THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

I failed you before, my dear. I did not keep you safe. I agreed to your marriage to Spencer. My carelessness created this situation and now I must be the one to correct it.

As she must correct the matter of Hartley Shaw.

Claudia shook her head, though there was no one to witness the gesture. For all Eden’s reputation of taking numerous lovers, they had always been men of her rank. She would not stoop beneath her for companionship. It was not in her nature.

Except that her nature had changed. Claudia had watched it happen ever since their arrival at Hartsmere. At first she had assumed it to be the lingering aftereffects of Winstowe’s death, and the ongoing strain of Eden’s self-imposed duties. But gradually Claudia had come to see that the alterations in Eden were of a more disquieting complexion.

The devotion to amusement that had been Eden’s hallmark in Society was no longer in evidence. And how could it be, in this dismal place? Claudia had dismissed Eden’s initial prattle on the responsibilities of landownership as a mere whim, a passing fancy to keep her mind occupied until she regained her usual spirit. But such had not been the case. As if she’d forsaken all hope of returning to her former life, Eden had ignored the limitations of her income and strength. She had worn herself to a shadow, and the worst was yet to come.

Donal’s arrival was in large part responsible for awakening this driven aspect of her personality. So was her complete isolation from the ton. As things were proceeding, Eden might come to feel a genuine part of Hartsmere. She might—unbelievable as it seemed—wish to remain.

And that brought her back to Hartley Shaw. Could he have influenced these developments? A servant, a laborer, a peasant? Claudia’s sensibilities hummed with alarm at the memory of Eden being touched by Hartley Shaw. Caressed by him. Held in his arms.

Claudia paced away from the window, deep in uneasy thought. Though she hadn’t heard the words of their conversation, she recognized elemental attraction when she saw it. How or when this had first happened she didn’t know, but the relationship was well established.

Oh, Eden made a pretense of holding Shaw at bay. He made little pretense of respecting her rank or her person. And he is handsome, in a rough sort of way. He could almost pass for well-bred. Is that what makes her vulnerable to him?

That, and loneliness. Eden had seldom been without male companionship. Men had flocked to her side in London. She could not be expected to survive without such accustomed tribute.

Giving Eden her own way at Hartsmere had been a mistake. But Claudia must be subtle in handling Shaw. She well knew how to bribe—or blackmail—one of his fellow servants into becoming her personal informant.

In all likelihood, Shaw was simply a cunning, clever young man who knew how to manipulate women—as he had done in “saving” Donal—and was arrogant enough to believe that even Hartsmere’s mistress was fair game. Claudia had met such servants before. Some could be remarkably intelligent, even extraordinary in their ambitions. But inevitably they found themselves discharged without a character. If he were a scheming servant of the ordinary variety, she could simply offer him a good reason for leaving Hartsmere willingly.

If Shaw proved to be more than he seemed, there were more drastic solutions. Now that Donal was firmly ensconced in Miss Waterson’s care, Eden would have less reason to meet Shaw. Claudia would inquire more diligently about additional stable servants and gardeners to assume his work. And she would stay close to Eden, even if it meant accompanying her on visits to the farms and village.

And, of course, Eden must be reminded of her rank—and what she risked by dallying with a servant.

Claudia sat down at her escritoire, one of the few fine pieces she had brought from her London apartments. She dipped her pen and considered her words with care.

If the matter had not been urgent, she would have hesitated to write so hastily and frankly, and at a time when neither Eden nor her surroundings would be seen in their most favorable light—if Hartsmere could ever be seen as anything but a disreputable ruin.

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