MALVERN HILLS, ENGLAND, OCTOBER 1865
“It"s beautiful.” Mary Windrush stood on the terraced slope of the Herefordshire Beacon, looking down at the pass through the Malvern Hills. She grabbed her hat as a gust of wind threatened to blow it from her head. “Is that the house in which you grew up?”
“That"s the house in which I grew up.” Nearly 14 years ago, Jack left Wychwood Manor under a cloud of illegitimacy. Now, a married man with a son, he was a captain in the British Army with three campaigns and other operations under his belt. “That"s where my half-brother now lives, with his wife and my mother.”
“Shall we visit them?” Mary threw Jack a quizzical glance. “Surely they won"t still bear a grudge after all this time.”
Lighting a cheroot, Jack took a long draw as the memories crowded in
