Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1) Read Online Free

down the gravelled carriageway towards the tall wrought-iron gates. Conniston’s frown deepened. His hand lowered; the reins slackened. A fat woodpigeon burst in alarm from the thicket beside the gate. It flapped skywards leaving a single feather whirling behind it. The horse took violent exception to the interruption. It skittered and reared. Gravel spat from beneath its hooves.
    Conniston pulled on the reins, his thighs tightening on the horse’s flanks. He leant forward, uttering soothing words and stroking the animal’s quivering neck. Under his hand the stallion calmed and walked on. It was the Earl’s latest acquisition and he loved it. It was a total thoroughbred from its soft muzzle to the last whisking hair of its tail. An elegant thoroughbred, just like Rowena Harcourt-Spence.
    The thought so rocked him he yanked the horse to a standstill. What on earth was she doing invading his mind? Not that he could deny she was well-bred. She was after all, the Duke of Maddingly’s granddaughter. And there was elegance in her bearing and poise. His brows drew together. Today she had been different. Less composed with none of the animation he remembered brightening her face. Was there a reason? If so, what? He urged his horse on, pondering. Perhaps she was unwell. Or set about by her sister. His hands tightened on the reins. Perhaps she disapproved of his offer. Would she dare? He scowled the more. The scar on his cheek stood out whiter against his flushing skin. The stallion was urged into motion with a sharp nudge of booted heels.
    He rode on to Fincham Wortly. Unnoticing, he passed the vicar standing by the church’s lychgate. A puzzled expression covered the reverend gentleman’s face when his raised hat went unacknowledged. In the main street, ladies whispering behind their gloved hands watched him pass, hoping for their own salutation. Disappointment reigned. Even the dusty bulk of the Cambridge coach with its four horses whinnying and stamping in front of the inn was overlooked.
    Edward Marchment alighted from the coach holding firmly onto the door frame. The unfolded step dipped under his weight, momentarily tilting the entire coach body sideways. The sight of the introspective Earl in his immediate vicinity surprised him.
    ‘What’s he doing here I wonder?’ he asked no-one in particular. ‘Come to his hunting lodge ready for the Twelfth I shouldn’t wonder.’
    Edward was a presentable young man of slightly above average height. His fair complexion and open features readily earned him the trust of strangers. His family and friends were sure it would stand him in good stead when the time came to try for his father’s seat in parliament. Not that he, or they, expected that to be any time soon. Mr Marchment was in fine health, in the prime of his middle years. Nor had he declared an intention of retiring from public life in the foreseeable future. Edward looked forward to completing university before taking a post as secretary to some man of importance. Once there he would learn about affairs of state first hand. His father’s friendship with Sir Richard would undoubtedly help him secure a fine position.
    He looked up at the skinny ostler currently balancing on one knee on the coachman’s seat. The man reached forward for the nearest portmanteau. ‘Take care of that,’ Edward called. ‘It has all my books in it.’
    The man folded his lips firmly together. The unfortunate remark that would surely cost him his tip, if not his job, was never uttered. He lugged the bag towards him and lowered it carefully onto the seat. Its weight convinced him it contained more books than he, Larkin, had ever seen anywhere. He clambered round it, almost tipping himself into the road when his boot-heel caught on the seat’s side rail. Safely back on terra firma, he pulled the bag over the rail, staggering when it landed in his arms. He lowered it gratefully to the ground and caught the coin Edward tossed to him. He knuckled