt sticky and, yes, tasted slightly of whiskey.
In a rush of memory, his whereabouts came back to him. An expanse of morning sky, a quiet body of water, a perimeter of lush trees, and Harrison.
They'd set out this morning for the lake at Femsworth Hall where they attended a weekend house party.
They’d arrived last night, he at the bequest of his friend, Viscount Sterling Randall. Randall had requested Caden attend in his stead, to accompany his younger brother, Harrison, to, quote, keep him out of trouble.
This morning after breakfast, he and Harrison set out for a day of fishing on Femsworth lake. They’d also uncorked the fine whiskey Randall had proffered as thanks for Caden's escort. In retrospect, that had not been the best idea.
While the two of them hefted the skiff on their shoulders, the younger man reacted to a flying insect as if confronting his own mortality. He released his load to swat at the winged creature, somehow swinging the bow in the process, and thereby bashing Caden in his now understandably aching head.
WherewasHarrison? He could ask his female companion. If only he could recall her name…
He drew a steadying breath. Got a nose-full of an elegant floral scent that he somehow knew emanated from her and not from any nearby flowerbeds.
“I beg your pardon, but I seem to have forgotten your name. Remind me?”
“Better yet, tell me of yours.” She leaned closer, affording him a better view of her rosy complexion and heart shaped face. The floral scent grew stronger.
“Caden Thurgood, at your service, lovely.” Shewaslovely, whomever she was.
