Page 1 of Dare it all for Love

Prologue

Dearest Harriet,

I am certainly up to the challenge of getting your brother married. The dear man is far too handsome and kind to spend a moment longer alone. Truly, it would be a crying shame if he does not find a wife. I agree that wretched girl did him so much damage when she jilted him. I suppose we must take what comfort there is in knowing her marriage is such a disaster. Throwing Henry over for a titled bully of a man was the most idiotic thing she could ever have done. Ambition is a strange thing that blinds some people to the reality of what their lives could be. I wonder if all her jewels and her title are a comfort to her now?

We must show Henry everything he could have, if only he gave up his bachelor's existence.

―Excerpt of a letter from Matilda Barrington, The Most Hon’ble, The Marchioness of Montagu to Harriet Cadogan, Countess St Clair.

9th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.

Henry stared at the hawthorn bush and frowned. That was… odd.

“Good afternoon.”

Startled out of his contemplation of the peculiar scene, Henry turned as a voice hailed him from the neighbouring field. He was on the farthest border of his estate here, a narrow strip of land that jutted out at an angle like a feather on a bonnet. It was the first time he’d walked the considerable border in a decade, not that he’d accomplished it all in one day. On two sides it was surrounded by the grand estate of Holbrook House, which belonged to his sister’s husband, the Earl of St Clair. On the third, the land was owned by a gentleman farmer, whom Henry had not seen since the fellow was a boy.

“Good God. Sterling?”

A boy no longer, he gave Henry the benefit of a crooked grin and raised his hand in greeting. “Don’t tell me, I’ve grown.”

Henry laughed as the fellow climbed the stile and walked over to shake his hand. “Well, it’s true! What the hell happened?”

“Ten years?” Sterling suggested wryly.

Henry looked him over, shaking his head. Sterling Oak had been a quiet, lanky boy on the cusp of adulthood the last time Henry had seen him. He had grown into the promise of the coltish figure that had been all skinny arms and legs, and now was an enormous fellow, the image of his sire.

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Henry said. Mr Oak Senior had been a good man. Taciturn and sparing with his words, but the kind to help a neighbour in need and expect nothing in return.

“Me too,” Sterling said with a shrug. “Odd not having him around, telling me I’m doing it wrong.”

Henry huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I know that feeling.”

Except, for all his criticism, Sterling’s father had been proud of his son. Henry’s father had just been critical, if he’d been there at all.

“Staying?” Sterling asked.

Henry smiled, reminded of old Mr Oak, who would never use five words if one would do.

“I’m not sure,” he said, staring out at the view of softly rolling hills, a patchwork of green and gold, gilded in the sunlight of the late summer’s afternoon. He loved it here. It was home, and yet… “I had thought perhaps I might, but my sister has got it in her head I must marry. She’s plotting and scheming with her friends. I may need to run away again simply to thwart their plans.”

“Not disastrous,” Sterling replied, frowning. “To marry.”

“Yes, it is,” Henry replied, quite certain on that point. “Some men are not cut out for it and I’m one of them. But never mind that, it’s too dull to contemplate. Look at this.” Henry stepped aside to gesture to the hedge and was taken aback to see the fellow shudder. Admittedly it was a little disturbing, but likely just some local superstition. There were seven little corn dolls suspended in the hawthorn bush, and each of them held a small section of hawthorn twig, spiked with thorns.

“Witchcraft,” Sterling said, taking a step away. “Don’t touch it.”

Henry frowned at the fellow in consternation. “Surely you don’t believe in such nonsense?”

Sterling shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye, my old gran was a cunning woman. Learnt a bit from her. Knew stuff. Someone else believes it too. Seven is a fairy number and cutting the Ogham tree like that—” He sucked air in through his teeth. “—someone is asking for help with a difficult situation. Take my advice, Mr Stanhope. Leave it be. Asking for trouble, else.”

Henry looked at Sterling in exasperation but held out his hands. “Very well. I’ll leave it, but it’s still a lot of nonsense.”

Whatever his opinion, the relief in Sterling’s expression was clear. He was truly rattled.

“And what’s with this Mr Stanhope business? It’s always been Henry to you. Here, do you fancy a drink at The Lamb, now you’re old enough?” he added with a smirk. “You can tell me everything you’ve been up to in my absence.”

Sterling quirked an eyebrow.