Sarah’s first love
Merrie England, in the seventeenth century… The sunlight twinkled on the rippling brook as it meandered between the meadows of Caisterdale to pass beneath the old stone bridge beside the village church. Sarah sat at the brookside, her face in shadow oblivious to the scene, staring unseeing into the distance, book in hand but lost in her thoughts. She heard hooves clattering upon the gravelled path, “Ah Miss Haverthorpe, one last day of freedom?” asked a familiar voice. She looked up, John, Lord Caisterdale’s son, her childhood friend looked down upon her from his chestnut stallion. “Yes,” she agreed quietly as she stared at his hansom face, his broad shouldered frame, his hat jauntily poised atop his mop of dark hair. He looked down seeing the young girl of his childhood rather than the young …