Ashlyn Macnamara Read Free

heavy
thunk
as the steps were let down. George leapt from his seat, ready to hand his mother and sisters out of the conveyance.
    A gentle breeze bore the salt tang of the Channel, mingled with an earthy heaviness that wafted from the stables. The late August sun beat a gentle warmth on the back of his neck.
    “I can’t believe you’ve actually come.”
    George turned to find Benedict Revelstoke approaching from the main house, a grin across his cheeks. But as he neared the carriage, his gaze glanced over the bruises on George’s face, and he frowned. “I was about to ask how far your mother twisted your arm to convince you to come, but I see she’s resorted to more drastic means of persuasion.”
    George clasped his old friend’s hand. “Do me a favor and don’t call attention to it. If I have to put up with any more cold compresses and female twittering, I may as well take to my bed permanently.”
    “I don’t know how you’ll avoid it. Once Julia gets a good look at you …”
    “I thought I heard my name.” Benedict’s wife appeared just beyond his shoulder, waddling from the house in the wake of a prominent belly. “Gossiping about me behind my back, are you?”
    Revelstoke caught her hand and pulled her close. Their fingers entwined as if they couldn’t bear as much as an instant apart. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, and in that brief expanse of time, they disappeared into their own realm where only the pair of them existed. It lasted less than two seconds, but an entire conversation seemed to pass between them.
    Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, George cleared his throat. God help him if he ever became that love-struck.
    Julia stepped forward to inspect him more closely. “My goodness, what have you done to your face?”
    Revelstoke raised his brows and shrugged.
    George made sure his mother was well occupied in directing the servants with the baggage before responding. “Came out on the wrong end of a rather vigorous discussion, but never fear. It looks worse than it is.”
    “I shall ask Cook to make you a poultice to draw out the bruising.”
    He shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’m sure she’s got enough to oversee with a houseful of guests for the next week.”
    “It’s no trouble at all. She acquires a special blend of herbs from a woman in the village. One of our yearlings got himself into a scrape a while back, but the herbs worked their magic, and he’s back as good as new. Outstrips the rest of them from one end of the pasture to the other, and barely blows at all.”
    “You want to dose me with a remedy that you use on livestock? I think I’ll pass, thank you. Only do me the service of not mentioning your ideas to my mother.”
    With a laugh, Julia excused herself and trundled offto greet the Upperton sisters. Soon the air filled with high-pitched chatter.
    George tilted his head in the direction of the main house. “You look disgustingly happy.”
    Revelstoke shook his head. “Ever the one for a flowery turn of phrase, I see.” He took a few steps in the direction of the house. “Are you planning on telling me what you’re really doing here?”
    “I’m attending this house party at your invitation. Why else would I have come except to pass a few days rusticating here with your guests? Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.”
    Revelstoke cast him a sidelong look. “Pull the other one. From all appearances, you’ve got yourself into some scrape or other, so you’ve either come here to hide or you want me to get you out of it.”
    “Don’t you have some horseflesh you’d like to show off?” George waved a hand in the direction of the stables. “A new broodmare? Perhaps one that’s produced the next champion at Ascot?”
    Revelstoke clapped him on the shoulder. “That bad, is it? Perhaps you’d rather we have a drink in my study while the ladies settle in. And if you’ve got any particular sins you’d like