Lizzie heard the last part of the conversation. She stopped and turned around to address him. “You’ll understand, Tom.”

Tom stared at me, but he didn’t pursue the subject. “And how did you find Hareton Abbey compared to Eyton?” Eyton was the main house belonging to my future parents-in-law, Lord and Lady Southwood. I’d visited them after Christmas, but came away when a large house party arrived. I was still in deep mourning and it wasn’t proper for me to attend a large gathering yet.

Richard had written that the visitors were disappointed not to meet me. He also said the visitors were tedious, and he would try to get away as soon as he could. We wrote to each other every day, but I still missed him; his presence, his touch, and his reassurance. As well as the thrill he gave me by touching me, kissing me and caressing me. We hadn’t repeated our one afternoon of lovemaking. Although I’d wanted to, Richard told me he wanted me with no slur on my name. An early pregnancy would not help me. My heart lifted when I thought that soon, so close to our wedding day, he might consent to make love to me again. If we found another opportunity. I just wanted him. I hadn’t realised it was possible to miss someone so much.

I breathed in the fresh, green air of my native land, detecting the faint tang of the sea, not far away. “I liked Eyton much better. It’s smaller than Hareton, but the family rooms are much more comfortable, and it’s run like a great house of that kind should be.” I looked around. “I’ll miss this.” Devonshire was such a beautiful part of the world, but I was so used to it I rarely allowed myself to notice. The sky was bright blue, the grass intensely green, more so than anywhere else I knew.

Everyone at Eyton had been kind, but I was still bemused by my fate, by the family welcoming me. I knew Richard’s family and his erstwhile lovers resented me and doubted if a country girl, who was until recently, firmly in the ranks of the gentry, would do for their son. However, if Richard’s father wanted an heir, he would have to accept his son’s choice of bride. Richard had made that clear to him.

“Lord and Lady Southwood are somewhat taken aback by their son’s sudden decision after years of urging him to marry,” I remarked.

Tom chuckled. “About as surprised as I was when you came back betrothed. All so sudden. I’d never have thought it of you, Rose.”

I didn’t want to talk about it yet, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him, how to explain it. “The state rooms are beautiful, but not as—well, impersonal as the ones at Hareton. Actually, Eyton and Hareton aren’t that far apart. Fifty miles or so, no more.”

I smiled when I remembered the short journey to Eyton and the relative privacy afforded by a travelling coach.

Tom looked at me in puzzlement. “What is it, Rose?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Lizzie and Georgiana stopped at the top of the hill. They were staring at something, but we couldn’t see what it was until we caught up with them. We followed their stares.

A solitary figure led a heavily laden packhorse; his gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. The man was dressed in a heavy serge coat, hat pulled low over his eyes. He was walking around the hill, heading for the land that belonged to Tom’s father, Sir George Skerrit, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

I realised what the man must be about, but before I could stop him, Tom called out “Hi, you!” and after thrusting the reins of his horse at his sister, he plunged down the hill.

Chapter Two

I lifted my skirts and followed my friend as fast as I could. The ground was firm and dry under my feet and I kept up with him easily in my sturdy leather shoes. I was afraid for Tom. He could be impulsive and hot-tempered, and I didn’t want him to get into trouble now. The man he was about to confront was the kind we in Devonshire were used to ignoring because of the burden his horse carried.

The man stopped his packhorse and waited for Tom. He would never have outrun him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Tom demanded, his voice loud and hard.

“Peacock’s, sir,” came the gruff response, thick with the Devonian accent. When he looked up, I recognised him as one of the villagers from Darkwater.

“Why are you going, Cooper?”

The villager looked at me sharply when I used his name. “I been told to.”

Tom indicated the burdened animal with one sweeping gesture of his arm. “What’s on the horse?”

Cooper stared at the animal in surprise, as though he’d forgotten its existence. It looked back at him knowingly. “There’s some French wine and some tea, and some lace.”

Tom cursed. “You know my father doesn’t take smuggled goods.”

“Who said anything about smuggling?” The man smiled. “Just a present, is all. From my master.”

The bird above us was still singing, not a care in the world, but the atmosphere below grew tense. This could be dangerous.

“Lord Hareton is your master.” Tom straightened and despite his well-worn country clothes, he radiated authority.

The man looked at me and bowed low, sweeping off his hat now he no longer needed it as a disguise. It revealed greasy black locks tied back in a parody of fashion. “My lady.”

I put