An Honorable Gentleman

She nodded, then leaned toward Gwen. “The salmon, I think,” she whispered. “And pudding. I don’t know a man who doesn’t like pudding.”

Gwen could only hope the housekeeper was right. At the moment, it seemed that Sir Trevor liked little about Blackcliff. But she was about to change all that.

Please, Lord, let me change all that!

“If you’d be so kind as to follow me, Sir Trevor,” she said, then held her breath.

But he nodded, motioning her out the door ahead of him.

Emboldened, Gwen led him through the manor and onto the lawn before the fell.

How could he fail to appreciate the view? Gwen loved autumn at Blackcliff. The cool air was moist and tangy. The black rock made the fiery rowans and oaks and the russet ash stand out in sharp relief. With so much color, the ugly charcoal-colored piles of wad tailings around the mouth of the mine halfway up the slope were barely noticeable.

She paused, turning to him. “You like to ride, don’t you?”

He raised a brow as if he hadn’t expected the question. “Indeed.”

She pointed along the foot of the fell. “There’s an excellent path along there. If you head west, it will take you to the top of the dale. East will lead you down the dale into the Lockhart estate. The squire and his son are bruising riders, too. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you jumping a few fences.”

“At least they have fences,” he replied.

So much for riding. Lord, guide my words! Show me what he’d find good here!

Then a verse came to her mind: Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord.

The mountain! Of course. “And you have Blackcliff,” she replied, turning to head for the well-worn footpath up the fell. “This way.”

“This isn’t necessary,” he said, though she felt him behind her.

“It is entirely necessary,” she insisted, lifting her skirts to clamber up the rocky path. Behind her came a thud and a grunt, and she turned to find him on one knee, sliding backward on the rocks. She reached out a hand and grabbed his coat, slowing him. Oh, but he was a solid fellow! She teetered on the rock, perilously close to falling herself. Lord, help me!

Her gaze met his and, for a moment, she thought her panic had infected him, as well. Then his eyes narrowed as if in determination, and he surged upward, caught her and pulled her into the safety of his arms. Gwen stood, wrapped in his embrace, her chest against his ribs, blinking up at him.

“I can see why you thought this would improve my perception of Blackcliff,” he said, gazing down at her. His mouth curved up in a smile.

Heat flushed up her, and she disengaged from him. “Actually, you’ll find the view from the top is much better.”

His smile turned sad. “You’re wasting your time, I fear.”

“Then I shall apologize sweetly for taking you out of your way,” Gwen replied. But she started resolutely upward once more and heard the rocks rattle under his boots as he followed.

They climbed in silence for a while, the sounds of their footfalls quieted by the still air. The brambles along the path were turning a peachy orange, their berries almost as dark as the ground. Did he appreciate the show? A falcon soared by, nearly eye level with them. Did he see its majesty?

Apparently not, for he asked, “Why do you stay? Why do any of you stay?”

A simple enough question, for Gwen. “It’s home,” she told him, breath starting to come in pants. “My father’s here. My friends are here. But there’s more to it than that. You’ll see in a moment.”

With a last push, she reached the top. Sharp slabs of shale lay piled on the ground like dirty dishes on a footman’s tray. The air was cool and just as sharp, stinging her cheeks, tugging at her curls, whistling as it passed. Trevor drew up beside her, standing tall into the blue, blue sky.

Gwen spread her arms and turned in a circle. “Look around you, Sir Trevor. Everything you see is yours.”

He turned slowly, eyes widening. The crimson of autumn gave way to the white of new snow on the upper peaks in the distance. They had only a dusting now, like sugar on cinnamon loaves, but they’d be all white before winter’s end. Their forested sides ran down to clear brooks and wide fields. Gwen linked one arm with his and pointed with the other.

“Your land extends to the top of the next peak. See that stream in the valley between the two? It’s filled with salmon. You’ll have some for dinner tonight.”

He nodded as if the idea had merit.

Encouraged, she tugged him to the north. “See that copse of trees? That’s yours, too. You’ll find deer and fox and ermine and plenty of wood for your fire.”

One corner of his mouth curved upward. Ah, perhaps he liked to hunt. She could use that to her advantage.

She turned him east, and the whole of the Evendale Valley spread out, the village a set of small white squares against the green. “You see those cottages, those shops? Those are your people, your neighbors. They rely on you to provide opportunities for income and advancement. You can rely on them for friendship and service in good times and comfort in bad.”

His half smile disappeared.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he see what Blackcliff had to offer?

She released his arm and put both hands on her hips. “Come now, Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam of Blackcliff. How can you call this nothing?”

Chapter Six

How could Trevor explain? He could see the beauty of the place—wild, untrammeled. He could imagine riding Icarus along those narrow paths, hunting in the shaded woods, fishing in the crystal streams. If he’d wanted no more than a warm fire, good food and loyal companions, Blackcliff would have satisfied. But he wanted more. Blackcliff might be Gwen Allbridge’s world, but his was bigger and hundreds of miles away.

Still, she regarded him, feathery brows up, slender body poised, waiting for him to agree with her assessment, to offer praise.

The best he could do was smile. “I never meant to denigrate your home. It’s a fine estate and a lovely village. It’s simply not what I planned.”

She cocked her head, and the cold mountain air whipped a coppery strand of hair across her face. “What did you plan?”

He gazed off over the fells, shadows against the blue sky. “Farmland, tenants.” He snorted. “At the very least an orchard or two.”

She straightened and shrugged as if those did not seem so important to her. “You’ll find some of that in the lower valley, but it’s too rocky here for more than a small garden.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

She waved her hand, sweeping away his concerns. “There are far more interesting things here in any event.”

Trevor eyed her. “Such as?”

She raised her chin. “We have a fine church. St. Martin’s was built in the thirteenth century, you know.”

So even his church was old and no doubt needed work. “A venerable establishment, to be sure.”

She laughed. “Your words are praising, sir, but I see the look in your eyes. Very well. I suppose St. Martin’s may not be all that interesting to someone of your sophistication. So, tell me, where would you prefer to live?”

“London,” he readily replied.

This time he was the one expecting a quick agreement. London was the capital, the seat of government, the hub of commerce. Anyone who was anyone spent at least part of the year in London.

To his surprise, she wrinkled her nose. “London? Why? You must see that Blackcliff is far and away superior.”

Trevor raised a brow. “And on what do you base such a sweeping statement? Have you ever visited London?”

“Once,” she admitted with a shudder that set the pink ribbon on her long green coat to shaking. “Mother went up to see a cousin who was being presented, and I accompanied her. And that was quite enough, I assure you. The air is filled with that nasty soot, carriages clog the roads, street vendors wake you in the wee hours to shout about milk and posies. No, thank you!”

With the exception of the soot from the coal fires, he found those things more interesting than irksome. “And were you given no opportunity to experience the culture? London boasts lofty architecture, galleries of fine art and sculpture, exceptional dressmakers and expert tailors.”

“Ah, shopping,” she said wisely. “Come with me to Blackcliff village, sir, and see if you don’t find it equally diverting.”

He’d seen enough of the little village riding through it last night and today. The entire collection of buildings could be hidden in one corner of London, and no one would notice. Instead of looking at aged churches, he should be in the library, reading documents, checking calculations. He had to decide what to do about Blackcliff, determine how soon he could head back to London. “I’m sure the village is delightful, but I’m certain your father would prefer that I return to the manor.”

He thought surely she’d agree with that. She’d been quick to support her father on every other occasion. Instead, she shook her head doggedly.

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