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T he scream woke Perry. Quickly, he buried his face into the pillow, which absorbed much of the noise. He got control of himself and rolled back over, sweat pouring from his body. At the same time, he shivered from a chill. He glanced about, not even knowing where he might be. Then it struck him.

He was at Beauville. Finally.

The darkness frightened him, so he rose from the floor where he’d slept and went to the windows, throwing back the curtains. At least this allowed in a little moonlight. This time of year, the sun rose early. He would leave the curtains open and welcome the light.

Padding barefoot across the room, he retrieved the pillow, placing it back on the bed, along with the top layer of bedclothes which lay bunched on the floor.

When he had arrived late last night, all he had wanted to do was escape into sleep.

He had headed for his old bedchamber, but Foster stopped him, taking Perry to the earl’s rooms instead.

They had not known when to expect him, only that he would arrive at some point now that the former Earl of Martindale was dead and buried.

Perry pulled the bedclothes up to his chin, trying to get the shivers to subside. He doubted sleep would come again.

He let his mind drift, thinking of the letter he had received from his mother, the first time she had ever written to him.

It had been succinct, informing him that he was now the earl and that he should return to England with all due haste and take up his duties.

Typical of her, she gave no details of how his father had died or when and where the death had occurred.

He had notified his commanding officer of Martindale’s passing and his intention to sneak out as quickly as possible.

Having risen through the ranks quickly over the last four years and being a major streamlined the process.

Perry had gone straight from the battlefield to Surrey.

Though he had docked in London, he hadn’t spent any time in the city.

He supposed he could have gone to visit his mother while there, knowing she would still be in town because the Season had recently ended, and she had never been one to rush home after its conclusion.

Most women would have taken a year to mourn a husband’s loss, yet he doubted she had paused for any longer than a few seconds.

He had learned through gossip at school just how promiscuous each of his parents were.

While his father had mostly ignored his son, his mother had pretended he did not even exist. He felt no loyalty to her and assumed the marriage settlements signed at the beginning of his parents’ union would now provide for her.

As far as Perry was concerned, he didn’t care if he ever saw her again.

He thought back to what a foolish lad he had been.

He might have been book smart, but he was naive in the ways of the world, marching off to war full of idealism.

He couldn’t recall now why he had been so adamant to leave Beauville.

Yes, he thought many things needed to be addressed to improve the property.

He felt he had been cut adrift after graduating from university.

The Beauville steward did the best he could in managing the estate without much support from his employer.

Perry had wanted to make changes that both he and Rankin believed to be necessary for Beauville to thrive, yet neither of them had much authority to do so.

He had thought by threatening to go off to war that his father, who cared not one whit for his country estate and its tenants, might cede a small portion of his authority and funds to allow Perry to make changes to better Beauville and help it to prosper.

Instead, his stubborn father had called his son’s bluff and practically shoved him out the door.

Oh, he had wanted to go to war. Wanted to make a difference.

Felt the obligation to fight for his country.

But the reality of war was far different from anything he’d ever encountered.

There had never been a time he led his men into battle that he was not utterly terrified.

He supposed he should go on the stage because he had masked his terror, acting the role of a brave officer.

Time after time, he had taken men into battle, seeing them fall all about him. hearing their gasps of pain. Their cries calling for their mothers and other loved ones. The stench of death surrounding him until it nearly drove him mad.

Some men could not handle the horrors of war.

They froze on the battlefield—or worse—they fled.

Perry had seen many an officer berate soldiers who had remained paralyzed on the battlefield, belittling them so they had no confidence.

He had also witnessed soldiers rounding up men who had run, enacting court martials and sending these terrified, broken men to prison.

He had never spoken a harsh word to any man under his command.

Ironically, Perry gained a respected reputation, even being known as Beaumont the Bountiful, because of his generosity with the men under his command.

Others clamored to be assigned to his units, and even those who were the weakest of soldiers proved to be the strongest ones, putting their lives on the line, time and time again, not for Britain.

For him.

And because of that, he carried heavy guilt for each death that occurred under his leadership.

He pillowed his hands behind his head, knowing sleep was impossible.

He only hoped no one had heard his cries of anguish.

Nightmares were common amongst so many of the men who had fought.

Knowing he was the only family member in residence, though, he doubted anyone was in this wing of the house in the dead of night.

Throughout his years at war, Perry had yearned for the tranquility of Beauville. War had been ugly. Brutal. He often questioned why he had joined the army and given up the solace of his childhood home. He knew now to cherish every moment of life, especially at a peaceful place such as Beauville.

Being the new Earl of Martindale not only gave him access to great wealth and authority, it also reminded him that he would need to provide an heir.

Perry had never attended the Season, finding the idea of all the social affairs to be a waste of his time.

Now, he would need to do so next spring so that he might peruse the Marriage Mart for a bride.

Once he had done so, though, he intended never to go to town again.

Beauville would be his refuge, a place he would gather strength.

Or would he have to go to town to find his countess? Surely, there must be some eligible young ladies in the neighborhood whom he might consider suitable for marriage.

He thought of his closest neighbor, Viscount Tilsbury.

They had corresponded throughout his time in the army, and the last letter he had written to his friend had told of him selling his commission and heading home.

He would call upon Lord Tilsbury soon, and his first act when he had returned to Beauville last night had been to send a message to his friend, along with the proceeds from the sale of his commission.

But who else lived in the area?

Perry recalled on the other side of Alderton, the nearby village, lay Aldridge Manor.

The Marquess of Aldridge had wed several times, trying to get his heir.

The last Perry knew, it was a third marriage which had proved unsuccessful in securing children.

That meant no daughters of the house whom he might consider for marriage.

Adjacent to Aldridge’s estate lay the lands of the Marquess of Huntsberry.

Lord Huntsberry, who was close in age to Perry, had come into his title as a child.

They had attended different public schools, though.

In fact, he had known that Huntsberry attended Cambridge, as Perry himself had done, yet he had never laid eyes upon him during those university years.

Where Perry had come home to Surrey and the land, Huntsberry never visited Huntsworth and remained in town exclusively.

Even if Huntsberry had wed and sired a daughter during the years Perry was at war, she would be far too young to become Perry’s countess.

He could not recall anyone else in the neighborhood but would explore the possibility of finding his wife close by because the thought of going to town and being around hundreds of others, forced to make small talk, made him ill.

Dawn finally came, light slowly seeping into this bedchamber, warming the room.

He rang for Grilley, whom he had instructed to have bathwater brought up first thing this morning.

Perry had been too tired to bathe last night.

Oh, it would be such a luxury, sinking into a tub of hot water and scrubbing away all memories of the war.

He could not recall the last time he had sat in a tub.

Grilley arrived, Perry’s uniform draped over his arm.

The valet said, “Hot water is on the way, my lord. I washed your shirt and breeches. Ironed both. I also brushed your coat. This will give you something to wear today. You’ll need to visit the village tailor as soon as possible, though, for civilian clothes. ”

“I doubt fashion for men has changed so much that I cannot wear clothes I left in my wardrobe, Grilley,” he teased.

An odd expression crossed the valet’s face. “You no longer have any clothing here, my lord,” Grilley said apologetically.

“I must,” he insisted. “I left a good number of—” His voice trailed off. Without being told, Perry realized his father had expunged all signs of his son from Beauville.

Stoically, he said, “I will dress in my officer’s uniform then. After breakfast, I shall ride into Alderton and see the tailor.”

Grilley looked relieved in not having to explain the situation further.