Free Let Me Be The One by Jo Goodman

He set the book aside and picked up the essays. "Now this has the sandman's grit all through it. I take it you intended to fall asleep perusing it."
    "My thought exactly."
    "Perhaps tonight."
    "I have to finish Rackrent."
    Southerton laughed again. He put down the book and crossed the room to the wing chair. He dropped into it, seemed to remember himself, rose, walked to the rocker, and began an obvious investigation of the area.
    "What are you looking for?"
    "My snuffbox."
    "You don't take snuff."
    "True, but I have a very nice box. You've seen it. The black enameled one with the gold trim and diamonds set into the lid. I like to carry it when I play cards. Superstitious, I know, but there you have it. With Lady Powell in pursuit of me yesterday, it seemed inordinately good judgment to have a fall-back position. Hence, the card game. I was certain I had the box." His eyes wandered to the edge of the bed. He bent, raised the covers, and looked under the frame. "But as you noted, I do not take snuff, so it is not as if I pulled it out and used it. I will have my valet look again in my room. Perhaps it is only that I am so used to having it with me that I have convinced myself of the fact of it."
    Northam stared at his cup of tea. "No doubt that's the explanation."
    With some reluctance Southerton gave up the search and returned to his chair. "It's only that it was my grandfather's. A wedding present from my grandmother. The sentiment is worth more than the box."
    "The lid was encrusted with diamonds," Northam reminded him."You place a great deal of value on sentiment."
    Southerton grinned. "At least five hundred pounds." He motioned to Northam to drink up. "I think I hear Brill scratching at your door. Finish that so you can take breakfast with me. I dare not announce myself in the dining room with Lady Powell prowling about. You will save me from her, won't you?"
    "You but have to give the signal."
    There was just the briefest hesitation before Southerton replied, "I will count on that."
    Northam eyed his friend over the rim of his teacup. "Apparently you are not as set on avoiding the widow today as you were last night."
    "It was a long night."
    Northam's lips twisted wryly. "May I suggest Castle Rackren?"

Chapter 3

    Rain delayed the start of the hunt for several hours. During that time there was much sky-watching among the male guests at Battenburn. Spurious predictions abounded and wagers were made on the strength of them. Louise quietly commiserated with Ladies Powell and Heathering that she shouldn't be surprised if there was not a path worn into the carpets. Even as she spoke, thunder rumbled and her husband and three of his friends dutifully left their seats for the windows to gauge the change in the weather.
    For a while there was talk of postponing the hunt until the morrow. No one wanted to see their mounts mired in mud and come up lame. When the sun reappeared in the early afternoon and beat hard on the fields and treetops surrounding Battenburn, it was agreed there should be no waiting beyond a single hour.
    The men gathered at the rear of the manor, all fashionably turned out in their pinks, while their horses were brought to them from the stable. In their bright scarlet, double-breasted cutaway coats with the claw-hammer tails, brass buttons flashing in the sun, they could not fail to catch a woman's eye. It might have put a damper on some of the strutting had they known there was general agreement among their admirers that they resembled nothing so much as banty roosters. There was much giggling in the ranks of the female observers, likening their top hats to a cock's comb, and the inevitable acknowledgment that they were coxcombs.
    Few women joined the foxhunt or wanted to. By and large, the sport was a masculine pursuit. Women, being forced to ride sidesaddle, were necessarily excluded because of the danger. Elizabeth Penrose had participated in several hunts since being taken under the wing of the