It had been full dark when Haversmere Manor came into view. From a distance, moonlight reflecting off the aged stones had made it stand out against the dark surrounds. To Joe it had seemed like a soft grey pearl shimmering in night.
Rising, swirling mist gave it an enchanted feel.
Everyone had been asleep except for Joe, Olivia and the driver.
Not wishing to awake the rest of the party, he had not said anything. Olivia nodded at the house and smiled at him. Although, after enduring such a long trip, she might smile at any place offering a bed.
The housekeeper and the butler must have heard the carriage wheels on the driveway because they had hurried down the manor steps and ushered everyone inside.
Naturally, they had been expecting Pa. It was a hard thing to have to give them the news, to listen to their quiet weeping.
It brought back his own tears and Roselina’s—even Ma’s—although he had not seen her shed many.
Grief was not something one got over all at once. He thought maybe you never did get over it completely, not until you were reunited with your loved one on the other side of life.
It was that thought which gave him the courage to smile and think forward rather than behind.
Coming inside the house last night, he had hoped to feel some sense of home. It had been at one time. No doubt he had been happy here.
All he had felt was relief to get a bite to eat and then to fall on the bed in the master’s chamber.
Surprisingly, he’d slept well, then risen before dawn eager to explore Haversmere.
On his way outside he’d heard a bit of noise coming from what must be the kitchen, but other than that the house was silent.
It wasn’t light enough yet to see things as more than the dark blurs of trees and the lighter shade of the path that led from the house to—he did not know where to—but he was about to find out.
He heard rushing water. River Rothay, Pa had said. It sounded cold and fast. Not at all like the slow meander of the Cheyenne River that cut through the property back—not back home—not any longer.
Pa used to talk about this river, how he loved the fresh sound of it and how many large brown trout he had fished from it.
Joe wondered if it was so different from fishing on the ranch. No doubt it was since everything about Great Britain was different than Wyoming.
Please, let something feel familiar. He was pretty sure that had been a prayer.
If he could recall the smallest thing, it might make it easier to call this place home. In order to best serve the people living and working here, he needed find a bond with the land.
He wanted a sense of belonging to a place. That it was his to care for in a way more than simply what his new title required of him. He’d had that feel for the land in Wyoming, perhaps he could have it here as well.
The closer he got to the river the more clearly he heard the flow of swift water. It was the only sound at this time of morning. Whatever night creatures lived here were already abed for the day and the birds had not yet risen.
He crossed a stone bridge, watching the dark water rush under it, then away towards Grasmere. Some niggling feeling of familiarity poked at his heart, but not so strongly as to call it a memory.
If he could summon a memory or two, it might make it easier to settle in.
Only a flash of something from his very young life might make him feel like he belonged here.
Since he had been only three years old when he left he did not expect to remember much—but anything would help him.
Stepping off the bridge, he spotted a large red structure with sunlight beginning to graze the peak of the roof.
The shearing barn! Somehow he knew what it was. Beside it, only a hundred yards to the east, was the barn that housed the estate horses.
That was a start, he supposed. Perhaps memory would build upon memory and Haversmere would come to feel like home.
Walking past the sheep barn, then across the meadow, he looked forward to visiting the horses on the way back.
Far in the distance he spotted a few campfires. Shepherds keeping warm in the early morning chill, he guessed. While he walked along through fresh-smelling grass, the campfires went out one by one. Sunshine rose over land more green and lush looking than any he had ever seen.
All of a sudden he had a sensation of rolling in the meadow, of grass tickling his nose. It might be a memory, but then it was so vague, it might also be something he longed to do in the here and now.
By sugar, Victor would enjoy rolling down the grassy bank. As soon as the day warmed he would bring him here and they roll in the grass together.
He was going to enjoy teaching the child things. While he was not Victor’s father, Joe felt a draw to watch out for him—teach him things a boy ought to know.
Must be because the little cowpoke had claimed him.
It occurred to Joe that perhaps the boy did not know how to swim. He was young for the skill. It would be important for him to know how. The river would be a danger if he didn’t.
Joe had fallen in the river, although he did not recall the event. It did not take a vivid memory to know that such an accident would be terrifying. His heart kicked against his ribs at the thought of it happening to Victor.
Looking past acres of pasture land, he saw the mountains—the fells, as folks here called them—coming alive with daylight sliding down from the ridges. They were not nearly as tall as Wyoming’s, but he thought they appeared as rugged.
One day he would like to hike up, look down on everything. Maybe Olivia would go with him. He reckoned she would enjoy the view, seeing all the grandeur below as a soaring bird would.
London was vastly different from Haversmere.
After walking about another half-mile, he came upon a lake, its water deep, clear and reflecting the trees growing on its banks. The images were wavy with the breeze that rippled over the surface of the water.
Pa had talked about this lake, called it a mere because it was small.
Since small did not mean shallow, Victor would certainly need to learn to swim.
Joe bent down to waggle his fingers in the water. It was far too cold for swimming. He figured a stern warning about the danger of both the lake and the river would have to do.
It felt a fatherly thing to do, to warn the boy about the danger the water posed. Funny how it gave his heart a warm turn, knowing it fell to him to protect his young friend.
Not that his mother had not done a fine job of it for five years, it’s just that a boy needed the guidance of a man’s hand.
In the past he hadn’t thought a great deal about fatherhood, except that he’d had a father and loved him. Lately something had changed for him in that regard.
Ever since a blue-eyed package of mischief had wrapped his small arms about Joe’s neck and claimed him, blamed if he did not feel lassoed and branded.
Not only by the boy, but by his mother. From the first he had been attracted to her, who would not have been? She was a lovely woman and any man would seek her company.
Any man who cared to look past her thorny attitude in regards to men.
Joe Steton cared to look—cared to look even more deeply than he already had.
Now that he had something to offer Olivia, he felt free to pursue the intimacy they were both sparring around.
Winning her over to his way of thinking would not be an easy thing to do. He figured it was not her heart he needed to win. The bond between them was already there and for all its fragility was quite genuine.
Rather what he needed to win was her trust.
The breeze stirred the grass and carried another noise with it, so faint he stopped and listened hard.
Bleating. It sounded soft, forlorn and not far distant.
He hurried forward, a bit towards the right, and discovered a pair of black lambs huddled together in the grass.
They were quite young, their umbilical cords still attached. Poor little critters were shivering.
He took off his coat and wrapped them up in it. What had become of their mother? There must have been a predator of some sort. Nothing else could have made her abandon her lambs.
Odd, though—glancing about he saw no signs of a struggle.
‘Don’t worry, small beasties, you will be warm and fed in no time.’
He did not know a great deal about sheep, but he assumed any nursing ewe would take them to suckle.
It was a lucky thing that Sir Bristle had not roused from his spot on the floor beside Victor’s bed when Joe went out. He had never seen a sheep. Joe wondered who would have been more startled, the lambs or the dog.
Victor would not be startled. He would be overjoyed.
‘Will you two help me?’ he asked of the lambs. Fortunately they were no longer quaking. ‘If you cosy up to Victor, make him happy, his mother will be, too. My hope is that in turn she will cosy up to me.’
One of the lambs stuck its dark nose out of the coat and gave a soft bleat.
‘You think I have a chance, then?’ He touched the velvet-like nose. The lamb licked his finger. ‘You must be hungry. How did you end up out here, anyway?’
Mischief, perhaps, as the estate manager’s letter had suggested. But directed at innocent lambs? It didn’t make much sense.
More likely a predator. But one so stealthy that it left no evidence of struggle or a kill?
He had not met any of the shepherds yet, but he would have a lot of questions when he did.
By the time he made it back to the barn the lambs had fallen asleep. The sun was fully over the horizon now—which was not to say it was warm.
Someone had lit a fire in the stove at the far end of the barn. Joe walked past the long row of sheering stalls, then set the lambs down in front of it to warm.
Footsteps came into the barn, then stopped abruptly.
‘Lord Haversmere!’
Joe glanced up and spotted the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. It was impossible to make out his features until he stepped further into the barn. ‘I offer my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your father. He was a fine man and we are all grieved by his loss.’
It was going to take some time before he became accustomed to being called ‘lord’. In his heart he would always be just plain Joe.
‘Thank you, sir.’ He stood up to shake the man’s hand, but then wondered if it was appropriate since the man nodded his head in deference to the title.
‘Welcome to Haversmere. I am Willie Smythe, the estate manager.’ He glanced at the lambs with a frown. ‘Will you know, sir—did your father receive my letters about the troubles of late?’
‘My mother received them. She delivered them to me. Mr Smythe, is trouble so rare here that a broken plank on the bridge is suspect?’
‘Quite so, at Haversmere this does not happen. I see to the safety of all our bridges myself. In fact, I inspected the damaged bridge the day before the lambs fell in. It was solid.’
‘So you believe someone is sabotaging the estate?’
There was a stack of wood crates close at hand. Joe took two down, sat on one, then offered the other to the overseer.
‘I am that certain of it, sir.’ Mr Smythe tugged on his ear and shook his head. ‘But I’m sure I can’t tell you why.’
‘I found these two about an hour ago.’ He nodded at the lambs. ‘They were alone in the pasture near the lake. Can you tell me what predators might have taken their mother?’
‘Hereabouts, grown sheep have no predators.’ Mr Smythe stood, then went to kneel beside the sleeping lambs. He picked one up, turned it this way and that. ‘Not even a day old, I’d say. I’ve a guess who their mama might be. But as to how she lost them? I fear it is more of the mischief I wrote about.’
He set the lamb beside its twin, then resumed his seat on the crate.
‘I only hope you will remain here until the mystery is solved, my lord.’
‘My family and I are not returning to America. We will be making our home here.’
‘Ach, but the cattle ranch! Your father was devoted to it.’
‘Indeed, he was. But as it turns out, my mother was more devoted to my sister and me than a piece of land and so she sold it.’
‘Ah, well, might I say, sir, all of us will be glad. We have sore missed having our Baron in residence over the years.’
Mr Smythe was older than Joe was. Could he perhaps remember him from when he was a child here? Did he recall his mother? Perhaps he could unlock some of the memories Joe craved.
‘How long have you been employed here, Mr Smythe?’
‘Near on twenty years, sir. This is home to me, as I hope it will soon feel to you.’
‘Thank you—I only ask because I would like to find someone who knew me when I lived here. I was young and have no memory of any of this. I was hoping there might be someone who might be able to refresh my mind.’
‘Old Widow Shoemaker, she would be the one. She was the cook here in those days and even up until five years ago. She lives by your good graces in a small house between here and Grasmere.’
‘I will pay her a visit.’
‘You won’t need to. She comes every day to sell her eggs.’
Joe stood up. No doubt breakfast was being served and people would wonder where he was. He bent over to stroke each of the lambs.
‘These will be all right?’
‘If Izzy is not their mother, another will take them in. But I will admit it makes me uneasy thinking someone got close enough to the sheepdogs to be able to take them without raising an alarm.’
‘Perhaps it is someone they know.’
‘Aye, my lord, that’s the part that makes my gut crawl.’
‘You may rest easy now, Mr Smythe. I am here and will put the mischief to rest.’
‘I’m that grateful.’ Smythe tipped the brim of his hat when Joe took his leave. ‘And, sir—for all that Haversmere is different than where you came from, I hope that you and your family will be happy here.’
‘Thank you, Mr Smythe.’
Walking from the barn towards the manor house, Joe paused a moment on the bridge. He looked at the large house with its stone walkway, then glanced back at the pastureland surrounded by the fells.
Smythe was correct in saying the Lake District was far different than Wyoming. But the plain fact was, it was no less breathtaking.
Beauty was beauty and came in many forms.
And now Haversmere was his. People depended upon him to make a success of it.
In the beginning, his only obligation had been to learn to dress, walk and speak like a gentleman. And that for only the time it took some fellow to offer for his sister.
Now he was a baron. The weight of his new role did sit heavy on him.
Someone came out the front door and stood on the porch. She waved her hand in greeting.
It was Olivia, dressed in a yellow gown. The way she smiled made his heart leap. How many times could the sun rise in one day?
Perhaps Olivia ought to have asked her maid to come north, but in the moment and with everything happening so quickly, she had not. It was kind enough that Helmswaddle had packed her trunk in haste. The maid deserved to have a prolonged holiday.
As a result Olivia must now dress herself and arrange her own hair. This was not something she was accustomed to doing. All her life she had had help. Which did not mean she was helpless.
Although Miss Hopp would be willing to assist, Olivia would not ask.
One could only imagine what Victor would be doing while the governess tied a ribbon in Olivia’s hair.
A ribbon? What had made her think of wearing such a frill? Something had because, staring at her open trunk, she saw three of them draped across her petticoats. They had certainly not purchased themselves.
She had worn the yellow lace at breakfast. Perhaps this afternoon called for blue. Indeed, from her second-storey window she could see a small lake and her blue gown was a near match to the water, although the fabric did not glitter or reflect anything.
She removed the blue gown from the wardrobe, spread it across the bed. It was casual and perfect for her walkabout with Joe.
After putting it on, which was a bit of a challenge without the help of her maid, she looked in the mirror.
Oh, dear. By no means could she style her hair the way Helmswaddle did, even if she had the time.
As it was she was nearly late.
A blue satin ribbon would simply have to do. She tied her hair in the ribbon and let it fall where it would.
She closed the door on her small but pretty room, then walked down the hallway towards the stairs.
The staff at Haversmere took dutiful care of the house. Even though Joe and his party had not been expected, everything was in order as if they had been.
Fresh flowers filled vases on glossy tables along the hallway. The scent of polished wood was as pungent as the flowers were.
In all, the house was comfortable more than formal, made all the cosier because of the smell of bread baking in the kitchen.
She walked past a library with the doors standing open. A small fire in the hearth would make it a welcome spot to read a book.
But then, she was not here to indulge in reading, but to further instruct Joe in the art of gentlemanly posturing. Now that he was Haversmere, a genteel appearance was all the more crucial.
Not that he wasn’t already a gentleman, he was to the bone. All he required was a spit of polish. That and to learn to dance.
Clearly the manor house, while grand enough, was not intended to host grand balls. In the process of exploring this morning she noticed a room that would serve for an evening soirée which, unless you were the Duchess, was quite adequate.
No doubt the room had gone unused for a very long time. From what she understood, Joe’s father had conducted his business without social fanfare, his wife and hostess living across the ocean.
For not having a mistress, the manor house seemed to be running efficiently. It was apparent that the staff treated the place with care and respect.
If there was a prettier place on earth than Haversmere, she could not imagine where. The home was both grand and inviting—the grounds pastoral.
She had heard the area’s praises described by poets and travellers and now knew the words to be well deserved. Joe could not help but find his home here.
Surely in time he would come to love it as much as he had loved the ranch.
Even she, having been here not even a full day, was wishing she never had to leave.
Olivia rounded a corner on the way to the hall and nearly collided with Joe’s mother, who balanced a cup of tea on a book she was carrying. The fire set in the library hearth must have been meant for her.
‘Good day, my lady,’ Olivia said, putting out a hand to steady the tea.
‘Why, hello, Olivia. I trust you are finding your way about?’
‘I’ve only become lost once or twice.’
‘Only three times for me. But isn’t this a lovely house? It is my first time seeing it with my own eyes. My husband described it to me and I half-feel I know everyone, but to see it first hand is a grand thing.’ A shadow muddied the rich brown shade of her eyes. ‘Looking back, I wish I had come with him on occasion. Of course I could never have put an ocean between me and my children. As you can see, I still cannot. But you are a mother so you will understand.’
‘Completely, Lady Haversmere. And am I correct in assuming the need to be near them does not change because our children are grown?’
‘It only gets worse, my dear. They go where they will and not where you direct them to.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t tell you how odd it feels to be called Lady Haversmere rather than Mrs Steton.’
‘I hope you do not mind.’
‘It makes me feel rather high-hat.’ She smiled, winked. So that was where Joe learned the gesture. ‘And something of an imposter.’
‘You should not. I suspect that Haversmere has dearly missed having a mistress to fuss over. From what I can tell, the staff is delighted to have you.’
‘As I am delighted to be here, the title notwithstanding. I’d act like a loon in a swamp if that is what it took to be with my babies.’ She blew on the tea, took a delicate sip. ‘Ah, there is one of them now. Unless I miss my guess he is looking for you. Enjoy your outing.’
With a nod and a smile Lady Haversmere made her way to the library.
Olivia stepped out on to the porch, securing the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin.
Her hair felt oddly wonderful blowing out from under it in the fresh cool air.
Joe met her at the foot of the banister. He had plucked a rose from one of the many bushes growing beside the porch.
‘Good afternoon, Joe.’
‘It is a good afternoon.’ He winked then tucked the rose into the brim of her hat. ‘I think it’s the same colour as the gown you wore this morning. I’d have picked something the colour of your eyes, but I’d have had to pull down the sky to do it.’
She smiled at the outrageous compliment as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.
For some women it would be, but for her it was the most unnatural thing.
‘Are you always such a flirt?’
‘That wasn’t flirting, just observing a fact.’
Whatever he chose to call it, she liked it in a way she had not done in a very long time. The teasing expression warming his gaze gave her the flutters.
One thing was certain, no other man had ever—or would ever—give her the sensation of a feather born along on the breath of—of a kiss.
What a fancy thought. If she was not careful, she would write it down and become a silly poet.
He caught her hand, tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Life seemed more casual at Haversmere. Perhaps she could have come out without gloves. If she had, she would have felt the warmth of his fingers curl around hers. But, no, touching him skin to skin was a bit much to think of right at the moment.
Given that she was already a fluttering feather afloat and within a breath of becoming a sonneteer—well, it was enough to deal with right now.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, looking about. It could only be to somewhere green and lush.
‘There’s a small lake past the shearing barn. Would you like to see it?’
‘I did see it from my window. But I want to see everything on your estate. The area really is as lovely as people say.’
Even though they walked slowly, remarking on this flower or that tree, they made it to the lake’s edge in under half of an hour.
‘This might be the most beautiful spot I’ve ever been in. Look, Joe, how it reflects the trees as if the water were a mirror.’
A sleek, swift bird flew low over the surface, making it seem that there were two of them. When the bird skimmed the water it nearly seemed that the wings grazed each other. Then the bird lifted up, leaving its match to vanish in the lake.
‘I’ve brought some cheese.’ Joe drew a wrapped package from his coat pocket. ‘Crackers, too, if they aren’t crumbled. Would you like to sit beside the water?’
He led her through ankle-high grass. ‘I found a pair of lambs without their mother this morning. Right over there.’ He pointed to a place where the grass was bent. ‘Poor little critters weren’t even a day old.’
Joe took off his jacket, then spread it on the grass for her to sit on. He sat beside her. Taking out the cheese and crackers, he divided them.
‘Oh, look, Joe!’ she exclaimed while removing her gloves and hat. ‘It’s a red squirrel. See it digging about in the grass where the lambs were.’
‘It’s got some small treasure. Shall I see what it is burying?’
‘Victor will be overcome with joy if it is a treasure.’
Joe got up went to the spot. The squirrel dashed off. Joe squatted down, poking his fingers about in the grass. He came back with something curled in his fist.
‘Not much in the way of treasure. A button only.’
She took it from his open palm and held it up, watched the brass gleam in the sunshine. ‘It has an unusual shape, not round, not square.’ Nearly pumpkin-shaped better described it. ‘I imagine whoever lost it will not find a replacement.’
‘It might have come from anywhere.’ His brow wrinkled in thought. ‘But it might have come from whoever took the lambs from their mother.’
She gave him back the button.
‘Poor sweet things.’ She and Victor had visited them this morning. ‘I don’t know who was happier at being reunited, the lambs or their mother.’
‘From all I could tell it was Victor.’
‘It was a very lucky thing that the estate manager located the ewe. Had he not, I fear the lambs would have spent the night with him in the nursery,’ she said.
‘You are a lucky woman to have a boy like Victor. He is good natured and full of adventure.’
‘I cannot say I do not worry about his high spirits getting him into trouble.’
‘Probably will, it’s all a part of being a boy. I wouldn’t worry, he will grow to be a fine man.’
With Joe as an example to grow by. The thought came to her before she could stop it. She ought to stuff it back where it came from, but it was such a lovely thing to imagine, she could not manage to snuff it. The best she could do was not say so out loud.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. On her part it was because she was listening to birds sing, feeling sunshine on her loose hair and simply enjoying Joe’s company.
‘What do you think of the baronetcy? Is that the right word?’
‘That refers more to your title. But if you mean the land? Quite honestly, Joe...’ she took a nibble of cracker, a nip of cheese and chewed them together ‘... I think it is the prettiest place I have ever been. I think you are going to be madly happy here once you get used to it being home.’
‘Perhaps I could be. If I can only remember something of my past, it might re-establish a connection.’
‘Try closing your eyes and your ears if you can—just breathe in. I’ve heard that smell brings back memories quicker than anything.’
‘Has it worked for you?’
She smiled because how could she not? ‘I’ve not admitted this to anyone before, but sometimes I sniff Victor’s hair, right behind his ear, because in that spot, he still smells like my baby. I go right back to the time I held him and rocked him.’
Of course there had also been the times she caught the scent of a woman’s perfume and it reminded her of the times her husband had returned from ‘visiting his ill mother’ looking flushed with pleasure.
For once, looking back on it did not rob her of her joy as it usually did. That was odd—and wonderful.
Puzzling, too. Why did the memory not crush her the way it used to?
Perhaps it was because everywhere she looked, beauty was reflected.
But maybe not that. Beauty was pleasant and could be found anywhere if one looked for it.
More, it was looking at Joe that made her happy. The way he smiled at her, his eyes squinting against the sunlight and a wave of hair cutting across his forehead—well, some beauty went beyond what one beheld and shot straight to the heart.
He closed his eyes, then cracked one back open. He arched a brow in question.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Like that, but for longer.’
Closing the eye again, he took a deep sniff, then let his breath out in a slow hiss.
‘Well?’ She leaned towards him, eager to know if it worked.
‘Hmm...’ He leaned towards her, sniffed again. ‘I smell cheese—on your lips.’
And then he kissed her.
And she let him.
She should not do it. The more she kissed him the more she wanted to.
It was only a kiss—with a wonderful man who was not going back to America—and so she gave herself over to it. Let him fill her up with—
‘I did smell something, Olivia.’
‘You did? A memory of your childhood?’ She could scarcely believe her advice had helped.
‘No, it was not the past I smelled. It was the future.’