Chapter Two

      By the time Dom, beyond exhausted by the long walk home, arrived back at Bildenstone Hall, all he wanted was a glass of laudanum-laced brandy and something soft on to which he could become horizontal. Instead, he was met at the door by the elderly butler, Wilton, who informed him the Squire, Lady Wentworth and Miss Wentworth awaited him in the parlour—and had been waiting more than an hour.

      ‘Send them away,’ Dom ordered, limping past the man, desperate for that drink to ease the headache that was compounding the misery of his throbbing wrist and shoulder.

      ‘But, Mr Ransleigh,’ Wilton protested as he trailed after Dom, ‘the Squire said the matter was urgent, and he would wait as long as necessary to see you today!’

      The words trembled on Dom’s lips to consign the lot of them—the Squire, Lady Whomever, the girl in the lane, Diablo and the butler—to hell and back. With difficulty, he swallowed them.

      While Dom hoped to socialise as little as possible, he’d known that, once the Squire learned the owner of the most extensive property in the county had taken up residence, courtesy demanded he pay a call at Bildenstone Hall. Though his head pounded like an anvil upon which a blacksmith was hammering out horseshoes, he knew that it would be the height of incivility to send away sight unseen so distinguished a neighbour.

      Unless he wished Wilton to tell that worthy and his party that, having fallen off a horse and been forced to walk home, Mr Ransleigh was in no fit state to receive them.

      He might not have resided at Bildenstone Hall for years, but beyond doubt, every member of the gentry for miles around knew of ‘Dandy Dom’ and his exploits on the hunting field and in the army. Call it foolish pride, but even more than being branded as churlish, he dreaded being considered a weakling—a conclusion his injuries might make strangers all too quick to draw.

      Dredging up from deep within the will that had kept him in the saddle through the fatigue and strain of many long campaigns, Dom said, ‘Very well. Tell them I’m just back from...riding the fields and will need a few moments to make myself presentable.’

      ‘Very good, Mr Ransleigh,’ the butler said, obviously relieved not to have to deliver a message of dismissal to a man of the Squire’s stature.

      Hauling himself up the stairs, he rang for Henries. He had his mud-spattered garments removed by the time the batman arrived to help him into clean ones. Battle-ready within minutes, he squared his tired shoulders and headed for the stairs.

      Though he ached for a soothing draught and a deep sleep, he figured he could stay upright for the length of a courtesy call. He was too tired to wonder why Lady Somebody and her daughter had accompanied the Squire.

      A few moments later, he forced a smile to his lips and entered the drawing room.

      ‘Squire Marlowe, how kind of you to call! And whom do I have the honour of addressing?’ He gestured to the ladies.

      ‘So good to see you, too, Mr Ransleigh, after so many years!’ the Squire replied. ‘Lady Wentworth and Miss Wentworth, may I introduce to you our illustrious neighbour, Mr Dominic Ransleigh. A captain in the Sixteenth Light Dragoons who charged into the teeth of Napoleon’s finest, one of the heroes of Waterloo!’

      ‘Ladies, a pleasure,’ Dom said as the callers curtsied to his bow.

      ‘We’ve heard of your gallant deeds, of course, Mr Ransleigh,’ Lady Wentworth said. ‘Everyone in the county is so proud of you.’

      ‘We were all of us delighted to learn you intended to take up residence at Bildenstone Hall again,’ the Squire said. ‘Your father and mother, God rest their souls, were sorely missed when they abandoned Suffolk to settle at Upton Park.’

      Had the neighbourhood felt slighted by his father’s removal to Quorn country? Dom wondered, trying to read the man’s tone.

      ‘When she learned I meant to call today,’ the Squire continued, ‘Lady Wentworth, head of the Improvement Society for Whitfield Parish, begged leave to accompany me. With her lovely daughter, Miss Wentworth, the ornament of our local society who, sadly, is soon to join her godmother for the Season in London.’

      So that was why Lady Somebody had come, Dom thought, his mind clearing as he caught this last bit. As closely as news about his family was followed, he suspected that word of his broken engagement had already made it to Suffolk. The nephew of an earl with a tidy fortune and important family connections would be considered an attractive prospect by country gentry like Lady Wentworth, regardless of his physical shortcomings.

      Equally obvious, the enthusiasm engendered in her mother by his matrimonial assets was not entirely shared by the daughter. Dom noted her gaze travelling from the pinned-up sleeve to his eye patch and back, her expression a mingling of awe and distaste.

      First the girl in the lane scolding him for making excuse of his limitations, and now Miss Wentworth’s fascinated disdain. As if he were the prime attraction in a raree-show.

      He had the ignoble urge to sidle up to her and see if she would flinch away. When his continued attention finally alerted her that he’d caught her staring at him, she coloured and gave him what he supposed most men would consider an enticing smile.

      With her pretty face and glossy blond locks, she was as lovely as the Squire had pronounced her—and he felt no attraction at all.

      Perhaps he ought to relieve her anxiety by assuring her he was in no danger of falling for the charms of an ingénue who’d probably never set foot outside her home parish. Then, rebuking himself for his uncharitable thoughts, he turned his attention back to the mother, who was nattering on about her reasons for accompanying the squire.

      ‘...take the liberty of accompanying Squire Marlowe, when in the strictest sense, I should not have called until my husband, Sir John, called first. However, there is a matter of urgency at hand. My society oversees the parish poorhouse, where honest folk in need are offered assistance. As I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s imperative that such unfortunates, their morals already weakened by low birth and squalid surroundings, not be made more vulnerable by exposure to additional corruption. As they certainly would be, were children of that sort allowed to reside here!’

      ‘Children of that sort?’ Dom echoed. ‘Forgive me, Lady Wentworth, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Have you not yet been informed of the matter?’ the lady cried, indignation in her tones. ‘Infamous!’

      Resigning himself to the fact that, though Lady Wentworth’s main purpose might be to show off her attractive daughter, her secondary one was not likely to be quickly accomplished, Dom said, ‘Shall we be seated? I see Wilton already brought tea; can he refresh your cups?’

      Resisting the devilish urge to seat himself close to Miss Wentworth,