StoryFen

Lord Leycester was on fire as he strode up the hill to the Hall, and that notwithstanding he was wet to the skin. He was on fire with love. He swore to himself, as he climbed up the slope, that there was no one like his Stella, no one so beautiful, so lovable and sweet as the dark-eyed girl who had stolen his heart from him that moonlight night in the lane. And he also vowed that he would wait no longer for the inestimable treasure, the exquisite happiness that lay within his grasp. His great wealth, his time honor…