AT SOME POINT AFTER feeding the seemingly thousands of chickens and tending the ever-popular Mrs. Apples, who now had Icarus mooning over her fluttering eyelashes, Lysander found himself with nothing to do. He curried Bad Pony, to the wonderment of Bing, Mrs. Apples and Bad Pony himself. Bing promptly handed Lysander a crate of shears, sharpened and stuck deep into oiled sand for storage to be taken up to the shearing shed. As it turned out, the shed stood far up the slope from the house and stable.

"Can't miss it," Bing told him. "See that little square box away up there? Get on with it then."

Lysander hefted the crate to his shoulder and stretched his stride to make the uphill trek. He didn't mind the chore. He liked to walk and he needed to think.

Icarus still had a bit of swelling in that right forefoot. The horse would soon recover, but not if Lysander rode him three days straight back to London.

Lysander would only get stuck again on the way and possibly injure Icarus permanently.

Torn between his responsibility to his family and his desire to stay and prove to Gemma that he was worth — what? Worth waiting for? That he was a suitable fiancé who, one day, would manage to spit out his wedding vows in a sensible manner?

Was he even sure he could become that man?

AFTER DELIVERING THE CRATE of shears to the strange lean-to cobbled onto the back of the exposed stone shed. Lysander stood in the open front of the shearing shed and gazed out at the dale. It seemed that no matter where he stood every view of the valley was uniquely and perfectly beautiful. A brisk breeze herded white puffy clouds across the sky while their shadows scurried over the grassy slopes below. Lysander braced one hand against the center post and breathed deep of the day.

The scent of green grass and wildflowers helped to wash away the lingering smell of sheep within the shed. When he opened his eyes, Lysander's gaze rested on the stone post beneath his hand.

It was a great pity that the pavilion had not been built so well.

Lysander tilted his head, staring at the post.

The fresh air must be good for his mind, for he had an idea — something he had avoided with great diligence whilst tucked into the bosom of his family. They had far too many ideas as it was.

Yes. He turned around and faced away from the valley, gazing into the shady confines of the shearing shed. Oh, yes.

It took a few hours, but eventually Bing came looking for him. The old man huffed and puffed as he limped up the slope.

"What's all this, then? I didn't tell you to muck out the shed!"