The scent of hay and leather hung heavy in the morning air. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows through the open stable doors. The stables at Wycliffe were alive with early morning bustle. Horses were being fed, stalls mucked, leather bridles polished until they gleamed.
Julio, the stablemaster, moved with the practiced rhythm of a man who had known horses longer than people. Broad-shouldered and weathered by years of labor and sun, he was a quiet fixture of the estate, respected if not always noticed.
Thomas leaned against the half-door of the stall, idly twirling a strand of hay between his fingers, watching his father inspect a mare's leg.
"She's favoring the left again," Julio muttered, patting the animal's neck. "Must've strained it last week. I'll wrap her better this time."
Thomas nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. "Did you see her?"
"Who?" Julio asked.
"The Duchess."
Julio's head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing. He nodded, running a gloved hand along the mare's flank. "Aye. I saw her at the main house. The lady is very elegant. Not haughty like the other nobles. She smiled at me".
Julio let out a breath, still half in awe.
"The Duke's got himself a fine lady."
Thomas chuckled, brushing his hands clean. "Didn't know you'd turned into a poet."
"I've served three duchesses in my time," Julio said, straightening. "Only one made the house feel less like a crypt. And she's been dead twenty years."
Thomas leaned against the stable gate, brow raised. "I noticed. Even Lady Rosalind didn't sneer at her."
Julio grunted. "Lady Rosalind sneers at the bread if it's too warm. But the Duchess? She disarmed the whole staff just by saying good morning."
A pause stretched between them as the horses snorted and shifted, the world slow and peaceful for a moment.
Then Thomas said, casually, "Did you also see the young lady? Juliana?"
Julio froze.
Not completely but the movement of his hands stopped mid-stride, and he let the brush fall to the straw.
He turned, slowly, fixing his son with a sharp gaze.
"I did," he said. "Why?"
Thomas swallowed. "She looked at me."
"She looks at many," Julio replied. "That don't mean anything."
"But she..."
Julio stepped closer, eyes hard now. "No."
Thomas blinked. "What?"
"I said no. Whatever's stewin' in that fool head of yours, kill it. Kill it now."
"I didn't say..."
"You didn't have to." Julio's voice had turned low, grave. "You think I don't see the way you shift around when she's near? You think I don't see you watching?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice, the lines in his weathered face deepening.
"You keep your head down around Lady Juliana. You look, you nod, you say 'yes, miss,' and you walk away."
Thomas's expression darkened slightly. "So I'm a mutt who can't even speak to her?"
Julio's eyes flared. "You're my son. Not a mutt. Which is why I'm telling you this before the Duke has to."
Thomas flushed, defiant. "I haven't done anything."
"And you won't. Unless you want to bury us both."
That stung.
Julio removed his cap, running a hand through his graying hair. "That girl is a Wycliffe. You're a stable boy. The Duke may be cold, but he's not slow. And if he catches even a flicker of something improper between you and his sister…"
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't have to.
"I've seen what happens when someone touches what's his," Julio said finally, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's not just a beating. It's not just dismissal. It's ruin, Thomas. For you. For me. For your mother's memory."
Thomas stood quiet, shamed and angry and young enough to still believe in impossible things.
He opened his mouth but didn't speak.
"You think you know men like the Duke?" Julio continued, quieter now, dead serious. "You don't. That man don't raise his voice. Don't draw his sword unless he means to finish. And he loves that girl more than his own skin."
The silence was heavy now, thick between them.
Julio rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "You want to stay here, keep your hands busy with horses and not with folly. Understood?"
Thomas nodded once, jaw set. "Understood."
And with that, Julio turned back to the stall and the mare, as if the subject had never come up.
But Thomas didn't forget.
He couldn't.
Because when Juliana had looked at him from the terrace the day before, eyes sparkling beneath the brim of her hat, he had seen something else.
Not pity.
Not dismissal.
But interest.
And he didn't know how to bury that.
The late morning sun was filtered through the dappled green of the orchard trees as Juliana Wycliffe moved through the garden path with purpose. She had slipped away from the manor under the excuse of fresh air, her silk riding skirt gathered high enough not to catch on brambles. Her boots were soft, the color of polished chestnut, and her blue velvet riding jacket cinched snugly at the waist, matching the ribbon that held her chestnut curls.
She wasn't riding this morning. But she was headed toward the stables.
She moved lightly, the hem of her soft rose riding dress skimming the gravel path as she made her way toward the west paddocks. Her gloves were off, dangling from two fingers, and her hair was loosely pinned beneath a wide-brimmed hat. It wasn't proper. But then again, neither was she.
The moment she entered the yard, several stable hands looked up. One fumbled his pitchfork and murmured a nervous "m'lady," eyes quickly averted. Juliana offered a faint smile and kept walking, her gaze searching until it found him: Thomas, his back to her.
Thomas was tossing hay into a trough, sleeves rolled up, damp hair clinging to his brow. He looked older than twenty, bronzed from sun and labor. He was strong, silent and everything, so unlike the pale, perfumed lords her aunt had paraded before her.
Juliana hesitated at the edge of the stable yard, fingers tightening around her gloves.
She should leave. But she didn't.
Instead, she cleared her throat.
He turned at once, startled. Then his eyes settled, surprised but not entirely unwelcoming.
"My lady," he said, dipping his head, straightening.
His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing forearms dusted with hay and sweat. His hair was unruly from the work and damp at the temples.
"My lady," he said, voice careful. "Did you need something?"
Juliana folded her hands in front of her, composing her expression into something sweet and demure. "I couldn't sleep last night."
He blinked. "I'm… sorry to hear that."
"The manor is different now," she said, stepping closer. "Full again. I find it hard to get used to the noise."
He gave a short nod. "It was quieter before, yes."
Juliana tilted her head. "You've worked here your whole life, haven't you?"
"Yes, miss."
"And your father before that."
"Also yes."
Juliana's gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. "Your hands are rough."
He looked down, confused. "From work, my lady."
"I know." She took another step forward, until they were far too close for propriety. "You held my horse's reins the other day. I haven't forgotten."
Thomas swallowed. "I wasn't improper, was I?"
"No." Her voice dropped. "You were very proper. That's what I remember."
There was a stretch of silence between them. The kind that held breath and risk.
Then Thomas stepped back. Just one pace. Enough to reestablish the chasm between their worlds.
"My lady, forgive me. I should get back to work before the Duke returns."
Juliana's face flickered for a second.
"My brother won't be back for days," she said lightly. "He's in London."
Thomas didn't answer.
She smiled again, the kind of smile a girl uses when she knows she's pushing. "Well, perhaps I'll come riding tomorrow. Would you ready my mare?"
"Yes, my lady."
"And perhaps… walk me to the orchard after?"
He hesitated. "If my father agrees."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Your father is not the head of this estate."
Thomas met her gaze then. Steady. "No. But yours is."
Something in her breath hitched, whether in frustration or desire, even she didn't know. But she turned after a moment, skirts swishing as she walked away without another word.
Thomas watched her go, jaw set, heart hammering beneath the coarse linen of his shirt.
And from the window of the tack room, Julio had seen everything.