Free Barbara Metzger by Wedded Bliss

course, but this was different. He was alone, for one, without competition or conversation. No baying of hounds disturbed his peace, no braying of boastful riders, no babbling of the ladies he often escorted. He could go where he wished, for another, at whatever time he wanted, at any speed. He could follow the sun or follow a deer path, race a flock of ducks or a scudding cloud. He could stop riding altogether, to dismount to watch the leaves turn color and fall to the ground as the days grew cooler.
    Most of all, he owned these acres.
    A man could be content with such a life, the earl considered. Of course, he might also be bored within a fortnight with no convivial companions, no amusing entertainments, no delicate diplomacy to negotiate. The Earls of Rockford had always had their place at court, with influence extending across continents and kingships. That was his place, while Rock Hill belonged to posterity.
    Before he left, however, Rockford vowed to make a difference here. And with his son.
    He rode over to Mrs. Henning’s, bypassing Sir George Ganyon’s ugly house, to make sure that William suffered no ill effects from the carriage drive. The boy was fine and had a good seat on his pony, while the Henning children were slightly behind in their riding skills. Jake would make good horsemen out of all of them.
    He was introduced to Rosie the pig, keeping his distance, as well as his hand on the collar of William’s jacket when the boy leaned over the fence to make the introductions.
    He employed all of his diplomatic skills, if not his ear for languages, to adjudicate the naming of the new donkey. If the regent could see him now, he thought with a smile, which faded as he recalled the latest London missive, demanding his escort at some fete in honor of the Ziftsweig delegation. Botheration.
    And beyond botheration that the widow was not at home. She was in the village giving drawing lessons to the vicar’s niece, Miss Aminta Bourke informed him, blushing and twisting the ribbon on her gown.
    So Rockford decided to call on the vicar. He supposed Arkenstall had been as lax about supporting the local church as he had been about fixing the roads. That is, the monies Rockford had approved had gone into Arkenstall’s pockets instead of where they might help the parish.
    The vicar was delighted to see the earl, and to accept a donation to fix the church’s ill-fitting windows. He also accepted lesson fees for William and the Henning boys until the Christmas holidays. After that, who knew where Rockford would find to send the boy, but it seemed foolish to start him at a new school with the term already begun and the vacation coming so soon anyway.
    Rockford stayed as long as he could bear the vicar’s enthusiasm for the new stained-glass windows, the roof repairs, and the new pews, all to be completed at Rockford’s expense. Damn, if the widow did not come out soon, Rockford would be as poor as she was!
    Perhaps she had already left and was doing errands or making visits in the village? Rockford could not ask the vicar, not without expressing an interest he had no intention of admitting, even to himself. He left and went to the local tavern for an ale. He sat in the public room, where he could look at the high street through the windows. None of the locals dared approach the dark-visaged, dark-tempered lord, not after Fred’s garbled words about how handy he was with his fists, and how ready to go off half-cocked.
    Rockford had another ale. Damn, if the female did not appear soon, he’d be as drunk as the smelly old sot slumped over at the bar.
    This was totally inappropriate behavior for the Earl of Rockford, according to the precepts of the earl himself. Why, someone might think he was mooning over a common country widow, which he was not doing, of course. What he was doing, he told himself, was waiting to make sure Mrs. Henning had enough wherewithal for the proper care of his son before he left the vicinity. Now he