Chapter Four
The Dalrymple estate lay on the Dorsetshire coast, near the village of Eype. It was a stark coastline, with pale, shingly beaches that stretched as far as the eye could see and crumbling cliffs riddled with fossils and huge, wide skies. Some people found it barren; Georgie thought it beautiful.
Vickery had eight estates and a palatial residence in St. James’s Square, London, but Dorsetshire was where he was happiest. He’d never told her so in words, but she’d seen him stop often enough on the clifftops and gaze out with a faint half-smile on his face to know that he loved it here. He wasn’t wearing that half-smile this afternoon, though, as they rested the horses after their gallop. He looked tired. Tired and worried.
She knew why: his father’s diaries.
Maybe I shouldn’t t
