Widows of Somerset by Rebecca Connolly & Jen Geigle Johnson & Heather B. Moore

Author:Rebecca Connolly & Jen Geigle Johnson & Heather B. Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Clean & Wholesome Romance, Regency Romance, Historical Romance, Victorian Romance, Georgian Romance
Publisher: Mirror Press, LLC
Published: 2022-05-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Oliver climbed up on his horse, and Cinnamon pawed the ground. The low-lying fog hovered and swirled around his legs. “What a singular morning.”

The land all around him was clothed in small white swirls lifting up in soft curls; but the heavy thickness blanketed the ground. He tore out in the middle of it, enjoying the rippling disturbance made as he cut through the fog. It rose up all around him. It would soon burn off in the rising sun.

He told himself he wasn’t going to visit Mrs. Hunter. He deliberately directed Cinnamon to head to the opposite side of his property, to the one point on his land where he couldn’t see hers. But as soon as the horse reached that back corner and Oliver turned to survey his property, seeking a bit of peace, Cinnamon impatiently pawed the ground again.

“What is it, little lady?”

The dancing hooves continued, and he let her have her head.

She took off back across the fields, the land tearing by as she ran. He laughed out loud at the exhilaration, the speed smooth and glorious as they ran together across the land where everywhere he looked belonged to him.

Almost everywhere.

They approached the fence line, and he didn’t even stop her as she leapt over it, tearing out across Mrs. Hunter’s land, turning to head up toward her house. And before he could stop her, they were careening out through the immediate property around her house and just missed a bucket of water tossed out into the side yard.

“Whoa, girl, whoa.”

The horse skidded to a stop. He looked back over his shoulder at Mrs. Hunter laughing at him. Her hair was tied back in a scarf. She looked like a servant, honestly, or one of the girls from his town back home growing up. She was dressed to work. And, judging by the water, she was involved in something of the sort right now. He turned and walked the horse back over to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Hunter.”

“Good morning.” She wiped a hair out of her face and leaned against the doorframe. The color in her cheeks made her that much more attractive. For a moment, he enjoyed the appealing imaginings of just such a vision each morning of his life. And he stunned himself at how much happiness the thought brought him.

But he knew she was far from desiring any such thing. She’d told him often enough how much she enjoyed her independence.

But here she stood, and she looked happy to see him.

He grinned back. “And just what are you planning on doing today?”

She wiped her hands on the front of her skirts. “Today I am going to clean out the attic.”

“Oh, ambitious indeed.”

“More than you know. For you haven’t seen this attic. It is filled with all manner of things. I’m not sure how long it has sat in such a state, but I’m certain most of it can go.”

“Why not just gather it for the burning?”

“Because there might be useful items. Someone could benefit.

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