For Your Arms Only

prosperous, too. How lovely it would be if you could live nearby! I am sure your father will be pleased by that, to see his daughter so well-provided for.”
Cressida gave a halfhearted smile and let her grandmother’s words roll over her. Certainly it would be lovely to have a prosperous, handsome suitor, or even just a prosperous one. She sighed, almost amused by her wandering thoughts. Any suitor at all would be enough to please Granny, who still harbored hopes of seeing her married someday. Callie had at least been a wife, even if a desperately unhappy one. Cressida had once been engaged herself, but after it ended in humiliation, she had decided the Turner girls were better off without husbands, no matter how much Granny might long for them to find some.
Still…Her eyes strayed to the window, looking down the road that stretched hot and dry into the beech trees. It wasn’t that she wanted to be a spinster all her life. When she passed a mother carrying her child, or saw a man smile at the woman on his arm, the longing to experience the same grew almost painful. But in cooler moments she could admit it wasn’t likely. She had only ever had one suitor, and that had been when she was much younger and had been almost pretty. Ten years later, she probably had a better chance of unearthing diamonds from the vegetable garden than of finding a husband. She was cursed with being too tall, too plain, and too blunt-spoken. It was a rare man who didn’t recoil in distaste from something she said or did, even if all she did was smile politely down at him.
Except for Major Hayes. When he sat in this parlor and looked at her with those unreadable blue eyes, she couldn’t deny that some tiny part of her had felt a thrill of appreciation. He hadn’t looked intimidated or affronted even when she pointed a gun at him, which was certainly worse than anything she had done to other men. And she didn’t have to look down at him at all.
But that meant nothing. Cressida gave herself a mental shake. No, it didn’t mean nothing; if anything, it probably meant the major had far more serious defects, if he didn’t mind conversing across the barrel of a gun and never took the chance to reprove her for it. As if she needed another reason to be wary of him, after his shocking return from the dead and then his startling announcement that Lord Hastings had sent him to find Papa. No one needed to tell Cressida what all that meant: Major Hayes was best dealt with carefully, and only when absolutely necessary.

Chapter 5
The moment Alec had been dreading arrived all too soon.
John was waiting for him the next morning. “I’ve got the books ready for you,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve been wanting to see them.”
Alec had been wanting no such thing. In the few days since his return, he had done everything in his power to avoid taking the reins of Penford. It appeared to have prospered under John’s care, and Alec had no idea how to keep it on the same track. He had been a soldier for almost ten years, then a spy; he hadn’t spent more than a few months at Penford in all that time, and certainly didn’t feel qualified to run it. But it was unreasonable to expect John to keep doing everything now. He saw no way around it, and so nodded and went off with John to the estate office.
“Edward Pitt is the estate manager,” John said as they tramped down the path to the outbuildings. “He’s a good man, been here for several years now. You’ll be able to rely on him.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll stay a few weeks,” John went on. “Or as long as you would have me. Just in case…well, yes. Just in case.”
Alec muttered something vaguely agreeable, then stopped. “This is bloody awkward. Can we be honest?”
John faced him warily. “Of course,” he said, his tone as guarded as his expression.
Alec struggled to find the words he wanted, then cursed and blew out a sigh. “You’re welcome at Penford as long as you want to remain.”
John looked at him expectantly, then finally spoke, but slowly. “I think it best if I go. It will make things…easier.”
Alec laughed, short and bitter. “There’s little chance of that, no matter what you do.” John looked away. “I regret upending all your expectations.”
“Can’t be helped,” said his cousin with a philosophical shrug. “And truly, I am glad. My aunt has been transported with joy since learning you still lived and were coming home.”
And with that, Alec felt the weight of Penford and all its dependants slide onto his shoulders. “I’m not a farmer,” he said. “Never was inclined to be one. I went into the army to get away from it, for God’s sake.” He hated admitting inadequacy, but there was little point in denying it. John would realize it soon enough on his own, if he hadn’t already.
Something like sympathy drifted across his cousin’s face. “Pitt will handle most of it, if you direct him to. This—Penford—is in your blood. Don’t be so quick to deny it. ’Tis a good estate with fine, fertile land, well-organized, and not too encumbered by debt. Freddie and your father were responsible men, and I believe you’ll be the same.” He grinned. “You never did like to come up short. Freddie and I would marvel how you’d damned near kill yourself to do what you said you’d do.”
Alec blinked, then the memory came. “Black Bess.”
“The meanest animal I ever saw. I’ve still got a scar on my arse where that bloody horse bit me. And you rode her from here to Marston and back.”
“She bit me, too,” Alec reminded him.
John snorted. “Aye, before you even got in the