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A Man Most Worthy
Ruth Axtell Morren
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesHe was her father's poor bank clerk. She was a wealthy young lady. Though they were worlds apart, their innocent friendship bloomed into a mutual admiration.Then suddenly Nicholas Tennant was wrenched from Alice Shepard's life. Now, years later, he has returned to London society wealthy and influential, determined to seek revenge on Alice's father–and Alice herself. But she is no longer the spoiled schoolgirl Nicholas remembers.She is a beautiful young widow of conviction and faith, raising a son on her own. Now Nicholas must look deep into his heart. For only in abandoning his thirst for revenge can he finally become the man most worthy of her love.



Alice could scarcely believe her eyes. It was Nicholas Tennent.
Was her memory playing tricks on her? Surely the distinguished gentleman looking at her was not the same man she’d given her heart to so long ago.
Nicholas Tennent. The name evoked pain and longing. For a second she thought she would faint. But she clamped down on her emotions. She had come a long way from the innocent girl she’d once been.
What was he doing here in London after all these years? Had he always been in town? Wouldn’t they have run into each other?
She began walking toward him. Did he remember her at all? He must, the way he was looking at her. His dark eyes hadn’t moved from her face.
They reached each other and she held out her hands, hesitating only an instant before she spoke. “Mr. Tennent, is it truly you?”
“Miss Shepard.” He bowed, taking both her hands in his. “Would you care to dance?”

RUTH AXTELL MORREN
wrote her first story when she was twelve—a spy thriller—and knew she wanted to be a writer. There were many detours along the way. She studied comparative literature at Smith College, taught English in the Canary Islands and worked in international development in Miami, Florida, where she met her future husband.
She gained her first recognition as a writer when her second manuscript finaled in the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Contest in 1994. Ruth has been writing for Steeple Hill Books since 2002, and her second novel, Wild Rose (2004) was selected as a Booklist Top 10 Christian Novel in 2005.
After living several years on the down-east coast of Maine, Ruth and her family moved back to the Netherlands to the polderland of Flevoland, where she still lives by the sea. Ruth loves hearing from readers. You can contact her through her Web site, www.ruthaxtellmorren.com.

Ruth Axtell Morren
A Man Most Worthy





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
He shall receive the blessing from the Lord,
and righteousness from the God of his salvation.
—Psalms 24:5

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Questions For Discussion

Chapter One
Richmond, England, June 1875
The numbers wouldn’t add up. Nick ran his ink-smudged finger up the neat column of figures and back down again.
A smothered giggle disrupted his concentration. With a frown, he glanced up from his desk, irritated that he’d have to begin adding for a third time.
He stared.
The most exquisite creature stood in the doorway to his small office, a finger to her lips. In her navy blue pleated skirt and sailor blouse, she appeared no more than sixteen.
Before he could do or say anything, she moved into his space, bringing with her a vitality the dusty nook had probably not seen in a decade.
Her eyes were wide, pleading, yet with a touch of mischief. “Shh!” she whispered. “Don’t tell them I’m here.”
He almost jumped out of his seat as she came around his desk and crouched behind it at his feet.
He drew his legs in, his eyes drawn to her slim, pale hands clasped over her knees. She lifted her head. “You won’t give me away, will you?” Her sparkling deep blue eyes looked up at his in a conspiratorial smile. They must be what the poets called violet. Another part of his mind noticed the coppery shade of her hair. It was worn down, as befitted a schoolgirl, with a deep fringe across her wide forehead, and drawn away from her face with a wide blue bow in the back. Her hair was very straight but its toffee-colored tones glistened in the bit of light from his small lamp.
A noise at the door caused him to look up again. A youth and another young lady stood at the doorjamb, their faces peering doubtfully in.
The young gentleman ran a disdainful eye across the room. “You don’t think she came in here, do you?”
The young lady, also pretty, but nothing compared to the one crouched at Nick’s feet, put her hands on the hips of her similar schoolgirl outfit and took a slow turn about the cramped space, her slim nose wrinkled. “I daresay not. There’s not space in here to hide a pin in!”
Nick couldn’t help glancing down at the girl at his feet, and experienced once again a moment of shock at her loveliness as she glanced up at him, her finger to her lips.
“I say, you haven’t seen a young lady run by here, have you, my good fellow?”
Nick immediately took umbrage to the young man’s tone. Instead of replying, he picked up his pencil and pretended to go over his figures again.
The young man cleared his throat. “See here, I’m addressing you.”
Without straightening from his work, Nick’s gaze flickered up. “I beg your pardon?”
A look of annoyance crossed the young man’s fine features. “Never mind. I shall look for myself. Come on, Lucy.” He beckoned to the young lady standing at his side.
“Alice wouldn’t hide in here,” she said with a toss of her head. “Why are we wasting our time in this stuffy hole? There’s nothing but dust and paper in here.” As if to prove her point, she sneezed.
“You’re right.” With a sniff, the young gentleman backed out the door. The girl followed after him. Their voices faded down the corridor. “We shall find you, Alice. You can’t hide from us!”
Silence descended once more in the office. Before Nick had a chance to move, the girl stood in one quick motion, smoothing down her skirt. “Thank you ever so much, Mr.—”
“Tennent,” he said without thinking, pushing his chair back and standing.
She bobbed a quick curtsy then studied him a moment. He wondered what those stunning eyes saw. More than the other girl, no doubt, who had looked right past him as if he’d been no more than the blotter on his desk.
“You’re Father’s secretary?”
He nodded. So, this lovely creature was the offspring of Mr. Shepard.
She put a finger to her chin and tilted her head. “This is the first time he’s brought his secretary out to Richmond, at least as far as I can recall.” Her cheeks dimpled. “But then, I’m rarely home myself, so I wouldn’t know.”
He fingered the pencil he still held in his hand, trying to maintain a poise he was far from feeling. “I imagine your father wanted to have this project finished as quickly as possible. It demands much time and attention right now.”
She cast a glance over the papers on his desk. “All Father’s projects seem to require much time and attention.” Was that irony in one so young? Her lashes, the same deep coppery tone as her hair, formed deep curves against the delicate, pale skin.
He frowned at her statement. “One doesn’t rise to the importance of Mr. Shepard without a lot of time and effort.”
Her eyes came up to study him. “You admire him.”
“There is much to be admired.” He lifted his chin a trifle defensively.
She ran a slim forefinger along the edge of the beat-up desk as she walked around it. He found he could breathe slightly easier when she’d moved a few feet away from him. “Most people do, don’t they?” She glanced back at him, her finger still on the desk. “Admire him, I mean?”
“I imagine they do.”
She nodded. “Is he a nice employer to you?”
He raised his eyebrows at her direct question, unaccustomed to someone asking him about his situation. “I have only been in his employ a fortnight, and it is not my place to comment on your father’s treatment of his employees.”
“Of course not. You were very cool to Victor.”
Her statement threw him, until he realized she was referring to the young gentleman just in the room. “A playmate of yours?”
“I’ve known them both since childhood.”
“Does that make them your friends?”
She tilted her head and a slow smile spread across her face. “I…don’t know. I’d never really thought about it.”
As if the mention of them summoned them, he heard their voices once again from the end of the corridor.
“Now, I say, Alice, we’ve searched this place from top to bottom—”
She sighed and took a step toward the door. “I’d better leave you to your work before they barge in on you again. I do apologize for interrupting your work, Mr. Tennent. I’m sure it’s important.”
He shook his head, trying to dispel the wave of disappointment he felt at her departure. “No need to apologize.” He looked down at his column of figures, reassuming a business-like tone. “Good day to you, Miss Shepard.”
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tennent.”
She sounded like a society lady, the kind of women he only saw from a distance in London. Hearing Victor’s voice closer, she flashed him a smile then spun on her heel and left the room, once again the young schoolgirl.

Victor and Lucy pounced on her as soon as they saw her. “Where in the world were you?”
Alice laughed, the sound coming out breathless and excited. “You sillies, I was behind you all the time.” She’d moved far enough from the office door that they wouldn’t suspect where she’d come from.
Victor turned away from her and marched in the direction he’d come from. “I say, this game is silly. I, for one, am too old to be playing at hide-and-seek.”
Alice stifled a laugh. He only thought it was silly because he hadn’t found her. “All right, what do you suggest we do?”
At the moment all she wanted to do was be alone somewhere and ponder the encounter she’d had with Papa’s new secretary. Miss Shepard. The way he’d said it sounded so grown-up and ladylike. Everyone else called her Miss Alice. She would not be Miss Shepard for another year-and-a-half at her coming out.
In those few moments of conversation, she’d felt taken seriously by an adult. A young gentleman, at that. Her heartbeat quickened at the intensity of his gaze.
She went over his features in her mind. Dark, short-cropped hair over a high forehead, a thin face, a high-bridged nose. But most arresting were his deep-set eyes, their irises almost black, the eyebrows straight and dark above them before arching outward.
“Let’s go riding.” Victor’s voice, always peremptory when he wanted something, brought her thoughts to a halt.
“It’s too hot to go riding.” Lucy sounded peevish.
She took the girl by the arm. “Come along, we can take a walk in the grove. It’ll be cool in the shade.”
Two weeks of holidays stretched out before her. How she’d hoped that she’d be able to see Father. But he was always off to London and she was forced to entertain unwanted guests. There’d be no peace now until she returned to school.

Alice stood on the grassy tennis court, her attention fixed on Victor, her racket held firmly in her hand. “Come on, put some spirit into your serve.”
Just as she knew they would, her words brought a frown to his face. The next second, he slammed the rubber ball across the net.
But she was ready. The ball sailed out of her reach. With a laugh, she sprang towards it and then hit it dead-on with her racket. It went flying back, forcing Victor to sprint to connect with it. “I say, you’re not playing the game as it should be played.”
She laughed again. “I’m playing it the way I saw it played at Wimbledon last spring!”
“This is not a competition!”
When she sent it back again, she aimed it at his partner, Lucy. The girl didn’t move from her position, merely raised her arm halfway in a vain attempt to reach the ball.
Alice blew her bangs off her forehead in frustration. “Lucy, it went right to you!”
Lucy made a face at her and let Victor fetch the ball. “You’re not playing fairly, Alice. You know you mustn’t make me reach for it.”
What a bore it was to play with these three. She glanced over at her own partner, a neighbor’s son, also home for the holidays. He was looking away from the court, leaning on his racket. Oh, to be paired with someone who showed a little spirit!
She lunged to the right, almost missing the ball Victor served back to her. Despite his indolence in the drawing room, once she taunted him, he was roused to make some effort. Thunk! Her racket connected with the ball and it went whizzing back to him.
A tall figure coming around the corner of the high yew hedge caught her attention.
She recognized the new secretary immediately. She hadn’t seen him at all again yesterday, and wondered if he was forced to take his meals with the servants or all by himself in his little office off Father’s library.
In the time it took for the ball to return over the net, Alice made up her mind. She knocked the ball at the wrong angle, so that it missed the net altogether and bounced sidelong into the shorter trimmed hedge on her side of the court.
“Alice! What are you doing?” Victor’s voice was filled with disgust. With a shrug and shamefaced smile his way, she skipped toward the hedge. She stooped to retrieve the ball where it had landed in the soil beneath the hedge and stood in time to meet the young secretary coming along the path.
“Hello, Mr. Tennent.”
He looked different in the bright sun. Hatless, his short ebony curls gleamed. His face was slim, the cheekbones rather prominent, but his eyes were as dark and intense as the day before.
They widened slightly as if surprised that she’d remembered his name. “Hello, Miss Shepard.”
She thought of him confined to that tiny office. “Would you like to join in the match?” With his tall, lean build, he would probably prove a swift player.
His gaze flickered over the court then returned to her. “No, thank you.” His tone sounded more formal than yesterday.
“We’re having ever so much fun.”
He looked away from her. “I have no time for sports.”
She fingered the edge of her racket, refusing to give up so easily. “I should think playing a hard game of tennis would help you in your work.”
A slight crease formed between his dark brows. “I fail to see how swinging at a ball on a grassy lawn would aid me in figuring the financial assets of a company.”
“Exercising your body will keep your mind sharp.”
Amusement began to dislodge the severity of his expression. She leaned forward, pressing home her point. “It’s been scientifically proven. You are breathing more deeply of oxygen, for one thing. More than in that airless cubbyhole my father has you closeted in.”
Before he could say anything, Victor shouted from the court, “Are you going to join the game or remain talking to a clerk all day?” Laughter from the others drifted over to them.
She turned back to the court, ashamed of her friends in that moment. She remembered the secretary’s question of the day before. These “friends” were mere acquaintances, offspring of her parents’ friends, forced on her during the holidays to keep her company.
Mr. Tennent’s face remained expressionless. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Wait.” She stopped, casting about for another way to lengthen their exchange, not quite sure why. “Why don’t you join me for a game tomorrow—” her mind ran on, thinking of possibilities “—before breakfast, before you begin working.”
He looked away from her. “I know nothing of the game.” The words came out stiffly as if forced out of him.
She laughed, relieved. For a moment she’d thought perhaps it was her company he didn’t want. “That’s all right. I can teach you.”
His eyes widened slightly before resuming their formality. “I have no time for games. Good morning.” Before she could draw breath to argue, he hurried off.
She looked at his receding back, frowning at the rebuff.
“Come on, Alice, or you shall have to forfeit the game.”
With a sigh of frustration, she hurried back to her place, prepared to meet Victor’s serve.
Lucy gave a disbelieving laugh across the court. “Goodness, Alice, are you so bored you’re forced to seek out your father’s employees?”
“Why shouldn’t I be nice to Father’s employees? Maybe he’ll prove a better tennis player than all of you!” More determined than ever to get the serious young man out on the tennis court, she whacked the ball that came flying toward her.

Nick shook his head over the report. The mining company had already had one shaft collapse in the last year. Another was hardly producing. If he were a partner, he’d recommend to Mr. Shepard that he sell his shares of the company.
He gathered up the papers and prepared to go to the larger office adjoining his “airless cubbyhole,” as the young Miss Shepard had put it. He paused, considering once again the girl’s invitation to a game of tennis. To lessons, no less! He told himself once again, as he had all the rest of the afternoon, that it was nonsense. No matter that no one of her class had ever bothered to notice someone as lowly as a clerk, let alone issue such a friendly invitation….
The girl was no more than fifteen if she was a day. She was his employer’s daughter. He had no business daydreaming of her, lovely creature or not.
He stopped at Mr. Shepard’s door, hearing a female voice. Nick paused, his hand on the knob, his breath held.
“But Papa, why can’t you go rowing with us? The day is glorious and we shall have such a grand time on the water.”
“You know I must return to town tomorrow, and I have work this afternoon. Now, you have your friends here you must amuse.” Shepard’s voice was firm.
“You’re forever working. It’s a holiday.”
Something in the plaintive feminine tones caught at Nick’s heart, and he eased open the door a crack.
Miss Shepard stood with her back to him, in a maroon dress with a large bow at the back where the ruffled material was gathered. Its mid-calf length and her long hair worn down with a matching ribbon told him more clearly than anything else that she was still a schoolgirl.
“You’ll just have to content yourself with seeing me at dinner this evening.” Mr. Shepard stood and indicated the meeting was over.
“Very well, Father.” She turned around, her chest heaving in a sigh.
What kind of a man could ignore such a tender request? The next instant he remembered his own cold refusal of her invitation to play tennis the day before. But that had been different. He was here to work and not to amuse himself. Still, the image of himself as a hard-hearted brute like the girl’s father persisted as he waited behind the door.
What he’d seen of his employer thus far—a man who expected a lot and was all business—qualities Nick admired—took on a different perspective when seen from his personal life. Something about the glimpse of Miss Shepard’s forlorn face as she dragged her feet toward the exit, elicited a response he’d never thought he’d feel for someone of her pampered station. There were enough people in real want not to waste his sympathy on a spoiled little rich girl.
When the door clicked shut behind her, Nick waited a few more seconds before clearing his throat and entering the library from the side door to his office. His footfalls made no sound on the thick Turkish carpet as he advanced toward the large mahogany desk planted in the middle of the room as if to proclaim its owner firmly in control of the space.
Nick cleared his throat again.
“Yes, what is it?” Mr. Shepard didn’t look up, and a trace of impatience underlined the clipped words. He was a man in his fifties, his hair still thick but with threads of gray fading the burnished coppery mane. It occurred to Nick that Shepard must have had his daughter late in life.
“I have the information you requested on Rafferty, Limited.”
Shepard adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose and thrust out his hand. “Well, bring it here.”
Nick handed him the sheaf of papers, hoping his employer would notice the careful analysis he’d made of the mining company. But with a wave of his hand, Shepard dismissed Nick. Nick’s years clerking at a bank had inured him to being treated in such a manner. Clerks were usually ignored until someone needed something pressing and then barked at to produce it immediately.
But he’d looked forward to just a hint that Mr. Shepard had noticed all his extra effort.
Nick returned to his office, unable to help comparing his own footsteps with those of the girl who’d been just as summarily dismissed.

This was a mistake. Nick knew it, yet found he could do nothing to change his course of action.
Setting his alarm clock for an hour earlier than usual, he rose with a sense of foreboding that he was about to make a fool of himself. After washing and shaving, he stood a moment looking at his sparse wardrobe of black suits appropriate to a clerk. What did one wear to a game of lawn tennis?
Finally, he donned a clean white shirt and waistcoat and one of his two black frock coats, calling himself a number of names as he buttoned up the front. He looked like he should be heading to a counting house instead of outdoors. The young men he’d observed the other day had worn light-colored trousers and loose jackets.
Nick did own a straw boater—more appropriate in the country than the top hats he usually wore.
Setting it on his head, he headed out the door, not bothering to go by the dining room to see if breakfast had been laid out yet. This household was not one to rise early, he’d observed in his few days’ residence.
He walked past the garden beds, deciding he’d see if Miss Shepard was there and return at once if she wasn’t. If he saw anyone else, he’d pretend he was out for an early morning stroll. Surely the girl hadn’t meant the invitation seriously. He imagined her sleeping form. Of course she didn’t remember a casually issued invitation. Yet, she’d remembered his name. That fact still amazed him.
The grass was damp with dew. The toes of his polished shoes were already wet before he’d gone halfway across the lawn.
He recalled Miss Shepard’s words about exercise being good for his mental acuity and couldn’t help smiling. What did she know about real toil? He’d been up at the crack of dawn since he’d been able to walk, toddling out after his brothers and mother to the mill.
A riot of birdsong hailed him from the great boughs of the trees on the vast property. He realized he’d never been in such a pleasant setting. Childhood was a memory of dismal, gray surroundings and of hunger and barrenness. Since coming to London, he’d lived in a different sort of gray, from sunup to sundown in a treeless environment, going from his dingy room, downing a quick breakfast in the drab dining room crowded with half-a-dozen other young clerks, and rushing to catch the steamer across the gray Thames to the grim city of finance.
He passed the last flowerbed and looked over the hedge at the carefully clipped, emerald green lawn with its chalked lines marking out an oblong.
He stopped short at the sight of Miss Shepard holding a racket in one hand. Her head was lifted up, a hand shading her eyes from the early morning sun. He followed her line of vision and saw a bird in flight. His gaze returned to her. Her long hair fell down her shoulders like melted caramel to the small of her back. For all the loveliness of her silhouette, something about it conveyed loneliness. His gut tightened as he recalled the sound of longing in her voice toward her father.
She must have seen him out of the corner of her eye because she dropped her hand and ran over to him.
“You came!” She stopped about a foot from him, her smile wide. In that instant, all his doubts evaporated like the dew in the warm morning sun. He didn’t doubt the welcome on her face; she was too young to have learned to mask her feelings.
He found himself caught once again by her beauty. She had the most exquisite features, delicate and perfectly formed like a porcelain doll’s—pink-tinted cheeks, a perfect little nose, lips a deeper pink than her cheeks, her teeth white and even. Her heart-shaped face was framed by those silky locks of hair.
Then he looked down at the damp grass, remembering his ignorance of the game. “Yes.”
“Have you really never played tennis before?”
Did she think the average person indulged in tennis? How little she knew of life. His eyes met hers again, expecting to see triumph, but only simple interest was visible in those blue depths. “No.”
“Very well, let’s get started. I imagine you haven’t much time.”
“You imagine correctly.” What was he doing here? He should be finishing breakfast and going to his desk.
“I brought an extra racket, in case you decided to come.” She slanted him a friendly smile as she spoke, leading the way to the edge of the court.
She picked up a racket from a white wrought iron chair and a wire basket full of rubber balls. “You take this side of the net. Stand in the middle since we’re playing singles, and I’ll go on the other. I shall serve to you and you try to hit the ball back to me. Just follow my motions.”
Still amazed that she wanted to teach him, he took the racket from her and gripped it in his hand. It didn’t weigh much, its handle made of wood and wrapped in leather at the base.
She hit the ball with an underhanded swing and it came over the high net toward him. He didn’t even have to move to reach it. He swung with all his might and with a sense of triumph connected with the ball. Instead of going back over the net where he expected it to, it flew up toward the sky and landed back on his side of the net, skittering away in a series of small bounces.
His face flamed at her laughter.
“You needn’t hit it quite so hard to return it across the net,” she said in a kind tone. “Also, a lot depends on the angle of your racket when you hit the ball. Let’s try again, shall we?” She stooped and grabbed another ball from her basket.
He gripped the racket, determined to hit the ball over the net this time. He controlled his swing, barely tapping the racket against the ball and sent it dribbling into the net.
“That’s better,” she said, no hint of laughter in her voice. “Let’s try another.”
She continued sending balls his way. He missed as many as he managed to hit, but she continued encouraging him with every one.
Then he began to catch on and managed to send more balls back to her. Gradually he gained confidence because Miss Shepard was so patient and encouraging. He enjoyed watching her vitality as she ran across the court, so unlike the passive stance of the other women he’d glimpsed on the court at other times in the day. Perhaps it was because she was still a girl. She had not yet assumed the airs of a young lady just come out. Even the perspiration making her face shine appealed to him.
In some ways she reminded him of the girls of his boyhood. In their ragged frocks and bare feet, there was no room for stiffness and formality. They ran and skipped about, unfettered by social constraints or petticoats and high-buttoned shoes.
She continued sending balls his way a while longer. He was beginning to think it a tame sport when a ball went flying over the net so fast it made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air. He had to sprint to connect with it. He just made it and sent it back over.
She laughed as she went running for it. “This is the way I prefer to play!” Again, it came hard at him, and he had to jump to the side to reach it. He missed it.
“I see.” He retrieved the ball and returned to his place. He swung hard at it and again, the ball went too high.
“I’m over here, you know!” Laugher bubbled in her voice.
He winced in embarrassment at his overconfidence. Before he could run after the ball, she had gone for it. This time she resumed her gentler game. “I think we need to practice a bit more before you’re up to my speed.” The words were said to him in a friendly manner but he took them as a challenge, vowing to find a way to master this game.
Beads of sweat rolled down his temples as the sun grew warmer in the sky. At that moment, she picked up the ball and strolled to his side of the court. “You really need proper tennis garments. You must be sweltering in your suit. Why don’t you take off your coat?”
He mopped his brow, thinking how unpolished he must look compared to the suave young men she’d played with yesterday. Instead of removing his coat, he snapped open his watch. “I really must go. I need to get to work.”
She nodded, though her down-tilted face and puckered lips expressed disappointment. Then she brightened. “Have you breakfasted?”
He shook his head.
“I haven’t either. Come, you must be as hungry and thirsty as I am.” Before he could refuse, she was walking off the court. “Leave the racket here. I’m sure someone will be out to play later. Hurry, I’m famished!” She waited for him to catch up to her and the two walked back to the house.
Her next words surprised him. “Are you from London?”
He wasn’t used to anyone taking a personal interest in him. “No. I grew up in Birmingham.”
She tilted her head. “That’s funny. You haven’t any accent that I can tell.”
“That’s because my mother was—” He bit his tongue, he’d almost said “a lady.” He hesitated. “From Kent.”
She smiled. “Not far from here?”
“A bit. She was born in Whitstable.”
“Ah, by the sea.”
He found her blue eyes fixed on him as if waiting for more information. “She was a governess before she married my father.” He looked away. “He was a miner.”
“Oh.” The single note was filled with wonder. “However did they meet?”
“She was working with a family up there and had left them.” Refusing the master’s advances, he added mentally. “She had begun a small school for the miner’s children.”
“And she met your father!” Her eyes gleamed in excitement. “Oh! Love at first sight, I bet it was.”
He looked straight ahead of him, amused and irritated at the same time by her romantic schoolgirl notions. “He died when a mine shaft collapsed, leaving my mother to raise four sons. He was a widower, when they met. His two boys were at the school. Then my brother and I came along.”
“How sad,” she said softly. “My mother died giving birth to me.”
He looked sharply at her. Her tone was almost casual. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, feeling the inadequacy of the words.
“Oh, it’s all right. It happened so long ago. Tell me what happened after your father died.”
He took up the thread of his own history, his mind still on her motherless condition. “My mother moved us into town, where she found work in a mill.”
Miss Shepard was silent for only a moment. No doubt she’d lost interest by now. “And when did you come to London?”
He smiled at her persistence. No one from her station had ever asked him about his origins. “When I was fifteen, my mother gave me five pounds she had saved and bought me a rail ticket to London. I found work at a bank. I was good with numbers, you see. Numbers and letters. She’d made sure we all received learning.”
“And now you’ve become my father’s private secretary?”
He nodded.
“That’s good. Poor old Simpson is becoming forgetful, I’ve heard. He’s been with Father forever!”
They reached the house and he held the door open for her then followed her into the breakfast room. He still hadn’t gotten accustomed to the fact that there were separate rooms for breakfasting and dining—and that most in the household took their breakfast in bed.
He stopped short at the threshold of the breakfast room at the sight of his employer. Mr. Shepard was seated squarely behind The Times and Nick debated a few seconds what to do. Retreat? Go forward as if accompanying the man’s daughter were the most natural thing in the world?
Before he could decide, Miss Shepard breezed in ahead of him. “Good morning, Father. You’ve beaten us down to breakfast.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“What are you doing about so early?” He glanced over his paper, then lowered it further when he caught sight of Nick. Nick greeted him, hesitating at the doorway. The man gave a mere nod in acknowledgment and turned his attention back to his young daughter.
“I was just practicing tennis. Look whom I found.” She turned to Nick. “He hasn’t breakfasted either, so I brought him along. What will you have, Mr. Tennent?” Before her father could say anything, she moved to the sideboard and began lifting lids. “There’s scrambled eggs, kedgeree, bacon…”
Mr. Shepard grunted and turned back to his paper.
Nick followed to the serving dishes and took up a plate. The girl had succeeded in distracting her father from any mention of tennis lessons. He pondered her adroit maneuver as he helped himself to the wide array of food. His own boarding house fare usually consisted of lumpy porridge and a weak cup of tea.
Concentrating on his food, Nick listened to Miss Shepard chattering away to her father. He answered in monosyllables, with an occasional “What’s that you say?” thrown in, but he never lowered his paper more than a fraction.
Nick marveled at how Shepard could have produced such a lovely creature—and not realize what a treasure he had. Poor motherless child. He knew she had a much older brother. Nick had seen him a few times at the firm—Mr. Geoffrey Shepard, a pompous man in his late twenties.
Miss Shepard leaned forward, setting down her knife and fork. “Did you hear me, Papa?”
“What’s that you say?”
“I said we are planning an excursion to Richmond Park. Can you not come?”
“I return to London this afternoon. Take Miss Bellows with you.”
Nick knew he referred to a companion of sorts he’d briefly met in the servants’ quarters. His gaze rested in sympathy on Miss Shepard’s crestfallen features. He turned with a start to find Mr. Shepard focused on him, his gray-blue eyes sharp and piercing. “I’ll need those figures on Henderson, Ltd. before I go.”
“Yes, sir.” Nick drained the last of his tea and stood. “I’ll get to it right away.”
Miss Shepard smiled at him. “So long, Mr. Tennent. Perhaps I shall see you tomorrow?” Her eyes told him she was referring to the tennis court.
“Perhaps. Good morning, Miss Shepard.” With a bow, he left the room.
Of course, he couldn’t join her again tomorrow. It was sheer folly…

Chapter Two
Awake since the sky had begun to lighten, Alice let out a massive sigh of relief when she saw Mr. Tennent walking across the lawn toward the court.
Not until that moment did she realize how disappointed she would have been if he hadn’t shown up. She’d prayed hard last night that he wouldn’t be discouraged after only one lesson.
She fingered the head of her racket as she watched his long stride. His serious air made Victor and the other boys of her acquaintance seem just that—boys! Biting her lip, she glanced down at her calf-length plaid skirt and sailor top. How she wished she were one year older and wore ankle-length dresses like a lady. Did Mr. Tennent see her as just a schoolgirl? She cringed, remembering the silly game of hide-and-seek she’d been playing the day she’d burst in on him.
She smiled as he approached her. “Good morning.”
He nodded, his dark eyes meeting hers, their formality lessening as he gave her a slight smile. “Good morning, Miss Shepard.”
She tilted her head. “Ready to have another go?”
“If you’ve the patience and fortitude.”
Her smile widened in relief. She handed him the extra racket. “You did very well for your first time. Come, I’ll serve first.”
“Very well.” He shed his coat this time and laid it carefully on a wrought iron chair by the side of the court.
She began gently, giving him a chance to review what she’d taught him the day before. They played for about twenty minutes before taking a break.
“I brought some water for us,” she said, leading him to the yew hedge where she had stashed two stone flasks. “It should still be cold.”
“Thank you.” He took the one she handed him then waited until she had uncapped hers and brought it to her lips before following suit. “How did I do today? Any improvement?” he asked, lowering the flask.
“Oh, a vast amount. You’re a natural athlete.”
He made a sound of disbelief.
“You don’t believe me? It’s the truth. I can tell. You’re nothing like most of the boys on the court who try and act as if they knew something.” She studied his face, hoping she was convincing him not to give up, but the steady way he regarded her was hard to read.
Mr. Tennent wiped his brow with his handkerchief, pushing back his dark curls.
Hoping to draw out more about his fascinating past, she said, “Tell me more about your mother.”
He looked away from her, and she bit her lip, afraid she had offended him. Her governess had always said she was too direct.
But he answered with no sign of displeasure. “She had to take us into the mill with her when we were young, and put us to work as soon as we could wind a thread around a bobbin.”
“She must have been a brave woman to raise four boys all alone.” His tale had haunted her last night. It had sounded so unbearably romantic.
He pocketed his handkerchief. He was standing in his vest and shirtsleeves. Even in his typical clerk’s attire, he stood out. There was something distinguished about him. “No matter how tired she was,” he continued in a quiet tone, “she always gave us a lesson after dinner in the evenings before we went to bed. She had saved a few school-books and one or two storybooks from her teaching days. Those and the Bible formed our only amusement at home.”
She pictured the cozy scene, a mother with her four boys surrounding her on a settee, or with her arms around them on a wide bed flanked by soft pillows. “It must have been nice to have a mother read to you at night.”
“Didn’t anyone ever read to you at bedtime?”
She blushed beneath his close scrutiny. “My nurse told me stories when I was very young, and then Miss Duffy, my governess, read to me when I was a little older.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t have a mother to read to you at bedtime,” he said softly.
His tone was so gentle it was as if he had known how lonely her childhood had been. Afraid he’d pity her, she set down her water bottle and picked up her racket. “Come on, let’s get back to our game before you have to work.”
He followed her out to the court. This time, she hit the ball a little harder and enjoyed watching him run to meet it. She, too, was forced to run across the court when he returned it equally forcefully. Laughing from sheer joy at the physical exertion, she swung at the ball and watched it clear the net.
By the time they finished their lesson, they were both red in the face, but never had she had more fun on the court.
“What about tomorrow morning?” she asked him, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.
“It depends on your father. I might be called back to London.”
Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Of course.” Trust Father to ruin her fun. “Do you think he’ll bring you back out again?”
“I have no way of knowing.”
“Well, if you should come back, I challenge you to a match.”
He nodded slowly, his deep set eyes looking into hers. “You’re on.”

As soon as he had a free moment back in London, Nick inquired of one of the clerks in the firm and found out where he could get tennis lessons. It meant money he could ill afford, and having to go across town to Regent’s Park, but he was determined the next time he faced Alice Shepard across the court, he would no longer be a clumsy novice.
He hadn’t been able to get the young girl out of his mind since he’d returned to the city, no matter how many times he’d told himself he was being silly to keep thinking about her.
But her smiling face wouldn’t leave his thoughts despite the effort he put into studying his employer’s files and tallying columns of numbers.
He’d never been in love. No young woman had yet caused him to veer from his single-minded focus on the path to success.
The feelings Miss Shepard elicited in him were a puzzle to him, not least because he didn’t know how to classify them. She was too young for it to be love, he felt. But if it wasn’t love, it certainly was a sort of obsession, which he’d have to eradicate sooner or later. He could ill spare time for such dangerous complications.
In the meantime, however, at a safe distance in London, he preferred to postpone the moment and content himself with daydreaming about her as he rode the early morning ferry to work, as he walked the distance to the office, as he made the return journey in the evening.
And every evening, after work and a light supper, he stood across the net from his new instructor, imagining Miss Shepard in his place. He’d spent part of his last salary on a lightweight pair of twill trousers and a linen jacket, vowing to look as dapper as any young gentleman when they next met.
Back and forth went the ball, the instructor calling out advice as he sent it across the net to Nick. Nick grew to enjoy the thrill of competition. He found it as thrilling as predicting the direction of the price of a company’s stock.
He remembered Miss Shepard’s words. You’re a natural athlete. Did it mean she’d actually looked past his shabby frock coat and seen something more than just her father’s secretary? He’d never thought of himself as athletic, even though until coming to London, he’d spent any spare moment outside when he wasn’t working in the noisy, dusty environment of the mill. But that was playing in the street with boys his age, with no sports equipment. A ball was a rotten cabbage, a cricket bat a broken chair leg. But even those had been few and far between as any piece of wood was quickly consumed in the stove, and extra food was rarely to be found.
Nick had no idea when and if he’d be going back to the Shepards’ country house, but he’d be prepared just in case, even if it cost him a fortnight’s wages.
He wanted to match Miss Shepard’s skill and show her he was a worthy opponent.
Each morning he joined the hundreds of anonymous young men clad in black frock coats and top hats hurrying down Fleet Street to their offices. He pulled open the brass-handled door, glancing a moment at the understated plaque to the right: Shepard & Steward, Ltd., Investments.
Some day it would read Shepard, Steward, Tennent, & Partners.
He hurried down the corridor to his office, nodding his head to the various clerks he passed. “’Morning, Harold. ’Morning, Stanley.” Rushed syllables as everyone hurried to his place in the maze of corridors and cubicles.
He entered the quieter sanctuary upstairs in the rear, the executive offices of the full partners. His own desk, situated in a small corner of an office he shared with the senior secretary, was neat, the way he’d left it the evening before.
Nick sat down and opened the file he’d been studying the previous day, glad for the momentary solitude. Mr. Shepard would expect a report by noon on the assets of the small factory, which manufactured iron fastenings.
“Shepard wants you.”
He looked up to find Mr. Simpson, the other secretary, walking to his own desk, the larger of the two in the room. The old man guarded his boss from all he considered intruders, including Nick.
Nick stood now and grabbed up his pad and pencil. “Yes, sir.”
The man stood by the doorway, as if to make sure Nick obeyed the summons. His bristly gray eyebrows drew together in their customary frown as Nick passed him with a curt nod.
Dark walnut wainscoting covered the walls of Mr. Shepard’s private office. Oil landscapes in heavy wooden frames lined the space above. Some day he would have an office like this one.
Shepard stood at a window overlooking the busy street below, his hands clasped loosely behind them. He turned only slightly at the soft sound of the door closing.
“Ah, Tennent, have a seat. I need you to take a letter.”
“Yes, sir.” Nick crossed the deep blue Turkish carpet and sat in the leather armchair facing the wide desk.
Mr. Shepard twirled his reading glasses in his hands. “This is to the Denbigh Coke Company, Denbighshire, Wales.
“Gentlemen—After a careful review of your firm, it is with regret that we inform you that we must decline the opportunity to offer you the venture capital you requested to expand your colliery. Although your firm’s net profits for the preceding year showed…”
Nick’s pencil hurried across the paper, his mind unable to suppress the satisfaction at Shepard’s decision. It mirrored the one Nick would have made in his place.
Mr. Shepard’s peremptory tone interrupted his thoughts. “Read it back to me.”
“Yes, sir.” He began at the top.
“Very good. I’ll sign it as soon as you have it ready. Make sure it goes in today’s post.”
Nick stood.
“I will be heading back out to Richmond this weekend. I have various projects that need catching up on. I trust you will be free to accompany me?”
Unable to help a spurt of excitement at the announcement, Nick’s fingers tightened on his pencil. It was quickly doused as he realized his employer would keep him too busy to allow him any free time for recreation. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good.”
Nick reached the door.
“Bring enough to stay a week.”
Nick turned slowly. A week in Richmond? His heart started to thump. “Yes, sir.”
An entire week in the same house as Miss Shepard. This time he couldn’t contain his excitement. He even began to whistle as he made his way back down the dark corridor.

Alice returned from church at noon on Sunday.
She stopped short in the doorway, her hands flying to her cheeks as at the sight of the tall young man emerging from her father’s library. “Mr. Tennent!”
To her further surprise, he smiled, looking as glad to see her as she felt to see him.
“When did you arrive?”
“Early this morning,” he said. “Your father was going to come Friday evening but was delayed with other engagements.”
She moistened her lip, trying to appear collected. “I—I’ve just come from church.”
“I see.”
An awkward silence ensued. Then her eyes widened in sudden horror. “Have you been working?”
He colored. “I was just going to read up on some documents.”
“On the Sabbath?” She couldn’t help the shock in her voice.
He looked away as if ashamed. “Yes.”
She frowned. “Father doesn’t forbid you from attending services, does he?”
“No, of course not. I…I’ve already been to services.”
“You have? I didn’t see you.”
“That’s because I attended chapel.”
“Chapel?” Her eyes widened in further shock as she understood his meaning. “You’re Methodist?”
His dark eyes seemed to hold a touch of defiance. “My mother was Church of England, but she attended chapel with my father.”
“Oh!” She wondered at the thought of a lady leaving her church for the lowly Methodist chapel for the sake of her husband. She thought of something. “Our cook, Mrs. Clayworth, attends chapel.”
“Does she?”
She bit her lip, afraid she’d offended him. Did he think she equated him with their cook? Actually, she’d always been curious about those attending this other sort of church. All she’d ever heard of Methodists was disdainful. The only one she knew, the cook, was firmly decided in her faith. “Maybe I can go with you some time?”
He drew back a fraction as if surprised. “Perhaps.” There was no encouragement in the reserved tone.
She shifted on her feet, wondering if he was still interested in playing tennis. Then she remembered she had a prior commitment. “A party of us is going riding this afternoon. Would you like to join us?”
He fingered a corner of the sheaf of papers he held in his hands. “I—I was just looking over some correspondence your father has given me.” He cleared his throat. “He’s away this afternoon.”
She smiled in relief. “Perfect. Join us at the stables after lunch. We’re riding to Richmond Park. It’s awfully nice there. There’s a wonderful view of the Thames from the top.” When he didn’t say anything, she suddenly understood his hesitation. “Oh, if it’s about proper clothing, you can borrow a habit of my brother’s. He’s a little stockier than you, but he has outfits in his wardrobe from when he was younger. I’ll ask the butler to take something out for you.” When he continued to hesitate, she tilted her head. “What is it?”
Again came the defiant lift of his chin. “I’ve never ridden before.”
“Never?”
A faint smile tinged his lips. “Perhaps I’ve been atop a donkey once or twice when I was a boy.”
“Well, it’s not so very different. You can have Maud. She’s a gentle mount.”
He glanced away. “I’d only slow your party down.”
“Nonsense. It’s not as if we’re racing. It’s to be a leisurely ride to Richmond Park and back. You’ll have a grand time, you’ll see, Mr. Tennent. I’ll meet you at the stables at three. You mustn’t work all day.”
Before he could refuse her, she hurried down the corridor, calling behind her, “I’ll see you at three!”
She’d go down to the stables and make sure a groom had Maud saddled and waiting.
Father would certainly not approve of a Methodist in their riding party. That was worse than Low Church! For once, Alice was thankful her father was away.

A grand time, indeed. Nick frowned at the pale horse beneath him. With a groom’s help he’d managed to mount the beast—nag, he amended, glancing down as he remembered young Victor’s derisive snort when he’d seen the horse being led out—without disgracing himself.
Miss Shepard walked up to Nick’s mare and patted her neck. “Hello, there, Maud. Aren’t you glad you’re not being left behind today?” She smiled up at Nick. “She was my first horse after I’d graduated from a pony. Father bought her for me. She’s a trustworthy soul.”
At the wistful note Nick forgot his discomfort of being atop a horse. He attempted a smile but before he could say anything, he stiffened as the groom bent down to adjust his stirrups. Nick held his tall boots tightly against the horse’s flanks. At least the animal seemed as gentle as Miss Shepard promised. It hadn’t moved since being brought out of the stables.
“Good for the glue factory,” Victor muttered with a snide look in Nick’s direction, before moving off to his own mount. Nick was tempted to box the young fellow’s ears, but the eager look on Miss Shepard’s face stopped him.
But how was he was to maintain his balance once the creature started moving? There was no pommel on the saddle, just a smooth leather seat. Nick’s knuckles were white on the reins.
Thankfully, the horse was relatively small in stature. Not like the great beast that Victor rode. The young gentleman certainly looked elegant seated atop the deep brown horse, holding the reins and riding crop loosely, looking as if he and mount had been born for each other.
Miss Shepard stood back from his horse and looked Nick up and down. “You need to sit farther back in the saddle and loosen your hold a bit. Remember, it’s not about gripping the saddle, but about balancing on your horse. She’ll carry you.”
Before he knew what she was about, she moved down to his boots and took hold of one of his ankles, causing him to jerk back in surprise. “Easy there,” she murmured. “Keep your feet bent slightly out, not gripping the horse’s flank. That’s right.” She adjusted the position of his foot to illustrate her point. “Yes, like so.”
She gave him a few more pointers, all the while touching his legs and boots to demonstrate. Unfortunately, with each movement, he grew more tense, his breathing more erratic.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes earnest, and took his hand in hers. He realized how unaware she must be of what her touch was doing to him. It only proved how young she was. “Now, hold your hands about that far apart, not closer. Don’t let the reins touch the horse’s neck.” She ran her hands up his arm, adjusting its angle. The more she spoke, the more afraid he became of moving lest he lose the correct position; the mare would undoubtedly know and take advantage.
As if reading his thoughts, Miss Shepard smiled up at him. “You’ll get the feel of it after a while.”
Victor maneuvered his horse alongside them. “Are we going or not?”
“Just a minute.” Miss Shepard’s usually polite tone held a trace of asperity.
“If I’d known you were going to give a riding lesson, I would have opted out of this excursion.”
“Well, you may still do so.”
With a sneer, Victor wheeled his horse about, causing the mare under Nick to shift. Nick couldn’t help splaying his hands on the saddle beneath him, ruining all Miss Shepard’s careful positioning.
Instead of scolding him, she immediately went to the mare’s bridle. “There, Maud, Mr. Tennent meant nothing by that. You must be patient a moment longer.” She didn’t even turn when Victor spoke to the other young lady in a loud voice.
“Come along, Lucy. They can catch up when he finally figures out how to get his horse to move.” With a snide laugh, he urged his horse forward, Lucy following behind.
Nick gritted his teeth. How he’d love the chance to show Victor a thing or two. “Perhaps this is not the right time for me to go riding.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Tennant. Victor just likes to show off. You mustn’t mind him. Now, let’s see, where were we?”
“How to get her to move.”
Miss Shepard smiled. “Right, just a very gentle contact with the horse’s mouth.” She explained some more and showed him how to bring the mare to a halt. Not until he had done so a few times was she satisfied.
“Very good.”
Before he could take any satisfaction in this small success, Miss Shepard went to her own mount, a beautiful bay mare. A groom was immediately at her side but she gave him no chance to assist her. She placed a foot in the stirrup and swung herself up in one deft move. He watched her graceful figure in a blue riding habit. She seemed perfectly at ease on her horse.
At least he needn’t be ashamed of his own appearance. The riding habit he’d borrowed—a tweed jacket, tan-colored jodhpurs, and tall boots—fit as if made for him. Even the snobby Victor had given him a keen look.
Miss Shepard turned her horse about. “Ready?”
He nodded. She conveyed the message to her horse, and with a second’s hesitation, Nick gave his own horse the command. The other riders were nowhere to be seen as they clip-clopped out of the stable yard.
Thankfully, his horse followed the other as they walked down the long, tree-lined drive that led away from the house.
Miss Shepard turned briefly to him. “We’re going to go away from the river and head uphill. The way is easy, only a gentle rise.”
Soon, they spotted the other riders farther up ahead. Nick was too busy concentrating on staying on his horse to attempt any further conversation as they rode down the lane. Before he knew it, they’d left the village behind and were among tree-studded meadows.
The tension in him began to ease as he realized his mare would keep her steady, sedate pace, and he allowed himself to enjoy the countryside. For as far as he could remember, he’d lived in the city, between its stone and brick, dirty, choking heat in summer and thick, sulfurous fog in winter.
The ride proceeded smoothly from there. Miss Shepard stayed at his side, instructing him now and again as to the proper handling of the horse.
“She pretty much knows what to do on her own. You are just her guide, to nudge her gently now and again.”
Victor rode back to them at a trot, and tried to engage Miss Shepard in conversation, but when she only answered his mocking comments in monosyllables, he rode off again, muttering about having slowed down the whole group.
Soon they could see the Thames far below them, edged in lush green foliage, small wooded islands visible here and there along its snaking course.
They continued climbing along terraced walkways. “We’ll go into the park through Sheen Gate,” she said. “I’m sure that’s the route Victor took.” A short while later they entered Richmond Park and spotted Victor and Lucy ahead. Miss Shepard quickened her horse’s pace a little, and Nick gave his own reins a slight tug to raise the horse’s head, as indicated by Miss Shepard, and tightened his knees the least bit. The horse obeyed and followed after the other one at an increased gait.
His initial fear of falling wearing off, Nick relished the faster pace. They soon caught up to the other riders.
Miss Shepard guided her horse abreast of Victor’s. “Let’s stop at Bishop’s Pond and rest a moment.”
“Had enough already?” His words were directed to Miss Shepard but he swung his gaze back toward Nick.
“No, but neither are we in any rush.” Without waiting for Victor’s answer, she slowed again until she was just ahead of Nick. She twisted in her saddle to him. “It’s a pretty spot.”
They arrived at the willow-edged pond and dismounted. Nick had another moment of uncertainty, wondering if his horse would stand still while he got down. He held the reins in one hand and swung one leg over the back of the animal. With a breath of relief, he found himself with his two feet firmly planted on solid ground.
Miss Shepard walked her horse toward him. “Let’s lead them to the pond. I’m sure they’re thirsty.” She petted Maud’s withers. “Aren’t you, dearie, after that long ride in the sun?”
The others had already left their horses at the water’s edge and were walking about the shaded glen.
Miss Shepard showed him how to remove the horse’s bit before letting them drink.
She knelt beside the water’s edge and removed her gloves. Taking a handkerchief out of her jacket pocket, she plunged it in the water. Squeezing out the excess water, she used it to wipe her forehead and cheeks. “Ah, that feels refreshing.” She grinned up at him, her rosy cheeks damp.
Without thinking, he pulled out his dry handkerchief and handed it to her, finding that around her he merely reacted instead of deliberating before an action. He envied her impulsive behavior, though she was young, not yet out of the schoolroom. His eyes traveled over her, her contours already those of a woman.
“Oh, thank you.” She took the handkerchief from him and wiped her face dry before jumping back to her feet. Refolding his handkerchief, she gave it back to him. He took it without a word. Bending down to the water, he wet it and did what she had done, squeezing it out and using it to mop his own damp forehead. The water felt cold and helped to ease the heat he felt in his face, heat that was due to more than the sun.
She took the wet handkerchief from him. “Here, we’ll spread our hankies out on this rock and they’ll be dry by the time we leave. Come, I want to show you my favorite spot.”
“What about the others?” He gestured to Lucy and Victor. Lucy sat on a boulder, fanning herself with her hat. Victor was throwing stones into the pond, causing a plopping sound with each one.
Miss Shepard shrugged. “He’s trying to scare the frogs.”
He also seemed to be ignoring Miss Shepard, for which Nick was thankful.
“Come on!” Miss Shepard urged. “We shan’t be long.”
They walked along the pond’s edge and bent down under some willows trailing their long fronds into the water. It was about ten degrees cooler in the shade.
“Isn’t it like a cave here?” The shadow and sunlight speckled her face, and he felt as if they could have been under the water, in another world.
He stared at her. Words seemed to get trapped in his throat. What was happening to him that he couldn’t form a coherent sentence?
She squatted down by the water’s edge again, this time resting her folded hands and chin on her knees. “How do you like working for my father?”
He stood beside her, observing the shadowy light on the crown of her hair. She’d tossed her hat on the ground beside her. Her hair was twisted in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, making her look older than—
“How old are you?” he asked sharply.
She jutted her fine chin out a notch. “I shall be seventeen next month.”
“Sixteen then.” His heart plummeted at the discovery of how young she truly was.
“Almost seventeen.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her insistence.
“How old are you?”
Her direct question startled him. “Twenty-three.” His lips twitched. “Last March. Eons older than you.”
She closed one eye and tilted her head upwards. “Six years, that’s not so much. But you do seem old.”
He drew his brows together at her appraisal. “How so?”
“You’re so very serious.” She nodded toward the other end of the pond. “Take Victor. He’s not so much younger than you. He’s nineteen, but he seems like a boy compared to you.”
“I’ve had to grow up a lot faster than Victor.”
“Were you always so serious?”
He mulled over the question. “I’ve never thought about whether or not I was serious.”
“You can’t always have been serious.” There was a glint in her dark blue eyes.
“Perhaps I was born serious.”
She laughed. “You do have a sense of humor.”
“Alice!” Victor’s annoyed shout came through the trees.
With a loud sigh, she stood and shook out her pleated riding skirt. “I suppose we should walk the horses.”
“Yes.” He picked up her hat and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Her quick smile was grateful and friendly.
She probably had no idea what it did to him, making all his years of rigid self-control slip away.
She was still a child, he reminded himself as he held the feathery willow strands aside for her to walk through.
Victor stalked toward them, his hands in his pockets, his features sulky. “Are you ready yet? There’s nothing here.”
Lucy came up behind him. “Where shall we go?”
“Let’s ride up to Oliver’s Mount so we can get a good vista of the river.” Without waiting for an assent, Miss Shepard headed for the horses, which stood quietly grazing on a sunny patch of grass.
Victor hung back and gave Nick a look. “I say, old fellow, you were a sport to take that sway-backed old nag.” His lips turned upward at one corner. “You looked quite a sight on her. Your legs were practically dragging on the ground.” His voice lowered. “You know, Alice likes to put first-timers on old Maud. Sort of her secret joke, you know. But I think you’ve passed the test.” He winked. “Why don’t you turn the tables on her and try my mount? Show her what stuff you’re made of. She’s quite a horsewoman, as you’ve seen. She’d admire you to no end if she saw you on a real horse.” With a last wink, he walked away from Nick and joined Lucy, leaning down to help her mount.
Nick considered the youth’s offer. He was tempted to accept. How much different could the other horse be? He’d seemed to behave well during their ride over.
Shaking his head, he scolded himself for being a silly fool. He was too old to fall for some masculine gauntlet thrown down before him to impress a young girl.
With a sigh, Nick gathered up Maud’s reins. Just as he was about to put his foot into the stirrup, Victor led his horse up. “Well, what’d you say, old boy, have a go?” His gray eyes held an unmistakable challenge.
Ignoring the voice of reason, Nick exchanged reins with him, telling himself if he maintained a sedate pace, everything would be all right. Victor had been right about one thing, he had made a ridiculous picture on that mare, as he now observed Victor sitting atop her.
“What are you doing?” Alice drew alongside of him on her horse.
Victor smiled disarmingly. “Oh, nothing to turn a hair about. I just offered the fellow a decent mount.”
Nick wondered if the boy even knew his name.
He managed to get himself astride by himself, although this horse was considerably higher. He drew a deep breath as the horse snorted and shook his head.
Miss Shepard’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. “Are you sure you’re ready to ride Duke?”
He managed to pat the horse’s neck to show his ease, but that only caused the horse to paw the ground as if sensing Nick’s own nervousness.
Before Miss Shepard had a chance to voice any more objections, Victor started to move away from the pond. Duke immediately began following the other horse, and Nick had no choice but to concentrate on maintaining his balance. Victor got Maud to go at a much faster clip.
“Victor, slow down.” Miss Shepard’s admonition was in vain. Duke kept a good clip, determined to follow the lead horse. Nick tried to slow the horse, but that only seemed to make the horse more determined.
They reached a wide open field. Victor slowed and waited for Nick’s mount to catch up to him. “How does a real horse feel beneath you?” His smile held something nasty in it.
“Fine.” Nick sat erect, trying to remember all Miss Shepard’s directives. The horse shifted restively beneath him.
“Well, let’s try for a little canter, shall we?” Without waiting for Nick’s response, he gave a smart swat with his riding crop to Duke’s rump.
The horse responded to the whip with lightning speed. If he hadn’t already been gripping hard, Nick would have flown off. Instead, everything became a blur as he flattened himself against the horse and squeezed his thighs against its sides.
He heard Miss Shepard’s alarmed shout. “Victor, what are you doing? Mr. Tennent, just keep your balance—” The rest of her words were lost in the wind.
How in all that was holy was he supposed to stop a galloping horse?
His lips stiff with fear, his throat paralyzed, Nick hung on. The ground flew by in a dizzying mass of green, every sound drowned out by the thundering hooves against the earth. If the horse tripped on a tussock, Nick would be done for.
Why had he accepted the stupid challenge? To prove himself to some naïve young girl?
He had no more time for rational thought. All he could do was pray that he’d keep his seat. He grabbed a hunk of mane with each hand, his knees the only thing keeping him atop the beast’s great heaving body.
A hedgerow faced them. Would the horse clear it? As he braced for the jump, the horse suddenly veered to the side.
“Drop your stirrups!” He heard Miss Shepard’s scream and just in the nick of time, he let his boots slip from the irons. A split second later, he felt his hands wrenched from the mane, his body thrust from the saddle and he was sailing through the air, headlong across the hedge.

Chapter Three
Alice reined in her horse and stared in horror as Mr. Tennent went flying over the hedgerow and landed with a thud against the earth.
The next second she was off her horse, running to him. “Lucy, my horse,” she shouted over her shoulder, “Victor, go after Duke!”
She tore through the holly bushes, unmindful of their sharp leaves and knelt by Mr. Tennent. He’d landed on his side and now with a groan rolled over onto his back, one arm clutching his ribcage.
“Are you all right, Mr. Tennent? Where does it hurt?” She smoothed back the hair from his forehead. The far side of his face was scraped along the cheekbone.
He began to sit up, his face contorted. She pushed him gently down again. “Lie still.”
“It’s my shoulder and side.” His voice was laced with pain.
She glanced up as Victor’s shadow loomed over them. He didn’t have his horse.
“Where’s Duke?”
“Long gone.” He kicked the ground in disgust, hardly sparing Mr. Tennent a glance. “He’ll come back as soon as he’s run off his high spirits.”
She glared at him. “How could you give him Duke to ride?” With a shake of her head, she turned away from Victor, pressing her lips together to keep from saying more. He’d hear about his irresponsible behavior later, she promised herself. “We need to get Mr. Tennent back. He’s hurt.” She leaned over him and drew in her breath at his ashen face. “Do you think, if we helped you mount, you could ride back atop Maud? We’ll take her reins. It’s just too far for you to walk if you’ve broken something.”
“Yes…all right.” With a grimace, he began to sit up, still clutching his arm. Quickly, she put her arm around his shoulders to help him. “Victor, get on his other side. Let’s see if you can stand, Mr. Tennent.”
Lucy stood behind the hedge, holding two of the horses, her face frightened. “Is he all right?”
Alice made a quick decision. “Lucy, ride back and have them summon Dr. Baird. Quickly!”
The girl did as she was told and hurried off.
Alice turned back to Victor. “I’ll have Mr. Tennent ride in back of me. Help him mount once I’m in the saddle.”
“But Alice—”
Without waiting for Victor to finish his sentence, she led her horse through a break in the hedgerow and brought him to stand near the two men. At least Victor had helped Mr. Tennent up. Alice swung up onto her horse then looked down at Victor. “All right, see if he can mount behind me.”
Victor bent down and cradled his hands for a foothold for the other man. With a sharp intake of breath, Mr. Tennent attempted to lift himself onto the back of her saddle. Alice twisted around to see if she could help pull him up, but he was managing to swing his leg over the horse’s rump. His stifled groans made her wince, but finally he settled on behind her.
“Just hold on to me with your good arm.” Without asking his leave, she grasped it from behind her and brought it around her waist. “I’ll get us home as quickly as possible without jostling you more than necessary, I promise. Are you all right, sir?”
“I’ll make it.”
Without a word to Victor, Alice picked her way around the hedgerow and back down the path.
Mr. Tennent said nothing more on the ride home, but she could hear his intake of breath each time his body was jarred. It’s all my fault, she thought, not knowing which was worse, taking a first-time rider on such an ambitious jaunt or not stopping Victor. Obviously he’d challenged poor Mr. Tennent to mount the gelding.
“We’re almost there, Mr. Tennent,” she said, trying to keep her voice cheery. “See, there’s the rooftop already visible over the treetops.” At last they were going up the long drive. A couple of stable hands were waiting for them as soon as she pulled the horse to a stop in front of a house. At least Lucy had alerted them.
“Help him down gently. He may have broken something.”
“Yes, miss.” John, an able-bodied stable hand raised his arms to help Mr. Tennent down. “Have no worry, we’ll get you down. What happened?”
“He took a spill and landed on his side. One arm is injured.”
Once on the ground, Mr. Tennent remained hunched over, cradling his arm.
Alice swung down from her horse and handed the reins to the other groom. She turned immediately to Mr. Tennent and gasped at the sight of his pale face. “John, help him inside. I hope the doctor has been summoned.”
“Yes, miss. Miss Lucy told us to have him fetched.”
“Good. Come, Mr. Tennent, let’s get you where you can lie down.” She walked on his other side, a hand on his elbow.
The servants stood gawking when they entered the house, lifting up a murmur as Alice led him to the nearest sofa. A maid brought a throw and the housekeeper piled pillows behind Mr. Tennent. Although he thanked the servants and didn’t complain, she could see he was in great pain.
As if sensing her distress, he looked up at her, one corner of his lips lifting. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
She drew near, kneeling beside the sofa. “Oh, Mr. Tennent, I’m so sorry this had to happen.”
He shook his head briefly and reached out his good hand to her. “Don’t upset yourself. It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
Finally Dr. Baird arrived. The elderly doctor set down his bag and looked Mr. Tennent up and down through his spectacles. “Well, young man, what have you been up to?”
“Falling off horses,” he said through a grimace, as he began to swing his legs off the sofa.
“There now, hold still before you do yourself more harm.” The doctor helped him sit up and motioned to one of the servants. “Get his coat off.” Mr. Tennent flinched as the arm of his coat was gently slipped off. Alice bit her lip, cringing with each jar and jostle of his shoulder.
The doctor took Mr. Tennent’s chin in his hand and tilted it upward. “Scraped yourself good there, I see. Bring me some soap and water and be quick about it,” he told a servant, then proceeded to poke and prod Mr. Tennent’s shoulder. “Humph. Hurt, does it? And there?”
After a few more hmms and humphs, he straightened and peered over his spectacles. “Good news. It looks like your shoulder isn’t dislocated. Just a fractured clavicle.” At the question in the other man’s eyes, he cleared his throat. “Your collarbone is broken. You’ll have to bear up a bit longer while I set it. Now, where else does it hurt?”
Mr. Tennent indicated his side with his hand.
He had the servant remove his vest then palpated some more through his shirt. “Your ribs don’t appear broken, but I’ll have to do a more thorough examination.” He turned to the others in the room. “Why don’t you leave us alone, so the young gentleman doesn’t feel he might disgrace himself before the ladies.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Thorpe, a glass of water. I’ll give him something for the pain afterwards.”
The woman nodded her head. “Yes, sir.”
Alice left the room reluctantly.
After what seemed like ages, she was allowed back into the side parlor. Mr. Tennent, his shirt draped over his shoulders, had a sling around one arm and a wide layer of white bandaging across a good part of his chest. A square white gauze covered part of one cheek. He gave her a crooked smile.
She sat down beside him on the sofa. “Oh, Mr. Tennent, how is it? Are your ribs broken, too? Is it very painful?”
“A few bruised ribs, but I’ll live.”
“I’m so terribly sorry to have brought this about.”
He frowned at her. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t do anything but help me. I was the one who behaved foolishly,” he said, turning away in disgust.
“Oh, no! It was I who should have stopped Victor.”
“It was stupid to take his offer.”
“Mr. Tennent, did you happen to notice what startled the horse so? The next thing we knew Duke was off at a gallop. Did something spook him?”
He eyed her a moment. “You didn’t see anything?”
She shook her head. “No, Lucy and I were in front of you. Tell me—”
Before she could finish her thought, she noticed Mr. Tennent looking past her.
“What’s going on here?”
She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. He strode across the room and planted himself in front of Mr. Tennent, who stood immediately.
Alice joined him. “Oh, Papa, poor Mr. Tennent has had an accident. He was thrown by Duke.”
Her father looked his secretary up and down.
Alice touched his good arm. “You must sit down, Mr. Tennent. You’ve had an awful accident.”
Her father motioned for him to take his seat. The younger man hesitated but at her father’s impatient gesture, he finally complied.
“Mr. Tennent hadn’t been riding before, and Victor challenged him to ride Duke—”
Her father’s heavy brows drew together. “What the dickens did you mean going riding if you’ve never sat a horse?”
Alice interposed herself between her father and his employee. “Father! Didn’t you hear me? It’s my fault. I invited him to come along with us. It’s Sunday, after all, and I knew he wasn’t working. I had him ride Maud. You know Maud is the gentlest creature alive, but Victor played a very mean trick on Mr. Tennent—”
“Quiet, Alice, and let Mr. Tennent explain himself. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hide behind a schoolgirl’s skirts.”
She stopped, feeling herself color with shame. A schoolgirl’s skirts! He made it sound as if Mr. Tennent was some sort of coward and that she was—why, not even a young lady but a little girl!
Flushed with embarrassment, she moved away without a word. Surely, her father wouldn’t hold her defense of Mr. Tennent against the poor man. She chanced a glance at him and bit her lip at the set look on his face. Once again, he stood. His face was awfully pale, and she was afraid he might pass out. “Papa, Dr. Baird said—”
Her father flicked his hand once again. “Leave us, Alice.”
There was no use arguing with her father when he took that tone. With an audible sigh, she stepped back from the two men. Giving Mr. Tennent a last look of sympathy, she dragged her feet to the door, hoping she’d catch something of their conversation, but neither man said anything.
“Close the door, Alice.”
“Yes, sir.” Once she’d exited the room and closed the door softly behind her, she put her ear to the door. At first, there was only silence, then came the low sounds of masculine voices, but she could distinguish nothing.
At least there were no shouts on her father’s side, but she knew from experience that her father never raised his voice. His low tones could be as scathing as another man’s roar.
Nick waited, squaring his shoulders and trying not to wince at the pain the movement caused him. Would he lose his job over his own stupidity?
The older man gazed at him a moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“I brought you here to work, not to take a medical convalescence.” The dry words, expressing no anger, were all the more quelling for their subtle sarcasm.
“I assure you, Mr. Shepard, this will in no way hinder my job. I can still work.” He moved his hand to prove his point. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep back the spasm at the sudden jolt of pain that shot through his collarbone.
Mr. Shepard grunted, clearly not impressed with his stoicism. “Well, take your rest today and we’ll see about tomorrow. If you’re not fit to do any work, I’ll have to send for another clerk.”
Before Nick could think of a suitable reply, Mr. Shepard wheeled about and headed for the door.
As soon as he was alone, Nick collapsed back onto the settee, letting his head fall onto his good hand. What had he done? Risked the best position of his life to go gallivanting about on a horse? A silent, bitter laugh escaped his lips.
A soft clearing of throat caused him to start up again, sending another stab of pain along his collarbone. Miss Shepard stood just inside the doorway. She looked so pathetically sorry, he wished he could comfort her. She’d been wonderful, taking charge and bringing him home.
He straightened despite the pain in his ribs. “It’s all right.”
She ventured farther into the room until she stood by the settee once again. “Was Father very hard on you?”
He managed a smile. “No. He told me to rest today.”
Relief flooded her pretty face. “Oh, yes, you should. Why don’t I help you up to your room?”
She was still thinking of his comfort. He hadn’t felt so taken care of since he’d been a toddler. “That’s all right, I’ll manage.”
“At least let me ring for a servant to help you up the stairs. You’re on the top floor, aren’t you?”
He didn’t relish the thought of all those flights of stairs to the attic. Nor the stifling heat once he got up there. “Very well.”
She hurried to the bell pull. Instead of leaving him alone, she pulled up a chair and waited with him. With her hands folded in her lap, her normally rosy cheeks pale, she looked like a young schoolgirl called before the schoolmistress. He contrasted it to her self-possession right after his fall. She’d even assumed all responsibility before her father.
“I should have listened to you,” he said with a forced smile.
“It’s all right. I bet Victor made it sound like you’d be a coward if you didn’t mount Duke.”
He shook his head in self-contempt. “But I’m old enough to know better than to accept a schoolboy’s challenge.”
She tossed back her bangs. “Oh, I know how Victor is.”
He remembered her hand stroking his forehead, her small hand grasping his and bringing his arm around her waist.
“I hope this unfortunate experience won’t put you off horseback riding forever.”
Her remark was so ludicrous under the circumstances, he had to laugh, then winced at the pain in his side. “Let us hope not.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to make you laugh.”
He shook away her apology.
“What I meant was that, someday, when all this is behind you, I hope you’ll get back on a horse again. That’s the only way to overcome any bad memories of a fall. When I was first thrown—”
“You were thrown?”
“Oh, yes, everyone is thrown at least once, especially when first learning.”
Before she could continue, a young male servant entered the room. She stood. “Oh, Davy, please help Mr. Tennent up to his room and have something cool brought up to him to drink. Help him in any way he needs.”
“Yes, miss.” The young servant took Nick by his good arm and smiled. “Just tell me, sir, whatever it is you want.”
The two made their way slowly up the stairs. All Nick wanted to do was collapse on his bed. The region around his collarbone and his whole right side pained him terribly, despite the powder the doctor had given him. He’d been partially truthful to Mr. Shepard about his ability to continue working. He flexed his fingers now, ignoring the pain the movement caused up in his collarbone. At least his fingers weren’t broken, too. He prayed that by tomorrow the pain would have diminished enough for him to be able to write.
He tried to forget the doctor’s words about avoiding using that hand and arm. “The bone will take about twelve weeks to heal. The pain will diminish gradually. Don’t use your hand if it gives you any pain. Little by little you’ll be able to do things again. If it hurts, desist activity.”
Twelve weeks. The words were like a death knell. Would Mr. Shepard be that patient with him? Would he still have a job after his bones had knit back together?

When she didn’t see Mr. Tennent at breakfast, Alice went to look for him, wondering how he had fared the night.
She spotted the servant coming down the stairs. “There you are, Davy. Did you go up to Mr. Tennent yet?”
The servant stopped halfway down. “Yes, Miss Alice. I brought him up a breakfast tray.”
She smiled in relief. “Oh, thank you for remembering him. How was he?”
“He looked better than yesterday, but he’s in a heap of pain.” He shook his head. “Nasty thing, broken bones. I know, when I dislocated my shoulder once, it hurt something awful and took weeks to mend.”
She drew in her breath, feeling Mr. Tennent’s pain afresh. “Did yours heal completely?”
He swiveled one arm around and grinned. “Yes, miss, right as can be. But it laid me up some weeks, believe me.”
“Well, thank you for being so attentive to Mr. Tennent.”
“Think nothing of it.” He frowned. “He insisted on getting up and dressed.” He added hastily, “I helped him, o’ course. I’ll check on him again around lunchtime.”
“Very well, thank you, Davy.”
Alice turned toward the library, knowing she would have to insist Father send Victor away immediately. He hadn’t shown the least remorse, even going so far as to claim it was Mr. Tennent’s fault for not being competent with a horse.
Unfortunately, Father hadn’t wanted to discuss the matter further with her last evening at dinner. Well, he’d have to listen to her this morning, she decided, as she turned and headed in the direction of his office.

Alice left her father’s office feeling worse than ever. He’d told her she had behaved irresponsibly, taking a man who knew nothing of horses riding up to the park. He hadn’t even agreed that Victor should be sent away.
Feeling at loose ends, she reached Mr. Tennent’s small office. Maybe she could tidy it up for him while he was laid up.
His door was ajar. She pushed it open and gasped. “Mr. Tennent, what in the world are you doing in here?”
Her father’s secretary glanced up from the papers spread out before him on the desk. “Good morning, Miss Shepard. I’m doing precisely what it appears I’m doing.”
The words held no reproach, but were uttered as a simple statement of fact. She was glad to see Davy had placed a fresh gauze bandage over his cheekbone. The white sling around his arm and neck contrasted sharply with his black coat and accentuated the paleness of his face.
She frowned, noticing how he was attempting to write with his left hand. If he hadn’t looked so pitiable, she would have found the sight amusing. Not waiting for permission, she entered the cramped office and planted herself in front of his cluttered desk. “It looks to me as if you are trying to work.”
He set down his pencil. “Your conclusion is correct.”
“You suffered a bad fall yesterday and broke a bone and bruised some ribs. You are supposed to be resting. Surely, Father doesn’t expect you to be writing!”
He ran his left hand through his short sable curls. “See here, Miss Shepard, I truly appreciate your concern.” The trace of impatience in his voice softened. “Thank you for sending Davy up to me yesterday and again this morning. However, as much as I like being waited on hand and foot, the reality of my situation is that your father is paying me to carry out certain functions within a given time and if I prove incapable of doing so, I cannot fault him for finding a replacement.”
He took a deep breath as if gearing up for what he was going to say next, and she couldn’t help catching the grimace the gesture caused him. “This is the best job I’ve had in my career. If I lose the opportunity given to me, I may not get another. I do not plan to end my life as a clerk.”
She walked around the desk until she was standing close to him, his words both touching and intriguing her. “How do you plan to end your life, Mr. Tennent?” she asked softly.
He lifted his chin a notch. “Owning a company of my own like your father, so I can make a difference in the world.”
Make a difference in the world. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. As if what one accomplished mattered in the world.
“What kind of difference would you make in the world, Mr. Tennent?” she asked softly.
Instead of waving away her question as if she were too young or too ignorant to understand, he seemed to ponder it. He rolled his pencil in his good hand. The lamplight gleamed against the rich color of his hair.
“I would use my wealth to help those in need. Build schools, provide good housing, clean water, hospitals…” He glanced up at her. “Do you know what it’s like to have a gnawing pain in your belly because you have nothing to eat?”
She shook her head, mute.
“Do you know what it’s like not to have a dwelling to come home to at night after a long day’s work? There are many people who do, Miss Shepard.” He drew in a breath, then stopped, the pain evident. “That is why I want to become a very wealthy man, so I can do my bit to help alleviate the want of others.”
The words thrilled her to the marrow. Suddenly, she felt as if she understood her own undefined yearnings and dissatisfaction. To have such a noble purpose in life!
“I hope you realize your dream, Mr. Tennent.”
A few seconds passed between them in silence. Then he gave a short laugh. “I may be farther away from it than ever if I don’t get this work done.”
The two of them surveyed the papers on his desk.
Before he had a chance to stop her, she took the pencil from his loosened hold and the paper he’d been writing on. “Very well, Mr. Tennent, you dictate and I shall be your fingers.”
She glanced around, spotted a chair, and dragged it over.
“I—you can’t very well—this involves mathematics—”
She stuck out her chin. “Mr. Tennent, I am not ignorant of mathematics. In a year, I shall finish my schooling and I’ll have you know I get outstanding marks in mathematics. Now, what were you calculating when I walked in?”
With a resigned sigh, he turned back to his papers. “Very well, but only because it seems I have very little choice at the moment. Just stop any time you are tired of amusing yourself.”
Did he think she was simply seeking to entertain herself? She would just have to show him.
An hour later, after making steady progress, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. “I say, what you’ve taught me about stocks and shares is a lot more useful than what they teach us at Miss Higgins’s Academy. I never knew Father was involved in so many enterprises.”
Mr. Tennent adjusted his weight on the wooden chair, carefully cradling his injured arm.
“Does it hurt you much today?”
He touched the area just under his collarbone. “Some. It’s still a bit swollen here.”
She looked down. “I tried to convince Father to send Victor away, but he refused.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He sounded displeased.
“I explained how Victor tricked you into mounting Duke.” She moistened her lips together, recalling the most unpleasant part of the interview. “He also knows the responsibility I bear. He agrees I was foolish and impetuous as always…” Her voice trailed off. By now she ought to be accustomed to her father’s dry tone, which never failed to erode her confidence when pointing out her faults to her.
“You were in no way to blame.” His tone gentled. “It was gracious of you to invite me for an outing. You cautioned me about riding your friend’s horse. It was silly pride on my part, so I deserve what I got.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “He’s not my friend—not anymore. As a skilled horseman, Victor was the most responsible. He should have known better. You could have been killed.”
His glance went to her hand and she felt herself coloring. Quickly, she removed it and sat with her hands clasped in her lap.
“He is, isn’t he?”
She frowned. “He’s what?”
“A skilled horseman.”
She made a face. “Oh, that. Well, yes, naturally.”
“Naturally.” He mimicked the word. “I suppose he has been riding since he was five.”
She giggled. “Oh, probably since he was four.”
His dark eyes lit with humor. “His parents probably sat him atop a horse before he could walk.”
“Oh, no, before he began to crawl!”
They both ended up laughing.
“Alice, what are you doing here?” Her father stood in the doorway to the library.
She jumped up from her chair. “I am acting as—” she gave a little bow “—Mr. Tennent’s secretary.”
Her father pursed his lips, his eyes going from her to Mr. Tennent and back again, making her feel as if she’d done something wrong. “That is not amusing.”
“Of course it isn’t. Mr. Tennent is injured, and I feel partially responsible. As such, it is only right that I assist him while his injury heals.”
“Mr. Shepard—” Mr. Tennent stood rigid, and her heart went out to him, having to work for her father.
Her father advanced into the small room, cutting him off. “So, you are unable to write?”
“I—” He cleared his throat and began again. “In a few days, perhaps—”
Did Father inspire such fear in all his employees? “Dr. Baird gave clear instructions that Mr. Tennent is to do nothing to put undue pressure on his collarbone for a few weeks. He mustn’t bend his arm in a way that will aggravate the bone.”
Her father had turned his attention back to her halfway through her speech. “In that case, I shall have to summon Mr. Simpson.”
She gave a disbelieving laugh at the mention of Father’s old secretary. “Mr. Simpson is getting forgetful, you said so yourself. We are making splendid progress.” She took up the papers she’d completed and handed them to him.
He took them without a word and examined them.
Mr. Tennent cleared his throat. “Mr. Shepard, I assure you, in a few days, I’m sure I can manage on my own.”
Her father handed the papers back to his secretary. “Very well. In the meantime I have to return to London. I shall determine things upon my return.” He turned to her. “I don’t want you making a nuisance of yourself here.”
“I shan’t be a nuisance.”
“Nevertheless, I prefer you not spend your time here, Alice.”
She pressed her lips together, knowing it was useless to argue with her father and knowing just as certainly that this was one command she was going to disobey.

Chapter Four
The next few days were like a little bit of heaven to Nick. Despite the pain in his collarbone and ribs, coupled with the inconvenience of wearing a sling, he had never enjoyed such a time in his life. He felt as if he was living an interlude where all the best things were combined: work he enjoyed with a helper he was coming to admire more and more each day, carried out in the most agreeable surroundings he’d ever known in his life.
Her father’s prohibition notwithstanding, Miss Shepard appeared in Nick’s little office every morning promptly at half-past eight and didn’t move from her chair until he gave in and let her help him with any writing he needed done.
He realized now, looking at her bent head, that working had never been so lighthearted. For despite making progress on the reports he had to write, the hours seemed to fly by and many moments were spent in laughter as Miss Shepard found something amusing in what they were doing or reading.
He eased the kinks out of his neck then stopped short at the shot of pain to his collarbone. Dr. Baird had not exaggerated when he’d warned Nick it would take some weeks before he was fully healed.
“Are you all right?”
He looked over to find Miss Shepard’s eyes on him. “Yes, I’m all right.” He’d also never had anyone as solicitous as she, seeming to anticipate his every need and be aware of every twinge of discomfort he experienced.
She laid her pencil and pad on her lap. “You should take a rest. You’ve been bent over this desk since early morning.”
There was still a lot to do before her father returned. Mr. Shepard hadn’t said how long he’d be away, yet Nick expected him at any moment. “You’re the one who should take a break. You are on holiday. Why don’t you go outside and play a game of tennis. You haven’t played since I had my fall, have you?” His tone came out sharper than he’d intended, but he thought once again about Mr. Shepard and what he’d say if he came back and found his daughter holed up in this office.
She shrugged. “No. But I prefer being in here helping you. Besides, there is no one to play with.”
“What about Victor?” He’d seen the boy hang about the corridor the first few days, looking daggers at him at the sight of Alice sitting beside him.
Her eyes lit up in hilarity. “He finally packed his bags and had the pony cart hitched up to take him to the train station this morning.”
“Where is your young lady friend?”
“Lucy? Oh, she had to go home, too. Her family was going hiking in Scotland.” Her voice sounded wistful, and he realized once again how lonely this wealthy girl’s life was. The only mother figure she seemed to have was a middle-aged companion who preferred spending time with the housekeeper.
Nick stood. “Well, it’s time we both had a break. It’s almost lunchtime anyway.” Usually he’d had a tray brought to the office but he decided to do something differently today.
Miss Shepard stood immediately, a smile breaking out on her face. Nick steeled himself against that smile, reminding himself his life had no relation to hers. She clasped her hands in front of her. “What shall we do?”
He hadn’t got as far as thinking of that part. “What would you like to do?”
She tilted her head a fraction and thought a moment, a slim finger against her chin. Then she looked at him, a sparkle in her eyes. “Have you ever played chess?”
He smiled in relief. Finally, there was something he did know how to do. “Yes.”
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. She turned to leave the room. “Well, come along then.”
She led him to a wide veranda with latticed railing in the back of the house. “It’s too nice a day to be inside.” She sat on the floor and brought out a polished wooden box and a folded game board from a shelf under the low table and began to set out the ivory pieces.
He remained standing, watching her array the carved chessmen in rows at either side of the checked board. “My mother taught me to play chess.”
“My governess taught me. She said it was a good game of strategy…and patience.” She smiled as she added the last.
“Were you in need of those qualities?”
She shrugged. “All I knew then was that if I learned how to play chess, perhaps I could play with Father. But he had little inclination for games that last so long.”
Before he could comment on that statement, she waved him to the low couch facing the board. “Have a seat, Mr. Tennent.” She gave him a sly smile under her tawny brows. “This should be an easy win for someone good at mathematics. I shall even let you be white, since you are the guest.”
He sat down across from her and soon they were immersed in the game and even forgot about lunch.
He found he enjoyed pitting his skill against hers. Just as with tennis, she didn’t make things easy for him, and he appreciated that. Whenever she captured one of his pieces, she’d give him a small smile of triumph.
They played in silence for quite some time, when Miss Shepard raised her eyes to him. “Mr. Tennent?” There was no amusement in them now. “What was your house like growing up?”
Surprised at her question, he answered flatly, “Small and dingy with the smell of boiled cabbage. It was always damp. And cold in the winter. My brothers and I would huddle together under a blanket.”
She leaned her chin on her fist. “Were you the youngest?”
He shook his head. “The second to youngest.”
To his bemusement, she continued questioning him about his family, and he found himself telling her about his brothers—from Jim, working in the mill, and Thomas the postal clerk, to young Alfie, with his dream of opening his own shop.
“So, you are the only bachelor among them?”
“Yes,” he said in a guarded tone.
She tilted her head a fraction, a gesture that never failed to enchant him. “Why haven’t you married? You are certainly old enough.”
He shrugged. “Up to now, I haven’t had either the desire or the opportunity, I suppose. And although I am certainly old enough, I’m not that old.”

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