Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(18)

Sebastian glanced back at her and smiled. She could see no censure in his face, but she could hear her grandmother’s scandalized voice, scolding her for going so far beyond the line. Her chief arbiter of proper social behavior—the preceptress who had guided her through a successful London season—would have been filled with horror at her behavior. It wouldn’t matter a whit to her that they were engaged. She would declare Georgina’s reputation in tatters.

Her mother’s remarks had seemed to give her a kind of permission, Georgina argued to herself. But she suspected—no, knew—that the advice had been meant for after the wedding. She didn’t suppose Mama had pictured anything like what she’d done.

Georgina watched Sebastian ride along ahead of her. She wanted him to think well of her. Did he see her now as a wanton? Did he wonder where she’d learned such a trick? A huff of air escaped her. She rather wondered that herself. It had all seemed so natural, until he’d drawn away and set her aside like an unwanted doll. Then she’d been uneasy.

She didn’t know how to talk about it with him. Should they ever have an opportunity for a private discussion. Emma and Hilda would not be persuaded to leave Sebastian alone. Georgina had unwisely voiced doubts about whether they could be added to her future household, and this uncertainty made them cling even harder.

Her father increased the pace as they reached the bottom of the ridge where the castle lay. He led them west onto a track that passed through forest and around crag. The country was green from the rain, scented with wildflowers and evergreen. The summer light would last well into evening. This expedition would be idyllic if she wasn’t bursting with worry and impatience.

Georgina urged her horse into a lope to work off some of that excess energy. Sebastian started to follow, but he was stopped by a wave from her father, who called his attention to a scenic vista. For a family that approved her match, they were awfully quick to come between them, Georgina thought, fuming. She urged her mount onward, leaning forward and welcoming the wind on her face.

After half an hour’s ride, Sebastian was more than ready to reach their destination. He’d had no chance to talk with Georgina. Her father seemed to think that he wished to know the history of each hill they passed, and in this long-disputed border district, each inch of ground appeared to have a tale. If the marquess didn’t know it, he got Fergus to remind him. The fellow was more steward than butler, Sebastian decided, even though he served at table in the castle. He was more henchman than either.

At last, Georgina’s father pulled up. “There it is,” he said, gesturing at the ground before them as if presenting Sebastian with a special gift.

Sebastian surveyed the terrain. A hump of earth extended right and left ahead, matching the contours of the land as it stretched off into the distance. It looked a bit like a military earthwork, though worn and eroded in places. “Did they have a palisade on top?” he asked.

The marquess nodded approvingly. “No way to know, after a thousand years. But it makes sense, and I believe so. You’re sharp to spot it straightaway.”

Sebastian had been trained to think like a soldier. “It would take a good many men to defend this,” he remarked.

“The army of Mercia,” replied his host. “Though it was hardly what we think of as an army. Each landholder was bound to provide a troop of armsmen. So you had a few competent swordsmen and archers leading a rabble of farmers with makeshift weapons.”

“Against the Welsh,” Sebastian said.

“Right. The Dyke marks a bloody border. The name of Offa’s kingdom, Mercia, means border people. And it didn’t end with him, by any means. Owen Tudor fought and died not far north of here.” The marquess turned in the saddle and called to Emma. “You remember who Owen Tudor was, my dear?”

When Emma looked blank, Hilda replied for her. “The founder of the Tudor royal line, Papa. Ancestor of Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth.”

“Exactly. Have you forgotten your local history, Emma?”

Both his younger daughters smiled at him with fond impatience. “Yes, Papa,” said Emma. “You know I don’t care about fusty old facts.”

“But you must feel something of the spirit of this place,” their father said. “The echo of clashing spear points, the blood-soaked earth.”

“Euww,” said Emma.

“You know you decided that I have the sensitivity of a flint pebble,” Hilda added, showing no regret over this assessment.

“Is it only Edgar then who shares my connection to the land?” came the plaintive reply.

“Well, he will inherit it,” replied Hilda, ever practical. “But Georgina knows all that stuff, too.”

Sebastian looked at his intended with interest. Here was another side to her. She didn’t seem pleased to be singled out, however, so he searched for a remark to turn the subject. “It’s certainly lonely country,” he said. “It’s miles since we passed a village.” There was a sameness to the lines of ridges as well. “Must be easy to get lost out here.”

Hilda looked oddly struck by this obvious fact.

“There’s a story of a Stane losing himself in the border country,” said the marquess with a nod.

“Geoffrey,” Georgina said.

“Seems he fell in love with a Welsh lass,” her father continued. “This was three hundred and fifty years ago, you understand, when Britain was in a right turmoil. Wars of the Roses. Border tensions very high.”