The Reluctant Suitor by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Page A

equestrian, which definitely leaves me feeling ill-suited for a saddle. Fairly soon now, Mr. Elston will be finishing his apprenticeship and will then be assuming the management of his father’s woolen mill, the one that once belonged to Mr. Winter.”
    “Mr. Winter?” Colton repeated, unable to recall the name. His irritation with the apprentice still nettled him, and although the muscles in his face felt as rigid as unseasoned leather, he struggled to convey an aplomb that was at best hard won. He flicked his brows upward in an abbreviated shrug. “I’m sorry, I have no recollection of a Mr. Winter from my boyhood days here.”
    “Thomas Winter. Years ago, he owned that large mill just beyond the outskirts of Bradford. You probably passed it often, but had no reason to notice it in your youth. Mr. Winter never had any
    offspring, and after being widowed, he kept to himself until, about four or five years ago, he wed a very pleasant woman from London. Upon his death some months later, his widow inherited everything. She, in turn, married Edmund Elston, Roger’s father. Poor thing, she took ill not long after that and died. That’s when Mr. Elston became sole proprietor and summoned Roger to Bradford to learn the trade.”
    In spite of the brewing abhorrence he had felt toward the man earlier, Colton stretched forth a hand in an offer of goodwill, primarily for the benefit of Adriana and the other guests. “Welcome to Randwulf Manor, Mr. Elston.”
    Having nurtured a festering resentment for this particular nobleman well before their introduction, Roger was as unwilling to accept the proffered hand as the man had been reluctant to extend it, but in so doing, he suffered a measurable shock as the long fingers closed about his own hand. They were leaner, stronger, and far more callused than he would have ever supposed of a nobleman. No doubt the wielding of a sword required a firm grip even from a pampered aristocrat.
    “Waterloo was an enormous victory for Wellington,” Roger stated stiltedly, eager to convey his knowledge of that event. “Any officer would’ve deemed it a privilege to serve under his leadership.”
    “Aye, Mr. Elston,” Colton agreed, just as rigidly. “But let us not forget the contributions of General von Blücher. Without him, ‘tis doubtful the English would’ve fared as well. Together the two men, with their armies, proved a force Napoleon could not long withstand.”
    “In spite of what you say, had Wellington been solely in charge, I’m willing to wager the French would’ve been no match for our forces,” Roger boasted.
    Colton cocked a querying brow, wondering if the apprentice was deliberately trying to antagonize him
    . . . again. Still, he was curious to know how the fellow had arrived at his conclusions. “Excuse me, sir, but were you there to witness our confrontations?”
    Roger chose to avoid the marquess’s pointed stare and flicked his fingers across his sleeve, as if to dislodge a tiny fleck from the cloth. “If not for a recurring and ofttimes debilitating malady I’ve suffered since my youth, I would’ve willingly volunteered my services. Indeed, I would’ve enjoyed killing a few of those frogs.”
    Colton’s face clouded as he thought of the terrible waste of men’s lives that had taken place, not only at Waterloo, but on other battlefields he had traversed. “ ‘Twas a bloody campaign for everyone,” he stated ruefully. “To my regret, I lost many friends during the course of our struggles against Napoleon.
    Considering the legions of French killed at Waterloo, I can only sympathize with the untold numbers of parents, wives, and children left grieving and destitute. ‘Tis unfortunate indeed that wars must be fought because of the ambition of one man.”
    Adriana studied the handsome face of the one to whom she had been promised years ago and saw a sadness in the dark gray eyes that had not been there in his youth, making her wonder if his goals had