Kit had returned to Woodleigh after hearing his brother’s life was in danger . . .
By H. Johnson-Mack
A thrilling mystery set in the 1800s
KIT CONYNGHAM drew in a steadying breath as the carriage trotted out of the lime-tree avenue toward an elegant dove-coloured manor house.
The old adage of absence and the heart flitted through his mind.
His mouth lifted in a smile as he let his gaze roam over the grey stone hall with its graceful gables and terracing leading down to formal gardens and parkland behind.
“So this is Woodleigh,” his manservant remarked as he followed his master down from the coach.
“Aye, Fosset,” Kit murmured. “It’s been the Conyngham’s country home for over two hundred years.”
“Glad to be back?”
Kit fingered the letter in his pocket that had set the seal on his return.
The last time he’d stood on this drive, his elder brother, Osbourne, had slammed the door on him, refusing to believe Kit had resigned all pretensions to the lovely young lady who’d become Osbourne’s wife.
Now, nearly three years later, he’d answered a plea from his childhood friend, Sarah, to come home from the Continent, where he had traded with the freedom of a gentleman with his mother’s fortune to invest.
Kit glanced up at the silently watching windows.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes!”
The slim woman standing before an easel angled to catch the best view of the garden turned, her grey eyes widening after a moment of stunned surprise.
Kit opened his arms as, dropping her brush, she ran forward for a hug that revealed much about their long-standing relationship.
“How lovely it is to have you home!” she exclaimed.
He kept her in his arms a little longer than necessary, the first flashback to his childhood friend in pigtails replaced by the warmer woman of today.
“Sweet Sarah! I was so hoping you’d still be here.”
She drew back, scarlet blooming in her cheeks.
“I wouldn’t leave until you came, especially under the circumstances.”
Frowning, Kit followed her back to the easel, where she began to tidy away her supplies.
“Though your letters were always a joy to me, I did wonder if you’d drawn me back under false pretences,” he said to lighten the mood.
When she failed to smile, his frown returned.
“All right. How bad is it?”
Sarah averted her eyes.
“Oh, you know Osbourne. He will never face anything unpleasant head on.”
Kit swallowed, memories of past incidents with his brother crowding his brain.
It was principally because of Osbourne that he’d decided to take an extended tour of Europe, his brother blaming Kit for the beautiful woman they’d both admired having qualms about w
