reunion
with his mother, and those thoughts were far from
pleasant.
"It won't be long now," Jonathan announced, as
if sensing his brother's reluctance. "Try to cease
looking like a fox run to ground."
Edward regarded his sibling with a jaundiced eye
before twitching the reins of his mount and moving
his horse down the long hill. Jonathan imitated his
actions and fell in step behind him.
They took a well-used path along the edge of the
forest, avoiding the bustle of the local village that was
clearly visible through the trees. Edward was pleased
to note that the rambling village of his boyhood was no longer a sleepy backwater but a thriving town,
thanks in part to his investments in the area. He saw
several new shops, a tavern and an inn. These new
business, as well as the older ones, looked well maintained and prosperous.
"Hampstead seems busy," Edward commented.
"The main thoroughfare is crowded with carts and
carriages and it isn't even market day."
"Ah, yes, some of the locals even complain about
traffic on the roads and a stifling feeling that overshadows the refreshing country climate now that
we have new shops, as well as a third tavern,"
Jonathan replied. "Makes one wonder how they
would react if they ever set foot in London."
They moved beyond the village and through the
forest. Edward could almost feel his blood leap with
recognition as they came into the clearing. Lifting
his head, he scanned the horizon. His breath
caught. Edward had forgotten the sheer grandeur
of the estate. Acres and acres of finely landscaped
parkland lay stretched before him, as far as the eye
could see. Even in their dormant winter state they
were beautiful.
He was struck with an unexpected bolt of melancholy when that special feeling of homecoming hit
hard. Bloody hell, he had missed it all much more
than he had realized, and yet in order to endure
the loss, he had over the years suppressed a deepseated longing to return.
When they finally reached the long front drive,
Edward deliberately slowed the pace of his horse.
He ambled along, allowing his senses to absorb the
achingly familiar sights and sounds that seemed to
soothe his weary soul.
They passed beneath arched gates and Edward
caught sight of the family crest emblazoned on the
wrought iron. Thoughts of his father swarmed his
mind and he turned, meeting his brother's eyes.
Jonathan smiled encouragingly. "'Tis the same as
it has always been," he said quietly. "Lying almost
dormant, waiting for you to return."
Edward had convinced himself that he was prepared for this, but he suddenly realized he was not
prepared at all. Aware that he had been leaning forward on his horse, he sat back in his saddle, trying
not to let his irritation get the better of him.
It was then that he noticed the figure of a woman
walking along the side of the house. She followed
the stone path that ran beneath the first-floor windows, her stride long and purposeful as she rounded
the corner and headed for the front door. However,
she must have heard their approach because she
stopped suddenly, pivoted and turned toward them.
With relief, Edward realized it was not his mother,
but a considerably younger woman. Still, there was
something that struck him as oddly familiar about
her. She was tall and slender, yet the fine red wool
cloak she wore could not conceal her well-endowed
bosom. Her features were distinctly aristocratic. Delicately arched brows and lush lashes framed a pair
of large eyes. Edward was not close enough to verify
their color, but a flash of memory told him they
were green.
"Charlotte Aldridge," he muttered in an astonished voice.
Jonathan, riding beside him, apparently heard
the remark. "Ahh, yes, 'tis Charlotte. I was uncertain
if she and Lord Reginald would be joining us this year. They visit often, but not usually during Christmas. Apparently they will be staying for the holidays,
along with many of the usual family and