He had watched the sun rise over the snow of the Alps, blaze across the shining expanse of the desert, and set through the thick canopy of the jungle. But the beauty had not stirred his heart, not like this.
This was his home. His soil. He was born of this earth and would be buried within it.
A rider at the far edge of the field caught his attention. Cat, riding alone, regal as a queen. He was ridiculously glad to see her. Lifting a muddy hand, he waved. A wide arc of his arm that she couldn’t fail to see.
She was part of his home, too.
But she did not stop. Just rode on ahead in the direction of the village. Still avoiding him, then.
All at once, he wanted to see her. To try to change. To try to forgive her and move toward their future together.
“Can you finish up here?” he called to Mr. Bourne. He’d need to hurry to the house to dress in clean clothes first.
“Of course, sir.”
Jamie smiled into the morning, and went after his wife.
CAT KEPT HER GAZE AHEAD and pretended not to see her husband. It was a bit ridiculous, considering how he waved and waved as if calling in a ship from sea. But she hardly wished to speak with him this morning. She felt entirely too…unsettled by his return. Vulnerable.
Last night had been a wild challenge. Her desire for him was a force she could not control. Did not wish to control, truth be told.
But she needed to keep her distance from him until she felt more certain of her future. She was not surprised he had declined an annulment—that had been a rather far-fetched idea. But neither did she wish to be the womb he required.
In truth, the idea terrified her.
For now, she would focus on what was hers to control. She would put her attention on her village project.
She turned her mount onto the wagon path, and from there entered Abbey Lane.
Mayhem awaited her.
Or, more correctly, a number of the families awaited her by the cottages. Mrs. Harthorn was trying to keep her young boys out of the flower gardens while another gaggle of children played tag in the street. The women clustered around each other chatting.
They all stopped and waved as she approached.
“It looks wonderful, Lady Forster.”
“I cannot believe me eyes.”
“Are you sure you want to let us live here?”
Cat halted her horse and slid onto the mounting block, then stepped down to the earth. She smiled at the small crowd. Truly, she was as grateful to them as they were to her. They had saved her from a life of uselessness. A future of idle nothingness.
Looking around at their hopeful faces, her joy was a tangible thing, taking wing in her heart. “I cannot wait to show you everything. What an adventure we shall have together.”
She tethered her horse in the shade, then peeked into the empty carts on the side of the road. The vehicles had collected the families at their temporary lodgings in Nottingham that morning and would return them later that afternoon. Finally, Cat found what she wanted—the bushel of apples she had requested.
“But first, come here, children,” she called. “Who is my apple monster today?”
The brood of straggly, patchwork children surrounded her. They looked hardly better than street urchins. They were clean, however. And smiling.
Cat handed the basket to an older girl, who dispersed the apples to anxious fingers. “Let’s start in the gardens while you eat, shall we?”
She led the noisy group around back of the cottages to a series of gardens. “We have vegetable gardens and herb gardens already planted. I am told the carrots, cabbage, onions and—” she waved her hand at the other mysterious green plants “—a variety of vegetables will be ready for harvest this fall.”
The women ooh-ed and aah-ed. Cat felt wonderful, knowing these families would no longer be hungry. They would be independent, in control of their future happiness beyond the whims of men. They would not be thrown off course by—
A tall figure rounded the side of the Warners’ cottage.
Jamie.
Her belly flipped with nerves as he approached. She could not anticipate how he would react to her project. She’d purposefully kept the details from his estate manager. This was her domain, funded by her pin money. Yet, the cottages were Jamie’s, or at least belonged to the estate.
His easy smile did little to soothe her agitation. If anything, it kicked up her heartbeat. She tried not to notice how his riding breeches hugged his long legs, or how his jacket molded to his wide shoulders. She’d always known he was handsome; it was silly that the fact should steal her breath now.
The women noticed her distraction and turned toward the marquess. They greeted him with curtseys and murmured words to their children to bow.
Jamie smiled his lopsided smile into the crowd.
“My husband, the Marquess of Forster.” Did she sound breathless? She felt rather breathless.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt.” He waved a hand.
Taking him at his word, Cat straightened her shoulders and plowed on ahead. “We’ve also a barn for milking cows and goats, and pens for chickens. If you would please follow me.”
The women twittered behind her as they filed down the path.