fit, in prime health. But if he looked closer, Crispin could see subtle signs of change. His brother’s Ramsden-dark hair showed brief signs of silver at the temples. Tiny lines faintly etched the corners of his blue eyes and the brackets of his mouth.
Very small variations on the usual theme, to be sure. He shouldn’t be surprised. Peyton would have turned forty-one last August. Forty-one wasn’t so terribly old. All in all, Peyton was ageing wonderfully, but Crispin still hated to think of Peyton as getting old simply because it meant he was getting older too. If Peyton was nearing forty-two, that made him thirty-eight and far closer to forty than he’d care to be.
Tessa passed him a teacup. ‘Do you still take it plain without sugar?’
‘Yes.’ Crispin took the teacup, thinking how delicate, how fragile it was. He’d not drunk from such a frail vessel since he’d left home. Dainty teacups were not practical in the places he’d been.
‘So you’re home to settle the inheritance,’ Peyton remarked, referring to the property a few miles away that Crispin had inherited from an aunt on their mother’s side. Peyton took a teacup from Tessa. ‘The manor is in great shape. I’ve been over several times to keep an eye on things, but the steward is doing an outstanding job. He’s a younger fellow, highly capable and eminently trustworthy. I think you’ll be pleased, Crispin. The stables are in prime condition; lots of light and big stalls. There are not any horses there at present, of course.’ He smiled knowingly over the rim of his cup, taking a sip.
Crispin shifted slightly in his chair. He’d had months—a year really if anyone was counting—to mentally come to grips with his inheritance. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful. Second sons rarely had anything to call their own if there wasn’t some kind of settlement from the maternal side of the family. But after all this time, he still hadn’t reconciled himself to the notion that he was a landowner with all the responsibilities therein. He’d already decided it would be better to sell the property. A wanderer like himself had no business owning land he had no intention of supervising.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be keeping the estate.’ Crispin steeled himself for a cold scolding from Peyton. Peyton would think him most ungrateful.
Peyton merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you’ll have a better idea of what you’d like to do after you’ve seen it. Woodbrook is an attractive piece of property for those who are horse-minded. Regardless of what you decide to do, there are a few papers that need your signature and some other minor points in the will to settle.’
‘We can ride over tomorrow and take a look at things,’ Crispin offered by way of a subtle apology. The least he could do was go look at the property. Peyton was no doubt disappointed he’d not immediately declared his intentions to set up a home and embark on establishing a superior stable. Such a goal had long been Crispin’s dream in childhood, but these days, he had little desire to be tied down in the way such an enterprise would demand.
‘Woodbrook is a bit too far for me to stable my horse there on a daily basis, I was wondering if I could put up my stallion in your stables, Peyton?’ Crispin shifted to a safer topic.
‘Of course, if we had room. However, we’re full up just now for any long-term boarding,’ Peyton said regretfully. ‘But I’m sure we can think of something.’
‘What about boarding the horse over at Rory’s?’ Tessa suggested. ‘It’s close by.’ She shot a look at the mantel clock. ‘You could go over and see about making arrangements. Rory will be done giving lessons in a half-hour.’ Tessa reached for a scone and added, ‘Petra’s taking riding lessons over there. You can walk home with her.’
Crispin smiled. ‘How is Petra these days? Has she survived her London début?’ Of all the Branscombe girls, and there were plenty of them—four counting Tessa—he liked Petra the best. Although there was a large difference in their ages, Petra and he shared an affinity for horses that made for enjoyable conversation. He’d genuinely enjoy the chance to talk with Petra and show off Sheikh.
Peyton grinned. ‘You know Petra—she put up with London for our sakes, but was happy to come home. It’s where her heart is, quite obviously in this case. She’s engaged to the squire’s son, Thomas. They’ll be married here at Dursley Park this autumn.’
‘One down, Peyton. Two more Branscombe girls to go.’ Crispin laughed, offering his congratulations. ‘If you give me the directions, I’ll head over to this Rory’s and see about boarding my horse. I’ll have Petra back for dinner.’
Peyton rose too. ‘The groom can show you the path, it’s just across the valley.’ He paused and smiled. ‘It’s good to have you home, Cris.’
‘It’s good to be home, Peyton,’ Crispin said, knowing his simple words to be entirely sincere.
Peyton turned to his wife after Crispin had gone. ‘ You’re quite the minx, my dear.’ He smiled and wagged a scolding finger in her direction.
‘Whatever can you mean?’ Tessa feigned innocence, busy stacking the teacups on the tray.
‘You know very well what I mean.’ Peyton fixed her with a laughing stare. ‘You didn’t bother to mention that Rory is a woman.’
Chapter Two
Aurora Calhoun shot a considering eye at the heavy grey clouds looming ominous and low overhead. ‘Good work today, ladies, let’s get the horses unsaddled quickly so everyone can get home before the rain sets in.’
The five young women in the equestrian arena, all wearing trousers, dismounted and began moving their mounts towards the long stone stable, Petra Branscombe leading the way with her grey-flecked hunter. Petra had ridden well today, taking even the highest jumps with ease. It was a point of pride for Aurora to watch Petra blossom from a horse-mad girl into an expert horsewoman over the past two years under her tutelage. Petra was no longer the quiet girl she once was. Her confidence on horseback had translated into confidence in other areas of her life as well.
Aurora frowned, surprised to see the other horses moving around Petra at the gate. She narrowed her gaze and found the source of the disruption. A man lounged against the gatepost, engaging Petra in conversation. Even at a distance, Aurora could tell the man in question wasn’t Petra’s fiancé.
Aurora wiped her hands on her dusty riding trousers and strode forwards, ready to protect Petra. Strangers were unwelcome at her riding school and unannounced gentleman callers even less so, not to mention that she’d had enough of men for the day after her encounter with the arrogant man in the road. She wouldn’t mind another look at the man’s stallion, but she could do without the rider and the hot kisses that went with him.
There’d been a disturbing aura of wildness about the man, a feral quality about his bold, blue eyes, and the unconventionally long dark hair that had hung loose about his shoulders, to say nothing of the fact that he kissed like sin itself. That kind of man boded ill for any woman no matter how enticing he was in the moment.
Apparently this was not to be her lucky day. After eight years on her own, Aurora Calhoun knew enough about men to know trouble when she saw it. And she saw it now. The man from the road was leaning against the gatepost and chatting up Petra Branscombe with an obscene amount of familiarity. How had the blasted man managed to find his way to her stables of all places?
‘What are you doing here?’ Aurora approached the man and Petra with firm authority. From the
