Prologue

Leicestershire, England.

March 1814.

COLE FLETCHER sneaked out of the house and into his father's stable. At age twelve, he was already as tall as a young man. A trait that runs in the family.

Some days ago, his father had brought in a new horse and the instructions had been it shouldn't be mounted. But being the stubborn lad that he was, he disregarded his father's warning and sneaked in. 

There had been no horse in their stables he hadn't mounted before. Honestly, he didn't know why his father like to fret about frivolous things. He was as capable as any stable master his father had, if not better, the boy thought as he pulled the stable door open and stepped inside. The cool morning air following him inside.

He knew where the stallion had been kept, in the last stall, separate from the other horses. Cole was excited. The thought of stealing his father's new horse out to the open field made his blood tingle. The boy grinned mischievously. Of course, he would be scolded properly, but in the end, it would be worth it.

He walked as discreetly as possible, his ears tuned to any sound that could show that someone was coming or perhaps, the stable master had stirred from his deep slumber. Walking the narrow path that was flanked by several stalls which held various type of horses. Dry hays here and there. He got to the stall, and pulled the small wooden door that couldn't be anymore taller than his waist open, and walked inside.

On sensing him, the black Arabian horse raised his head, and the boy splashed him a boyish grin and then offered sugar to the horse. When the horse went about the business of chewing the sugar, the boy rubbed his head and whispered sweet nothing's into his ear. He rubbed one more time before he led the horse out of its stall, as quietly as possible. It wouldn't do to get caught even before he had mounted the horse.

When he was sure he was far from sight, the paddock and the stable house behind him the boy mounted the horse and rode off galloping on the green stretch of the wide plateau. 

Twelve years old Cole willed the animal beneath him in a way that could only be admired. He had excellent skill and was an excellent rider, but sometimes skill wasn't all that mattered, sometimes one needed experience.

~~~

THERE WAS A REASON the fourth earl of Tonfield ordered that nobody mount the new horse which had been brought in recently. It was wild, and it was yet to be tamed. It might seem level-headed, but it was just waiting for an opportunity to misbehave, and to hear his only son had just stolen away with the horse made his heart skip. The poor boy might be thrown off the horse, or worst — it could kill him.

With a fearful heart, the earl of Tonfield raced out of the house and mounted his horse, which had already been readied and saddled for him. Maxwell mounted the stallion with a fastness who could only be attributed to someone who was an old hand at it. Someone whose life was on the line, perhaps not his, but his son's, but life was on the line.

The earl rode the horse fiercely and tried not to think of all the bad things which could happen. Internally, he prayed that his son was safe. There was only one place Cole could go this early in the morning, and that was the lake. To God, he hoped he was right. The horse which his son had taken was easily frightened, and once frightened, it would become restless and aggressive. No one can ascertain what it would do. It was this reason that made the early fearful. 

Soon, the estate was left behind, and he was riding down a decline, riding on a path which led to the lake at very top speed, his black hair drawn back from his face and whirling in the air. From where he was, Maxwell sighted Cole struggle to control his horse. The black beast was steering Cole, rather than the other way round. If they continued in that manner. If his son, so much as loosened his grip on the reins. He would be thrown off the stallion, worst he might be trampled upon.

Maxwell tightened his rein on his horse and urged the stallion to move faster. Both the rider and the horse galloping at top speed that would have shamed a cheetah. 

There was a reason the earl's horse was termed the fastest horse in his stables, for within minutes he caught up to his son.

“Father, the boy cried in a frightened voice.

“Hold on boy!” He bellowed. “Jump! Jump into my horse!” 

“I can't!” The boy shouted, “It's too far.” The heavy wind carrying his voice.

The earl gritted his teeth and pulled his horse closer, but no matter how close he tried to get, it was still far. The horse his son was on was moving with incredible speed. After a few more attempts, Finally, Maxwell pulled closer. He snatched the reins with his left hand while controlling his horse with his right hand. He pulled the two horses together.

“Now jump! Come on boy do it.” The earl howled as he tried to get a firm grip on the two horses.

They had entered a level land and trees skimmed past them in a flash. Speckles of dust filling the air. Cole gripped his father's arm and pulled one leg over the earl's horse. When he was about to pull the other leg, the earl's horse shifted right causing the young boy's legs to drag out and land uncomfortably on Maxwell's horse.

“Ahh!” he groaned in pain.

Maxwell looked back to see the source of the pain, and in that instant, his son's horse raised his head and slashed left, changing the route, and dragging the earl who was still clutching the reins with his left hand, out of his horse and onto the hard earth. Maxwell landed with a heavy thud, his head connecting with a heavy stone. A pool of blood, everywhere.

It was only after some minutes that the boy could steer his father's horse to a stop. He jumped down from the stallion, and ran to the body of his father, lying on the dirty hard earth.

Cole fell on his knees and turned his father's body over. His hands were quivering, and he tried not to think about it. That was when he saw the blood which had stained it and was now forming a small pool of red blood by his father's head. Cole gave out a heartbreaking sob, one which was wrenched from deep within his soul, and hugged his father's body. He reached for the neck checking for a pulse, but there was none.

His father's bleak eyes stared back at him empty, and lifeless filling the boy with terror as he cried and shook his father's lifeless body. Cradled the bloodied head on his slim laps and cried quite helplessly. He didn't know how long he stayed in that position until strong arms pulled him away, and what was left of the earl's lifeless body carried back to the estate.

~~~

WHEN THE COUNTESS HAD seen the earl's dead body, she had broken down into a heartbroken sob. One that wrenched at Cole's soul. It was all his fault, he was the reason his father was dead.

It didn't matter that his mother had assured him she and his father would have given their lives for him anytime any day if the situation should arise. Cole felt guilty, and he could never, ever forgive himself for what he had done. Though the Countess had forgiven him. Cole could barely look her in the eyes, knowing he had cost her a husband at such a young age.

With the earl dead and buried, one thing became clear. He was now the new earl of Tonfield. A title he wasn't yet prepared for. The responsibility of the estate was a weight to his shoulder and Cole tried his best to keep everything from falling apart. His mother, for one, slowly declined in health and refused to stop wearing black. Two years later, she died in a carriage accident and was buried side by side with his father. Leaving the young boy an orphan. He was haunted.

At age fourteen, Cole was thrown into the life of an earl, even before he was ripe for it. He had no choice, not if he wanted their line to continue. He had to do it. With the title came responsibilities. Responsibilities, he wasn't old enough to handle, but he did it anyway. Of course, there had been people to help him. Even though he had learned a great deal from his father, time proved it was still not enough. There were still some missing gaps in his education. Nevertheless, he'd receive great help.

His father's man of affairs was one. His best friend Sebastian was another. Sebastian had been of great comfort to Cole. At least he was the only one who reminded him he was still a child because honestly, Cole had quite forgotten what it felt like to be one. Another great help had come in the form of his friend's father, teaching him everything he needed to know about being an Earl.

The fifth earl of Tonfield, Cole Fletcher, drove himself into the affairs of the estate. There was little or no time to waste. And at age nineteen, he finally stepped back into society, attended balls and other social functions alike.

In the eve of his twenty-first birthday, Cole Fletcher, the fifth earl of Tonfield, found a diary which supposedly belonged to his late mother, where she vehemently insisted it hadn't been his fault his father had died. That diary did nothing to align the young earl. His mother has her own belief, and he has his own belief. Telling him it wasn't his fault his father had died, wasn't enough to salvage his soul. He needed a penance for his sins.

The late earl and Cole had always had a love for horses and stables, and his father wanting to be one of those lords who owned one of the best stables in England had been close to achieving his dream before he passed on, so Cole swore to make his father's dream come true. He swore to turn the stables into one of the very best. Only then would he be able to forgive himself.