Not Your Average Countess

PROLOGUE

Leicestershire, England.

March 1814.

COLE FLETCHER sneaked out of the house and into his father's stable. At age twelve, he was already as tall as a young man. A trait that runs in the family.

Some days ago, his father had brought in a new horse and the instructions had been it shouldn't be mounted. But being the stubborn lad that he was, he disregarded his father's warning and sneaked in.

There had been no horse in their stables he hadn't mounted before. Honestly, he didn't know why his father like to fret about frivolous things. He was as capable as any stable master his father had, if not better, the boy thought as he pulled the stable door open and stepped inside. The cool morning air following him inside.

He knew where the stallion had been kept, in the last stall, separate from the other horses. Cole was excited. The thought of stealing his father's new horse out to the open field made his blood tingle. The boy grinned mischievously. Of course, he would be scolded properly, but in the end, it would be worth it.

He walked as discreetly as possible, his ears tuned to any sound that could show that someone was coming or perhaps, the stable master had stirred from his deep slumber. Walking the narrow path that was flanked by several stalls which held various type of horses. Dry hays here and there. He got to the stall, and pulled the small wooden door that couldn't be anymore taller than his waist open, and walked inside.

On sensing him, the black Arabian horse raised his head, and the boy splashed him a boyish grin and then offered sugar to the horse. When the horse went about the business of chewing the sugar, the boy rubbed his head and whispered sweet nothing's into his ear. He rubbed one more time before he led the horse out of its stall, as quietly as possible. It wouldn't do to get caught even before he had mounted the horse.

When he was sure he was far from sight, the paddock and the stable house behind him the boy mounted the horse and rode off galloping on the green stretch of the wide plateau.

Twelve years old Cole willed the animal beneath him in a way that could only be admired. He had excellent skill and was an excellent rider, but sometimes skill wasn't all that mattered, sometimes one needed experience.

~~~

THERE WAS A REASON the fourth earl of Tonfield ordered that nobody mount the new horse which had been brought in recently. It was wild, and it was yet to be tamed. It might seem level-headed, but it was just waiting for an opportunity to misbehave, and to hear his only son had just stolen away with the horse made his heart skip. The poor boy might be thrown off the horse, or worst — it could kill him.

With a fearful heart, the earl of Tonfield raced out of the house and mounted his horse, which had already been readied and saddled for him. Maxwell mounted the stallion with a fastness who could only be attributed to someone who was an old hand at it. Someone whose life was on the line, perhaps not his, but his son's, but life was on the line.

The earl rode the horse fiercely and tried not to think of all the bad things which could happen. Internally, he prayed that his son was safe. There was only one place Cole could go this early in the morning, and that was the lake. To God, he hoped he was right. The horse which his son had taken was easily frightened, and once frightened, it would become restless and aggressive. No one can ascertain what it would do. It was this reason that made the early fearful.

Soon, the estate was left behind, and he was riding down a decline, riding on a path which led to the lake at very top speed, his black hair drawn back from his face and whirling in the air. From where he was, Maxwell sighted Cole struggle to control his horse. The black beast was steering Cole, rather than the other way round. If they continued in that manner. If his son, so much as loosened his grip on the reins. He would be thrown off the stallion, worst he might be trampled upon.