his rider to walk home in disgrace. But rather than finding the reins snagged on a bush, she was surprised to see them tied securelyto the branch of a tree.
“Where’s your rider? Off hunting for truffles?” Hannah’s lips twitched at the unlikely image of the owner of such a proud beast digging around the forest floor.
The horse pushed against her hand, and she patted his velvety muzzle. There didn’t appear to be anyone lurking—or grovelling—amongst the oak trees, and she scanned the cemetery. Spotting the form of a man sitting against a headstone, the rider she presumed, Hannah wondered who it could be. She had no intention of disturbing him, but when he remained unmoving for several minutes, she took a few steps in his direction. Her eyes widened. It was him, the bedraggled officer from the service, and he wasn’t sitting but had collapsed in a heap. She picked up her skirts and ran across the grass, but her footsteps slowed when she saw which headstone he was leaning against—the one belonging to the most recently deceased of the Blackthorn viscounts.
“William?”
The officer’s lids flickered open, revealing eyes clouded with pain. She knelt beside him and placed her fingers against his brow, unsurprised to find him burning with fever.
“Don’t worry. I’m here to help.”
Compassion and concern welled within Hannah, as her suspicions led her to an inescapable conclusion. The battle-scarred and gravely ill officer was none other than her childhood friend, William. The sixth Viscount Blackthorn had finally returned home.
Chapter 3
Homecoming
“Papa, girls, come quickly.” Hannah ran through the house, stopping only to collect the bag she used when visiting her father’s parishioners.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
Her father followed her into the kitchen where she rapidly assembled what she needed from her collection of herbal tinctures and medical supplies.
“William Blackthorn has collapsed across his father’s grave.”
“ Viscount Blackthorn?” Naomi asked from the doorway. “After all these years?”
“The officer with the limp?”
Hannah nodded to her father before turning to Rachel. “Run down to the granary and ask Mr Jenkins to hitch up his flat-backed cart. Tell him to drive it to the top of the cemetery as quickly as possible, and get him to bring those sons of his. We’ll need help lifting the viscount.”
Obeying without question, for a change, Rachel reached for her bonnet hanging on a hook in the foyer.
“Once you’re sure he’s on his way, go and find Grace,” Hannah called after her. “She’s probably helping Sally with her confinement.”
Rachel hesitated near the door. “Sally?” Preferring the characters in her stories to the more pedestrian inhabitants of the village, the vicar’s youngest daughter had a tendency to forget the names of their neighbours.
“Sally Martin, the farrier’s wife. Her babe is overdue. Tell Grace she’s needed at the manor urgently.”
Grace, Hannah’s closest friend, had been cast from the only home she’d ever known upon the death of her father, Lord Cromley. His wife had not appreciated raising her husband’s bastard child alongside his legitimate ones, and had been only too eager banish the girl at the first opportunity. Spurned by the society in which she’d been raised, Grace had apprenticed herself to her elderly aunt, the village’s midwife and herbalist, and now serviced the district in her stead.
Hannah’s father stayed her arm, his expression troubled. “Shouldn’t we send to Thornton for the doctor?”
“Must we?” While the doctor could be enticed to travel to the village for a fee, he was unlikely to be sober, even this early in the afternoon. “Grace will do William—I mean the viscount —far more good than Dr Cooper would.”
“You’re probably right.” Her father sighed. “Mr Grantham may insist on calling a physician, but I’ll encourage him to send to the city for a more
“Where’s your rider? Off hunting for truffles?” Hannah’s lips twitched at the unlikely image of the owner of such a proud beast digging around the forest floor.
The horse pushed against her hand, and she patted his velvety muzzle. There didn’t appear to be anyone lurking—or grovelling—amongst the oak trees, and she scanned the cemetery. Spotting the form of a man sitting against a headstone, the rider she presumed, Hannah wondered who it could be. She had no intention of disturbing him, but when he remained unmoving for several minutes, she took a few steps in his direction. Her eyes widened. It was him, the bedraggled officer from the service, and he wasn’t sitting but had collapsed in a heap. She picked up her skirts and ran across the grass, but her footsteps slowed when she saw which headstone he was leaning against—the one belonging to the most recently deceased of the Blackthorn viscounts.
“William?”
The officer’s lids flickered open, revealing eyes clouded with pain. She knelt beside him and placed her fingers against his brow, unsurprised to find him burning with fever.
“Don’t worry. I’m here to help.”
Compassion and concern welled within Hannah, as her suspicions led her to an inescapable conclusion. The battle-scarred and gravely ill officer was none other than her childhood friend, William. The sixth Viscount Blackthorn had finally returned home.
Chapter 3
Homecoming
“Papa, girls, come quickly.” Hannah ran through the house, stopping only to collect the bag she used when visiting her father’s parishioners.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
Her father followed her into the kitchen where she rapidly assembled what she needed from her collection of herbal tinctures and medical supplies.
“William Blackthorn has collapsed across his father’s grave.”
“ Viscount Blackthorn?” Naomi asked from the doorway. “After all these years?”
“The officer with the limp?”
Hannah nodded to her father before turning to Rachel. “Run down to the granary and ask Mr Jenkins to hitch up his flat-backed cart. Tell him to drive it to the top of the cemetery as quickly as possible, and get him to bring those sons of his. We’ll need help lifting the viscount.”
Obeying without question, for a change, Rachel reached for her bonnet hanging on a hook in the foyer.
“Once you’re sure he’s on his way, go and find Grace,” Hannah called after her. “She’s probably helping Sally with her confinement.”
Rachel hesitated near the door. “Sally?” Preferring the characters in her stories to the more pedestrian inhabitants of the village, the vicar’s youngest daughter had a tendency to forget the names of their neighbours.
“Sally Martin, the farrier’s wife. Her babe is overdue. Tell Grace she’s needed at the manor urgently.”
Grace, Hannah’s closest friend, had been cast from the only home she’d ever known upon the death of her father, Lord Cromley. His wife had not appreciated raising her husband’s bastard child alongside his legitimate ones, and had been only too eager banish the girl at the first opportunity. Spurned by the society in which she’d been raised, Grace had apprenticed herself to her elderly aunt, the village’s midwife and herbalist, and now serviced the district in her stead.
Hannah’s father stayed her arm, his expression troubled. “Shouldn’t we send to Thornton for the doctor?”
“Must we?” While the doctor could be enticed to travel to the village for a fee, he was unlikely to be sober, even this early in the afternoon. “Grace will do William—I mean the viscount —far more good than Dr Cooper would.”
“You’re probably right.” Her father sighed. “Mr Grantham may insist on calling a physician, but I’ll encourage him to send to the city for a more
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