Page 21 of Real Earls Break the Rules

The name was as intimate as his pose in his study. A brisk morning walk was what she needed to clear her head of the image of him dressed in shirtsleeves and breeches as he leaned against the desk.

She was halfway past Rosehill’s prized flowering rose bushes when she heard her name.

“Amelia!”

She whirled to see Lord Vale behind her. He was astride a black stallion and dressed in a dark coat and Hessians. He rode close and halted before her. Their gazes meshed, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

He leaped off the horse and gathered the reins in one hand. “Shouldn’t you still be abed?”

“Pardon?”

“You were up late last night sketching in my study. All the ladies are still sleeping.”

“You were up late, too,” she pointed out.

“I’m used to keeping late hours and rising early. Are you?”

The truth was she wasn’t. When they’d owned the shop, they rose early, but they retired early as well. There was always work to be done whether it was dusting the counter or the dozens of frames and bric-a-brac items. As working women, there was rarely an idle moment.

Afterward, when she’d moved to a Mayfair townhouse with Chloe, they didn’t need to rise early, but Amelia had kept to her schedule. She knew it would change once they left the country and returned to London and began attending balls that went far into the night.

She glanced at the sky. “It’s a beautiful day. Artists must seize the moment.”

He eyed the sketchbook under her arm. “I would think you’d be tired of drawing.”

She shook her head. “No. I worked every day when we owned the shop. I switch subjects. It keeps my mind fresh. I never tire of it.”

“What’s your inspiration this morning?”

“The tenant farmers. I can’t imagine them lying about until the afternoon.”

He looked surprised. “You want to sketch Rosehill’s tenant farmers?”

“I do. I’m fascinated by all types of working people, and I’ve never had an opportunity to see those that live in the country and farm the land. I’m curious. Are their lives any different?”

“I expect it depends on the demands of the landholder. Some can be cruel, others more generous,” he said.

“What type are you?”

A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “I’m on my way to inspect the land. Shall we ride together?”

It was early enough that her sisters and other occupants of the house would remain in bed for a while. No one would see them. She nodded. “I’d like that.”

He led her to the stables and instructed a groom to ready a speckled mare and pack Amelia’s sketchbook and charcoal in a saddlebag. Brandon’s large hands encircled her waist as he lifted her onto a sidesaddle. Her fingers briefly brushed the strong tendons in the back of his neck, and she swallowed tightly at the tingle of excitement inside her.

They rode side-by-side as they left the well-tended lawns and soon came to fields of crops. He raised a forefinger and pointed. “All the land you see belongs to Rosehill.”

She cupped her hand over her eyebrows to shield the sun from her eyes. “I suspected Rosehill was large from our drive here, but I didn’t realize the estate was so vast.”

“Fifteen thousand acres.”

Her mouth gaped as she turned to him. “Fifteen thousand acres!” She couldn’t fathom one person owning that much land.

“Almost all of it has been in the family for generations. My grandfather purchased an additional parcel of land, a little over five hundred acres, in his lifetime to add to the estate.”

She was reminded once again of his responsibility to his family and to everyone who depended on him for their livelihood. The earldom brought great benefits and luxury, but burden as well.

They continued onward toward the tenant farms. The land was beautiful in the early morning light. The fresh grass was sprinkled with delicate wildflowers of every color. Birds chirped and insects buzzed. They passed pastures of grazing horses, sheep with their lambs, and acres of orchards, where pear, peach, and apple trees were beginning to flower and would produce sweet fruit later in the summer and during the fall.