Destitute On His Doorstep Read Online Free Page B

bright, so vivid—inescapable. But she would not regret her decision to leave.
    As she galloped towards Bilborough Hall with Scamp running along beside her, she was unaware of the three mounted men who had paused to watch her on the edge of a copse, their open-mouthed expressions revealing their astonishment and at the same time their masculine appreciation.
    â€˜Good Lord! Where the devil did she come from?’ one of them exclaimed.
    â€˜Wonder who she is?’ asked one of his companions.
    The third man and the employer of the other two, Colonel Francis Russell, his eyes also following the female rider as she flashed across his sights in a blur of red, her long black hair streaming out behind her like a jaunty pennant on a ship’s masthead, replied, ‘I’m sure the young woman, whoever she is, must be a stranger to these parts—dressed as she is.’ His eyes sparkling with appreciation, he chuckled low. ‘If he were to see her, Justice Littleton would lose no time in having her whipped and clapped in the pillory.’
    Francis continued to watch the young rider a moment longer before turning his horse and heading for home, for there was something totally distracting about watching a young woman racing a horse across the countryside without regard to how fast it was moving, or how uneven the ground stretching out ahead of her.
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    Jane rode through the arched gateway and into the courtyard. A single walnut tree gave shade in one corner. As she slid from the saddle, her horse, sensing that he was at journey’s end, dropped his head and was twitching his lips in expectation of a bag of oats, while the flies settled on him.
    Facing the house, she felt strangely lightheaded. Her whole body ached and she was hot and thirsty. The heat and sun had drained her energy and she was in desperate need of food. Having left so abruptly, she had sent no warning of her arrival, and she wondered what she would find.
    Walking to a gate in one corner, she shoved it open and gazed at the garden spread out before her. The gardeners had kept up their work, at least. The lawn was freshly cut, the ornamental hedges trimmed. Sweet-scented roses grew up trellises lining the long terrace. A sundial gleamed gold on its marble column and a fountain sent up jets of crystal into the late afternoon sky, misting the grass brightly starred with meadow flowers.
    The quiet and the stillness all around her was profound. She took a deep breath, drinking in everything she saw and felt. To live in such surroundings as these, without the hurly burly of Northampton was luxury indeed. Closing the gate, she turned her attention to the house. Climbing the shallow flight of wide stone steps to the door, she let herself quietly inside.
    The spacious, oak-panelled hall was cool, the air scented with a subtle blend of beeswax and herbs. Elaborately ornamented stonework clearly evidenced the artistry of talented masons of bygone years in the fluted archways that set apart the great hall located at the heart of the manor. Two servants passing through merely glanced her way, their voices hushed to murmurs as they disappeared into the shadows. Without moving, Jane watched them go. The warmth and welcome of the house embraced her, bringing with it a sense of well-being. She felt herself begin to relax, the tensions of the journey easing out of her, but her head was aching terribly.
    Two large wolfhounds stretched out in front of the hearth. Jane, who had grown up with dogs roaming the house and grounds, showed no fear of them, althoughthese two she did not recognise, which caused her to lift her brow in curious wonder. Smiling, she went to them.
    â€˜Hello, you two.’
    Sitting up, their tails thumping the floor, they sniffed and then licked her outstretched hand, and then she squatted down to pet them in turn.
    Her attention was distracted when an elderly servant, her arms full of fresh linen she was about to take up the stairs,