A Tainted Marriage

by Julie Roberts

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Could her whirlwind marriage be too good to be true? ' A rollercoaster of a novel full of adventure, passion and the righting of wrongs *****' Amazon Reviewer on The Hidden Legacy A sparkling new Regency romance novel from Julie Roberts. Alexander Kilbraith, Earl of Rossmore, keeps his heart guarded. Having lost his wife ten years ago, he vows never to marry again, meaning his reckless half-brother, Geoffrey, is in line to inherit his title. Alex's desire for love is reignited when he meets the beautiful country girl, Grace Matthews. Not long after being acquainted but unable to resist her charm, Alex sweeps Grace into a passionate whirlwind marriage. But Grace is hurt when Alex's affections soon become distant. Left alone at Solitaire House in Dorset, she develops a friendship with Norwegian Sea Captain, Hugo Olsen, against social propriety. And with the prospect of a heir now threatening Geoffrey's potential of becoming Earl of Rossmore, he is willing to go to all lengths to destroy Grace's future... Readers LOVE Julie Roberts: 'An enticing story with romance, drama, some fabulous obnoxious characters and a real flavour of the time' 5* NetGalley review on A Tainted Marriage 'A most enjoyable read. Intrigue and mystery with characters who have had issues and emotional traumas in the past and then misunderstandings throughout the course of their relationship until the inevitable and happy ending' 5 * NetGalley review on A Tainted Marriage 'This is no ordinary Regency Romance. It is so well researched and written that you feel you're there with the characters all the time *****' Amazon Reviewer on The Hidden Legacy ' Meticulously researched *****' Amazon Reviewer on The Hidden Legacy ' Roberts has a sure, historical hand, and her use of a real 19th century marriage law to fire the plot is cunning *****' Amazon reviewer on A Tangle of Secrets

Release date: August 20, 2020

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 303

Sample

April 1815

Alexander Kilbraith, fourth Earl of Rossmore, entered Lord Synclare’s home. He was late. Giving his cloak and hat to a footman he made his way to the ballroom. He paused in the doorway and was challenged by the babble of voices and high-pitched laughter that rose up to meet the chandeliers. In contrast, the kaleidoscopic colours, pastel and brilliant, made by the ladies’ gowns swirling in and out of their gentlemen’s dark attire was a pleasing sight.

The Season had started with the usual rush of invitations from hopeful mamas wishing to secure the best matrimonial match for their daughters. He was in their eyes the most eligible man in the room, offering both title and wealth, but had avoided all attempts to trap him. His reputation as determinedly single enabled him to come and enjoy these evenings without watching every word and gesture he made.

When the music stopped he noticed Lady Crowmarsh, or more specifically, the dark-haired woman standing next to her. She was not one of the London ton, her dress not to this Season’s fashion, but he was curious to know how such a beautiful woman had escaped his notice at any of the other balls he had been obliged to attend.

He walked towards them, nodding his acknowledgements as he threaded his way through the throng of guests. ‘Lady Crowmarsh.’ He raised the elder woman’s gloved hand to his lips, ‘Pray, introduce me to your new acquaintance.’

Fluttering her fan to cool the flush that had come to her cheeks, she replied, ‘Lord Rossmore, we are honoured. May I present my niece, Miss Matthews.’

Grey eyes fringed with dark lashes looked into his. ‘Lord Rossmore,’ and she dipped a curtsey.

Rossmore was aware of the tightness in his shoulders, a shyness he could not remember since a young man. ‘May I request a dance?’

‘I am about to be claimed for the next. Shall we say the one after?’

He bowed and stepped aside as a young dandy arrived at his elbow. A throb pounded in his temple and he had to admit to a touch of chagrin that he had to wait in line for her. He did not recognise the young buck, but it pleased him to see it was the cotillion, a dance that gave little personal contact. It did, however, give him time to see how she lowered her gaze when she honoured her partner, smile as she enjoyed the dance, and finally be escorted back to her aunt.

Now she was his and he led her forward to dance the waltz. He laid his gloved hand on the back of her satin gown and his pulse beat faster, his throat gone dry. To get his nerves under control he asked, ‘Your aunt has never spoken of you?’ that sounded as though she should have.

‘I live most of the year in the country. My father does not hold a residence in London. His last visit was for my coming-out season. I always stay with my aunt and Lord Crowmarsh when in Town. This hectic lifestyle does not go well with me, my lord.’

‘May I ask the purpose of this visit?’ What was wrong with him? That was an impertinent question to ask.

‘I needed a change of scenery. Aunt Matilda, as always, was kind enough to offer her hospitality for a few weeks.’

He decided to give up talking and let the music sweep them into the twirling dance and the pleasure of exploring his feelings. She was comfortable in his arms and her figure youthful, given she was well past her coming-out. And her scent was like a summer meadow. He pulled her a little closer. Then out of nowhere his next thought stunned him – he wanted to sweep her away to a place where no one would find them. When the music stopped he grasped her arm, towing her with unwarranted haste back to her aunt.

Rossmore could see confusion pass over her face. ‘Thank you, Miss Matthews.’ He nodded and bowed to Lady Crowmarsh. ‘Good-night.’

He did not slow his step until he reached his coach.

Rossmore entered his Grosvenor Square house in a state of agitation, thrusting his cloak and hat into his butler’s arms. ‘You may go to bed, Saunders, I shall not require anything else.’ He walked into his study, closing the door firmly, the sound echoing round the hall.

He walked directly to a small table and a decanter of brandy, pouring a full glass. He loosened his neck cloth, sat down in a winged chair by the fire and looked up at the portrait of his late wife, Liddy, hanging above the fireplace.

Life had been calm and orderly until a few hours ago. Yet one look at Miss Matthews, one waltz with her, he was now thinking only of how much he wanted her. Ten years he had been a widower and in all that time no woman had come near to making his heart hammer with such a wild erratic beat. He had vowed never to marry again. Never to have another wife, who could die in his arms after bearing him a son, an heir who had died within minutes of his birth. He never wanted to be left with that ravaging grief again.

So what was happening? What was making him even think about another woman? The implications of having feelings went against his vow.

With no heir, his half-brother Geoffrey would inherit the title, the estates and the wealth Rossmore had worked hard to increase since his father’s death. He and Geoffrey rarely saw each other, a mutual arrangement that suited them both, but of late, Geoffrey’s reputation and reckless lifestyle had become the gossip of every club in Town. His gambling habits were wild, and those jackals he called friends encouraged him to higher stakes for their own gain.

So where did it leave him? With the responsibility of seeing that the Kilbraith legacy did not get squandered or cheated away in the hell-hole taverns his brother had succumbed to.

His beautiful young wife filled his mind as she always did when he needed comfort. There had been so much joy when she told him she was with child; her sweet kisses as she lay in his arms as he touched her soft skin when her confinement restrained their passion. Liddy’s portrait had been his constant reminder of her death. But circumstances had changed and it was time to fulfil his duty. Miss Matthews was the lady who was prising open the corner of his heart.

Grace woke with her mind full of Lord Rossmore. His behaviour last night verged on an insult. He had appeared out of nowhere, asked for an introduction and requested she dance with him. Swept her into a waltz, poked his nose into her personal visit and then dragged her, yes, dragged her, back to Aunt Matilda and left. Her aunt smoothed over any embarrassment by sitting down next to her dear friend, Lady Gilmore, and asking a footman to fetch a glass of wine. Yet none of this could diminish how his hand had been firm on her back, guiding her expertly round the floor; never once did they falter.

She remembered how tall he was and his green eyes below that copper-coloured hair. He took her back to a time when she was young and full of expectations. Back to Simon, her gallant officer who had intended to make her his wife. Was this what attracted her? The same colour hair and eyes? Only partly – she found Rossmore’s arms made her feel safe, somewhere she would like to be again. Would he wish it too? Time would tell; perhaps he would visit today.

A light knock and her maid, Esther, came in carrying a tray. She put it on a table near the window and pulled back the curtains.

‘Good morning, miss.’

‘Good morning, Esther. I shall eat my breakfast by the window; it looks such a lovely day.’

‘Very well, miss.’ She curtsied and left.

Grace lay back and wondered what Lord Rossmore was doing. Did he breakfast in his bedchamber or was he an early riser who liked to read The Times before settling into his daily tasks?

Although tea was the choice of many ladies, she preferred coffee, and the enticing aroma made her throw back the counterpane and get up.

Last night’s music seeped into her memory and she raised her arms, placing her hand on the imaginary Rossmore’s shoulder, her other hand in his and waltzed with him, dipping to the one-two-three beat as her bare feet danced across the carpet. She remembered how his arm had tightened and drawn her closer as they circled the ballroom, her cheeks burning with the thrill of his daredevil disregard of propriety. The sound of the door opening caught her off guard and she stopped, not knowing quite what to do.

But Esther was too excited to notice any unusual behaviour. ‘Miss, I have a note from Lord Rossmore! His footman will wait for a reply.’

Grace took his lordship’s letter. She broke the seal, couldn’t believe her thoughts were coming true. ‘Esther, Lord Rossmore wants to visit at four o’clock. What am I to say?’ She sat down at her desk. ‘Please, pour me a cup of coffee, I need to fortify my nerves.’

Grace drank it without stopping. ‘Please, another.’

Then she took a deep breath and wrote a reply and agreed to four o’clock. ‘Please, take this to Reeves for his lordship’s footman.’

By the time Esther returned, Grace had abandoned any thought of eating. ‘I must go and tell Aunt Matilda. She may not like being disturbed before the noon hour, but she would never forgive me if I didn’t tell her at once.’

Grace pulled on a robe over her nightgown and left, hurrying along the landing to her aunt’s room. She knocked and a maid opened the door and let her in.

Matilda Crowmarsh was sitting in bed, a white nightcap askew on her grey hair, with her breakfast tray in front of her. ‘What is all the noise and fuss, Grace? The house sounded as if a coach and horses were on the loose.’

Grace sat on the edge of her aunt’s bed, not able to hold back her news. ‘I’ve received a note from Lord Rossmore, asking if he might visit this afternoon at four o’clock.’ Her throat suddenly went dry and butterflies fluttered in her belly. ‘I’m so nervous, it was all just a dream last night, but this morning . . . he wants to come and see me? A Miss Nobody from the country?’

Aunt Matilda’s round, plump face creased from forehead to chin with smiles. ‘You replied yes, Grace?’

‘Of course, Aunt, it would be the height of bad manners to refuse.’

‘We must have tea. Tell Cook to get the Wedgwood china out and to bake one of her best cakes. Grace, I had no idea you made such an impression on him. I must send notes to everyone, especially Lady Grant. She has been trying to offload that pudding of a daughter to any lord with sufficient income to keep her. This is her second season, you know.’

Grace was beginning to feel like a prized spaniel, to be shown off to every envious lady in the land. ‘Aunt, I would prefer it if we kept this to ourselves. He might not come and then what would you feel like?’

‘Not come! He has requested to come. But, perhaps you are right. We will still have the Wedgwood. Find your prettiest gown and have Esther dust extra powder on your face. Daylight is so much harsher than candlelight. That country air has put an unwanted tinge to your face. Oh, I can’t believe it, Lord Rossmore in my home.’

Grace watched the minute hand of the ornate urn-shaped mantle clock tick towards four o’clock.

Esther had dressed her hair leaving a trio of ringlets falling over her left shoulder, allowing her mother’s silver locket full glory above the scooped neckline of a white-and-pink, flower-patterned muslin afternoon gown. She hoped Lord Rossmore would not think her overly presented, sitting in a chair beside her aunt, who had chosen the sofa as her strategic position to conduct this ritual of afternoon visiting.

Grace clasped her hands together in her lap. ‘I’m trembling all over. How long do you think he will stay?’

‘The customary one half-hour. Grace, do not fret, I am quite able to serve tea and converse with him. Just follow my lead and keep smiling, dear, you look far too pensive.’

The clock chimed.

As if this were a signal, the door opened.

‘Lord Rossmore, m’lady.’ The butler stepped aside. Rossmore walked in and Grace’s heart skipped a beat. He was pure elegance. A white neck cloth emphasised his copper hair that touched the collar of his dark brown coat, and fawn-coloured trousers completed the aristocratic persona of Alexander Kilbraith.

He bowed to Lady Crowmarsh.

Turning, he bowed to Grace. ‘Good afternoon. It is delightful to be in the company of two beautiful ladies.’

‘We are honoured to have you visit us. Please, be seated. You will take tea?’ Matilda Crowmarsh was the height of politeness as she waved him to a chair placed opposite her niece.

Grace’s tongue froze in the presence of the earl. Nothing sensible came into her head of what to say to him. So she lowered her gaze and waited for Aunt Matilda to lead the conversation.

However, it was Rossmore who asked, ‘As you live mostly in the country, Miss Matthews, do you ride?’

At the mention of horses, Grace was on more familiar ground and answered, ‘Yes, I do. I have a chestnut mare and there is no happier moment in my life than riding her across the meadows, through the woods and along the cliff tops.’

‘And where is this wild race that you take?’

‘In the county of Dorset, I ride above Whitecliffs Bay.’ Grace suddenly found it almost an agony to be sitting in the drawing room encased by deep blue walls and heavy maroon velvet drapes, while outside the windows the fresh spring air beckoned to her. ‘London is very crowded, do you not think so?’

‘Indeed it is. But if I may be permitted, I should like to show you at least the greenery of Hyde Park along Rotten Row in my carriage.’

Lady Crowmarsh beamed, her gaze going from his lordship to her niece. ‘Oh, the parade on a warm afternoon is the greatest of pleasure, sir. In my young days it was the place to be. Everyone of note is there, especially in the Season.’ She offered his lordship a small tea plate and then Cook’s superb fruit cake.

Grace hid a smile behind her hand. Lord Rossmore did not seem the type of man who spent his time with the delicacies of afternoon tea. But she had to admire his deference to Aunt Matilda.

The clock ticked, the minutes passing much quicker than Grace expected as they partook of their refreshments. Then her aunt returned to the subject of horses.

‘I hear that Lord Newton has bought a matching pair of greys. What is your opinion of them, my lord?’

‘A good pair, madam, but a little too young, as yet. They will need a great deal of training before they are ready for a race against mine.’

‘Horses seem to be something you admire, as does my niece.’ She gave a wave of her hand. ‘It is quite comforting to know you have a common interest.’

Grace swallowed hard. Goodness, what was her aunt doing, match-making? Lord Rossmore had the reputation of being the most unattainable lord in England.

‘Oh, I shall not be staying much longer, Aunt.’ Grace’s cheeks were red with embarrassment as Lord Rossmore raised his brows. ‘I have a need to go home, my father—’

‘Then you will accompany me tomorrow afternoon in my carriage. We seem to have a settled spell of good weather. I will call at three o’clock.’

He was not asking. It was a statement which expected no refusal.

Lady Crowmarsh puffed up her ample bosom and nodded her agreement. ‘Until tomorrow, my lord, Miss Matthews will accept, of course.’ She rang a small hand bell, an indication that the visit was at an end, and the butler immediately opened the door.

‘Will you show his lordship out, Reeves.’

Grace fumed. She had been a pawn in a chess game, a game that both her aunt, and Lord Rossmore, knew how to play. As she calmed down, the contradiction was she really didn’t object.

The following morning, Grace was in a state of panic.

‘We need to select a gown for my outing. I will bathe first, then you must help me, Esther, it has to be absolutely the right one. Hurry now.’

By mid-morning, Grace had pulled nearly every walking-out gown from her wardrobe and cast it aside.

‘I can’t decide.’ She sat on the bed. ‘What do you think, Esther?’

Her maid pulled a pale green gown embroidered with white daisies and matching cape from the discarded pile. ‘I think this one. The colour suits you well, and I can ringlet your hair for that little feathered hat you bought last week.’

‘Um, you could be right. I don’t want to look like a girl newly out in Society. It’s no good giving him the wrong impression. I’m well past frivolous frills and ribbons in my hair.’

Esther raised her eyebrows. ‘Not a dowager lady, either,’ she muttered as she hurried away to prepare the gown.

With the outfit settled upon, Grace went down to her lonely lunch. Aunt Matilda did not usually leave her suite until the early afternoon. But today she was in the dining room and bubbling with pride.

‘Rossmore’s invitation is extraordinary, Grace. I cannot believe he has finally come out of hiding. We shall be invited to every Society ball for the rest of the Season, and may have to turn some down. This is wonderful. I will have to order new gowns, so will you.’

Grace, sitting down at the table, replied, ‘Really, Aunt, it is just a drive in his carriage. Surely, Society is not going to have the vapours.’ She took a small piece of pie and started to eat.

‘I despair of you, Grace. This country living of yours is addling your brain. It is Rossmore we are speaking of, not some lowly lord. He’s an earl. Oh, I am all of a flutter.’ And she drank deeply of a glass of wine by her plate.

Grace continued eating and let Aunt Matilda talk away, who was so thrilled she didn’t even notice when Grace made no replies. And when she tasted a blackberry preserve tart her voice rose to almost a panic. ‘I cannot eat another morsel. Madame Du Val will tut-tut if I have widened but an inch.’

Matilda waved to the footman, signalling she was ready to leave the room and he opened the door. ‘I will see you after your drive, Grace. Oh! I cannot wait for your return.’ She left the dining room in a flurry of excitement.

Grace sighed, wishing she were anywhere else but in London; gossip was the last thing she wanted. But she would present herself as perfect as was possible. It was a small repayment to Aunt Matilda for offering her home and hospitality.

Five minutes to three o’clock, Grace waited by the window in the small salon off the hall. She was still not sure about her choice of dress. When she had put it on and seen her reflection in the long mirror, she couldn’t make up her mind if she looked like an overdressed governess or not. But there hadn’t been time to reconsider.

The clock chimed three.

Within the minute an open carriage pulled up in front of the house. Suddenly she was full of trepidation as she watched Lord Rossmore step out and then heard the front door open. She was tempted to go out into the hall and forestall having him announced, but while she was debating the option, the door opened and Reeves showed his lordship in.

He bowed. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Matthews. I see you are ready.’

Grace curtsied. ‘Good afternoon, sir. One of my peculiarities, I am always punctual.’

‘Then let us depart.’ He came forward and held out his arm. ‘To the park, madam.’

Grace placed her hand on the sleeve of his dark blue coat; their colour matching was excellent. She hoped this would apply to their characters.

Rossmore’s coachman drove with ease and manoeuvred around the hustle and bustle on the roads. When they entered the park he slowed the pair of greys to a walk.

‘On such a lovely day we shall enjoy the sunshine, Miss Matthews. You are looking exquisite, that colour suits you.’

Grace sighed; was it a habit of his to make such personal remarks? ‘Thank you, sir. I must admit I was a little unsure. London society demands such high standards.’ And she silently thanked Esther.

‘Would you prefer to ride?’ The carriage slowed to a stop in the shade. ‘It is far easier to see the sights of the park from the saddle.’

Grace looked about her. It had become almost a nose-to-tail procession, and those on horseback were much better equipped. ‘Yes, I would. I love to be free and able to ride across the countryside. That is why I spend most of my time there. London has a restricting atmosphere.’

‘Then tomorrow I will bring you a mount and we shall find the countryside for you.’

Yesterday she had been nervous, in awe of him. But today her natural feelings of being in control of her own life surfaced. His commanding attitude made her bristle. ‘You are assuming quite a lot, sir. For one, I might decide that I do not wish to ride with you, and two, perhaps I have another engagement.’

‘Ah. A little peculiarity of mine, I’m afraid. I’m used to commanding and getting my way.’ His smile took away any rudeness and he leaned over and took her hand. ‘Will you please ride with me tomorrow, Miss Matthews?’

Grace looked down at his gloved hand and although she could not feel the warmth of his fingers, his touch was firm and strong. She had no engagements and she did not want any other. They were only recently acquainted, but she sensed that he was a man she could relate to. He smiled, and she accepted that being a widower for such a long time he had drifted into a pattern of set ways. As she had, and there, at least, was something else they had in common.

‘Thank you. I would like to join you.’

‘Shall we say two o’clock? Our ride will be longer than today.’

The greys responded to the coachman’s tap of the reins and he coaxed them smoothly through a gap.

Everywhere she looked, ladies were dressed for the spring weather. Parasols shaded fair complexions and colourful gowns. Riding-habits vied for dominance over the jackets and hats of the gentlemen. She glanced at Rossmore again, his copper hair in the sunshine gleamed, and she approved of the way it curled just below his ear. His profile was lean, strong and capable. He should be a military man, but an earl had many responsibilities to manage and that would be his first call of duty.

Grace was brought out of her thoughts as a rider came alongside. A strikingly beautiful woman, in a flamboyant red riding-habit, fair hair under a perky hat, smiled at Lord Rossmore.

‘Alex, it’s wonderful to see you out in the park. Willy is behind talking to some stuffy old duke, but I was sure it was you.’

‘Isabelle. One can always depend on your sharp eyesight. May I present Miss Matthews.’ He turned to Grace. ‘This is Lady Wainwright, my cousin’s adorable wife. Our drive will be all over town by midnight.’

‘Really, Alex, that’s not fair. I can see a dozen heads turning in your direction. That you are out is enough to set their tongues wagging.’ Her horse snorted and she laughed. ‘Even Crispen agrees. My apologies, Miss Matthews, but you will be the only topic worth talking about tonight.’

Grace didn’t know what to say to such a comment – her name on everyone’s lips by tonight? Heat flared in her cheeks, spread over her face.

Fortunately, Rossmore came to her rescue. ‘Shame on you, Isabelle, for that outrageous remark. To make up for giving Miss Matthews such a frightening expectation, you may invite us to visit the day after tomorrow.’

Isabelle nodded. ‘Done.’ She leaned forward and held out her hand to Grace. ‘We will be the best of friends, Miss Matthews, and I shall make sure my husband stays home to meet you.’

‘Thank you, Lady Wainwright.’

With a light tap of her whip, the lady turned her horse and rode away.

Good grief, was there no end to this man’s assumption: a carriage ride today, horse riding tomorrow and a visit the next day! Society would be holding its breath expecting an announcement.

‘Sir, I must remind you that making arrangements for me are somewhat unorthodox. We have no connections . . . no . . .’ Grace swallowed, frustration swept through her and she ended with, ‘I would like to be asked.’

Lord Rossmore smiled. ‘Will you come?’

She found him irresistible and her discomfort vanished. Surely there was no harm in visiting Lady Wainwright? At least they would be chaperoned within her home. ‘Oh, very well, I should like to see this cousin of yours. If he is more polite, perhaps I shall ask him to take you in hand.’

Laughing, he replied, ‘Willy has been trying for years with little success. The carriages are leaving. I think it time I returned you to your aunt.’

‘Yes, it is becoming a little chilly now.’ And Grace settled back to enjoy the homeward ride.

The greys slowed as they turned into Berkeley Square and stopped outside the terraced town house.

Grace waited for Rossmore to help her from the carriage and escort her into the hall. ‘Thank you for this afternoon. It is my first outing in the park since coming to stay with my aunt.’

‘I hope, then, that I can be the one to show you all of your first sightings of the Season. I will bring a horse for you tomorrow at two o’clock.’

Her immediate thought was: come at dawn, sir, I need the fresh air and open space. She said, ‘Thank you. I shall be punctual, of course.’

He bowed and a smile curved his lips. ‘Then until tomorrow, Miss Matthews.’

He left, leaving Grace unsure of what she had let herself in for. She would think about it later. Right now, Aunt Matilda was waiting for her in the drawing room full of anticipation.

Lord Rossmore inspected the two horses saddled in his mews yard. ‘A good pair, indeed. But I think the chestnut would suit my lady better.’ He took hold of the reins and patted the mare’s neck. ‘You look to have the same spirit. You’ll make her a worthy mount.’

‘There’s no better this side of Westminster, my lord.’

‘I have the fullest confidence in you, Burns. And should the mare please my lady, keep her brushed and ready.’

Rossmore gave over the horse to his groom and mounted his own stallion. If he was to get to Berkeley Square at two o’clock he must leave now. He wanted to test her peculiarity – a woman on time two days running? Hah!

The clock was chiming as he entered the hall and Grace was coming down the stairs, pulling on a pair of gloves. She was aptly named, her grace and manner encompassing a beauty any man would want to possess. With each step her plum-coloured riding habit showed every curve and he knew she could compete with any of the ton.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Matthews.’

‘Good afternoon, Lord Rossmore. Do I detect a note of surprise? No matter, I am so glad we are riding, I couldn’t abide sitting in a carriage on such a glorious day.’

She reached him and Alex took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He could smell her floral scent and his pulse pounded a little harder. Hell, he was acting like some beau in his first flutter of love.

‘And I have the perfect mount for you. Come, let us be off.’

Outside the groom that would accompany them handed him the chestnut’s reins.

‘Will she do, Miss Matthews?’

‘Sir, she is beautiful and so similar to my own mare, who is named Chestnut. It is a great reminder to me of Whitecliffs. You have an excellent eye for a horse. Oh, do let us get going. I can’t wait to see how she handles.’

Yes, he knew his horses and it seemed, this woman.

Alex cupped his hands and tossed Grace up onto the saddle. The groom placed a mounting box for Alex and within a few minutes they were riding out of the square.

Alex directed Grace along the roads that took them past homes of the growing nouveau riche, many of whom were traders and had made their fortunes from the steam-powered factories or sailing ships bringing tea from China.

He watched her gently steer the mare without jerking the bit and command by voice rather than the whip. She could handle the horse well and he relaxed. He had feared it a rash offer yesterday promising her an out-of-town tour. He stayed silent, content to let Grace concentrate on both the road and horse.

When they reached the less-populated area she commented, ‘I must commend you on your knowledge of Town, my lord. Do you travel this way often? What is this part called?’

‘Th. . .