Read His Impassioned Proposal (The Bridgethorpe Brides) for Free Online

friend becoming evil in that way. “I pray it doesn’t happen to him, but I don’t know that I am strong enough to not cringe every time he raises a wine glass. Neither of us would be happy like that.”
    Mama lifted a hand and brushed a loose curl behind Jane’s ear. “If that is how you feel, you are wise to cry off. I am proud of you, even if I am saddened with your choice. We will go ahead with our plans to go to London in March.”

    Long before he reached the turnoff for Larkspur Cottage, Stephen wished he’d borrowed one of Bridgethorpe’s carriages, or at the least, a cart. He’d spent scarcely two months recuperating from his injuries, and his muscles had all gone soft. For a man practically born on a pony, and a cavalry soldier to boot, he couldn’t imagine his body would protest so. But it did. A hot nail was being driven into his left thigh. His back just plain ached. And his head pounded each time the horse’s hooves hit the dirt.
      And he’d only been riding a few hours.
    “Limp, dandified fop, that’s what you’ve become.” His mount cocked an ear back to decide if Stephen spoke to him, but didn’t alter its pace. “Perhaps a few months of working the fields will cure that. If I still own any fields.”
    He’d enjoyed working the farm as a lad alongside his father or Mr. Sprackle, his father’s steward. It was not his passion, however. Did he have a passion? Knightwick and David had their thoroughbreds. When he’d visited years ago, they spent most of their days in the stables, or racing each other down the lane on horseback. But when he’d joined the cavalry, he hadn’t missed the thoroughbreds any more than he missed the fellowship of his cousins. Racing was as much a part of his past as conjugating Latin verbs.
    The thought of his future left him oddly flat, which was no way for a man to feel after proposing to his sweetheart. Yet he knew Miss Jane Marwick was the only woman he’d ever want, ever love. They would marry, and with God’s blessing, have a family closer in size to his uncle’s brood than his own, or Jane’s, singleton childhood.
    Still, the years spent watching men die, and worse, being responsible for so many of those deaths, left him drained of emotion. And he had only four months to refill his capacity to feel or lose his chance at having Jane for a wife.
    Stephen’s chest tightened when he reached the final turn in the lane leading to his home. Dread filled him, belying his inability to feel emotion. The burned-out shells of homes he’d seen in France and Spain had been casualties of war and their appearance easily put aside, but Larkspur Cottage was his home. How much still stood?
    The trees broke and he got his first glimpse. From the front, nothing had changed. The white casings of the six-over-six windows were stark against the muted red bricks. The two chimneys stood guard on each side of the manor. The roof, where he could see it, was sound.
    At his approach, his father’s man-of-all-work came around the far side of the house, his clothing and hands darkened by ash. Simmons’ features were hidden in the shadow of his hat, but Stephen noticed the man didn’t smile, even as he drew near.
    Dismounting, Stephen handed the reins to the man. “It is good to see a familiar face, Simmons. Have you been working on the house?”
    Simmons took the reins in one hand while doffing his hat with the other. “Aye, that I have, sir. And allow me to say I am sorry for your loss. Mr. Lumley was the best of employers, and a good man in general. He and Mrs. Lumley will be missed by all who knew them.”
    “Thank you. And thank you for not waiting for my arrival to begin the repairs. How bad is it?”
    The worker motioned for Stephen to precede him around the building. “The west wing, the old timber section, is gone. Or it will be, when we finish the cleanup. The bricks of the newer addition saved the rest. Gave us time to get water on it. It’s lucky the east wing