Justin's Bride. Susan Mallery

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      She pulled the gown over her head and slipped her feet out of the covers. Sally turned as she heard the rustle of the drapes, and hurried to help Catherine pull them back. The maid was all cheery nonchalance.

      “Good morning, my lady. Hardraw gave me your message to prepare your bath.”

      Hardraw? Oh, yes, Caldbeck’s valet. That explained the bath—the earl’s instructions, no doubt. A twinge of annoyance swept through Catherine. What did he think he was doing, ordering her bath? She pushed the irritation aside and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She needed that bath.

      “I hope you slept well, miss. It’s another lovely day.”

      Sally bustled about pouring hot water into the copper tub. When the temperature satisfied her, she motioned to Catherine, who stepped into it. Ahh! She slid down until the hot water lapped at her chin.

      “Mrs. Hawes suggested I steep the lavender first. So refreshing it is.” Sally handed her a face cloth.

      Catherine resisted making an unladylike grimace. Another person minding her business. She replied with noncommittal murmurs until the warm water and soothing herbs had soaked away her discomfort.

      An hour later, feeling quite renewed, Catherine made her way to the breakfast parlor and found her husband—yes, truly her husband now—finishing his breakfast. He stood as she entered the room.

      “Good morning. I trust you rested well?” Caldbeck’s cool gaze took in the flush that Catherine could feel burning in her face.

      “Uh…yes.” She decided to be gracious. “Thank you for ordering the bath. You are very considerate.”

      “The mark of a gentleman.” His eyes never flickered, but this time Catherine was sure she detected the slightest change in his voice. Was he teasing her? It seemed so unlikely, yet…

      “I see you are attired for riding. Are you certain you still wish to do so this morning?”

      Catherine could feel her face positively flaming. “I believe I do. I…I do not ride astride.”

      “A fortunate circumstance.”

      Catherine cast him a suspicious glance. There it was again—that minute change of tone. He was teasing her.

      Wasn’t he?

      “Indeed.” She put a touch of ice into her own voice.

      His lordship, of course, did not react to it. “Then when you have eaten, let us be on our way.”

      They rode in the crisp fall air across the rolling dales, Catherine’s new hunter and Caldbeck’s dapple gray cantering along companionably. The hills, crowned here and there with autumn woods and dotted with white sheep, rose green against an indigo sky. Small watercourses raced down from the heights, cutting into the soil and plunging over outcrops of stone in diminutive waterfalls. A hint of wood smoke prickled their nostrils.

      Catherine flung a quick look at her husband. He sat ramrod straight in the saddle, his shoulders square, his muscular thighs expertly guiding his mount. The superfine of his coat fit smoothly across his back, and his hat rested at what could only be called a dashing angle. How could she ever have missed that bold physical aspect of him? Now she could see nothing else.

      Her happy mood expanded to encompass the whole landscape. To her, all the colors glowed with unusual brightness, and the breeze blew soft and caressing. “Oh! This is so beautiful.” Catherine’s gesture took in a complete circle. “Is Yorkshire always so lovely?”

      “The Dales are well known for their beauty,” his lordship replied with his usual moderation.

      Today his tone did not dampen Catherine’s spirits. “I have always loved visiting in the country, though I wanted more opportunity to do it. My uncle always lived in London.”

      “I much prefer the country.” Caldbeck drew rein. “I especially wish to show you an old manor house on a piece of land I am thinking of buying—known as the old Buck Manor. It might make just the headquarters for your children’s relief work. It has plenty of room to house orphans, also. Like Wulfdale, it has some very old sections, plus some newer ones, and a home farm.”

      “Oh! That would be wonderful. I would love to see it.” Catherine restrained herself with difficulty from bouncing excitedly in her saddle. “A farm would be perfect. Children need chores to teach them responsibility—but not all the time, mind you. They need some time to play. In some of the institutions for homeless children the conditions are so strict as to be abusive. Even in the foundling hospitals so many of the babies die. I don’t want mine to be like that. I want them to have a home.”

      Caldbeck nodded his head to the west, and they cantered off in that direction. “And were you assigned chores, Kate, as a child?”

      Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yes. Or, at least, while my parents were living. My aunt and uncle never bothered. They let me do pretty much as I wished, as long as I stayed out of their way. But when I was little, I had to sort and wind all Mama’s embroidery silks and yarn, and to walk her little dog and read to my grandmother when I grew older. I never minded reading to Grandmama, though. She was such a dear.” Her face clouded a little. “I missed her very much when she died.”

      “You have a tender heart.”

      “Do you think so?” Catherine pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I never thought of myself that way, nor has anyone else, apparently. Everyone talks only of my terrible temper.”

      The earl glanced at her again. “So I have been told.”

      She rolled her eyes skyward. “You are very calm about it now. I wonder how you will feel when you encounter it.”

      “An interesting speculation, indeed.” Caldbeck reined in his mount and pointed down into a little valley. “There is the house, and just beyond it is the byre. Shall we inspect it now?”

      “Certainly!” Catherine nudged her horse, and Caldbeck followed her down the hill.

      The house was, in fact, quite large. Four wings enclosed an old courtyard, and numerous chimneys made their way to the roof to stand out against the blue of the sky. The mildewed gray stones needed mortar in places, and shrubbery grew over the few windows that were visible.

      “Why are most of the windows filled in with stone? Did they do it for defense?” Catherine turned to her husband.

      “More likely because of the window tax. It should be no great task to uncover them.” Caldbeck evaluated the structure with narrowed eyes. “The house is defensible, however. The windows were probably added long after the house was built.”

      Squinting dubiously, Catherine urged her chestnut through the portal into the courtyard. Following her in, Caldbeck dismounted and lifted her from the sidesaddle. As Catherine scanned the yard, a shudder ran down her spine. She stopped in her tracks. “My lord, do you feel that someone is watching us?”

      “No.” Caldbeck looked around. “And I don’t see anyone.”

      Catherine’s gaze followed his around the enclosure. “I…it’s odd. Probably I am just being fanciful.”

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