But all too soon he knew he must return to Wolfbridge.
The weather had been fretful, snowing, raining and promising more of the same. So he packed his bag, bid a fond farewell to Sir Laurence and Lady Maud, and began the journey home.
For him, it was home. He’d lived there for long enough he rarely thought of any of the other places he had resided, for none could compare to Wolfbridge. His heart was there, in the house, in the land, in the people to whom it offered a living and protection.
There were those who never fully understood the function of a manor, mused Giles as he watched the grey landscape blur through the carriage window. It was easy for them to assume the occupants led a life of ease and comfort, with hearty fires, parties, and nary a worry about where the next meal might be coming from.
There was some truth in that idea, but it was tempered by the duties and responsibilities that came with the title and the house. He’d once heard it said that the aristocrats of England were merely caretakers of history. He believed in that, wholeheartedly, since he worked hard keeping Wolfbridge successful for the next person who would assume the role he now held.
And for the next Lady of Wolfbridge, and all those who followed, no matter who they might be.
His mind turned to that very person, the Lady. He knew who she was, since his mail had been quite busy recently after Lady Adalyn had declared her intent to wed Daniel.
Selecting the new Lady was easier than selecting a replacement for Daniel, in so many ways. There was a limited list of candidates for the Lady’s position, while many men were well qualified to replace an estate manager.
But Giles hadn’t hesitated. Royce had never truly been off the list of potential gentlemen. He had what it took to accept and adopt the unique concept that was Wolfbridge. Would he find it easy? Most likely not. He had a military career behind him now, a familiarity with discipline and order. That, coupled with his natural tendency for remaining aloof, would make the next few weeks interesting, to say the least. And Giles expected fireworks, since it could well be said that Royce was the exact opposite of Jeremy and Evan, who were rule-breakers, preferring a laugh and a gentle word to an order or a sharp rebuke.
Yes, it was going to be a challenge. But Giles wanted that discord, that edge. It brought an added dimension to what the gentlemen of Wolfbridge could offer their new Lady.
Adalyn had been the perfect woman for what Daniel, Evan, Jeremy and Trick had to offer. She had bloomed at their loving and kind attentions, having received none before her arrival. She had shed her fears, raised her chin and learned to walk as the woman she was, not as the tentative shadow she’d been for too long, believing she was not worthy of kindness and love.
The next lady would be quite different.
Giles sighed. That was the understatement of the year, and it was only January.
The first leg of his journey brought him back to the inn—and Royce. It had stopped snowing when he arrived, though the light was fading and he’d have to spend the night.
Royce was in the taproom, nodding as Giles walked over to him, removing his gloves.
“Have you decided?” he asked, wasting no time on the formalities.
“Yes.” Royce looked at him, his face revealing none of his thoughts. “I’ll go to Wolfbridge and serve your Lady.” One eyebrow quivered slightly. “In whatever way she desires.”
Giles heaved an inner sigh of relief, but kept his own emotions well-hidden. “Good. We’ll leave early in the morning.”
“I’ll be ready.”
And it was done. Just before dawn the carriage was made ready for the last leg to Wolfbridge and Royce was standing beside it as Giles emerged from the inn.
Pleased at his punctuality, Giles began to cross the courtyard to the coach, but a distant sound resolved itself into a clatter of wheels and hooves, and another carriage tore onto the pavement at a reckless rate of speed.
Giles darted backward out of the way, and Royce leapt to the horses’ heads, grabbing their reins as the fools who drove so carelessly yelled and hooted, slowing down for a few brief moments.
During that second or two, a body was flung out, dropping, rolling and tumbling onto the bricks, and ending up at Giles’s feet.
Catcalls, whistles and yells of “buggering cull”, “dirty sodomite”, “molly”, rang through the morning air as the carriage rolled out of the inn and on down the road.
Giles gulped, and then bent to the heap of bloody rags at his feet.
It moved.
“Royce,” he shouted. “He’s alive. Help me.”
The driver and the postilions were already calming the horses, so Royce let go of the reins and hurried to Giles’s side, bending down to join him as he looked over the man who lay there, his eyes closed, his face mottling with bruises.
“He’s taken a beating, all right,” said Royce, finding the man’s pulse. “But he’s alive. And breathing.” He leaned forward toward the face. “Bloody nose, probably two black eyes, I’d say maybe…” he gently opened the man’s jacked and touched his shirt.
The man groaned and whimpered.
“Yes, broken ribs, I think. Can’t tell much else here.”
The man’s eyes opened and fixed on Giles’s face. They were as green as the spring grass at Wolfbridge. “Help me…please…”
His voice was low, rough, but his words were well-spoken. This was no yokel, or bully-boy. Giles looked at the hands, long-fingered and elegant, and the clothing spoke of a good tailor with an eye to style.
“What is your name, sir?” He pushed the hair away from the man’s face. It was white-gold
