Page 22 of The Lady is Trouble

Piper glanced at him as they rode from the stable yard. Lunch. With Julian. A pleased glow lit, and she looked down to hide it, though Julian’s eyes had not strayed from the path.

He lightly tapped his mount’s flanks and moved into a trot, those impressive shoulders flexing, one hand holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh. He rode as he lived and breathed, with artless, measured elegance. Nevertheless, shewasas good a rider. As natural a seat. She claimed this without conceit because it was a simple fact. She had learned to ride beside a man with no allegiance to propriety, no allegiance to anyone. Her equestrian skills were a gift, the only her father had given her.

Julian knew this. They’d raced across her grandfather’s estate many times. Not sidesaddle, which was intolerable. An excellent way to show off trim ankles in Hyde Park, but absurd for a seasoned horsewoman.

“Quit sighing,” he called back. “We’ll get the habit.”

“Anything you say, m’lord,” she murmured and pulled Stewart in line with him. Julian glanced over, but his hat shaded his eyes and his expression. Tilting his head in thought for a long beat, he then looked away without comment.

She slowed and let her gaze linger, examining him freely as her heart raced. It was a wretched spot of luck that Julian Alexander was the only man who had ever fascinated her. There had been other kisses aside from the one they’d shared—precisely two. Men of interest, or meninterested,during the horrid season her grandfather had pressed upon her.

She had tried to find someone else who lit her up, phosphorus to her sulfur. Find another person who made a room blaze when he stepped into it. Because with Julian, it was hopeless. His defenses were stronger, his reasoning in place and firmly protected. He had, mallet to stone, crushed every entreaty.

Heedless to her internal debate, Julian pointed out areas of interest as they traveled a well-worn path through the meadows. He identified something noteworthy about each section of his property. A herd of muntjac lived here, a pack of fallow there. Fishing was excellent in a series of lakes below the house, duck hunting possible along the parkland drives surrounding.

“Is Harbingdon profitable?” she asked as they passed through what Julian called a coniferplantation.

“If managed by a titled fop, it wouldn’t be. Although I’m still looking for a steward to join the League, to shoulder the management. Until then…” He slowed, bracing his hands on the pommel. The black sidestepped at the sudden halt, and Julian tightened his leg at the flank. “I’d been saving, keen investing, and some luck. Funds unconnected to the viscountcy, on principle not committed to being funneled back in. Mismanagement forced Harbingdon to market and my attention. I knew from the first moment that it was perfect for my needs and those of the League. Rife with opportunity, if one was willing to put in the work, which the former owner was not. A piece of the estate closer to the village was let under a fruitful farm years ago, and plans are to explore the property’s timber and mineral rights, again, when I locate a steward. If I’m to have others live here, we need a self-sustaining model.” He drew a breath and sighed it out in a gust. “Takes time to untangle the mess created by the foolish young baron who sold me the place, but I’m learning as I go along.”

“Repairs?” she asked to his back, as he’d turned to study something over the rise. There was evidence of restoration to the ceiling and floor in her bedchamber.

“Substantial. And the cash flow from my titled properties is locked up keeping those relics afloat.” He lifted his hand to his neck and rubbed as if it pained him to discuss the viscountcy. “It takes an astounding amount of cash to keep a five-hundred-year-old family seat propped up. We have faithful retainers connected to the estates for centuries, thank God, or I would be up a muddy creek with the rest of the ton.”

They continued, the wind picking up as it raced across the open savannah, tugging at her skirt and sending tendrils of hair into her face. She caught a hint of precipitation, as Minnie and Murphy had suggested. “The other buildings I see in the distance?”

“Gardener’s cottage.”

“Hmm…yes.” She took a brief inventory of the surroundings, profuse with rose bushes, flowering shrubs, not a pruned specimen among them. The air was dense with various fragrances. “I’m guessing it sits empty.”

“Actually, it does not. But the gardener, well”—Julian shook his head, issuing a brief shrug—“he’s quite knowledgeable about the occult, and his work with the chronology has occupied most of his time.”

Piper wanted to laugh.Of course. “The smaller building, lovely brick and ivy?” she asked instead.

His brim lowered, a hesitation. “The lodge.”

“That one is—”

“Mine.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he moved on.

“I thought to ask you about assisting with management of the gardens. As for the gardener’s cottage, we’ve been lodging the newly arrived League members there. The main house is too active for a restless mind, and often, those arriving are troubled. You’ll be able to help them, I hope.” He shifted in the saddle, slowing to a walk and allowing her to come alongside him. “Minnie stayed there, as did Murphy. We placed Edward, the footman, too soon in the main house.” He smiled sheepishly. “You see, he’s the only arrival to date trained for his position, so I assumed it would be an easier transition. He should have stayed here first, a calm setting. Instead, he’s losing his mind, or thinks he is.”

“I’m going to help him. I could have before—”

“You were too busy playing Madame DuPre to help.”

She ripped off her glove and threw it at him. It hit his chest exactly at the tantalizing open point of his shirt. “You abandoned me. Left me to fend for myself. I had no idea you were building the League into an organization my grandfather never envisioned. Healing and support and assistance. Why, a place to live should one not have any other options. Why not bring me in sooner? Why wait until I’m hunted and have to be guarded within an inch of my life?”

He halted his horse and considered her glove as it fluttered to the ground. “Residing with a failing old woman certainly didn’t curb your temper. And you wereneverleft to fend for yourself. I was close, even if you didn’t think I was.”

“No one trained for their position.” Her gaze fell to the leather embarrassment resting on the stalks of golden grass. “That explains Minnie, who is no more a lady’s maid than I am a lady.” It also explained the scattered Harbingdon household, so unlike the lock-and-key discipline of a typical aristocratic one.

Julian dismounted with a resigned air, going to his knee to retrieve her glove. Grass brushed his thigh, drawing her gaze to the shifting muscle as he knelt. “This is not a country home for hunting season, Yank. Here, we live and work together. Sadly, abuse and denigration are our familial connection.” He glanced up, regarding her through eyes gone quicksilver in the sunlight. The faint lines drifting from them as he squinted were new to her. She was fascinated. Entranced with a mere look, as always. An intense look that crawled inside, softening her against her will. “Most shared their gifts as children. You know this. Such honesty is a lovely aspect of being a child but horrible for someone, anyone,different. I’m untangling more than finances on these lands. I’m sorry if my mission is a surprise, but if I’m devoting my life to this, giving up so much, it’s going to mean something.”

She was speechless as Julian stood and extended the glove to her. His undertaking seemed exceedingly benevolent and amazingly naïve. Her grandfather had only wanted to complete his research, keep his granddaughter safe, and understand why the gift of healing had traveled through their family like a big nose or a particular eye color.

Julian sought to right wrongs and build a community on an entirely singular level.