Page 36 of Hearts of Briarwall

“You were a forerunner,” she said.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s rather a romantic take. I was a twelve-year-old vessel of spit and fire, and I didn’t want to be there.”

She chuckled, and he liked that she did.

“But I worked hard, kept my nose down. Did my best to ‘keep out the oss road’ as my father’d say. He was depending on me, and even though I didn’t want to be there, I was loyal to my family. But even boys full of spit and fire can endure a bully for only so long. A boy a year older than I—in Andrew’s form—had singled me out. I can only guess as to why. Prejudice against Collegers was strong, and I wasn’t just scraping by, like they thought I should be. No, I was in the top of my classes and angling for a spot on the cricket team. His team. His position. He was ferocious.”

He paused, remembering the fat lip and the swollen eye, how he’d gasped for breath from the pounding his gut had taken, the hours he’d spent rewriting torn pages from his books under his master’s watchful eye.

“One day I couldn’t take it anymore.” He let the rhythm of the horse’s gait settle his agitation. So long ago, yet still a blight on his memories.

“What did you do?” Her voice was hushed, and he thought perhaps he’d built up the story too dramatically.

He cleared his throat. “The day before exams, while the bully was in class, I faked a stomachache. I stole to his room and removed all but the most minimal hardware from his furniture. Then I released seven crickets and reversed the lock on his door. Once he’d returned to study, I simply strolled past, locked him inside, and waited for the havoc to begin.”

“Did it work?”

His smile grew. “The crickets started up, resulting in him moving a piece of furniture to find one, only to have the furniture collapse at his touch. When it grew to be too much for him, he attempted to recruit help, only to find—”

“He was locked in,” she said with a giggle.

“Yes. And I had deposited the key in a nearby potted plant. By the time a locksmith came ’round, the room was in shambles, and the boy had gone mad by all the incessant chirruping. They never did find all of the crickets that evening.” He joined in her laughter. “He was a wreck for exams.”

“But where does Andrew come in?” she asked.

Spencer sobered, taking a deep breath. “In my limited knowledge of aristocracy, I’d failed to realize the power of the titled. The bully was a lord, from a long line of powerful lords, and, during the impassioned search for a culprit, I was found in possession of the simple tools I’d used to dissemble the furniture. I was faced with immediate expulsion. I’d let my family down. I’d let my father down. As much as I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to be a statistic even more. I’d wanted to beat the odds. And I’d allowed a bully to steer my fate.”

She was quiet on her stallion. They were leaving the woods and approaching the open lavender field. The flowers weren’t in bloom yet, but the dewy breeze still carried the crisp, powdery smell their way. They paused and lifted their eyes to the stars strewn above them.

“Out of nowhere,” he said, “a boy stepped forward. I was called to the headmaster’s office, and for the first time, met Andrew Wooding.” He shook his head. “A twelve-year-old boy who held himself like a senior.”

She huffed in agreement.

“He’d given testimony, and had brought more signed testimonies, of the history of the young lord’s bullying, from primary school up. He’d observed enough, had had enough, and with his parents willing to act as my additional sponsors, petitioned for my right to stay in school.”

He turned, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “And the headmaster agreed.”

“Andrew did that?” she asked.

He nodded. “The Apollo who beat the lords.”

“And what happened to the bully?”

“In an act of spite against the school, his family transferred him to Harrow, and we had the pleasure of trouncing him every year in cricket.”

She laughed. “Marvelous.”

“Yes,” he said, urging Goldy forward again. Lydia followed. “And that is how I became friends with your brother, and how I graduated Eton, then Oxford.” Not only graduated. He’d committed himself to be worthy of Andrew’s friendship and had finished with highest marks and honors.

“As infuriating as my brother can be,” Lydia said, “he does manage to step up when it is crucial.”

He thought of Andrew and Lydia’s fiery exchange in the stable. And her fight to save the calf. “I believe you also step up when you deem something crucial, Miss Wooding.”

She growled. “I’m finding it crucial that you stop calling me that.”

He laughed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but he was tired, and the subject had gotten too deep, and he was ready to climb off his horse and drop onto his own bed. Fortunately, the stable lights appeared, and the horses hurried their pace.

“You know,” Lydia said, “I was perturbed that we have a perfectly good motorcar in the garage and yet no good road to the hunter’s lodge, or to the tenant houses for that matter, so we are left to literally ride to the rescue.” She dismounted and pushed a lock of hair off her face as she handed the reins to a stable boy. “But I’m rather glad we had to ride home, aren’t you?” She looked up at Spencer, an exhausted, genuine, hopeful smile on her lips.

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