Free The Chadwick Ring by Julia Jeffries

said quietly, “I fear you would find Dowerwood sadly changed from your memories of it. Your father had to dismiss most of the staff, and with only a caretaker in charge, the estate has fallen into disrepair. Would you like to ride over there one day this week? We could assess the damage and perhaps make a start of amending it.”
    “I should like that very much,” Ginevra replied, “but I don’t ride.”
    “Not at all? Surely I hold in my mind an image of a little girl with long honey-colored plaits, her skirts askew, who galloped a fat pony through a flock of sheep?”
    Ginevra stared at him, then laughed merrily. “Oh, dear, I had forgotten that. What a bumble-broth it was! Tom—no, I think it was Bysshe, it sounds more like him—dared me, you know. He said no girl could ride bareback, so of course I had to accept the challenge. I couldn’t control the pony, and I was terrified the sheep wouldn’t scatter, but somehow I managed to stay on. When my mother found out, she gave me a very stern lecture on why I was too old for such disgraceful escapades, but Papa soothed her by promising to get me a sidesaddle so that I could learn to ride like a lady.” Her laughter faded. “He never did. That was ... that was the last summer we spent at Dowerwood.”
    After a pause Chadwick said briskly, “Well, you shall have your saddle now—and a horse as well. There is a little chestnut mare, sired by Giaour, my stallion, but her dam was a docile creature. She is spirited but ... governable, and I think she would suit you very well.” He glanced at Ginevra. “That is, of course, if you wish me to teach you to ride?”
    “I’d enjoy that. Thank you.”
    “Good. We’ll see to it in a day or two.”
    The carriage passed the stone gatehouse and lumbered up the long drive to Queenshaven. Ginevra picked up her bonnet “I’d better get ready,” she said lightly, to mask her increasing agitation.
    Chadwick patted her hand. “Compose yourself, my dear. No one is going to—” He stopped abruptly, staring out the window, and his hand tightened cruelly over hers. He swore viciously.
    “My lord!” Ginevra yelped in pain, and he released her bruised fingers.
    “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you.” He spoke absently, still scowling in the direction of the main entrance. “It appears we have ... guests.”
    “Guests?” Ginevra echoed. “Today?” She peeked over his shoulder and saw a trim curricle with yellow lacquered wheels pulled up in front of the steps. A small man in a smart livery stood beside the vehicle, talking to a servant who wore the distinctive grey-and-red uniform of the Chadwick household. He gesticulated with every other word, but the Queenshaven footman remained impassive. The small man jerked around at the sound of the carriage pulling to a halt behind him.
    Chadwick’s face was thunderous. Shyly Ginevra asked, “Is that someone you know?”
    The marquess said, “Yes. His name is Ferris. He waits upon ... an acquaintance of mine.”
    “But what is he doing here?”
    “God knows.” Chadwick reached for the door handle. “Remain here, and I’ll get rid of him.”
    Impulsively she touched Chadwick’s arm, suddenly certain that the stranger meant them no good. “Please be careful.”
    “Of Ferris?” he asked. “Ferris is not the problem.” Just for a second his long fingers curled protectively over hers; then he descended from the coach.
    Ginevra watched from behind the russet window curtain as Lord Chadwick strode across the drive to the man waiting by the curricle. He dismissed his own servant with a nod; then he demanded, “Well, Ferris, to what do I owe this intrusion?”
    Ferris smiled uneasily. “My lord, I ... I bring a message from my mistress.”
    “Indeed.” He waited impatiently. “Well, hand it over.”
    Ferris mumbled, “The message is not written, my lord. Madame de Villeneuve asked me to deliver it personally.” He hesitated, glancing sidelong at the wedding coach;