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“Oh, but I heard a rumor that the Ashbourne daughter had returned to us.” A deep voice broke through Rosamund’s happy interactions with the villagers. “I did not dare believe it lest I become wholly disappointed, but there you are, Lady Rosamund.”

Rosamund turned, a smile already forming on her lips. She had known that voice all her life and thought she would never hear it again. Sure enough, it was Mr. Thomas Wycliffe. He was as she remembered him, tall, handsome, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired with twinkling hazel eyes; he was the sort of man that women wished to marry if there were no complications to worry about. Thomas’s family-owned prosperous lands not too far away.

“Mr. Wycliffe,” Rosamund breathed, as she felt some of the tension in her shoulders melt away. It has been too long.”

Thomas took her hand gently, kissing her knuckles through the glove. She did not flinch. He was a man one could easily feel safe and comfortable with.

“You are certainly right, Lady Rosamund,” he murmured, his eyes watching her with frank admiration. “I was terribly sorry to hear about your family…and the loss of the estate. You did not deserve that at all. I am glad to have seen you interact with the villagers as if you have never left.”

“You are too kind, Mr. Wycliffe,” Rosamund said. “I am staying close by with a good friend at Rosewood Cottage. Therefore, I somehow still feel a sense of belonging here.”

“Oh? I hope you intend to stay here for much longer,” Thomas said. “I will certainly ensure that you experience our hospitality.”

“Believe me, I shall hold you to that offer,” Rosamund replied, laughing lightly.

It was, she reflected, much easier to hold a conversation with a gentleman she did not want to strangle. Perhaps she should do it more often.

Peregrine watched with growing unease at how Rosamund laughed easily with a tall, fair-haired man. The man seemed familiar and possibly lived near Ashbourne Hall. It was clear that Rosamund and the man knew each other well enough.

Lady Anastasia was still speaking. It was something about her aunt’s pretty, white carriage horses in Bath. Peregrine had been trying his utmost best not to feel bored about the incredibly dull story. This time, all the drowsiness had fled his body. His muscle was taut, ready to spring at any moment.

Peregrin watched the way the man leaned toward Rosamund, and how he held her hand for longer than was appropriate. On her end, she looked just as thrilled at seeing him, her mouth forming an unreserved, bright smile. Her body had relaxed fully with this other man, her defenses completely down.

Something dark and heavy settled into the pit of his stomach. It made his chest tighten, his breathing feeling like a chore.

“Well? What happened to you? You might break a tooth clenching your jaw like that,” Adrian murmured.

“I am completely fine,” Peregrine lied, his voice a little too sharp, so that even Lady Anastasia stopped talking about her aunt’s horses.

“You do not like fine, Westbourne,” Adrian said, with a slight smirk. “Are you considering the ramifications of challenging Wycliff to a duel?”

Wycliffe.

Peregrine noted the name. It looked like he might be hearing more of it if Rosamund allowed this connection to deepen. Then, he found an opportunity to come closer.

“Look, Lady Rosamund,” Thomas urged, his face lighting up even more. Rosamund noted how different he was in terms of personality to the Duke of Westbourne. “They are setting up a ninepins game. Do you remember this? It has been a tradition at the village fetes! Will you join my side?”

“I - I am not certain I am any good at it,” she admitted.

Her eyes drifted across the grass toward where the oak trees made a large cluster. There, for a moment, her gaze collided with that of the Duke of Westbourne's. The thoughtful smile was gone. Instead, he wore an intense but unreadable look that seemed to be directed at her. He invited her there. Did he expect her to suffer through the activities? Did he want her to feel out of place?

Rosamund sniffed and lifted her chin, defiance bubbling through her veins. She turned back to Thomas and gave him her most dazzling smile. Her father used to tease her that it was the smile she often used to get her way.

“Does that mean you have made a decision?” Thomas Wycliffe asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I would be delighted to be part of your team, Mr. Wycliffe. Please lead the way.”

Nine heavy wooden pins were arranged in a diamond shape over the green lawn. Quickly, Rosamund found herself holding a heavy, smooth, and hard ball in her hands. Thomas offered words of encouragement, standing close to her.

“Hold the ball a little lower, Lady Rosamund,” Thomas advised, touching the back of her elbow with his fingertips.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“Is that an attempt at some illegal coaching, Wycliffe?” a familiar baritone voice asked.

Of course, the Duke of Westbourne would find himself in the game, and he looked like he was standing with the opposing team.

“Your Grace,” Thomas greeted respectfully. “I see that you have decided to join us for a game today.”