“I am in earnest, sir.” She pressed her father’s hand for emphasis. “You know I only have your best interest at heart. Who will look after you while I am away?”
“I daresay I shall survive the ordeal, my dear, onerous as it may be. I only hope Henry can say the same when the year is out. All being well, I shall come up to London for Christmas.” Across the green, His Lordship’s eye caught the sign of the village bakery. “If we are not to imbibe a stirrup cup, let us at least bring home something tasty to have with our tea.”
They tethered their horses on the green and strolled to the bakery, where Lord Fayth selected an assortment of sweetmeats and fruited breads to be boxed and taken back to the manor as an accompaniment to afternoon tea. Owing to his seat on the board of the East India Trading Company, Lord Fayth, like his father before him, enjoyed a ready supply of the new commodity and saw it as his sworn duty to propagate the use of the substance in every way possible.
Upon their return, they saw that another horse had joined theirs on the green. The rider was nowhere to be seen. “There is a splendid animal,” Sir Edward said approvingly. “The man who owns that knows something of horses, I daresay.”
Lady Fayth regarded the creature with its shiny black coat, white fetlocks, and white blaze star in the middle of its broad forehead. She did not share her father’s passion for all things four-legged, but knew a good nag when she saw one. “It is a fine specimen,” she agreed. “I wonder whom it belongs to.”
As if in answer to her question, they heard a voice calling to them and turned to see a man just then emerging from the inn. “I say, hello there!” he called again.
They stopped and waited for him to approach. “Is this your horse, sir?” asked Lord Fayth.
“Indeed it is, sir,” replied the stranger. Lady Fayth cast an appraising glance over the tall man striding quickly across the green towards them. He carried himself with a bold confidence that seemed well-suited to his dark good looks. “This is Aquilo,” he said, indicating the horse.
Lady Fayth regarded the man instead: with his long black hair, proud moustaches, and flamboyant sideburns, the stranger gave every appearance of one who was part horse himself.
“I hope you do not mind sharing a bit of the green?” Before either of them could answer, the fellow bent his long torso in a crisp bow. “Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland, at your service. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“I am Sir Edward Fayth, and this is my daughter, Haven,” answered her father.
Lady Fayth smiled and offered her hand, which the man who called himself Burleigh accepted and, after the briefest hesitation, raised to his lips. His eyes, however, never left her face. “Charmed,” he said, as she pulled her hand from his grasp.
“You are a long way from home, Sutherland,” observed Lord Fayth mildly. “What brings you to our patch-if I may be so bold?”
“Not at all, sir. It is a long story-which I shall not presume to inflict on you-but suffice to say that I am thinking of buying a property hereabouts. It is so very cold and dreary in the north. I have reached the time in life where I believe one must have a southern redoubt if one is to survive from one winter to the next.”
“Indeed, sir,” barked Sir Edward, all amiability and smiles. “I could not agree more.”
“If not for the tenants, I would consider a more permanent southern sojourn,” Burleigh explained, almost apologetically. “But with such a great many of them, what with seven towns and villages within the Glen Ardvreck boundaries…” He paused. “Forgive me, I am woolgathering. Northern habit, I fear. I am sorry.”
“Think nothing of it, sir,” offered Lord Fayth grandly. “I quite understand. This is a beautiful corner of the world, I say.” He brightened with a sudden thought. “If you are at a loose end this evening, would you like to come to dinner? Nothing fancy, mind, just an informal private supper. Bring Lady Burleigh, of course, and anyone else in your party.”
Lord Burleigh glanced at Lady Fayth and hesitated. “Well, I-”
“Ah, I have sprung it on you. Thoughtless of me. I suspect you have another engagement.”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Burleigh countered hastily. “I am so newly arrived I have no other engagements at present. And as for ‘Lady Burleigh,’ well-I am entirely on my own. My dear wife died several years ago, and I have never remarried.” He offered a wistful smile. “I am entirely without encumbrance at present, and I would be delighted to accept your kind offer.”
“Capital!” replied Lord Fayth, moving towards his horse. “We will expect you around half seven.”
“I will be there.”
They left the Earl of Sutherland on the village green. Lady Fayth made a point not to look at him again; there was something about the man she did not trust entirely-a touch of ruthlessness around the mouth, a coldness in his dark eyes… something she could not name but which put her on her guard.
Later, when they had returned their horses to the stables and were walking back to the house, Lord Fayth observed, “Good man, that Burleigh.”
“Oh? Really?” She stopped walking. “You had heard of him, then?”
“How should I have heard of him? He said himself he’s only just come south.”
“Indeed!”
“He is an earl, my dear,” asserted His Lordship. “Sits a peg or two above our station, I daresay. A fine gentleman-as anyone can plainly see.” He glanced sideways at his daughter. “Do you disagree?”
“I do not profess to know the man. I fail to see how anyone can form a cogent opinion based on a few pleasantries muttered in passing.”
“Ha!” Her father continued striding across the gravelled yard. “Obviously, you are no judge of character, my dear. Breeding always tells.”
These words were still echoing in her mind when, after their cosy meal of cold mutton and turnip mash, talk turned to families and mutual connections the men might share. The three were sitting in her father’s study where a fire had been laid; the men were sipping brandy and Haven was pretending to occupy herself with a swatch of needlepoint, the same piece she had been working on for over a year to no appreciable effect. She was listening to their talk and trying to decide where to place Burleigh precisely in her estimation-an ordinarily simple matter for a young woman of strong opinion and quick judgement. But for some reason, the earl was proving extremely elusive in this regard. Every time she felt she had gained an understanding, he would say something-a turn of phrase, an observation, a single word even-that confused her and put her usually reliable feminine intuition out of joint.
“Of course,” Burleigh was saying as he swilled his brandy around the rim of the bowl, “as a student of the natural sciences myself, I am sure I would find your work fascinating. I hazard a surmise that we might even share some of the same interests.”
“My work?” Lord Fayth frowned. “I must confess that I do not dabble in the sciences, sir. These modern men of inquiry,” he sniffed, and took a sip of brandy. “Not worth a boot rag the lot of them, if you ask me.”
For the first time that evening, Burleigh’s expression betrayed confusion and something else. Shock? Whatever it was, Haven thought she had glimpsed something of the real man beneath the veneer of aristocratic indifference. “Perhaps I misunderstand you, sir,” he suggested delicately, and his manner resumed its easy bonhomie.
“I do not think I could be any clearer on the subject. This science will be the death of us all.”
“Father,” said Lady Fayth, speaking up, “I think our guest has confused you with Sir Henry.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Lord Fayth turned to Burleigh once more. “Ah, yes, I see. Of course.”
“Sir Henry?” wondered Burleigh.
“My lunatic brother, Henry Fayth-he’s completely taken in by all this natural science tosh. A wicked waste of a man’s time, if you want my opinion.”
Before Burleigh could respond to this provocative sentiment, Lady Fayth challenged her father’s assertion. “He is not a lunatic, dear Father. Far from it. Uncle Henry is one of the wisest men I know.” She smiled at Burleigh, adding, “My uncle is a charming and gracious man-and one of the leading lights of the new sciences.”