He couldn’t force himself to care much about the day-to-day workings of the estate. He wasn’t a farmer and never had been. He was a sailor, descended from a lengthy line of sailors, and he knew about wind, water, and currents. He didn’t know about crops or forage or herds or orchard health, and he didn’t really want to know. That type of discussion put him to sleep.
The prior night, when he’d met Miss James in the woods, he’d told her he always needed to settle in when he arrived, and he’d been serious. About the time he was more comfortable, it was time to leave again.
He thought about proceeding to the front parlor, searching for Margaret or perhaps socializing with Roxanne. He ought to get acquainted with her, but in his present mood, he was too edgy. Roxanne would wax on about the engagement party they were hosting in September, after which the betrothal would be official, and he couldn’t contemplate it yet.
His mother had arranged the match shortly before her death. Roxanne was a distant cousin who might have grown up to be his bride, but she and her mother had moved to Italy when she was fifteen, so it hadn’t happened when they were younger.
His mother had insisted she’d be the perfect wife for him. She was twenty-five already and worldly in a way that would suit Jacob. In light of his career, where he’d traveled the globe and encountered every kind of person, he wouldn’t have liked a fussy, immature debutante.
When his mother had proposed the union, he couldn’t have argued that he wasn’t prepared to wed. He was thirty after all, so he couldn’t persist with his delays. Roxanne was beautiful and sophisticated. She was very independent too, so if he didn’t retire from the navy and was gone for long periods, she’d be fine without him.
But would he like to have a wife who was fine without him? Wouldn’t he like a bride who was a little less self-sufficient? If he shackled himself to a woman who never missed him, what was the point?
He went down a rear hall and exited onto the verandah. He leaned on the balustrade and studied his surroundings. Cattle grazed in a pasture, and horses frolicked in a meadow. Servants bustled to and fro, carrying out their chores.
The sight was verdant and soothing, like a scene a painter might have rendered to capture rural England on a summer afternoon, and he tried to let the exquisiteness sink in. He should be reveling in his ownership, in his prosperity, but the sad fact was that he didn’t perceive much of a connection to any of it.
He’d left for school at age seven, and during holidays, he’d visited friends or boarded in the dormitory. Then, once he was sixteen, he’d joined the navy and had never looked back. He returned only on the rarest occasions, then he quickly departed, wondering why he bothered, but he was about to marry.
He’d soon have a wife to consider, so would he stay away forever? Was that his plan? Why wed if he would never be around? It made no sense.
On the other side of the park, a dog was running on the edge of the woods, and when he focused in, he recognized Mutt. Could his mistress be far behind?
He waited for her to emerge from the forest, but she didn’t. Not being inclined to dissuade himself, he marched down the steps. Could Mutt take him to her? He supposed so, and at the notion, he couldn’t keep from smiling.
He was anxious to talk to her again, but he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe he was simply eager to assess her auburn hair in the daylight.
Mutt saw him, and he rushed up, tail wagging ferociously.
“Where is Miss James?” he inquired.
Mutt seemed to understand what he’d asked. He actually motioned with his snout and hurried off. Jacob followed at a brisk pace, while he struggled to deduce his purpose.
He was the biggest snob in the kingdom, and he was a great believer that diverse individuals shouldn’t fraternize. The Good Lord had created different sorts of people, and in England, they all had their places and remained in them.
He wasn’t sure who Miss James was or what she was. It sounded as if she was a nurse or midwife, and Kit had conveniently neglected to explain why she supplied duties that warranted lodging in a cottage.
Somehow, she’d managed to fascinate him, and he hated to dawdle at Ralston Place. He was a man of action and adventure, and he was easily bored. Miss James might provide a pleasant diversion that would help to pass the dreary hours.
He and Mutt continued on for a lengthy distance, then Mutt led him off the trail and down a rocky path. They ended up at a stream he couldn’t name and hadn’t known to exist. Miss James was sitting on the bank, her basket next to her and filled with flowers.
Her shoes were off, her skirt tugged up to her knees, her toes dangling in the water. Her bonnet was laying on the grass, so her hair was visible, and it wasn’t red or auburn, but somewhere in between those two shades. The base was more of a chestnut color, with strands of gold and red woven throughout.
She was pretty as a picture, and it was the strangest thing, but his heart leapt under his ribs, as if it had swelled with gladness.
Mutt barked softly, and she said, “There you are, you naughty dog. Where have you been? What if I’d needed you?”
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting it to be her dog. As she noted him too, she grinned a grin he felt clear down to his toes.
“Captain Ralston! Why are you out in the middle of the woods?”
“I could ask you the same, Miss James.”
“I’m gathering flowers.”
“For a bouquet?”
“No. I brew medicinal tinctures with them. This is a good spot to find blossoms.”
“You brew tinctures? Are
