The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

When she had emerged just here, she had seen Bella’s older brother standing in the shadow of the trees. He was all bony elbows and knees. His arms were around his horse’s neck, his face pressed into its mane.

Julia had taken a step backward, intending to steal into the shadows and return the way she had come. It would be terrible if he saw her. He was clearly here to be alone. But when the horse pricked its ears and whickered, Bella’s brother looked up as well. There was no hiding. Julia stepped forward into the sunlight. He had looked at her intently, not seeming to care that his cheeks were wet with tears. She smiled. It was the only thing she could think to do. They exchanged a few words. She offered him condolences for his father. He said he was obliged to her for her sympathy.

Then he had mounted and ridden off toward the river, and Julia had turned back to Castle Dar.

Now that gangly boy was a man three years dead. His bones were in Spain, and his monument stood beside his father’s in Stoke Canon.

Julia stared across the meadows to Blackdown. There was smoke coming from the chimneys; she supposed the servants were keeping themselves warm. The family was not at home. A sad little family it was, now that the marquess was gone. Bella had always been full of news about his exploits at Oxford and later in London. After he enlisted, she showed Julia the letters that came from Spain, bursting with descriptions of the camps. He wrote about rabbit hunting, about how he and his friends would run packs of Spanish greyhounds across the dry plains, then eat rabbit stew by the light of the moon and stars. He was a convert to greyhounds for hunting rabbits, he said, but wasn’t sure they would suit the fox hunt. He wrote of Lord Arthur Wellesley and his staff, the revelries of winter camp. But there was never any description of battle, which left Bella frustrated. She wanted blood and gore.

Then the letters had stopped coming.

Julia sighed and patted Marigold’s neck. “Shall we run?” she whispered. Marigold tossed her head. Julia encouraged her to a quick trot and then a canter. The horse whinnied, loud and shrill, and stretched out, her long strides eating up the sweeping green meadow. Julia laughed in answer, relaxing into the rolling rhythm of the ride.

* * *

Nick awoke before the rest of the household and knew immediately where he was. He was home. He pushed back the linen sheets. How could he have forgotten the glory of heavy linen? No more cotton for him. He would find just such thick, glorious sheets, by hook or by crook, when he went back to the future. If he went back.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he looked out of his bedroom window, over the mist-shrouded gardens, down to the river, which was glowing silver in the predawn light.

Arkady had been right. It felt good to be the marquess. And it was funny—this morning he could barely remember how he’d felt a few weeks ago and two hundred years from now, his suspicion of the Guild, his anger. Or even how he’d felt yesterday, when he was talking to Clare. The way the title had revolted him, his desire to give it up. It must have been some version of the bends—entering the past too quickly. His emotions had been scrambled. Well, he felt fine now. So what if he was here to spy on people, perhaps even kill people? So what that Jem Jemison was installed as the new steward? Nick could handle it. He was Blackdown, he was here, and here was home. He stretched and stood, warmth spreading through his limbs.

Arkady popped out of his bedchamber as Nick strode down the hallway on the way to breakfast. “Today we begin our investigation,” he said. “Shake your sister off.”

Nick looked the Russian up and down. His borrowed nightshirt barely skimmed his bony knees, and its full sleeves didn’t reach his wrists. “You look like a girl who has outgrown her pinafore, Arkady.”

“Bah. These nightclothes of this time. So undignified.”

“Indeed. I recommend that you dress yourself before emerging from your lair.” Nick twitched his cuffs. “As for your plans, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I’ve just been reunited with my sister, the world smells good for the first time in two centuries, and I intend to spend a few days forgetting your existence. Today I am going to beat my bounds and if I catch sight of your unkempt white hair anywhere in my path, why, I’ll scalp you. What day is it today, Monday? I do not wish to think about the Guild or the Ofan until Friday. Oh—and on Friday, Count Lebedev, this household is going to London.” He held his hand up to quash Arkady’s response. “You cannot bring me back and not expect me to care for my family. My young sister is having her first London Season, and my mother is with her. We will be going to London and joining them. You said that the Ofan are at work in London, too; we will begin there, and finish the job up in Devon later. Is that understood?”

“You are quick to slip back into your aristocratic arrogance, Blackdown.”

“You told me I would enjoy it.”

Arkady looked at him soberly for a moment, then slapped Nick on the back. “Yes. I did say it. And I like to be right. Up to a point. Enjoy your freedom. Then yes, London is a good place to start. As for me, I make myself scarce. Hunt the Ofan. Perhaps I will cultivate the acquaintance of your so lovely sister.”

Almost before he realized what he was doing, Nick found himself grabbing Arkady with both hands by the thin cotton of the nightshirt and dragging his face close to his own. “If I