Beyond the clefts were little golden villages, which created a direct and startling contrast to the hills. They were spots of seclusion, but spots full of vibrancy and warmth as well. Now that he’d visited Ashbridge a few times, he’d come to feel at home here in a way he’d never imagined possible.
This morning Burton had been extolling the virtues of the Cotswolds, and he’d told Peregrine a poem that he’d learned as a lad. It had stuck in Peregrine’s mind all morning.
She was a village
Of lovely knowledge
The high roads left her aside, she was forlorn, a maid—
Water ran there, dusk hid her, she climbed four-wayed.
Brown-gold windows showed last folk not yet asleep;
Water ran, was a center of silence deep,
Fathomless deeps of pricked sky, almost fathomless
Hallowed an upward gaze in pale satin of blue.
Thinking the words made him strangely homesick for the home he had only just been given eight months ago. He urged his horse back toward the manor house.
Ashbridge was an old home, but it was still considered new by some standards when compared to some of the other estates in the nearby hills. It was no crumbling castle with windy corridors. Ashbridge was nestled in a remote valley at the edge of the Cotswolds. The pastures and meadowlands were enclosed by an amphitheater of steeply rising hills crowded with beech trees. The house itself was a pearl gray, surrounded by enormous yew trees, and its attendant outbuildings consisted of a church, barns, and a mill, all nestled under the lee of a steep hillside.
Burton had explained that the home was built in the Tudor era, and it had undergone some minor updates, mainly with the interior design and furnishings. Despite Great-Uncle Frederick’s advancing age, he’d kept himself informed on matters of interior design. There were no dusty medieval furnishings, no threadbare bed hangings, no cracked wooden floors or faded tapestries. All in all, Peregrine had very little to do to keep himself occupied during this visit to Ashbridge Heath, so, after a few days of contemplation, he found himself looking forward to Lawrence Russell’s house party.
Peregrine was nearly out of the woods when he spotted a dappled gray horse mired in a muddy bog off the side of the road. A young woman was pulling at the reins, the sounds of her sobbing and desperation immediately spurring him into action. He rode toward her and halted at a safe distance so his own horse wouldn’t fall into the mud.
“Miss, may I offer my assistance?” He slid out of the saddle and set his horse to graze nearby in a field safely across the other side of the road.
She gestured to her horse, tears bright in her eyes. “Oh, please, she’s trapped.”
The woman wore a crimson riding habit splattered by mud, and the red riding hat she wore was perched at a jaunty angle on her dark, gleaming hair. Her face, though covered with mud, was fair, but he had seen beauty before. Yet her eyes stirred something inside him. He wanted to know everything about her at that moment, but the sound of her horse in distress jerked him back into focus.
“First things first, you must be calm. Your horse can sense your distress. That’s it, dry your eyes.”
She sniffed and nodded. “Yes, of course. It’s only that we’ve been stuck here for so long, I feared I wouldn’t get her out.” The woman wiped at her eyes and looked between him and her horse. “I didn’t see the mud until it was too late. She simply began to sink. Oh please, you must save her. I cannot bear to lose her.”
“You won’t. We will get her out.” Peregrine studied the mud pit that had formed off the path. It looked to be no more than a foot deep, and he could easily see himself making the same dangerous mistake.
“Let me have your reins.” He held out his hands, and she placed the long strips of leather into his palms. “Fetch my horse, please,” he asked. While she did that, he moved closer to the bog and unfastened the bridle from her horse and looped the reins in a makeshift harness to the horse’s neck and secured it to the saddle. That way, when pulled, it wouldn’t strangle the horse.
She returned with his horse, and he tied the reins to the saddle of his own beast, then mounted up and began urging his horse forward. His horse pulled hard, and it gave her horse enough help to fight her way clear of the mud until the beast was standing there, panting, her sides heaving.
“Is she all right?” the woman asked.
“She should be. But give her a few minutes to recover.”
Peregrine turned his attention back to the woman. Splatters of mud still flecked her cheeks. Without thinking, he removed his handkerchief and lightly dabbed at her face. He grasped her chin and continued to clean her face as she gazed innocently up at him. Her lips looked as soft as petals, and he was soon lost in a daydream of what it would be like to kiss her. He then realized what he was doing, so familiarly touching this woman whom he didn’t know.
“My apologies,” he stammered as he stepped back.
“It’s quite all right. I must look a fright.” She gestured to her mud-covered riding habit. “We were struggling for quite a while before you found us.” She blushed. “My name is Sabrina . . . Talley.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Talley. I’m Peregrine Ashby.” He left out his title, and the woman did not seem to recognize his name. He exhaled in relief. A woman who did not know he was an earl . . . He was tempted to further their acquaintance simply for the pleasure of her company without fear of a marriage trap. But of course, as soon as she saw where he lived . . .
“Do you live nearby?” he asked.
“No, I’m visiting. What about you?”
“I’ve moved here a little less than a year ago.”
He suddenly had an idea. It began as a simple wishful impulse and quickly grew into something more. What if he could further their acquaintance without betraying that he was an earl?
“I live on the Ashbridge estate. I am the land steward there. I have a nice little cottage. You are welcome to visit me there anytime you choose.” He hesitated. “I do not mean that to imply any intention of impropriety, of course. I merely could use a friend.”
Sabrina smiled. “I suppose I could use a friend too. Is your home very far?” she asked.
“Not far at all,” he assured her.
“Then could we have a cup of tea?”
“Yes, absolutely.” He felt strangely giddy to think of this woman having tea with him. He was creating a harmless deception, all to live a life other than the grand one he’d been given by fate. Christ, Adrian would be laughing at him, if he only knew. Ever since that night at his club, when Adrian had put thoughts of love and companionship into Peregrine’s head, he was seeing women in a different light. He’d always respected women, but he’d kept his distance from them when it came to any interaction that could lead to thoughts of marriage.
“Let’s walk a bit. It will give your horse a chance to regain her strength.” They walked side by side for a time before he said, “Forgive me, but there is something about you . . . We have not met before, have we?”
“No, it is impossible. Until last fall, I lived near Guildford.”
“Have you been to London?”
“Yes, but I haven’t been out much in society.”