Chapter 10
The stable master wasn’t exaggeratingwhen he told John the light bay gelding was more than up to the task of a brisk ride. They’d already gone a fair distance that morning, and the animal showed no signs of tiring. But he didn’t want to be late for breakfast, so all too soon he brought the horse around and headed back.
As he came closer to his new home, he was surprised to realize he felt no regret about returning to Brock Manor and his new life as lord. He wasn’t sure to what he could attribute that fact. In London he’d put off meeting with Markham as long as possible because he’d dreaded having to acknowledge his life was about to change so completely.
He would always remember the day he’d received that letter from Louisa disclosing the news that the Lowenbrock title and all its holdings were now his. If it had come from anyone else—even Catherine—he wouldn’t have believed it. He would have thought they were having one over on him. For a moment, he’d wondered if he was dreaming. But while he knew his older sister wanted nothing more than for him to give up his commission and return to England, she wouldn’t lie about something like that.
That was three years ago. Louisa had implored him to return to London on several occasions, pleas he’d chosen to ignore. But once Napoleon had been defeated, he’d seen far too much of war and longed to return to the English countryside. When his closest friends disclosed their own plans to return home, he’d joined them and resigned his commission.
For the first time since returning to England, he felt like he was finally home. Being in the country again, away from the bustle of London, reminded him of his youth. His family had lived in a cottage instead of the large manse he now owned, but there was something about the clean air and quiet solitude of country life that he’d missed with a bone-deep ache. The fact that he was in Yorkshire instead of Kent mattered now. He was finally home. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable in his own skin.
The dichotomy between his joy at returning to the English countryside and his unease with the reality that he was now a member of the ton pulled him in opposite directions. But for right now, in that very moment, he knew he could be happy here.
He guided his mount to the stables, dismounted, and allowed one of the grooms to lead the horse away. Normally he would have taken the time to see to the animal’s care himself, but he was already running late. He wouldn’t have time to wash the smell of horse from himself before breakfast.
He hoped Miss Weston wouldn’t take offense. She was going out of her way to help him after all.
He strode toward the house and was unnerved when the front door opened just as he reached it. But there was no magic involved. A veritable army of servants were now at his beck and call. He tried not to let that thought unsettle him. They were ordinary people like him, doing their best to get on with their lives.
John’s thoughts turned to Miss Weston as he thanked the butler and handed the man his hat and gloves. It bothered him how much she reminded him of the barmaid he’d helped.Rescued,his friends had teased.
Of course, he could only remember general details about the woman. She’d had dark brown hair that curled slightly, blue eyes, and a generous mouth. While he didn’t know if Miss Weston’s hair curled or fell straight, she shared the other features. She was also of similar height, but most women were slight when compared to his own six feet. Half the women in England possessed those same features.
The events of that evening had passed so quickly he couldn’t even be certain he was remembering the barmaid correctly. It was possible that what he’d observed of the young woman with whom he was sharing the estate was coloring his memories of Molly.
He brought his mind back to the present when Hastings informed him that Miss Weston had already come down and then gave him directions to the breakfast room. Apparently it was adjacent to the dining room where they’d eaten the night before.
With a word of thanks, he made his way down the hall. He wouldn’t examine why his spirits lightened with each step he took.
Amelia was seated and halfway through her breakfast when he entered the room. “Good morning, my lord.” When he raised a brow in response, she sighed. “Good morning, Lowenbrock.”
“This is quite the feast,” he said as he moved to the sideboard to make a plate for himself. He took no shame in piling it high, wanting to sample each item that was served. He returned to the table and took a seat next to her. “Surely we don’t need quite so much for the two of us and Markham. Has he already come down?”
Amelia shook her head. “He asked for something to be sent to his room. He sent his excuses, saying he’s still feeling fatigued after your long journey.”
She took her lower lip between her teeth, and John had to force himself to look away when he realized he was wondering what those lips would taste like.
“I may have been too hard on him. I’ll admit to wondering at times if he was trying to delay me.”
Amelia coughed at that. “I think he’s starting to feel his age. He used to visit several times a year, but it’s been a long time since he’s visited Brock Manor. I worry about him.”
“I wondered why he’s still practicing law.”
“I think that’s for me. My uncle had him promise to look after me, and he’s taken to the role of honorary uncle with ease. Perhaps once you’ve settled in here, he’ll feel comfortable recommending another solicitor to take over the estate’s legal matters.”
He didn’t miss the way her lips turned down slightly at the thought. “You’ll miss his visits.”
“He’s been very kind to me. Whatever I needed, he was there to help me. And he never made me feel as though I was a duty he had to bear.”
“Even if he steps down from being my solicitor, there’s no reason we won’t be able to see him from time to time.”
She gave him an odd look that he couldn’t decipher. When she said nothing further, he dug into his breakfast, starting first with the plum cake.
A full minute of companionable silence passed before Amelia pushed her plate away. “Cook cannot continue to prepare this much food. I know the staff will have a feast with the leftovers, but it is wasteful. I’ll speak to her about moderating her output.”
“I have no issue with the servants enjoying a good breakfast. They shouldn’t have to wait for us to eat first though.”
Amelia smiled. “Try telling that to Mrs. Hastings. She runs this household on a tight schedule and insists the staff will get lazy if we coddle them too much.”