That counted for something, didn’t it?
He was not expecting miracles. Dillie could never completely heal his wounds or bring back the brother he’d loved deeply. He’d been scarred by that one bad moment and had never felt good about himself since. Indeed, he would never forget what he had done to James, nor would his detestable family ever allow him to forget, making certain to twist their verbal knives deep into his heart each and every time they met.
Hence that turtle shell he’d built around his heart.
As he rode off, he considered another problem. Once he and Dillie were married, it would be difficult to keep her and his family apart. Having been raised in a close and loving household, Dillie would feel duty bound to bring him and his relations together, just as her twin, Lily, had done with her husband’s family. That effort had ended happily, but any effort on Dillie’s part to reconcile him with his family would not. The Markhams were different. His mother and cousins would do their best to poison the marriage.
He wouldn’t allow it, but what if he weren’t around to protect Dillie? She’d chased off a pair of base ruffians and saved his sorry life. Still, his wretched family would not hesitate to tear her to pieces if given the opportunity. Damn them. Celestia and her toadies could say or do what they wished to him, but he’d hunt them down and kill them in cold blood if they ever attempted to harm Dillie.
He shook his head and sighed, wondering whether he was fretting needlessly.
What if Dillie refused him?
Hell, she’d be better off.
He rode on, ignoring the biting wind against his cheeks and wanting to get as far away from London as possible. This gave him the perfect opportunity to visit Felicity in Swineshead, for he needed to make certain she was being treated well. He also needed to tend to several Edgeware matters he’d put off because he’d tarried too long in London.
Until a few months ago, he’d used Swineshead as a hunting lodge. The land, with its abundant forests and well-stocked streams, was a perfect hunter’s retreat. The ponds, lakes, and streams attracted all manner of freshwater fish and game, and the dense forests provided shelter for birds, deer, and wild boar.
Felicity’s arrival at Swineshead had changed everything. He’d ordered improvements made to the lodge since she was to reside there, and he wanted her to be comfortable and happy. He was now eager to see the changes.
He released the breath he’d been holding and let out a wry laugh. Within the month, his life might never be the same, a fast descent from rakehell to married family man. He’d made the necessary arrangements with Dillie’s father. The only thing lacking was Dillie’s consent.
She would give it. She had to. He owed her for saving his life and he always repaid his debts. It could work. Dillie would make it work, for her kisses were delectable and she had a sunshine smile that always warmed his cold heart. Felicity would love her, for she had a gentle way with the Farthingale children that made him ache every time he watched her play with them.
No one had ever been gentle with him. Not once in his life.
It rained steadily on and off for the first three days of the journey. Ian finished his business in Coventry with surprising ease and continued north toward Swineshead, but he was hindered on the fourth day by a brutally cold rain that began to fall hard as he approached the market town of Penrith.
All of a sudden, the skies opened up with a vengeance and buckets of fat raindrops quickly muddied the roadway. It was early evening and the sun had yet to set, but thunderous black clouds covered the sky so that it appeared as ink-dark as a starless night. “This looks to be a bad one. We had better find shelter,” he muttered to Prometheus, the handsome gelding he’d acquired at Tattersalls.
He wasn’t far from the Black Sail Inn, a decent establishment situated on the outskirts of Penrith. Since he often stayed there while attending to business in Carlisle or across the border in Scotland, he headed for the inn, resigned to continuing his journey the next day once the weather cleared. He wasn’t about to risk injury to Prometheus.
The horse suddenly grew skittish, forcing Ian to concentrate on the road. He drew lightly on the reins, easing him from a canter to a walk across a particularly slick patch. The temperature had taken a swift dip, and sleet now mingled with the rain that fell with torrential force. Bloody English weather.
The wind kicked up, now tossing that rain straight into his face, but the Black Sail Inn was just up the road and he looked forward to warming himself in the common room beside the well-stoked fire. He’d dry off first, then imbibe a much-needed tankard or two of ale. However, he had to put those thoughts of comfort aside for the moment. The road was suddenly a dangerous mix of mud and ice requiring all his concentration.