The Heart of a Duke(11)

Unfortunately, the decision was not hers to make. Julia looped her arm securely through Emily’s as they found themselves carried along with the throngs of villagers, moved like flotsam in a river of people. Excitement rippled through the crowds. They appeared to be heading toward the paddocks next to Tanner Stables, which abutted the village square.

“Oh dear, Robbie must be taking bets on that poor horse unseating all challengers. It is not right, Julia.” Emily said, worry edging her voice.

She squeezed Emily’s forearm. “He will find a buyer for him soon. The horse is too valuable for him to stable for long. Robbie deals in the sale of prime bloodstock, not losing pounds over the board and keep of them.”

“But if the horse is mad . . .”

“He is not mad. Just spirited.” She slid her arm around her sister’s waist, disturbed at her choice of words.

Madness was not something Julia wished to contemplate, not after the past year. An image of Emily standing with a pair of shears clutched in her hand flashed before her. Covering her sister’s bare feet were the golden strands of her once beautiful long hair. Emily’s eyes had pooled with tears. Jason loved my hair, she had said.

She tightened her grip on Emily and buried the image. After all, Emily was much, much better now. Taking her away to the Lake District for a few months had been restorative. No one need ever know of how dark that period had been, for no one knew the true extent of her sister’s despair but Edmund and the family. He had kept their family’s confidence, his future linked with theirs through his betrothal to Julia. Julia frowned at her train of thought. Of course, Edmund would have been discreet had they not been betrothed.

The proximity of the crowds drew her attention. They had thinned around her as they became aware of whom they carried in their midst. Her father, the earl, was highly esteemed in Taunton, generous and benevolent to the village. She smiled at familiar faces, nodding to those who bobbed a brief curtsy despite the ruckus surrounding them. “My ladies.” The murmurs reached her as a path was cleared for them to move forward.

They joined the audience standing before the paddock fence. Men propped their elbows on the top rails and hooted encouragement at the scene unfolding before them. Young boys perched on the fence rail to gain a better vantage point. The whisper of a breeze swept the audience, the sky a vast canvas of cerulean blue. The afternoon sun dazzled, a bright beacon to grace the day.

She scanned the crowds for her younger brother’s towhead. Her father had succumbed to his pleading and escorted him to the festival earlier in the day. She caught sight of Jonathan’s shining face from his perch atop one of the rails, one arm slung around a nearby post. Her heart lifted at the sight of her father’s tall figure hovering protectively beside him, the intimate tableau another reminder that all was well with her family.

Lifting her arm to wave, her gesture froze in midair as the man standing a short distance away from her brother’s perch distracted her.

One couldn’t miss him, for he towered half a head taller than most of the men, his fine clothes marking him as aristocracy. From his pristine dark blue riding jacket, custom fit over his broad shoulders, to the tips of his Hessian riding boots, the man exuded an aura of wealth and power. A ten-year absence did not eradicate blood ties, and Lord Daniel Bryant was aristocratic to the bone, the brother of a duke and his heir apparent. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she saw the ripple effect his presence had caused.

Eyes narrowed in speculation, the men elbowing each other and nodding toward Daniel. Coins exchanging hands clinked as wages were laid. Women neatened their skirts and tucked stray strands of hair under their mobcaps while their eyes lapped up Daniel’s tall figure like a succulent treat they’d like to sample. Julia noted the brazen looks, a few just short of ogling.

“So that’s Bryant. I had heard that he had returned,” Emily murmured, wonder in her voice. “Hasn’t he grown up well.”

“One would think one had never seen a handsome man before.” She shrugged. “The years have been kind to him. He is taller.”

Emily stared at her, and then burst out laughing.

Two conflicting emotions battled within her, joy at the rare sound of her sister’s laughter and annoyance at the cause of it. The latter overrode her pleasure. “What is it? I do not see what all the fuss is about it. The man is good looking, but—”

“He is a mirror image of his brother. What do you call him, Beautiful Bedford?”

It had been a weak moment when she had confided in her sister.

“I wonder why he has finally returned home after all these years away?”