Free Alexandra by Lauren Royal, Devon Royal Page A

walked along the riverbank, discussing their final plans prior to setting them in motion. “We’ll site the pump here,” Tristan said, “belowground with a grating over the opening. Ten feet in depth. That will give us the drop we need to start the water flow through the mechanism.” The day before, he’d staked off an area roughly six feet square. “Four straight walls. You’ll want to line them with brick to prevent erosion, but that can wait.”
    Griffin nodded. “I’ll instruct my men to start digging the pit immediately. Is that your drawing of the pipeline?”
    Tristan handed him the sketch. “It’s a fairly straight shot from here to the top of the rise.”
    “And these dotted lines are where you’ve divided the vineyard into seven areas for irrigation?”
    “Each serviced by a section of the pipe that runs along the ridge.”
    “Capping and uncapping each section as needed.” Griffin traced a finger along the path. “The water will run straight down the slope. It should work.”
    Tristan swung up onto his gelding. “Of course it will work. I planned it perfectly,” he quipped, hoping to brighten the mood of the exchange.
    Squinting up at him in the morning sun, Griffin didn’t look convinced.
    When he held out the drawing, Tristan leaned from the saddle to retrieve it. “We’ll make it work,” he added.
    “We?” Griffin asked.
    “Think of me as your schoolmaster. Your first assignment…” Grinning, Tristan folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. “Race me back,” he challenged, taking off before his pupil was mounted.
    Long minutes later when their horses tired, they slowed to a walk. Their friendly competition had served to cut the time of their journey. Tristan had hoped the invigorating ride would also serve to end Griffin’s brooding, but as they continued on in silence, it seemed instead that his low spirits might be contagious.
    As the crenelated walls of the ancient castle came into view across the downs, Griffin’s fists clenched on his reins. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said in a bitter tone that contradicted his words.
    “Magnificent.” Tristan slanted him a glance. “But you don’t feel like it’s yours, do you?”
    “No,” Griffin said flatly. “It was never meant to be.”
    “Hmm.” Tristan debated whether to sympathize or knock some sense into his friend. The latter was tempting. “Is that why you hesitate to learn how to manage it?”
    “I’m learning,” Griffin protested in an ill-tempered manner. They rode a while longer in silence before he added, “Very well, hang it, I’ve been hesitating.”
    The first step was acknowledging the truth, which Tristan knew because he’d climbed all the steps. Dragged himself up them, one at a time. “You haven’t been home long. I hesitated, too, when I first inherited Hawkridge.”
    “Two years, now. Tell me, do you feel like it’s yours?”
    “I do.” He hadn’t felt that way at first, but he’d made Hawkridge his, put his own brains and sweat into its improvement. “Cainewood will feel like yours, too, someday. You’ll have a family here—”
    “Whoa.” Griffin held up a hand. “I need to find husbands for my sisters before I even think about myself.”
    “Why?”
    “Why? A gentleman doesn’t put himself first. Besides, I’ve no interest at present—”
    “I meant, why are you set on marrying them off so quickly?”
    Griffin shifted in his saddle, staring straight ahead. “The older two should be wed already, never mind their lack of offers being no fault of their own.”
    Tristan just looked at Griffin until he turned to meet his gaze.
    “Very well,” Griffin finally admitted. “I want my old life back. And while I continue to be responsible for the three of them—”
    “You’ll never have it,” Tristan interrupted.
    “Have what?”
    “Your old life back. Your sisters have nothing to do with it, and the sooner you accept that fact, the happier you’ll be. If