CHAPTER ONE

Oh, no! No. No, no, no! Stop, you beasts!

The beasts in question, two Irish wolfhounds of suspect intelligence, did not heed the command. Oblivious to any notion of obedience, they charged with careless delight, tongues lolling, barking like mad, through muck and muddy weeds before leaping with gleeful canine stupidity into the cloudy waters of Gate’s Pond.

Drat! Susan yelled. It felt highly insufficient, but it was the worst imprecation in her poor arsenal and would have to do. It didn’t matter. The pond was at the edge of the village, and at this time of day the inhabitants of Littleover were elsewhere, and there was no one to hear her anyway. She could scream anything she wanted to, if only she’d been in possession of any more satisfyingly colorful expletives.

The dogs ignored her, as was their custom. They’d not come close to recognizing her authority, though she’d been helping care for them for weeks. They heeded no commands, followed no orders, and ran roughshod over her and anything in their path. They would also undoubtedly make her as filthy and wet as they themselves had become. Somehow, they always managed to transfer their grime and hair onto her gowns. She had taken to wearing dark brown whenever possible.

Ungrateful wretches, she called out to the swimming creatures, who by this point had paddled into the center of the pond and were apparently attempting to drown one another. She frowned in concern. They were her responsibility, after all, but she was at a loss as to what to do if the situation worsened and they actually required saving. She’d be little help as she couldn’t swim and had no other way of reaching them. She stared until a sudden ecstatic barking from one of them reassured her that all was well.

Susan went to sit beneath a nearby tree, taking advantage of the animals' distraction to rest in the pleasant shade. She sank down with a relieved sigh, vowing she’d done more walking with these dogs than she’d ever done in her entire life put together. Not for the first time, she regretted her promise to Lord Birch to look after the beasts while he was away. They were exhausting! Endlessly running and bounding. Susan was kept in a near constant state of motion, chasing after them. But really, what other answer could she have possibly given when the poor man had been so anxious to chase after Thea? And who was Susan Meadows to stand in the way of true love?

It had been worth it, she concluded, as she always did. He’d needed to know the dogs were taken care of. She could admire his concern for his pets, and would do anything to smooth the way to a happy conclusion. Thea and Lord Birch's story, after all, was like a fairytale. The handsome war hero arriving in their small village and breeching the barriers that Theadosia the outcast had erected around herself. It truly was like one of the novels her father was constantly forbidding her from reading.

Susan felt a familiar pang of longing at the thought of it all. Of course, she was thrilled at Thea's happiness. Even Lord Birch had earned his share of joy, and was well-deserving of the hand of her dearest friend. Naturally she missed Thea, missed her companionship and the way she pretended to listen to Susan’s regular musings about glamorous society life in London. But there was an increasing longing in her heart that she’d avoided examining, a layer of wistfulness at being a spectator to the happiness of others.

But here in the quiet afternoon, alone in the dappled light under the tree, Susan could not keep from acknowledging the secret and shameful envy that had been eating at her. It rose up from deep inside her, surging in a wave of disgust at her selfishness. She wanted a man to look at her the way Lord Birch had looked at Thea, a man to love her enough to move heaven and earth as dramatically as Lord Birch had done.

The much-longed for prospect of her own happiness seemed unlikely indeed.

Underneath the unremarkable exterior of Susan Meadows beat the heart of an adventurer and romantic. Susan wanted more than Littleover. She dreamed of London and new people and a different society. It was her greatest desire in life, to visit Town, a venture to which her parents were unlikely to consent. They barely tolerated her subscriptions. They believed her London periodicals and newspapers were nonsense and were sure that a husband would curtail such fancifulness. Where they expected her to meet this husband, she couldn’t begin to imagine. Likely they supposed she would one day look at Timothy Wilkes or Daniel Peterson, magically fall in love even though she’d seen their faces every day for the past twenty odd years of her life, get married and then live forever within walking distance.

Oh, but she was awful. Her parents were kind and loving people, and she couldn’t fault them for wanting to keep her close. It was only that she longed for something outside of this village, and she didn’t think she could fall in love with any of its boys if she tried her hardest.

She looked out at the pond, which the dogs were still intently enjoying. She leaned back against the tree, allowing herself to slouch in the unbecoming way that so irked Mama. Perhaps she was silly and shallow to long for romance and adventure. She only wanted something, something more than the same meadows, fences and folk that she’d known her entire life.

She wondered where Thea and Lord Birch were now. She closed her eyes, imagining exotic locales and shipboard sunsets...

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew, the dogs were barking ferociously. Susan hoisted herself up to see them surfacing from the pond and speeding directly toward her.

No, she called, desperately trying to get up, wondering what had alarmed them. No, no! Bad dogs! Helen! Thor! Stop!

It was too late. They were upon her, barking like lunatics, spraying filthy pond water and saliva all over her. Stop, you miserable creatures! she yelled, to no avail. The animals kept up their yapping as though they’d gone mad. They held her pinned between their large dog bodies, much like small, wiry ponies corralling a cow, and gave her no chance to stand or even rise to her knees. The best she could manage was to turn to her side, a position that allowed her a glimpse out of her canine jail. From between the dogs’ legs, she caught a glimpse of hooves, and the situation became clear: Someone had approached and they had gone mad.

Move back! she called to the mystery person, managing to roll onto her hands and knees. Move back, I say! she called again when there was no result. The horse, from what she could see, sidled back somewhat, and the dogs’ barking went down a notch from maniacal to merely life-threatening.

There, there, she muttered, trying to calm them. It’s only a horse.

Then she raised her voice again. They’re protecting me. If you could move your horse away, they will settle down.

There was a whinny and then the horse’s legs turned and left her line of sight. The dogs finally calmed down somewhat. They ceased barking and prowling, and sat themselves on either side of her while emitting a low growl, like some kind of twin demon guardians.

Oh, you devils! she panted, not sure why she was the one to be out of breath. She hung her head for a moment to collect herself, and a pair of boots came into her field of vision. Men’s boots. Susan sighed and looked up to find a stranger looking down at her.

The dogs began barking again, and when she snapped Cease!, they actually did so.

Well, she breathed, in shock and relief, and rose to her knees with some difficulty to finally stand. The dogs made to rise as well, but she quelled the movement by placing a hand on each of their gigantic, shaggy heads and pushing down. Her hair had come terribly undone and hung down into her face, but she could not risk releasing the dogs to repair the damage. She looked up through a hank of hair at the man who had caused the entire fiasco. It was a stranger. A tall stranger, tawny-haired and covered in dust. One eye was hidden behind a black patch. The other looked down at her, radiating displeasure.

You should have a better handle on those dogs, Miss, he said before she could utter a word. In fact, he was frowning at her most sternly. Animals like those need a firmer hand. Than you could provide, seemed to be the unspoken end to that sentence. Surely, they should be back in their kennel or... He trailed off, unsure where these precise dogs belonged.

The nerve. Susan drew herself up to her full, albeit fairly inconsiderable height. As anyone would know, sir, she said coolly, hounds are very protective. You should not have approached when you saw them.

His one visible brow quirked. I cannot scour the countryside for random canines, Miss. He crossed his arms over his chest and one of the dogs rumbled a warning sound from deep within its throat. The stranger quickly uncrossed his arms. Susan was further satisfied when he took a step backward. She glanced down at the dog, and saw just how filthy she’d gotten—her dress was covered in dirt, grass, and water, yet the dogs looked no worse for wear. How positively unfair. Still, she gave the animal—she was fairly certain it was Thor—a smart pat on the head, and then one to Helen for good measure.

They were merely defending me from you. And your horse.

He looked her over, lip curled, and Susan thought about releasing Thor and Helen and letting them have their way with this rude, rude man. She resisted the impulse.

Perhaps you could assist me? he asked, changing the subject. He attempted a smile, a brittle failure. I am looking for the home of Captain Birch, er, Captain Lord Birch? I believe I am in the vicinity, yes?

Susan looked him over again in surprise. Indeed, she allowed. May I enquire as to your business with Captain Lord Birch? She knew she was now being rude, but after everything that had happened, he hadn't even asked her if