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Chapter 1

The sun was just beginning to climb above the rolling hills that surrounded Windle Manor, a fine mist still clinging to the lush green blanket of the countryside. Alone, a well-dressed but rugged figure entered the stables, rolling back the heavy door with great effort.

“Good morning, Valiant,” the rider called out as sunlight filtered into the darkened stalls. A cream-colored horse whinnied in response, his hooves stamping eagerly against the sawdust floor.

“I don’t suppose you’re up to a long ride today, are you, boy?” the slight woman asked softly, already hefting a pail of fine oats over the door to hang on the hook.

The horse only thrust his velvety nose into the pail in response. He began to munch greedily while his rider began readying his tack and saddle.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” a stable hand called out from the end of the long, dark hallway. “We don’t take too well to yer kind sneakin’ up in here and making off with our stock! I’ll put the hangman’s noose on you myself, and then—”

The burly man stormed towards Valiant’s stall then stopped dead in his tracks, his face instantly going pale.

“My Lady! I had no idea, please forgive me!” he said in a rush, barely stopping to breathe. “I only meant that is, … I thought you… oh no.”

The young lady only laughed. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Colin. I rather prefer to know you’re ready to defend Valiant—and his friends—with such force!”

“Still, My Lady, your father would have me run out of the county if he’d heard me address you so. I apologize again, truly.” The older man had already removed his cap and stood wringing it in his large, work-worn hands.

The young lady smiled sweetly and put out a delicate hand to stop Mr. Colin from destroying his only cap. She gave him a conspiratorial smirk before breaking into a broad smile.

“I assure you, my father need not know that you were so ardent in your defense of our horses. But I think you misjudge him. He’s a stern man, to be sure, but these horses mean almost as much to him as they do to me!”

“Beggin’ yer pardon that I might argue with you, My Lady, but I’ve never in my life met one who’s so taken with horses as yourself.”

“Perhaps,” she answered with a smile, turning her attention to Valiant and stroking his long, soft neck. “But what’s not to love? They are stronger and braver than any soldier, more gentle and attentive than the kindest governess, more loyal than any friend living or dead. That they love us and trust us so, we who are so undeserving of them, means it is our duty to care for them.”

“Tis quite poetic, My Lady. I, too, think highly of my horses, but even I had not such an affection for them. It does my heart good, as there are some who see these animals as nothing more than beasts put here to serve in labor.” Mr. Colin ducked his head awkwardly when he realized he’d let slip a very personal sentiment.

“True. And to think, these wonderful creatures carry us far and wide, giving us the kind of freedom that could only be matched by a bird in flight!” Marjorie Acton, daughter of the Marquess of Mortham, added, still petting her horse and laughing softly when he lifted his head from his breakfast to nuzzle her hair.

“Ah, yes. To ride! To truly know the kind of speed that this beautiful beast is capable of! Of course, not all feel the need to ride as though they had been set ablaze. I’ve not yet met man or woman who rides quite the way you do, if I may be so bold to say so!”

“No, you may not be so bold!” roared a man’s deep voice from the doorway. Mr. Colin and the girl turned sharply and gasped at the imposing figure framed by the door sill and lit from behind by the now-glaring sunlight.

“Father!” the girl said, still recovering from the surprise. “You gave me a fright!”

“I should say so, Marjorie. What are you doing here at this time of the day? The household hasn’t even awakened!”

“I thought to take Valiant out for a ride before the heat became oppressive, that’s all.” Marjorie ducked her head, letting her long black curls hide some of her shame at being scolded in front of the stable hand. She, a young woman of twenty and mistress of Windle Manor in her mother’s absence, was being reprimanded like a school girl who’d failed to learn her sums.

“And you, Mr. Colin. Do you not have work to do? Or do I pay you a handsome salary to be too forward with my daughter?”

“No, My Lord. I’m sorry. I… I’ll see to my work,” the man stammered before rushing away as fast as his old legs could carry him.

“Father, that was unkind. No one would think Mr. Colin was being too familiar. He’s older than you, old enough to be my grandfather!”

“Hold your tongue, daughter. I will not be subjected to such arguments. As for your ride, you may go out for your ride at a more presentable hour, and you will take your sister and one of the stable boys with you. It’s important to be seen, especially in your finer riding clothes. These old rags you’re wearing… ” he gestured to her jacket and long skirts with a contemptuous wave and a sneer on his face, “belong in the rubbish bin.”

“Father,” Marjorie said in a tearful whisper, “these were Mother’s things.”

For only a moment, the Marquess of Mortham seemed to soften. Charles Acton was known as an unrelenting, even brutal man when it came to business and political affairs, but his one weakness was the memory of his dead wife.

He cleared his throat to push back any hint of emotion. “I see. Then they belong in the attic with all the other memories of her. Not hanging from your frame as you undoubtedly race like a New World savage across the countryside! Return to the house, see to your sister’s morning lessons, then when you dress yourself in a seemlier fashion, you may enjoy a ride this afternoon.”

Her father turned on his heel and strode out of the cavernous stables, the echo of his boots sounding off the many empty stalls. Marjorie could do nothing but fume angrily.

“I have sad news about our escape, Valiant. We’ll just have to endure a ‘pleasant stroll’ around the park later. Perhaps it may not be as bad as all that, though. Harriet is always a cheerful sister and lends an ear for conversation. We’ll just have to pray that old gossip Caroline Howard does not seek to invite herself along!”