LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Six

      The mid-October breeze was brisk and biting, but nothing like the North Atlantic winds that had buffeted the ship bringing Edmond home to England. With his cape drawn close around him and his hat firmly in place, he fended off the chills that had plagued him during the voyage. But he did lean heavily on his cane and Matthews’s arm while trying to avoid dips in the uneven ground, all the while endeavoring not to grunt with every painful step.

       Ahead, basket in hand, Mother marched along the woodland path with Miss Newfield striding along behind her like a good soldier, another basket over her arm. The young lady possessed a carriage much like her brother’s, yet in every way feminine, an elegant posture devoid of arrogance, her chin held high, as if she was looking forward to reaching her destination. Occasionally she glanced back and smiled, although her eyes expressed her concern for Edmond.

       Under her kind scrutiny, he refused to falter. Instead, by force of will, he gazed at the pale blue sky and the brilliantly hued trees showing off their autumn colors. The leafy, musty scents of the forest filled his senses, reminding him of childhood games with his brothers. Mother had never permitted her sons to fight or even wrestle, but hidden from her and their tutor among these trees, they could wrestle as much as they liked. And it was here they imagined many adventures to come. Yet how differently each of their lives had turned out.

       The little village had not changed. From the farrier’s cluttered stable to the shopkeeper’s tidy window displays, not a horseshoe or bonnet seemed to have moved. Only the children appeared different. The lads who’d once chased each other about the rutted street were no doubt in school or working in the fields beside their fathers, and their youngest brothers now stirred up the lane with their dusty games. The sameness of Greystone Village, which used to bore Edmond, now awoke a longing within his heart. Despite their unremarkable lives, these country folk had a certain security which seemed to define their character. They grew up knowing where they belonged and what they would do with their lives, whereas uncertainty had plagued Edmond since he first realized he would have to find his own way in the world.

       Not until he began his law studies at Oxford had he discovered his true passion. But Mother had decided law was an inferior profession for the youngest brother of a viscount. When she learned that Arthur Wellesley, an earl’s fourth son, had received his own title, political prestige and a vast fortune during his service in India, she declared that Edmond must obtain an officer’s commission in the army. She paid for it herself, less a generous gesture than simply another means of controlling one of her sons. He’d had two choices: accept her offer or become dependent upon his eldest brother’s charity.

       Of course Edmond rebelled, but after a misspent Season in London for which he still felt much guilt and had many regrets, his godly middle brother had brokered a truce. A surrender, actually, for Edmond had capitulated to all of Mother’s demands. But although he had managed to pay off his gambling debts, his service in America had brought neither fortune nor prestige, only wounds that matched the scars on his soul.

       “What a charming village.” Miss Newfield gazed about the scene as if surveying some grand garden. “So like Blandon in every way.”

       “What?” Mother stopped her march and turned to glare at her.

       Edmond caught up in time to see a slight blush touch the young lady’s cheeks. “Indeed? I suppose most English villages boast the same quaint scenery.” He hoped his cheerful tone would diminish her discomfort.

       “We are not here to chitchat.” Mother resumed her march, not stopping until she reached a tiny redbrick house where smoke curled from the chimney. “Humph. A fire at midday in October? Such a waste.”

       Edmond gritted his teeth. He would not be able to remain silent if she scolded the dear old pensioner who lived here, the woman who had been nurse to him and his brothers, supplying the love lacking from their only parent. While Richard had been the old woman’s favorite and no doubt the reason for his penchant for spiritual matters, Edmond and Greystone had adored her, too. If Mother refused to supply wood for her hearth, he would find a way to do it himself.

      * * *

       Cheered by Major Grenville’s pleasant rejoinder, Anna shrugged off her dismay over Lady Greystone’s reproach. Clearly she must not comment on anything unless asked. But, oh, how hard that would be when so many things sparked her interest, from the squirrels gathering acorns in the woods to the children playing outside the wood frame houses. Still, if she wished to be the best possible companion to the lady, performing her duties heartily as unto the Lord, then she must learn to remain silent.

       Lady Greystone stopped at a singular brick house amongst the wooden ones and ordered the major

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