Chapter 1

The Marvels of The Moors

The English Countryside, 1799

Bridget Ramsburry, the daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, rode her horse across the beautiful moors. There was an open landscape as far as the eye could see: rolling hills, thick patches of heather, the occasional tree dotting the landscape, and dew-stained green grass.

Covering it all was a two-foot layer of mist, undulating across the moors like a great grey sea. A sea that Bridget navigated on her majestic horse, its dark brown coat in stark contrast to the pale landscape and weather.

Bridget was naturally athletic and stood a little, not sitting on the saddle, pushing her horse faster and faster. Her long, blond hair, which was not covered by a thick leather riding cap, fluttered in the breeze created by the speed of her horse. She was a vision of grace and strength, with her long, flowing hair the color of golden wheat, her emerald-green eyes sparkling with determination, and her tall, lithe figure commanding attention.

She was free. It was the only place she could go to get away from her troubles. When she was out there, come rain or shine, her soul was cleansed.

Bridget looked up at the sky, seeing the outline of the sun behind the thick clouds. Rain was coming, but not for a while. She was not late yet, but with the time it would take to get back, she might be. If she rode hastily, she could make it.

Bridget turned her horse to begin her return to Ramsburry Manor when she spotted someone else on the moors.

She might not have been intrigued if it were a group of riders, but a solitary rider like her piqued her interest. She did not spur her horse just yet, watching the gentleman ride at speed. It was impressive how fast he was able to push his horse, streaking toward her.

Not quite toward her. He was set to pass her by at some distance but diverted his course and slowed on approach. Bridget might have been afraid to be approached by a man alone on the moors, but she had respect for anyone who rode alone. Besides, she could tell by the way he treated his horse that he was no threat to her.

The man came at pace, only slowing when he was very close, and even then, he had to turn his horse at the last moment and circle her a couple of times before he was able to calm the animal.

"Good day," he greeted, touching a finger to his riding cap.

"Good day," Bridget replied.

She had to constantly turn her head to keep track of the man as he circled her. She was slightly annoyed by his energy and the fact that he did not fully stop, but there was also something about him she could not quite put her finger on.

"I don't often see women out here alone," the gentleman noted.

"It is not so unusual," Bridget said.

It was unusual, but she was on a mission to make the unusual more usual for women. Just because she was a woman did not mean she could not ride her horse alone or do a dozen other things.

"Quite," the gentleman uttered with a smile. He looked at her knowingly, as if they had met before.

"Your horse is beautiful," Bridget noted.

She looked from the animal to the gentleman. He might be considered beautiful, too, if she was currently focused on such things. He had green eyes like her, thick black hair, and a commanding presence. Sitting atop a horse always made a man look larger and more powerful, but she could see the gentleman was all of that without the horse.

"Yes, beautiful beasts out on the moors," the gentleman agreed, looking her up and down.

The look both irritated and intrigued her, and she blatantly looked him up and down.

The gentleman laughed, his face brightening instantly.

She could tell he was well-to-do in some way by his riding attire. He wore an elegant riding habit covered in a flowing black cloak. He flexed his fingers beneath his riding gloves, keeping a tight hold of the reins.

He circled her again, fully checking her out, and while Bridget didn't want to be on show for a man, there was something about a clandestine meeting in the moors—even though it was not really clandestine—that intrigued her.

"I must ride!" he announced suddenly. "I have somewhere to be."

"Don't we all," Bridget replied.

The gentleman touched a finger to his riding cap again. "It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we bump into each other again."

"Yes." Bridget swallowed.

She did not know why she replied in the affirmative when she did not need to run into him again. He had been a curiosity, but the conversation had not been interesting. He was a man, and most men were only interested in one thing, even if they were from the upper class.

The man spurred his horse into action, and both rider and animal took off at a speed that Bridget's horse could never match. She watched them become smaller and smaller in the distance. She was not fascinated by him, she decided, but by the overall picture. He was a lone rider on a magnificent beast that galloped like the wind.

She watched them until they became a pinpoint on the horizon.

It was at that moment that Bridget realized she would be late. She had become distracted for no good reason. She spurred her horse into action, pushing the animal as fast as it could go, unable to match the amazing speed of the mysterious rider.

Her hair fluttered more furiously behind her, strands of gold reaching out for the past. Her body was a maelstrom of sharp angles and tight curves as she steered her horse home. She would have angered her mother already, but the quicker she returned, the less severe that anger would be.

She blamed the lone rider on the moors. Perhaps he was an imp from the forest, sent to play tricks on her. Bridget did not believe any of that, but she would rather have someone else to blame than herself. She had lost track of time, and that was that.

She rode through the large arch at the rear of the estate and headed straight for the stables. She pulled on the reins to halt her horse, and a stablehand emerged from the stone building to take the reins from her as she dismounted.

She nodded her head to him in a quick thanks and strode as quickly as she could into Ramsburry Manor.

She shouldn't have gone out riding that morning—she knew that now, but she needed to clear her head. With her father's circumstances and her sister being all too happy about getting married soon, she needed an escape from real life. Her mother always hated her riding off to the moors alone, but Bridget had never been one to conform.

Her parents had given up on her, turning their attention to her younger sister, Margaret. They had given up on their dreams of their oldest daughter marrying first, and at twenty-six, it was unlikely she ever would.

That suited Bridget just fine. She might have wed at some point if she had found a man who respected her as she deserved and loved her as she desired, but modern life in England did not always work that way. She was quite happy to be a spinster, educating and bettering herself.

"There you are," her mother, Penelope Ramsburry, said witheringly. She was a tall and stern woman with sharp bird-like features.

Penelope walked at speed toward her daughter, much like the man on the moors had ridden with haste.

"I'm here now, Mother," Bridget replied, preparing for an argument.

"You are late!" Penelope snapped, coming to a stop right in front of her. "Your sister is getting married, and you are late."

"She is not getting married today, Mother," Bridget pointed out.

Penelope tilted her head and tightened her lips. She glared at her daughter.

"No, she is not getting married today," she returned slowly. "Thank you for reminding me of what I have been planning for months, Bridget. No, today is the day we set off to our family estate on the coast to better get to know Lord Michael Harrington and his family before the wedding. The fine, young gentleman has been waiting patiently in the sitting room with your sister for the past hour."

"I am not an hour late!" Bridget exclaimed.

"I didn't say you were an hour late," Penelope retorted. "I am only informing you of how early Lord Michael came here. You could take a page out of his book."

"Should I also marry my sister?" Bridget asked.

"Don't be facetious, Bridget. It is not becoming of you. I don't know why you have to go out on the moors so often, when there is so much to do around here, and I have enough problems to deal with."

Bridget knew that was true, but it was not only her mother who was dealing with the problems. Bridget and Margaret had to deal with them too, even if the latter did not know the full truth. Bridget had not set out to cause trouble that morning, but she had brought it home with her from the moors.

"This would never have happened if you had found a good man and settled down," Penelope continued.

"Oh, here we go again," Bridget moaned. "You think that is the answer to all of my problems. I am a nuisance, but that would have been solved if I had married. Having a man by your side is not always the answer, Mother, and you know it. I don't have a man, nor do I need one. I am happy as I am, and you must be happy too."

"I get no grandchildren, and you die alone. That is what is best for you?"

"Mother, stop! What does it matter who is by my side when I die? All that matters is living a happy life, and I can assure you I do that. I find much more pleasure in educating myself and promoting the importance of women than I will ever find in a man. And you need not worry about grandchildren. Margaret will give you some. Do you have a target you must hit? If you do not have six grandchildren, will you be shunned by Society?"

"Oh, I don't care about myself or Society!" Penelope shouted. "I only care about you and your happiness."

"And I am telling you I am happy," Bridget insisted.

"Will the two of you please stop shouting," Margaret hissed, appearing in the hallway. "Today is the day you all meet Lord Michael's family for the first time, and we can hear you from the sitting room. Bridget, you are already late, and, Mother, why do you insist on arguing?"

"I apologize," Bridget said quickly. It was not intention to trouble anyone, especially not her younger sister.

"Yes," Penelope uttered.

Bridget could not tell if that was an apology from her mother to Margaret, or if her mother was agreeing with Bridget's apology.

"I will change as quickly as I can and join you all in the sitting room," Bridget said.

"No, there is no time now." Margaret shook her head. "There has been enough delay, and you look fine. I am the one getting married, and if you don't look your best, then I look better for it."

Bridget smiled, and the tension was broken. She did not care how she looked before any man, and if she could make her younger sister look better, then she would gladly do it.

"Yes, let's return to the sitting room," their mother added.

The three women strode confidently through the manor. They might fight and bicker, but the events of the past few years had brought them closer together. The main cause of any tension in the manor was the fact that one of them would soon be leaving.

It would be both sad and joyous.

They reached the sitting room, and Margaret entered first. She was followed by Penelope and then Bridget.

Bridget looked straight at the man on the settee, and her eyes widened.

"You!" she exclaimed, pointing at him.