On a Wicked Dawn

Her lord and master had dispensed with his hacking jacket; with his shirtsleeves rolled up, his kerchief loose about his neck, he was balancing on a crossbeam of the new roof. Hands on hips, he bounced, checking the beam, clearly caught in some discussion about the structure. Outlined against the blue sky, his black hair ruffling in the breeze, he looked sinfully beautiful.

Someone tugged timidly at her sleeve. Amelia looked down and discovered a moppet with curly brown hair and big brown eyes gazing up at her. The girl must have been about six, maybe seven.

The girl cleared her throat, cast a glance at her fellows; she appeared to be the ringleader. Drawing a deep breath, she looked up at Amelia. 'We wondered… are all your dresses as pretty as this one?'

Amelia glanced down at her summer riding habit; it was, she supposed, pretty enough but hardly in the league of her ball gowns. She debated her answer, remembered how precious dreams were. 'Oh, I have prettier dresses than this.'

'You do?'

'Yes. And you'll be able to see some when you come to the big house for the party later in the year.'

'Party?' One of the boys edged closer. 'The Autumn Gathering?'

Amelia nodded. 'I'll be running it this year.' She glanced down at the moppet. 'And we'll be having lots more games than before.'

'You will?'

The other children crowded around.

'Will there be bobbing?'

'And archery?'

'Horseshoes? What else?'

Amelia laughed. 'I don't know yet, but there'll be lots of prizes.'

'Do you have dogs for pets like he does?' The moppet slipped a hand into Amelia's. Her nod indicated Luc, still climbing about the roof. 'They sometimes come with him, but not today. They're big but they're friendly.'

'I do have a dog, but he's just a baby — a puppy. When he grows, I'll bring him to visit. You'll be able to see him at the party.'

The girl looked trustingly up at her. 'We have pets, too — they're 'round the back. Would you like to see?'

'Of course.' Amelia glanced at the small crowd about her. 'Let's go around and you can show me.'

Surrounded by the children, all now eagerly asking questions, she was led around the house to the small clearing at the back.

Luc found her there fifteen minutes later, peering into a chicken coop.

'We save the feathers for pillows,' her newfound best friend informed her. 'That's important.'

Amelia knew Luc was waiting — she'd known the instant he'd walked around the house — but she couldn't simply desert the children. So she nodded solemnly at little Sarah, then glanced at Luc. 'Do we have any contests for best — most handsome — chicken on the estate?'

Luc strolled forward, nodding to the children. He'd known them all from the cradle, had watched them grow; they were unafraid of him. 'Not that I know of, but I see no reason why we can't begin one.'

'At the Autumn Gathering?' Sarah asked.

'Well if I'm in charge,' Amelia said straightening, 'then things have to be as I say. So if I say there'll be a most handsome chicken contest, then you'd best start grooming Eleanor and Iris, don't you think?'

The suggestion gave rise to considerable discussion; glancing around, Luc noted the bright eyes, the gazes fixed on Amelia — the way the children listened and watched. She was completely at ease with them, and they with her.

It took him another five minutes to extricate her, then they were on their way. As they rode back to the Chase, he pointed out the other tenant farms they passed, but they didn't stop. The image of Amelia, not just with the children but also their mothers when they'd taken their leave, stayed in his mind.

An ability to communicate with servants was one thing, the ability to interact with farmers and their families, especially the children, on such an easy level was quite another. It wasn't one he'd thought of in respect of his wife, yet it was indeed essential. While Amelia might not have had a permanent home in the country, she did come from a large family, as did he. From birth, they'd always been with other children, older, younger — there'd always been someone's babies about.

Dealing with people of all ages was a knack he took for granted in himself; he couldn't imagine not having that sort of confidence. Assisting a wife who wasn't similarly endowed would have been difficult; as they trotted back into the Chase's stables with the lunch gong clanging in the distance, he was thanking his stars that he had, by sheer luck, chosen Amelia.

Only as he followed her into the cool of the house did he remember that she had chosen him.

And why.

The foreman's opening words replayed in his head; he hoped she hadn't heard. As they went upstairs to change, she chatted in her customary cheerful way. He concluded that she hadn't, and let the matter — and the niggle of guilt — slide from his mind.

Amelia recalled the foreman's words while she was stripping off her riding habit. There was something in what he'd said that had caught her attention, but she couldn't remember quite what…

Afore—before—June. That was it. Luc had authorized the critical order for timber at the end of May. From what she'd understood of his circumstances… it had to be her dowry, or the promise of her dowry, that had enabled him to do so.

For some moments, she simply stood, half in and half out of her jacket, staring unseeing at the window, then Dillys came fussing, and she shook aside her thoughts.

There was no reason Luc shouldn't have taken her dowry for granted, not after she'd offered to marry him and he'd accepted. In their circles, that was all it took; from that moment on, short of her changing her mind and him agreeing to release her, her dowry had in effect been his.

And it had obviously been needed. Urgently. The foreman's words and the cramped cottages had confirmed that. The timber had been not only a sensible expenditure, but a responsible one.

As she stepped into a day gown and waited for Dillys to lace it up, she rapidly reviewed all she knew of Luc, and all she'd seen over the past few days — and concluded that he was as she'd always imagined him to be, a gentleman landowner who in no way shied from his responsibilities, not just to his family, but to all those he employed.

And of that, she thoroughly approved; there was nothing to upset her in that.

Nothing to account for the nebulous concern that something, somewhere, was not quite right.

The next morning they rode into Lyddington. The houses of the village lined the main street, with the inn, the bakery, and the church clustering around a neat green. An air of pleasant but sleepy prosperity hung about the place; although quiet, it was by no means deserted.

Leaving their horses at the inn, Luc took her arm and steered her toward the bakery, from Which heavenly aromas wafted on the mild breeze. Amelia looked around, noting numerous little changes that had occurred since she'd last visited the village five years before.

Now, as then, the bakery made the most delicious, mouthwatering cinnamon buns; Luc bought two while she chatted to Mrs. Trickett, who owned the shop and manned the counter. Mrs. Trickett had been quick with her congratulations, leaving little doubt that the fact of their marriage was widely known locally.

'Lovely to discover it was you, my lady, coming to be the new mistress of the Chase — well, it's almost like you were one of us already.'

Returning Mrs. Trickett's beaming smile, Amelia made her farewells and let Luc lead her outside. Their eyes met as they went out of the door, but they only smiled and said nothing. If either of them had thought of it, they would have expected that reaction; she might not have lived hereabouts, but conversely she was no stranger.

They sat on a bench overlooking the green and gave their attention to the cinnamon buns.

'Hmm,' Amelia eventually said, licking cinnamon sugar from her fingers. 'Delicious. Every bit as good as they ever were.'

'Not much changes around here.' Luc had wolfed down his bun, then stretched out his long legs and leaned back.

She glanced at him and found his gaze on her fingertips, on her lips. Her smile deepening, she gave one finger