Love's Reckoning Read Free Page A

left,” Silas admitted. “Mayhap I’d best see to my horse.”
    The shillings crossed the counter and disappeared into one of the man’s many linen folds. He was enormous—big as a ship’s sail, or so it seemed. Silas tried not to stare, stepping aside when the door behind him opened to admit a retinue.
    A gentleman swept in ahead of three women, his beaver hat frosted with snow, the jewel-colored capes of the ladies the same. Beneath the wide brims of their bonnets, the feminine trio stared at Silas without a speck of primness as if he were a horse at auction. Heat crept beneath his collar and rose higher, encroaching on cold cheekbones. He shifted his rifle to the crook of his other arm, perusing the tavern floor with its alternating boards of white ash and black walnut, made bright by wooden and tin chandeliers.
    â€œAh, Mr. Greathouse!” The innkeeper tossed out a greeting and gave a little bow. “What brings you to the Rising Sun?”
    â€œThe weather and naught else,” the young man answered moodily, knocking his hat against his knee. Snow spattered to the floorboards, glistening like discarded diamonds. “I’ll wager we’ll be snowed in here till New Year’s and not make it to Philadelphia.”
    â€œYou’re abandoning Hope Rising then?”
    â€œJust till the ice harvest. The place is deadly dull in winter, or so my cousins tell me.” He slid his eyes in their direction, a rueful pinch to his mouth. “They crave the comforts of the city and all its distractions.”
    At this, the three women tittered and talked in whispers. Silas turned his back to them, overcome with the scent of lavender sachet and their powdered, feminine faces.
    â€œI’ve one room left for your party, but it needs a good tidying first.” The innkeeper summoned a harried serving girl. “Your cousins can wait in the ladies’ parlor, and I’ll have Effie serve them tea.”
    â€œVery well.” Greathouse nodded his head at the women,and they left the room, obviously familiar with the inn. He cast an appraising eye over the crowd, his ruddy features relaxing. “I’ll have whatever they’re having . . . if there’s any left.”
    Chuckling, the innkeeper moved toward a far door Silas supposed was the kitchen. The supper smells were intensifying, and he was suddenly bone weary. Shifting his load, he waited for Greathouse to step away from the door and take the only remaining table before he made his way to the stable. The thought of a hay-strewn space, though cold, was far preferable to a flea-infested room where they slept six to a bed.
    â€œSo, man, have a seat.” The gentleman—Greathouse—was looking at him, gesturing to a chair.
    Surprise and suspicion riffled through Silas at the invitation. There were but two seats left in the room. He’d not insult the man by refusing. Besides, he had no wish to seek shelter in the stable just yet, though he did need to see to his horse. He disappeared for a time, then returned and lowered his belongings to the floor, taking the offered chair, eye on the huge stone hearth gracing the low-beamed room, its flames burnishing the paneled interior a pleasing russet.
    â€œAre you traveling east or west?” Greathouse asked, hanging his cloak on a peg behind him.
    â€œWest,” Silas answered, removing his battered hat.
    â€œOh? We’re in need of an extra man at Hope Rising.”
    â€œHope Rising?”
    â€œOur family’s estate— my estate.” A look of bemusement lit his features. “Sometimes I forget my good fortune. My uncle passed last year, God rest him. Since he had but three daughters and no male heir, everything passed to me.”
    â€œYou’re not sorry about that, I suppose,” Silas said wryly.
    Greathouse chuckled. “His father, my grandfather, made his fortune as a privateer in the Seven