InsaneJournal

Hurst glanced back over at the moor, hushing the two dogs at his feet. The beaters and groundsmen had not long gone up, stalking through the heather-covered scrub. It was a fine day for it, one of them had said, touching his cap to Hurst as he'd passed earlier, with the sun behind them and the sky clear. True, the air was crisp, and no doubt it would get dark before he and his guests were tired of the sport, but the kitchens were prepared and ready to receive whatever was brought back to them.

Truth be told, Hurst was looking forwards to the afternoon. With most hunting seasons over and done with now, Grouse and Fox was the only available sport left at Bailston, and soon Rebecca would want to return to London, where the season of masquerades and parties was only just beginning. They needed to find suitable matches for the children, she would say, and they were unlikely to be hiding in the moors and gorse bushes of Devon.