interested to know where she was trained.’
‘Then you should ask her,’ Peyton said levelly in a tone that suggested that topic of conversation was closed. Peyton was more eager to discuss the merits of Woodbrook, which he promptly began to do the moment the first property marker came into view. He continued to elucidate the fine points of the property right up until they dismounted in the stable yard and Crispin could see for himself what an excellent inheritance he’d acquired.
Peyton had not exaggerated. The manor house was a modest, twelve-room affair, hardly more than a cottage compared to the grandeur of Dursley Park. But to Crispin the stone manor was plenty.
‘What would I do with twelve rooms?’ Crispin remarked halfway up the stairs to see the other six, all presumably bedrooms.
‘You could marry and fill the house with children,’ Peyton laughingly suggested. ‘Within three years, you’d be enlarging the place, declaring how you’d outgrown it.’
Crispin knew Peyton meant well, but all the same, the thought of being somewhere for three years, let alone a decade or a lifetime, sent a quiet shudder up his spine. Children couldn’t be dragged around the world every year or so to satisfy his whim for adventure. Children needed the stability of a permanent home, of permanent parents. His own childhood was a testament to that. With two absent parents, Peyton had been the closest thing he and Paine had had to a father growing up. In his darker hours, Crispin often thought it was his worries of turning out like his parents that kept him from pursuing a family of his own, although his brothers had certainly proved such worries to be groundless. Both of them had become model family men.
Crispin made a quick tour of the upstairs rooms and returned downstairs. ‘Perhaps Paine and Julia could make use of the manor.’
Peyton shook his head. ‘There’s plenty of room at Dursley Park for them when they visit. Tessa has a whole wing set aside for them these days. Besides, they spend most of their year in London. Paine’s too busy with his banking investments to make use of a country house on a more regular basis.’
They walked out to the barns, which were just as impressive as the house. There was no outdoor work area for horses yet beyond a paddock, but the room for establishing a training arena was readily available in the wide, open spaces around the barns. Crispin could easily imagine setting up an equestrian centre here. The old dreams came to him as he walked the wide aisle of the barn, counting stalls. He had Sheikh to stand to stud for a pricey fee and to race. He could build a legacy from Sheikh.
Peyton stayed close, continuing his verbal tour of the facility. ‘There’s stalls for fifteen horses. The windows provide good light.’ Peyton pointed overhead. ‘There’s plenty of hay storage in the lofts above. The tack room can easily support all the riding gear you’d need for that many horses. The roof is fairly new. There aren’t any serious repairs you’d have to make. All of your attention could be on improvements and additions.’
Peyton had been a dangerously compelling diplomat in his day, knowing exactly when to push, when his opponents were most open to persuasion. To be honest, that was precisely where Crispin was now; wondering, in spite of his earlier inclination to sell the property, if this place was what he needed to conquer his wanderlust or even if he wanted to conquer the wandering spirit that drove him.
Crispin let a hand drift idly across the half-door of a stall. Commitment begot commitment. It wouldn’t stop at committing to the stables. There would be grooms to employ who would count on him for pay and for work. There would be social obligations. The community would expect him in church and at their gatherings. Women would expect him to marry, if not someone from London because of his family, then certainly a lady from their part of England. Peyton was right. Manor houses were expected to be filled.
He was too much of a realist to believe he could stop at just one commitment. One commitment was merely a gateway to other commitments he felt less compelled to make. The commitments would not happen overnight. They would form a slippery slope that would erode slowly over the span of several years. It would occur gradually so that it didn’t appear to be a lifechanging overhaul, but single small steps taken in isolation from one another until, one morning, he’d wake up and realise it was too late to go back.
Crispin tamped down hard on the old dream of his own stables. It was a startling discovery to find the dream was far more potent than he’d realised. He’d come home, thinking to sell the property. He would stay with his original plan. He had his work. It was only a matter of time before a summons arrived from London. He would not give in, he would not change his course, no matter how much Peyton talked.
They emerged out into the daylight, Peyton’s wellrehearsed tour complete. To his credit, Peyton pressed for nothing. He merely gestured down the road where a rider had turned into the drive. ‘I’ve invited the steward to go over the books,’ he said simply.
Crispin fought back a chuckle. Of course Peyton had invited the land steward. His brother had this visit orchestrated perfectly for maximum effect. All the same, Peyton would be disappointed. He wasn’t going to stay. He couldn’t. It just wasn’t in him.
Several hours later, Crispin knew one thing. He needed a drink and he needed a drink alone. He’d been surrounded by a horde of well-meaning people since his return home. For a man who was used to operating solo and keeping his own counsel, such attention was unnerving. Well, he had to rephrase that. He’d been surrounded by Peyton. In all fairness, Tessa, Cousin Beth, Petra, Annie, the twins and the new baby had all kept at a respectful distance. They’d done nothing more than make him feel welcome.
But Peyton knew what he wanted from Crispin and he was wasting no time in trying to extract it. Crispin could see his brother’s vision clearly. His brother wanted him to embrace the stables, settle down, take a wife and raise a family. For Peyton that had been the clear road to happiness once he’d found the path. Crispin understood it was only natural for Peyton to want that same happiness for him. However, Crispin doubted that path would work well for him. Crispin understood too that Peyton was trying not to be oppressive, certainly a harder task for him than for others. Peyton was well used to being obeyed. But Peyton could not make him into a man he could not be.
He and Peyton swung up into their saddles, thanking the steward for his time and his conscientious adherence to every detail. They turned their horses towards home, riding in much-appreciated silence; Crispin’s head was full to bursting with all he’d learned.
Crispin was amazed Peyton had stayed quiet for as long as he did. He’d bet himself Peyton wouldn’t make it a mile before asking what he’d thought of the manor. Tessa’s influence must be powerful indeed, Crispin mused. But he could see the effort the restraint cost his brother. Peyton’s mouth was tense; on two occasions, Crispin felt Peyton was on the verge of bringing the subject up, but then thought better of it.
They reached the fork in the road, one turn leading to the Dursley Road and the other going on a short distance to the village. ‘I think I’ll stop in for a pint or two,’ Crispin said off-handedly.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Peyton offered, making a quick check of his pocket watch.
‘That’s all right. I’d prefer to do some thinking in private.’ Crispin hoped Peyton understood. He needed a kind of privacy he wouldn’t find at Dursley Park and he’d have no privacy if he turned up at the inn with the earl in tow.
‘And dinner?’ Peyton asked cautiously. ‘Shall I tell Tessa to expect you?’
Crispin nodded his head. ‘Probably not. I’m not sure how long I’ll sit and think.’
‘It’s no trouble to set an extra plate if you change your mind,’ Peyton said graciously. Crispin could see that his absence wasn’t what Peyton had hoped for, but that his brother guessed at how monumental the day had been, how many things needed thinking over.
Once inside the inn, Crispin lost himself in the crowd, taking a small table by the window. Word had not yet spread of his return and he was thankful for the anonymity. Around him, the work day was ending. Large groups of local workers