Everyone at Chedwick Hall cannot wait for your return. A celebration is the order of the day, as I am sure you agree. I expect you have not had much gaiety in Spain these four years. Praise to God you can return to us. From the Duchess of Chedwick to her son, the Marquess de Santorino, upon hearing of Napoleon Bonaparte's defeat at the Battle of Waterloo Chapter 1 Chedwick Hall, Berkshire 1815 The house looked the same. Ivy-covered walls, the elegant stone façade imposing against the sweeping lawn of the park, the trees holding impossibly green summer leaves, the long drive well-maintained as he rode along. He kept his horse at a slow walk in a deliberate attempt to put off the inevitable. Odd. He wasn't a coward in battle. Of course, it depended on the enemy. Carlos Verde guided his mount toward the stables, wanting to see to the stallion himself. They had come through four years of hell together and if anyone deserved to be cared for well, it was Cortez. The poor animal had been wounded more than once—actually they both seemed to have a knack for being in the line of fire.
