The worst of his fears had faded when they got that hasty message of Mrs Turner’s to say Juno was safe, but the flood of emotion he felt on learning he could stop worrying about her safety had left him weak with relief. And this was no time for weakness when his niece clearly needed him to be strong. Despite his exhaustion he decided he simply had to see Juno with his own eyes and let her know he was sorry he had been such a poor guardian and protector, before he found a bed and slept for a week then thought a bit harder about his many sins of omission.
He blinked his eyes open wide again and realised he had almost nodded off in the saddle. He made himself take note of the land around the fine manor house growing ever larger on the horizon to keep himself awake. Closer in, he could see that the old house had been neglected for many a long year. The landlord in him could see that hard work and a little money had been spent on it lately. As the owner of prosperous estates he could offer Yelverton help getting this house and his land in order, if he happened to like him. As it was he had no intention of staying longer than it took him to remove Juno from Mrs Turner’s care and get her back to Broadley, even if he had to beg the naggy-tempered and annoyingly unforgettable woman for the loan of her gig and a fresh horse to draw it with.
Tomorrow he would feel alive and awake enough to hire a carriage for the journey back to Stratford Park and a new life. He could worry about the details when they got there, but at least both of them would be excused his mother’s cold dislike for the first time in their lives.
How could he have trusted the Dowager to put Juno’s interests before her own? He had thought the obsessive love the woman had had for her eldest son would have rubbed off on George’s only child, but apparently he was wrong about that as well as everything else. The Dowager Lady Stratford had told him she would never forgive Juno for being born female when they had had their last confrontation in London, before they finally washed their hands of one another and he galloped away. George’s girl or not, Juno was a female, so she failed to keep the Dowager Lady Stratford’s despised second son from inheriting his title and the fine estates that went with it. Of course she despised the silly chit, she told Alaric as if he was stupid not to have known it all along. And how could he have trusted Juno to his mother’s care believing she must care because George was the girl’s father?
‘It suited you to believe in a fantasy, my lord,’ he condemned himself disgustedly now.
Deep down he must have known his mother only had one chip of love in her stony heart and she had buried it with his brother. Alaric had given up trying to convince his mother he never wanted his brother’s inheritance long ago, but he must have carried on dreaming impossible dreams when he passed Juno into her care after George’s funeral and thought he had done the right thing. At seventeen he felt overwhelmed by the burdens that fell on him and poor little Juno was one more. But this was not about him and his excuses for behaving badly; it was about putting things right for Juno if he still could. He deserved to be so tired every bone in his body ached. He should feel the loss of an ideal wife in Miss Grantham. He had been a fool to leave her free to find and love a better man than careless, self-absorbed Alaric Defford. He truly hated himself as he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and urged the sullen animal on as fast as he would go.
He shot a disapproving look at rusted, open main gates to the venerable manor house’s front door and rode on past. Grass was growing across the once-gravelled drive and there were so many weeds between the stone flags nearer the house that the flags were barely visible. He shook his head at such wanton neglect. He hoped Yelverton was ashamed of himself for not getting the path to his front door cleared straight away. How was the man’s sister to receive polite visitors if they had to come in through the farmyard? ‘Place is a shambles,’ he muttered as he rode into the stable yard.
‘Sir?’ a slightly unsteady-looking farmhand asked warily, as if he thought he should have heard an order if his ears were up to it.
‘Are you castaway?’ Alaric demanded as he dismounted and staggered until the earth settled under his feet.
‘If I am, that’s two of us,’ the man muttered, then stared back at Alaric with pretend innocence.
‘Does your master know you despise his kind?’ Alaric asked with a steady look to let the rogue know he was
