Page 30 of Redemption for the Baron

Laughter rippled through the gathering, shifting the mood effortlessly, anticipation replacing the earlier tension as the guests began to disperse to prepare for the chase. A new energy stirred, one charged with anticipation and the unspoken. Revelations would come, perhaps on the heels of galloping hooves. But for now, the secrets remained tucked behind smiles and morning pleasantries.

Miss Gray’s words stirred curiosity among the guests. Lady Worthington pursed her lips thoughtfully, then added, “It is not the first time such tales have been whispered about old estates. There are always rumors of ghosts, lost knowledge, hidden secrets, even hidden treasures.”

Davenport, setting down his coffee cup, mused, “Stories like these often hold a grain of truth. And considering Alastair’s recent acquisitions, well, I’d wager some of those relics have more than just sentimental value.”

As the guests began to disperse to ready themselves, the captain lingered at the doorway, watching Bridget.

He caught the barest flicker of amusement in her gaze, defiant, self-assured, and altogether too intriguing.

“Lady Bridget,” he said at last, “try not to fall behind.”

Her answering smile was quick, teasing. “I’d be more concerned about whether you can catch me.”

He felt a flicker of amusement himself as he tipped his head. “I look forward to it.”

And with that, the morning’s preparations for the chase were fully underway.

*

The morning aircarried the night’s lingering chill, crisp yet mild, as Grenville joined the others. He could almost taste the promise of a new day beginning in the cool dampness, each step echoing the uncertainty of a day reborn after storm and suspense. Beneath his boots, the ground remained slick from the relentless downpour of the past three days. Overhead, the sky stretched in crimson and gold, dawn breaking as if the storm had been nothing more than a distant memory. He could almost taste the promise of a fresh start in that cool, damp air.

The guests began to mount their horses on the wide drive by the front lawn, chattering with excitement while the horses, held by the stable boys, snorted and stamped, eager to begin the equestrian chase.

Alastair lingered near the edge of the group, absently tightening the leather strap on his glove, then loosening it again. His gaze kept drifting toward the tree line. Marjory, standing beside Bridget, let out a quiet sigh. “He’s been like this all morning.”

“Distracted?” Bridget asked.

“Restless,” Marjory murmured, adjusting her reins. “As if waiting for something, though neither he nor any of us can say what that might be.”

At the head of the group, Davenport, dressed in a blue morning coat and tan breeches, sat astride a roan mare like a hunt master leading his company. At Alastair’s request, he issued the last-minute instructions, his voice carrying easily over the commotion.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Davenport called, raising a hand for silence. “Before we set off, let me remind you of a few important details regarding today’s course.”

The group quieted, their attention fixed on him.

“As you all know,” he continued, “the heavy rainstorm has rendered certain areas of the grounds treacherous. Hazardous sections have been marked with red ribbons, while the yellow flags, uniquely chosen for today, indicate the proper route to follow.

He paused, letting his authoritative tone settle over the gathered riders. “And one last reminder. Beyond the east hedge lies a stretch of land that is waterlogged and deceptive. Do not test your luck there.” His meaning was unmistakable.

Grenville swung into the saddle, feeling the familiar comfort of Valor beneath him. His gaze swept the gathered riders before pausing on Bridget. Clad in a deep green riding habit, she sat astride a chestnut mare, adjusting her reins with practiced ease.

There was a spark in her eyes that caught him off guard. It was defiant, amusing, and far too intriguing for comfort.

Her focused, unyielding expression stirred something unfamiliar in him. Was it mere admiration for her spirit or something altogether more troublesome?

As the riders took their positions, Blackwood’s voice cut through the murmur. “Ready for the chase, Captain?” he taunted lightly.

Grenville adjusted his gloves, casting a sidelong glance. “The chase is hardly the challenge.”

Overhearing their exchange, Bridget shot him a sharp look. “Do you make a habit of underestimating your competition, Captain?”

Their eyes met briefly, and in that shared glance was a tension neither named, one part rivalry, one part reluctant fascination. Whatever unsettled Marjory, it wasn’t only the weather.

A slow smile tugged at Grenville’s lips. “Only when they insist on proving me wrong.”

Bridget’s fingers tightened briefly on the reins. “A most welcome reprieve, Captain. No treacherous waters, no inclement weather, and most importantly, no gallant interference from unexpected quarters.”

His expression didn’t change, but there was something watchful behind it. It was as if he heard more in her words than she had meant to reveal.

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