was snugly installed in the placid life of her imaginings.
Despite the icy winds and stretches of half-frozen mud that dragged at the coach wheels and slowed them down, Jamie was conscious only of a rising elation as they traveled farther away from London. This journey home was different from all others; this time he was returning to renew his land rather than mourn its decline. The fatigue of hours in the saddle scarcely touched him. Noting landmarks heâd passed countless times before, he thought of the tenants and dependents who would share his joy at this unanticipated redemption, and he was borne up by a heady mixture of pride and relief and eagerness. He could let go of the nagging guilt over those heâd neglected. He truly could, he thought, dismissing the familiar twinges.
This ferment left little room for thoughts of his new wife, for now simply a means to a much desired end. When he could spare any attention for Clare, he was merely glad she had a companion to keep her occupied. And on the final stage of their journey, with home tantalizingly close, he couldnât resist leaving the laboring post chaise behind and riding on to Trehearth.
***
A full hour later, Clare climbed stiffly down from the carriage and gazed up at the massive gray pile that was now her home. The long stone facade, with two wings thrusting forward on either side to form a courtyard, looked like something out of a fairy tale. There were steep slate gables and arched windows and crenellations. The scudding clouds on this chilly afternoon added to the impression. She knew that Lordâ¦
Jamie. Heâd said that his friends called him Jamie, and that she should do so. It still felt awkward, which brought up uncomfortable thoughts such asâwas she his friend? She was undoubtedly his wife. The ring on her finger was a constant reminder. But that did not necessarily equate with friendship.
Clare rotated her tight shoulders and looked up the sprawling house. There seemed to be no one about to welcome her. She knew that Jamieâs grandfather had built this place on the site of a ruined castle, using the fallen stones, so it dated only from 1770. It stood on a sheer cliff above a cove formed by a small Cornish river. There was a fishing village below, she remembered. Jamie had said that his grandfather designed the house, too. With only limited success, Clare had to say, surveying the mishmash of styles that ran into one another along the frontage. His obsession with construction had nearly bankrupted the estate. That was why the place looked unkempt and shabby. It was, in a way, the reason she was here. Standing in the gravel courtyard, in the cold, alone. Where was Jamie?
âWell,â said Selina, who had stepped down beside her. âWhere is Lord Trehearth? Where are the servants? This is outrageous. To ride off like that with scarcely a word, and now no sign of aâ¦â
The great wooden front door opened, and two small figures scurried outâboys of ten or so in white shirts and buckskin breeches above thick woolen hose. Or⦠Clare took in the long tangled black hair, big dark eyes, and delicate features. They werenât boys; they were girls, twins obviously. Why were they so oddly dressed? She took a step forward to greet them. Something moved in the dim doorway, and then shot out between the children and hurtled toward her.
In the next instant, Clare was flattened by a gigantic dog. It stood over her, feet planted on either side of her torso, and began to lick her face with a slavering red tongue. She pushed at its chest; it was immovable.
For a moment, Selina stood frozen, terrified by the largest canine sheâd ever seen. Then she recovered and rushed over; she spied a collar around the creatureâs neck and grasped it. But her tugging had no effect. She might have been trying to shift a horse. The two scandalously dressed children had come closer. âIs this your dog?â Selina
Despite the icy winds and stretches of half-frozen mud that dragged at the coach wheels and slowed them down, Jamie was conscious only of a rising elation as they traveled farther away from London. This journey home was different from all others; this time he was returning to renew his land rather than mourn its decline. The fatigue of hours in the saddle scarcely touched him. Noting landmarks heâd passed countless times before, he thought of the tenants and dependents who would share his joy at this unanticipated redemption, and he was borne up by a heady mixture of pride and relief and eagerness. He could let go of the nagging guilt over those heâd neglected. He truly could, he thought, dismissing the familiar twinges.
This ferment left little room for thoughts of his new wife, for now simply a means to a much desired end. When he could spare any attention for Clare, he was merely glad she had a companion to keep her occupied. And on the final stage of their journey, with home tantalizingly close, he couldnât resist leaving the laboring post chaise behind and riding on to Trehearth.
***
A full hour later, Clare climbed stiffly down from the carriage and gazed up at the massive gray pile that was now her home. The long stone facade, with two wings thrusting forward on either side to form a courtyard, looked like something out of a fairy tale. There were steep slate gables and arched windows and crenellations. The scudding clouds on this chilly afternoon added to the impression. She knew that Lordâ¦
Jamie. Heâd said that his friends called him Jamie, and that she should do so. It still felt awkward, which brought up uncomfortable thoughts such asâwas she his friend? She was undoubtedly his wife. The ring on her finger was a constant reminder. But that did not necessarily equate with friendship.
Clare rotated her tight shoulders and looked up the sprawling house. There seemed to be no one about to welcome her. She knew that Jamieâs grandfather had built this place on the site of a ruined castle, using the fallen stones, so it dated only from 1770. It stood on a sheer cliff above a cove formed by a small Cornish river. There was a fishing village below, she remembered. Jamie had said that his grandfather designed the house, too. With only limited success, Clare had to say, surveying the mishmash of styles that ran into one another along the frontage. His obsession with construction had nearly bankrupted the estate. That was why the place looked unkempt and shabby. It was, in a way, the reason she was here. Standing in the gravel courtyard, in the cold, alone. Where was Jamie?
âWell,â said Selina, who had stepped down beside her. âWhere is Lord Trehearth? Where are the servants? This is outrageous. To ride off like that with scarcely a word, and now no sign of aâ¦â
The great wooden front door opened, and two small figures scurried outâboys of ten or so in white shirts and buckskin breeches above thick woolen hose. Or⦠Clare took in the long tangled black hair, big dark eyes, and delicate features. They werenât boys; they were girls, twins obviously. Why were they so oddly dressed? She took a step forward to greet them. Something moved in the dim doorway, and then shot out between the children and hurtled toward her.
In the next instant, Clare was flattened by a gigantic dog. It stood over her, feet planted on either side of her torso, and began to lick her face with a slavering red tongue. She pushed at its chest; it was immovable.
For a moment, Selina stood frozen, terrified by the largest canine sheâd ever seen. Then she recovered and rushed over; she spied a collar around the creatureâs neck and grasped it. But her tugging had no effect. She might have been trying to shift a horse. The two scandalously dressed children had come closer. âIs this your dog?â Selina
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