THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

“Children seem impressed by simple matters such as skill with horses and other mysterious adult knowledge.”

“Donal spends as much time with that servant as he does with you.”

“You cannot expect me to smother him. He has no other male to—”

“That can be remedied.”

Eden picked up a cracked porcelain shepherdess from the mantel, turning it about in her hands. “When my mourning is over.”

“I sometimes wonder if you might wish it to last forever.”

“I want what is best for my son.”

“Then you will be pleased to know that I have employed an experienced governess for Donal. She should be arriving today—in fact, at any moment.”

Eden squeezed the shepherdess in her fist until it bit into her palm. No. Not so soon! “But we had not yet discussed it.”

Claudia sat down in a wing chair by the doors, serene and confident. “You may trust my judgment, Eden. I couldn’t trouble you when you were so preoccupied with estate affairs. I wrote to several London friends for advice.”

“Did you explain why we required a governess?”

“I gave out the story you have told everyone here: that your cousin’s son has come into your care, and you intend to raise him as if he were your own.” She waved such concerns aside. “This woman comes highly recommended. Miss Waterson raised both Lady Gilbert’s sons and one of her daughters, and received an excellent character from her previous employer. We are extremely lucky that she finds herself between positions at precisely the time we require her services.”

A professional governess, no doubt prune-faced and humorless. Eden carefully set the porcelain figurine down on a chiffonier. “I have not even met her. How can you expect—”

“Donal needs discipline, as you yourself have admitted. You have no experience in raising children. You know as well as I that no lady of the ton caters to her child’s daily needs. Donal must learn independence and his place in the world in order to preserve your fiction.”

“I had no governess—not when I lived with my father or with you.”

Claudia smiled. “Your father spoiled you. But when you came to me, you were a very quick study. You understood instinctively how to move in Society. You were a pleasure to teach. Donal is entirely different. He is half wild and uneducated. Once he is under Miss Waterson’s care, he will no longer be running after servants. He will receive a proper English gentleman’s education.”

And that he must have. Eden canned herself and sat opposite her aunt. Claudia was her staunchest ally, her dearest friend. Eden owed her more than she could ever hope to repay.

“I will see her,” Eden said.

“That is all I ask.”

While Claudia was in a receptive mood, Eden broached another sensitive subject. “I have discussed the matter at length with Mrs. Byrne, and I do wish to go ahead with the tenants’ dinner and fair. May Eve seems an ideal date. It will give me time to find a steward and distribute more goods to the tenants and villagers. Mr. Appleyard—”

“You know my opinion on bestowing such excessive generosity on the tenantry and laborers so soon,” Claudia said. “They shall come to expect even more indulgence, which you can scarcely afford. And you’ve already done much.” Too much, her silence added.

“Only because the estate was so badly neglected. What I have spent thus far is much less than what I have paid for a few gowns in London. I can hardly cavil at expenses now.”

Claudia leaned forward, her handsome face filled with concern. “You were not intended for this, Eden. You should have all the joy and pleasures of life, not its burdens. You must return to Society, to your rightful place.”

For a moment, Eden tried to imagine such a return, freed of her widow’s weeds and on Rushborough’s arm. London seemed a million miles away, Almack’s and Rotten Row in another universe.

But I have changed, Aunt, she thought with wonder. I can see beyond the next visit to the modiste, the next ball, the next foppish beau.

She saw, instead, Hartley Shaw, his face intent as he instructed her son in the proper way to groom a horse. Hartley Shaw, who would be utterly out of place in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the ton, as confined and incongruous in tight pantaloons and form-fitting coat as a fox in a kennel.

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