Sussex, 1801
Sir James Carling arrived in England after three years in America to be greeted with the appalling news that he was married.
On a bright autumn day, he rode into the stable yard of Carling Manor, thankful to be home at last. His brother Simon strode out of the stables, gaped at him, and said, âJames, old fellow! Weâre in the suds now, for sure.â
James swung down from his mount. âItâs wonderful to see you, too,â he said. âAnd why, pray tell, are we in the suds?â
âItâs a damned good thing you didnât ride up to the front door in a chaise-and-four.â Simon had hardly aged at all; his mischievous smile was entirely intact. âGrandmama has come for a visit, and she mustnât see you until you know the story.â
Back in the bosom of his family, where there was always a story. âWhat mire have I stepped into?â James asked. He exchanged greetings with his head groom, who had come up to take the horse.
âWhat, no baggage?â Simon demanded.
âItâs following by carrier. I learned to travel light in America,â James said, eyeing Simonâs elegant waistcoat, snug trousers and carefully disordered locks. He removed a rifle, as well as the pistols in holsters on either side of the saddlebags, before handing the horse over to his groom. âIn the backwoods, one has more important concerns than tricking oneself out like a dandy.â
Simon tsked. âThis is nothing to what theyâre wearing in London nowadays.â He glanced furtively toward the house. âCome in by the keep and Iâll find you something to change into. Canât do the pretty to the old lady dressed like that.â
The Norman keep, built centuries ago and now maintained purely for its historic value, was invariably deserted. It had come in handy when James and his brother had crept out on youthful escapades, but with their father now dead and James master of the manor, their furtive approach through the heavy wooden door and up the old stone staircase made no sense at all.
âGrandmama knows I donât care for fashion,â James said. âWhatâs she doing here?â
âApproving Sally.â Simon grimaced. âWeâre almost out of mourning for Father, so sheâs making her come-out next spring.â
Good God. Had his little sister grown up already? Sheâd been a tomboy when last James had seen her.
âThe old lady refused to write to her cronies about vouchers for Almackâs without seeing Sally herself. Girl should be a credit to the family and all that bilge.â Simon mock-wiped his brow. âYouâve got to get rid of her. I canât survive pretending to be virtuous much longer.â They reached the top of the staircase, crossed the ancient plank floor and emerged, by way of the muniment room, onto the first landing of the back stairs of the house itself. âThank God she thinks youâre a paragon or she mightnât have believed the story.â
âAh, yes, the inevitable tale,â James said. âWhat sort of game are you about this time?â
âJames!â Sally flew through the door one floor above and hurtled down to meet them. âYouâre home!â She threw her arms around James and hugged him hard, then stepped away to appraise him. âYou look older, but itâs a good kind of older. What do you think of me?â
âYouâre taller and rounder and prettier, but untidy as ever.â James grinned, and promptly contributed to her disorder by mussing her red hair. âHoyden!â
âYes, Iâm impossible and always shall be. Which is why you must, absolutely must, back up my story.â She took him by the hand and hauled him up the staircase. âI swear I had no choice. Sheâd only been here for two days, and she was already looking me up and down as if I were some sort of changeling, and I could tell she wasnât going to approve of me, but whatâs the use of going to London if I canât get vouchers for Almackâs? And then she went maundering on about how reliable you areââ
âSheâs completely forgotten your temper,â Simon interjected.