THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

Mrs. Singleton’s face lit with hope, but she quickly resumed the stoicism of habitual poverty. “Thank you, my lady. But my home is here. I’ll stay, if you please.”

If she felt disappointment, Eden didn’t let it show. “I understand. Then perhaps you will allow me to bring a few blankets for the children, and some clothing, and meat and bread.”

The daleswoman’s lip trembled. “My lady—”

“For the children.”

Mrs. Singleton bowed her head. “Your ladyship is very kind.”

The two women could not have been more different, but Eden herself was near tears. She exchanged a few last words with Mrs. Singleton, smiled again at the children, and fled the cottage. Hartley followed, closing the door behind him, and became visible again.

Eden saw him, but not before he witnessed her terrific struggle to calm herself. She blinked rapidly, looked for the dog cart, and almost ran toward it. Once there, she caught Donal in her arms and embraced him, pressing her cheek to his.

“I never knew,” she whispered. “I did not realize—”

Hartley didn’t think. He moved up behind Eden and held her as she held Donal, warm and secure in his much larger arms. She was so shaken that she failed to object.

“They have hardly anything. Their clothes… the food… If only I had known.”

Hartley touched the wisps of hair that escaped from under her bonnet. “Aren’t there similar tragedies in London?”

“I never saw them. I… didn’t want to.” She lifted her head, became aware of his arms about her, and broke free. But he sensed that she was little concerned with the scandalous liberties he took.

“There must be many others—in Birkdale, on the farms—like her. They will all need my help.” Her face took on a fevered flush, and she paced back and forth as if the racing of her thoughts would not let her be still. “Yes, we must return to Hartsmere at once and make arrangements. Find some spare garments until more can be bought. And surely these children should be in school—I’m sure there was one, once. The curate will know. I shall see him tomorrow and bring the Singletons what I can collect.”

A new energy emanated from Eden. It had nothing to do with the things that had once made up her world, yet it brought such passion to her eyes that Hartley felt a surge of envy. And loss.

When he’d first courted Eden Fleming, he had regarded the effort as an unpleasant duty. But even he, like all Fane, had been drawn to her emotion, the incandescent spark of joy within her human soul. The pulse of creation itself beat in her heart as surely as sap ran in the oaks and singing becks carried the land’s lifeblood. Even her dislike of the country had not lessened her allure.

Gradually, his purely selfish interest had changed into something more. It had taken him weeks to realize that what he had begun to experience was not merely the need for the child she could give him, or even fascination with her vivid humanity. He felt affection for her, affection that was but a pale copy of love, yet an uncommon thing among his kind. He learned, from her, what it was to feel with the soul. He had even believed that he could bring her to understand his ways and the ways of the land he guarded.

He’d never had the chance. But some part of that affection endured, reborn as his anger had reawakened in the forest. For the first time in his long life, he was beginning to understand the human trait of compassion.

And he was beginning to wonder if he could steal Donal from this woman he had hated, when his hatred was dying a little more with every moment they shared.

“You care about the woman,” he said. “You would give her all these things, yet you do not know her.”

Eden turned to him, still suffused with the enormity of her scheme. “Does that surprise you, Shaw? I see that it does. You think me a useless member of Society, good for nothing but balls and routs and visits to the mantuamakers.” She smiled broadly, and mischief snapped in her eyes. “Shall we make a wager, you and I? If by summer’s end I have not brought about a change for the better, in this town and in all of the dale, I will… I will grant you ten acres to do with as you wish, and waive the rent for a year.”

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