Chapter 2

"My Lord Duke,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I am writing to you for there is something of great concern that I must bring to your attention.

It regards your dear mother. I fear that she may have fallen in with the wrong sort of company here in the countryside. I have met with her on more than one occasion, and while she seems happier than she has been of late, I cannot shake the feeling that she is changing.

I believe it would be best for you to come to the estate and see for yourself. Your mother"s welfare is of the utmost importance, and I fear that she may be in danger, whether she realizes it or not.

It is my understanding that you have not seen her in a long time, and I am aware that you have other priorities in London, but I truly do implore you to visit. She is different, and it has become a cause for concern for a lot of us in the village, and I would be remiss if I did not at least tell you.

I hope to see you soon. If by chance you do come to see her, do not hesitate to visit me. It would be an honor to host you.

Yours faithfully,

Lord Coatsworth

William had read the letter over and over in the carriage on the way to Bolton. It served to pass the time, but also to give him some form of clue as to why he was going there. He couldn't picture his mother in any other way than how she had always been; quiet and meek and happy to sit in silence if it made everything easier for everyone else.

It was the last paragraph that had caught his attention. If he was in the area, Coatsworth would be happy to host him. He had chuckled at it the first time he noticed it. Of course he would be happy to have a duke for dinner. It would only make him look better, after all. Then he thought back to his childhood, when it had been that same gentleman that had taken care of him during the worst arguments between his parents.

He would take Scott's hand and sneak out of the household and into Coatsworth's garden, and then he would take the two of them inside and give them biscuits and lemonade and talk to them about themselves. William would think that he could still hear their father's raised voice, but he knew that he was only imagining it.

Simply put, however, Lord Coatsworth was not the sort of man to put social climbing above all else. He simply wished to see the boy he had watched grow up, William was sure of it.

But then, if that were the case, why was he so desperate for William to go?

The roads were safe and dry and there was hardly any danger in him going with only a driver, so he did not wish to inconvenience his staff in order to take a trip on a whim for a few mere days.

That was what he expected. A week at most, and he would see that his mother was perfectly well before speaking with her and spending a small amount of time with her and then returning home to his peace and quiet and Scott. There would be no difficulties, no sadness, and definitely no surprises.

Then his carriage veered off the road.

"What do you think you're playing at?" He called.

It had happened so fast. He had been deep in thought and then an animal of some sort ran in front of him, followed by a young lady who was seemingly perfectly content to throw herself in front of a carriage.

"Miss?" He asked, having brought his heavily damaged carriage to a stop, "Are you alright?"

"I am perfectly well," the young lady said coldly, shaking some fallen leaves from her gown, "No thanks to you. Who on Earth taught you how to drive?"

William stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. He had never been spoken to like that before, not by anyone. Her eyes burned into him, and the dog that was now in her arms did not seem to regard him any more kindly.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, "For one, I was not driving. For another, you are the one that ran in front of a carriage. You are fortunate that I did not hit either of you!"

"I certainly am, and it is no thanks to you that you did not. It is more so thanks to the fact that I can run incredibly quickly. Now, in future, I advise you to take more care when you are driving, else hire a man that can. That is if you can afford to have one."

"Then might I offer you some advice in return?"

"You can offer it if you wish, though I cannot say that I shall take it."

"Take your dog, and either train it well enough that it does not risk its own life, as well as others, or give it to someone that is capable of doing so."

"You cannot truly think that you are in the right here," she blazed, "Look at your carriage! Its wheel has broken off completely after a simple veer and sudden stop. It was not fit to drive, and what is more, you almost hurt my dog!"

"If you truly cared for the thing, you would not allow it to get itself into such precarious situations. Perhaps you shall do better to look at your own flaws rather than insisting on mine."

"And you might wish to refrain from speaking in such a manner to a lady."

He looked her up and down. She was tall and slim, her green eyes burning into him, but upon closer inspection he noticed that her brown hair had grass and stray twigs in it, and her gown was torn in more than one place.

She was not a lady, that much was certain.

He turned away from her, instead focusing on his carriage and horse. It had been a small carriage, one of his older ones that only required a single horse. His horse was physically fine, although he seemed to have been quite frightened by the ordeal.

"It is alright," he whispered to it, "Do not worry, we shall be on our way soon."

"Does that mean you know how to fix a carriage?" The young lady asked, "Because I highly doubt that."

"And why might that be?"

"Any fool can see that you are in the nobility," she laughed, her arms folded, "Look at how you carry yourself, for one. It is as though you truly think you are above others, in a manner only a very wealthy man would."

He wanted to laugh in her face and tell her she was wrong, but she was not. She had described him perfectly, as he had to admit that he did think himself better than her.

"What is your point?" He asked, "Because if you have nothing of worth to say to me, I must get back to what I am doing."

"Would that include fixing your carriage?"

"No, it includes me freeing my horse from the carriage and riding it the rest of the way home."

"Do you even know where you are?" She smirked, "It is quite clear that you are unsure of where you are headed."

"I know perfectly well where I am going. I am precisely one hour away. Might you be on your way soon yourself?"

"Why? Are you incapable of hearing critiques of yourself?"

"I am not willing to receive criticisms from someone that does not know me, and someone that is clearly willing to risk an animal's life simply because she is not paying attention. I would advise you to focus on yourself, rather than strangers."

"And I will once they are not madmen that do not know how to drive their own carriages. Is that a deal?"

"Yes, fine, alright. Good day."

But she was not leaving, even as he unhooked his horse and climbed up onto it.

"His saddle," she said absent-mindedly, "It is not attached properly. You shall be falling off of your horse within five minutes, especially if you ride as recklessly as you drive."

William huffed, mounting the horse regardless. He had put a saddle on a horse more times than he could possibly count, and he was not going to listen to some strange lady telling him that he was wrong once again. She was utterly insufferable, and he wouldn't, couldn't, give her the satisfaction of seeing him listen to her.

"Have the day that you deserve, Miss," he said coldly.

"What will you be doing with your carriage?" She asked with a smirk, "Surely you will not be leaving it here?"

"I shall send someone for it with all of my wealth, as you so kindly reminded me of."

"To be sure," she sneered.

William did not wish to dignify her comment with any further response. He had places to be, and she was only serving as a distraction. He set his horse off, and began to canter away.

Unfortunately, even as they pulled away, the young lady did not leave his mind. She was strange, and frankly impossible to stand, and she continued to permeate his thoughts as if she were determined to irritate him further.

What truly irritated him, however, was his realization that she had been right about the saddle.

Once he was certain that she would not see him, he pulled the horse to a stop and climbed down, readjusting it. He had, indeed, not set it right at all and he couldn't believe that she had noticed it. Regardless, she had and he was quite sure that she'd be smiling to herself in that moment, knowing that he would be in that exact situation.

It wasn't fair, he sighed. He was visiting Bolton to see his mother and to aid in her health, and yet here he was receiving the coldest treatment that he had done for over a year. He hated it, and already he found himself missing his brother, something he had never thought possible.

Frankly, it was entirely unfair and he blamed how he was feeling on that terrible lady. There was, however, one saving grace. He would never see her again. He had been an hour away, and she had seemingly been on foot. She must have been from there, thus so long as he avoided the area during his stay, he would not have to see her again. Not until his return, of course, because knowing her she would be waiting by the roadside to chastise him further.

"Insufferable," he muttered to himself as he climbed his horse a second time.

He disliked her completely and hoped that she at least had a reasonable excuse for her terrible nature. At least he had a topic of conversation for when he arrived. His mother may well delight in knowing that he had already had such an interaction upon his return, given his absence.

He froze. He would have to explain why he never wrote to her, and never made the journey to see her. In truth, he did not know what to say to her at any point, and then enough time passed that it felt too painful to try. Now he no longer had a choice, and he was at a complete loss. He did, however, miss his mother. It would be worth the trip if it meant he could fix things with her.

That was what he told himself, at least.