Chapter 3

Fiery gold still clung to the western sky when Frederick arrived within sight of Valhurst Abbey. The sunset was behind him, while ahead, purple shaded to black and the first stars were becoming visible in a cloudless sky. The road wound around an outcrop of woods and then through the tall, white gateposts that marked the entrance to Valhurst's park. From there it crossed the open expanse of long grass, dotted with trees, and roamed by deer. Once it had been the fields of the abbey that the house had once been. Now it was purely ornamental, a setting for the jewel that was the house itself.

Valhurst stood dark against the deeper dark of the night sky. It rambled, stretching out its wings in seemingly random directions, the product of past Dukes deciding to build and extend without any real thought of future need. It had two ruined towers, their tops unfinished and jagged, crenelated rooftops and brick walls that stood cheek by jowl with the stone blocks and primitive mortar of the middle ages.

He was proud of his home. It was a testament to the durability of the English aristocracy and a symbol of his main duty, to preserve these lands for future generations.

A duty I have neglected today. For what purpose? Recreation and a frankly reckless race through the woods after a rather wild young woman. Utter foolishness.

Frederick kicked his horse to a trot, wanting to be home as quickly as possible to make up for the time he had lost. The sight of the ruined north and south towers irked him, as they always did. It was an imperfection that he longed to either rebuild or demolish entirely. The house was hardly symmetrical anyway but it could be brought more into order. Except that would go against the duty, solemnly inherited from his father, to preserve and protect. At least the grounds and gardens were ordered. A veritable army of groundskeepers was employed to ensure that Valhurst Abbey was famous throughout England for its neat, ordered, and controlled gardens.

After handing the reins of his mount to a stable hand, he hurried inside. A servant took his coat, folding it carefully over one arm. Frederick paused, picking a stray piece of lint from the man's lapel, then holding it up so the servant could see it. No words were necessary. A gloved hand took the lint and pocketed it. Frederick cast a cursory glance over the man's uniform, then nodded.

I shall have to speak to Hawley about that. The household should be paying close attention to detail when it comes to their attire.

The hall was of stone and lit by chandeliers high above, hanging from an impressively arched roof. Framed paintings by acknowledged masters hung in neat lines that led the eye to a central staircase, broken only by the doors leading to the ballroom on one side and a reception room, drawing room and library on the other.

"Lord Ashwick arrived thirty-three minutes ago, Your Grace," the servant informed him. "He awaits you in the Garden Library."

The Garden Library was the name given to the public room overlooking a walled garden on the west side of the house. Frederick's own private study and library, known as the Abbot's Library, was upstairs forming part of his personal suite. Frederick took out a gold and silver chased pocket watch, flipped the cover open, and regarded the face for a moment.

"He is twelve minutes late, I see. Very well. Dismissed."

The servant bowed and turned to walk away while Frederick headed for the third door on the right of the hall. Opening it, he saw a young man with fiery red-gold hair, standing before the fire with a clay pipe in one hand. He was looking at a watercolor above the mantle.

"This one of yours Freddie?" he asked.

"It is one of mine, Edmund. Do you like it?" Frederick said, closing the door behind him.

A decanter of brandy stood on a polished table beside an armchair. Edmund had poured two drinks. Frederick took one, inhaling appreciatively over it.

"How you can smoke that thing I do not understand. You look like a farm hand," Frederick said.

"A relic from my past. I found it easier to carry a pipe like this when I was on campaign than a humidor of cigars. Frightfully inconvenient on the battlefield, eh?" Edmund grinned around his battered and scratched pipe.

"I wouldn't know old chap."

"And in answer to your question. I haven't the foggiest notion. Paint is paint. I can't tell good from bad. Knowing you though, I am sure it is excellent," Edmund replied.

"It is passable," Frederick said modestly. "By the way, I must apologize for not being here to greet you. I fully expected to be but was delayed."

"I hadn't even thought about it, old man," Edmund said breezily.

An entirely true statement too. Edmund does not pay much mind to punctuality.

"What delayed you?" Edmund asked. "Any bother?"

He took one of the armchairs, collecting his brandy on the way and practically flopping into the chair, putting a booted foot casually onto a footrest. Frederick tried not to wince at the sight of shod feet on furniture, making a mental note to ensure the maids were aware.

"A waste of time. I should have been here, not gallivanting about the countryside," Frederick grumbled as he took his own seat, sipping from his brandy before replacing it on the table precisely where it had been.

"Gallivanting? You? Pray tell, this is a new development," Edmund said teasingly.

Frederick grimaced. "I decided to take a ride. I have estate ledgers to check and correspondence to catch up on, not to mention an unfinished landscape. But, I decided to indulge…"

"Hear hear," Edmund interrupted, raising his glass in toast.

"The peculiar event that delayed me though was a young woman I encountered. She was out somewhere above Pevensey, entirely on her own, riding across country and looking like she had just climbed out of a haystack!"

Edmund leaned forward with interest. "That is more the sort of adventure I find myself having, old chap. What happened?"

"Hardly an adventure. I stopped to talk to her, I felt it my duty to point out that it simply isn't safe for a young lady to roam the countryside alone. She did not heed my advice however and actually challenged me to a race if you can believe it!"

"A race!" Edmund exclaimed. "By Jove. And did you accept the challenge? More importantly, speaking as a sportsman, did you win?"

"I did not. She was quite magnificent…" Frederick looked up and saw the gleam in his friend's eye. "That is to say she was a fine horsewoman. I would have won had we stuck to the path but she veered off into the trees and it began a steeplechase. She vanished like a ghost."

Edmund chortled. "I'd like to meet this spirit of the woods. Sounds like quite the girl. What's her name?"

"That's the damnable thing. She never gave me her name. Had the appearance of a well-bred young woman from her voice. Sussex native from the accent. Certainly not a commoner I would say. But, no name given."

"A rebel against social conformity too. I'm in love," Edmund said, taking a healthy swallow of brandy.

"Really, Edmund. Be serious. It's all very modern for a young woman to be independent but hardly practical to be so…so…"

"Free?" Edmund arched an eyebrow.

"Wild," Frederick finished. "Order is important. For the gentry more than anyone. Where would the country be if we all said hang the rules and did whatever we pleased?"

"Entertaining," Edmund said after a moment's thought.

"You're impossible," Frederick replied, though not without a wry smile. "Well, it was a diversion anyway. I shall never set eyes on the woman again."