What's a woman to do?

by lingiepooh

Her father was an Earl and her mother was a Countess and they have made plans that she is to marry the young Mr Malfoy. But she didn't believe in marrying someone that she didn't love. She soon finds someone that takes her heart.

What's a Woman to do?

AN: I have had a writer's block on my other story, so I have stopped writing that one for now, I have, however had an idea for another story. As I am a big fan of history and love learning about the past I have come up with another story which won't be stopped at all till it is finished and I will make sure that it is updated as fast as I can as I don't want to forget anything that I have planned for this story. I have decided also that it will mainly be in Hermione's point of view.

Summary: Her father was an Earl and her mother was a Countess and they have made plans that she is to marry the young Mr Malfoy. But she didn't believe in marrying someone that she didn't love. She soon finds someone that takes her heart but it isn't the young Mr Malfoy.

Pairings: H/HR...not sure if there will be any others yet.

Chapter 1: July 1844

After waiting outside the station for twenty minutes while a train from another line passed through, the train from London drew into the Leicester and hissed to a halt. The Countess of Luffenham and her daughter, lady Hermione Granger, waited until a porter came along too open the door before stepping down on to the platform.

Hermione was glad to leave the sticky heat of the carriage and breathe fresh air again. She would have liked to open the windows as soon as the left London, but her mother forbade it on the grounds that they would be choked on the smoke and covered in black smuts, which they would never be able to clean off their clothes. And as their clothes had cost the Earl a pretty penny, they would have to put up with the heat. And so, for six interminable hours, they had sat and cooked.

Mother did not like travelling by train and would have much preferred to do by coach, but that would have taken even longer and necessitated changing the horses every dozen or so miles and staying at least one night somewhere on the road. The Earl, for all his apparent wealth, was a careful man and begrudged the cost when they could travel first class by rail and reach London inside a day. When his wife had mildly pointed out that they still had to be taken to the railhead by carriage and fetched again on their return, he had given her a lecture on the economics on using his own horses for a short ride and railways for a longer trip, and she had fallen silent. Arguing with the Earl was something she was not prepared to do.

"Good afternoon, my lady." The porter said, touching his cap and taking her small valise from her to carry it out to the waiting carriage . "Shall the wagon be coming for your luggage?"

"yes you will find everything labelled. See that it is all loaded properly.. the last time we travelled a hatbox was lost and it took days for it to be found and returned to me."

"I was very sorry about that, my lady, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

They swept past the luggage van where two porters were busy disgorging boxes, trunks, portmanteaux, and hatboxes on to the platform. They looked up from their task to watch the ladies go. The Countess, who did not deign to notice them, walked past, looking straight ahead, her back ramrod straight. She was dressed in a gown of some silky, striped material in three shades of brown: chocolate, amber and coffee. Her hat, trimmed with feathers, flowers and loops of ribbon, echoed these colours. Her daughter was in deep pink, the bodice of her gown closely fitting, it's voluminous skirt arranged in tiers each trimmed with matching lace. She wore a short cape and a tiny bonnet set on the back of her pretty head. They were followed by a maid in dove grey. When all three disappeared from sight, the men shrugged their shoulders and returned to their task.

The carriage was waiting with the hood down and they were soon on their way through the familiar countryside of Leicestershire. This was rolling terrain, with hills and dales, some quite steep, good hunting-and-shooting country. Cattle and sheep grazed in the meadows and cut hay lay on the fields to dry. Field workers, who were turning the hay with rakes, looked up as they passed; some who recognised the carriage touched their caps or gave a little bob of a curtsy. The Countess graciously acknowledged this with a tiny inclination of her head.

At the halfway point the carriage drew into the yard of a posting inn where Mr Downham, the Earl steward, had arranged for fresh horses to be brought to complete the journey. The ones that had met them at the station would be taken on to Luffenham the next morning after they had been rested. While the change was being made, the Countess and her daughter went inside the inn for refreshments. It was a time-honoured practice that was rapidly dying out as the new railways spread their tentacles across the countryside. But there was still no line near enough to Granger Hall to obviate the need for a change of horses.

When they returned to their seats, the hood had been put up because they would not be home before late evening and by then it would be dusk and growing colder.

"well Hermione," the Countess said, when they were on their way once again, "nearly home."

"yes mother." In one way, Hermione was glad to be going home after two months in London as a debutante; she loved the countryside and countryside persuits, espesially riding her mare, Midge. On the other hand she would miss the excitement of the balls, soirées, picnics and other outings, which had filled her days and evenings while she had been in the capital, not to mention the young men who had danced attendance on her. It would have been flattering if she hadn't known it was because she was a daughter of an earl and therefore a catch.

"Is it to be hoped you have benefited from your season," her mother went on. "your father was of a mind that something might come of it."

"I know mother."

" You did like Mr Malfoy, didn't you?"

Mr Draco Malfoy was the son of Viscount Malfoy, a neighbour and old acquaintance of her father, although Hermione had never met the young man before being introduced to him in London. He had been away at school and then university and after that had been on the Grand Tour and their paths had never crossed.

"Yes mother. But I am not sure at all that I would like to be married to him."

"Why ever not?"

Hermione found it hard to explain. Draco Malfoy had been polite, fastidious in his dress and behaviour, but there was something about his pale eyes she found disturbing. "I don't know, mother. I think he is a cold fish."

"Fish! Hermione, how can you say so? I thought he was charming"

"Charming yes...but was he sincere? And is charm a good basis for marriage?"

"It is a start." Her mother had used every opportunity, every wile known to her, to throw her and Mr Malfoy together without breaching the bounds of propriety and Hermione had more than a suspicion that her parents had already decided that he should be her husband. She did not know why they were in such a hurry to have her married—she had not yet reached her twenty-first birthday and as far as she was concerned, there was plenty of time. She want to enjoy being a young lady a little longer, to find just that right man, and she was convinced she would know him when she met him.

"Why him, mother? Why not one of the others?"

"did you find yourself attracted to one of the other? If so, you gave no indication of it. You said Mr Malfoy was a cold fish, but you did not appear to warm to anyone yourself."

"I found them all a little shallow."

"No doubt some of them were, but surely not all? I thought you would take to Mr Malfoy. He has a little more about him."

Hermione laughed. "More about him! You mean he's heir to Viscount Malfoy and will come into Malfoy Manor one day."

"It is a consideration."

"For you and father perhaps, but not for me. I want to be in love with the man I marry."

"Love isn't the only consideration, Hermione, nor yet the first. It grows as you learn to live together and accommodate each other. Father has a great regard for me, you know he does, and I hold him in deep respect and affection, but that was not how it started."

"How did it start?" Hermione would never dared to ask such a question a few weeks before, but her mother seemed to be inviting it.

"we met at a ball, during my come-out Season. My father had looked over all the eligibles—thats what we use to call them in those days—and decided your father was the best choice. He was already a Viscount, heir to the old Earl, whose country home was Lufferham Hall. The family, like my own, was a very old and respected one. I had nothing against the match and neither had he and we met frequently at balls ad soirées and tea parties, and it was taken for granted that he would propose..."

"Which he did ."

"Yes very properly, after our fathers had agreed a settlement."

"Were you never carried away by passion?"

"I should thin not! Ladies, Hermione, do not speak of passion. I believe you have been reading to many novels, or perhaps Miss McGonagall have been filling your head with nonsense. If that is the case, then we shall have to reconsider her position." Minerva McGonagall was governess to the family; thought Hermione no longer needed her. She was still employed looking after Rosemary, Esme and young Johnny until her was old enough for a tutor.

"Oh Mother, of course she has not. I'll swear Minnie doesn't know the meaning of the word."

In spite of herself, the maid smiled. She was not supposed to hear the conversations of her betters, much less react to them, but she could not help it. A more stiffly correct figure them Miss MacGonagal would be hard to imagine, but as Albus, the footman she was secretly walking out with, was fond of saying, "still waters run deep."

"Perhaps not, but I beg you not to let your father hear you say such things. You must conduct yourself with decorum, or you will find Mr Malfoy looking elsewhere."

Hermione would not of minded if he did, but decided it would be unwise to say so. "Is he looking at for a future wife?" she asked innocently. "If he is he gave no sign of it."

"Perhaps he was waiting for a little encouragement."

Hermione doubted it. They had been carefully chaperoned the whole time, but one occasion, when she had been strolling in the garden cooling down after a particularly strenuous dance at one of the balls they had attended, he had come upon her and flirted outrageously, even taking her hand and bending to kiss her cheek. She was sure that given encouragement her mother was talking about he would have behaved even more disgracefully. She was glad when other dancers came out to join them and he returned to being polite, courteous man he had been hitherto. "I cannot dissemble, mother, it is not my nature. When I meet the man of my dreams, he will need no encouragement to know how I feel."

"Oh I am losing all patience with you , child. When we go to Malfoy Manor next month, it is to be hoped you will have come to your senses and realised you cannot let such a chance slip though your fingers."

"I wonder if Mr Malfoy is being told the same thing," Hermione mused.

" Very likely," her mother said.

There didn't seem to be an answer to that and Hermione sat back and mused on what her mother had said. She did not think she was truly ready to commit herself to marriage and she was afraid of making a terrible mistake. It was all very well to talk of the man of her dreams, but who was he? How was she ever going to meet him? And what about Mr Malfoy? Why could she not oblige her mother and take to him? Was she doing him an injustice calling him a cold fish? Perhaps, in the surroundings of his own home, he might improve.

"Its been a long day—" the Countess broke in on her thoughts "—and not over yet. I would have much rather have travelled in the old way and stopped for a night somewhere. We could have stayed at a good hotel or put up with Cousin Arabella in Hertfordshire and arrived home feeling fresh. I am exhausted."

"You will be able to stay in bed until luncheon tomorrow if you want to."

The Countess laughed."I might very well do so, seeing that you father is not due back until tomorrow evening. I do not know why he could have not done his business days ago and return with us."

The Earl had escorted them to some of their social engagements, but much of the time was closeted with bankers and lawyers on business; as he did not consider it necessary or desirable to acquaint his wife with the nature of the business, she had no idea what it was about.

They fell into silence as the heat of the day cooled and the shadow lengthened. The clip-clop of the horses hooves and the rumble of the wheels were soporific and they were almost dozing when the carriage turned off the main road onto a lane that wound uphill. When they topped the rise, they could see down into the valley where Granger estate nestled, shielded from the prevailing east wing by the hill down which they were descending and a small stand of trees

Hermione roused herself to look out of the window as the carriage turned into the wrought-iron gates. Ahead of her, at the end of a long drive, was the imposing facade of the house, with its redbrick walls covered in generations of creepers. At each corner of the building was a white stone turret with glazed slits for windows. Hermione always supposed her fatter forebears had been undecided whether to build a warm country house or a castle. The result was an incongruous mix, which she was happy to call home.

Before the carriage came to a stop on the wide sweep of gravel at the front of the entrance, the door was flung open and a small figure in a nightshirt dashed down the steps to greet them. "He should be in bed," the Countess said, but she was smiling because Johnny had wrenched open the door before the coachman could do so and clambered inside to embrace his mother.

"Oh Mummy, I'm so glad to see you. You've been gone ages and ages and I wanted you to see me riding Peggy. I jumped him over a fence and Collins said I'd make a huntsmen yet." The little pony had optimistically been named Pegasus by Johnny, who was convinced he was a flyer, but the name had been shortened to Peggy.

"I'll see you ride tomorrow," his mother said, pushing him off her lap. "Do let us go indoors."

They trooped into the house, the inside of which was an smaller rooms that had, over the years, been designed for particular purposes, which in a more modern house would have been included in the overall plan. The hall itself was large and covered in black-and-white marble tiles. Here they we meet by the butler and Miss McGonagall, who had come looking for her charge. "I'm sorry, my lady, but he would come down."

"So I see, but take him to bed now." And in answer to her sons wails of protests that he wanted to hear all about their trip to London, she said "Tomorrow will be time enough for that, Johnny. I am very tired after my journey, so run along, there's a good boy."

He went reluctantly. Hermione could not help comparing the he was treated by their mother with the way she and her sisters had been brought up. They would never have had the courage to defy Miss McGonagall and come downstairs after they were supposed to in bed and would certainly not have dared to argue with their parents about it. But it was understandable. After having three daughters, her mother had given up hope of having a son, and then Johnny had arrived, eight years after Esme, so it was any wonder he was the apple of his parents' eye and they could bring themselves to punish him when he was naughty?

Annette, the maid, followed the governess and the boy upstairs to take off her bonnet and make sure there was hot water for her mistress in her room and her nightclothes were put out in readiness. Sarah, the most senior of chambermaids, would have done what was necessary for Lady Hermione.

"Miss Rosemary and Miss Esme are in the small saloon," the butler told them. They have waited supper for you."

"Oh, dear, and I thought I would have supper in my room and go straight to bed," her ladyship said, not to the butler, of course, but to Hermione, as they made their way past an anteroom that served as a cloakroom and, ignoring the doors that led to the large reception rooms, proceeded down a gallery lined with pictures to one of the smaller rooms towards the back of the building where they sat when they had no visitors. "I really do not think I have the energy for their chatter."

"Then go to bed, mother. I am sure they will understand. I will tell them all they want to know."

"I think I will," she agreed, joining her other daughters. Rosemary, at seventeen, was as tall as Hermione, but her hair was darker and piled up in loops and ringlets that had taken the maid who looked after her adages to produce. She was wearing a yellow-and-white striped dress with a cream lace bertha and tight sleeves ending in a fall of lace. Hermione, who was not so particular over her appearance, except when Annette was helping her to get ready for an important function at which she was expected to shine, had often thought that her sister was more in tune with what their mother expected of a daughter than she was. Hermione did not have the patience for elaborate hairstyles, preferring to tie her up and back and let the light-brown tresses fall in ringlets where they would. After her long journey, she yearned to bus it out.

Fourteen-year-old Esme's hair was lighter and was worn very simply tied back with ribbon. She had not yet lost her puppy fat and had plump, rosy cheeks and blue eyes. Her dress was a pale cream colour with a wide green sash. She was sitting on a stool beside the window, but jumped up when her mother and sister entered.

The Countess stayed long enough to receive a dutiful peck on the cheek from each girl and a murmured, "We are glad to have you home, mother," before leaving them.

As soon as she had gone the girls launched into quizzing their sister. "What was it like travelling by train? Did you meet the Queen? Did you see Prince Albert? Is he as serious as they say he is? Did you go to many balls? What did you wear? Did you have all the beaux falling at your feet? Did you get a proposal?"

"Hold your horses, I can't answer all your questions at once, you know. I'll tell you all about it while we have supper."

She hurried to her room, wash and changed in a light and springy muslin and brushed out her hair. Feeling fresher, she rejoined her sisters in the smaller of two dining rooms. Hermione was ravenous, having eaten only a light roast at the inn two hours before—and that had been the first food to past her lips since they had set out from London before eight that morning. The meal was a cold collation and, once it was on the table, they were left to serve themselves.

"Now come on, Hermione, don't keep us in suspense," Rosemary chided her as she filled her plate. "We want to know everything, don't we, Esme?"

Hermione indulged them with a description of her first ride in a train, which had had her heart in her mouth until she became use to the speed, of tales of the balls she attended, the picnics she had enjoyed, the rides in Hyde Park, the people she had met.

"Did you really meet the Queen?" Rosemary asked.

"I was presented in a long line, if you call that meeting her. She very tiny and quite pretty, but I could see she was determined to stand on her dignity. I imagine Prince Albert has his hands full, thought she seems besotted by him. It's funny, isn't it? Mother was only telling me today that one could not expect to fall in love with the man one marries until after the wedding. It seems to have happened to her Majesty."

"What about you?" this was from Esme. "Did you fall in love?"

"No."

"Why not? Did no one express undying love for you?"

"No."

"Oh how disappointing."

"Not at all. There's plenty of time. I did meet one young man mother and father seems quite keen on."

"But are you?"

"I don't know what to think. He's pleasant enough, I suppose."

"Pleasant? Is that all? Who is he?"

"Mr Draco Malfoy, heir to Viscount Malfoy."

"Of Malfoy Manor!" Rosemary exclaimed. "Oh, Hermione, that's a palace. Just think about being mistress of all that. Did he propose?"

"No, he did not. It's much too soon. We have to get to know each other better, so mother says."

"How are you going to do that?" Esme asked. "Is he coming here?"

"No, Mother and Father are taking me to Malfoy Manor at the invitation of the Viscount. We are going to visit for a few days next month."

"Oh. How I envy you."

Hermione smiled at her younger sister. At fourteen she was not yet out of the schoolroom. "your turn will come."

"Not before I've had mine," Rosemary said. "And you can be sure I shall not turn my nose up at someone like Mr Malfoy, simply because he is a merely pleasant. Pleasant will do for me if a place like Malfoy Manor comes with it."

"Rosie, how can you say that?" Esme said. "That would be asking to be miserable. Wealth is no guarantee of happiness."

Rosemary laughed. "No, but I could be miserable in comfort. Love is all very well, but it cannot survive in a garret. I certainly should not like it."

"It's a good thing we are all not alike, Rosie," Hermione said "Or no poor man would ever marry."

"Like marries like," Rosemary said flatly. "It's the way it is. A lady cannot marry a labourer, any more than a princess would marry a pauper."

"Well, I am determined not to wait until after I'm married to fall in love with m husband," Esme put in. "Supposing you married someone then met someone else and fell in love with him, it would be too late, wouldn't it? I would rather not risk it."

It was a sentiment with which Hermione concurred . she would give herself a chance to fall in love with Mr Malfoy and she hoped it would happen because, if she refused him, she did not know what her parents would say or do. Did the labouring classes have these problems? she wondered. Did their parent dangle prospective partners in front of them and expect them to marry on the slightest acquaintance? What incentive would there be to do that? They were not encumbered by titles and wealth and the need to marry well. Sometimes she regretted her father's rank and the need for her to conform. On the other hand, Rosie was right; she would not like living in a garret at all. If garrets were anything like the servant's rooms on the top floor of Granger Hall, they were too small to swing the proverbial cat and where would she keep all her clothes? There wasn't much chance of that happening, considering she was unlikely to meet a labourer socially. How else did couples meet and fall in love? She resolved to try very hard to love Mr Malfoy and the best way to do that was to concentrate on his good points and ignore those she found less attractive.

As soon as they had finished their meal she told her sisters she was tired after her journey and, dropping a kiss on the cheek of each, went up to bed.

She woke early next morning to the sound of birdsong and, without waiting for the chambermaid, hurried out of bed to draw the curtains. The window looked out on the stable yard; beyond that was a paddock and on the other side of that was the park that made up the grounds of the Hall. The village of Lufferham could not be seen from the house because of the screening of trees, but the top of the steeple was visible against a clear blue sky. It was going to be another scorching day. She washed in the cold water left on the wash stand, scrambled into her habit, tied back her hair with a ribbon and pulled on her riding boots. Grabbing her hat, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

"My your about early, Miss Hermione," Dobby said. "I've only just started preparing breakfast"

"A glass of milk and a piece of milk will do, Mr Dobby. I'll have it here, like I used to when I was little. I want to have a ride before it gets too hot."

"Miss Hermione, you are not little any longer. You are a young lady who is well and truly out, and I am not sure your mother would approve of you eating in the kitchen."

"Oh don't be so stuffy, Mr D. Besides, mother is still fast asleep in bed." It was said with an engaging smile. "If I wait to have breakfast in the dining room, the morning would be half gone." And with that she put her hat on the table and sat down, knowing she would have her way. The cook sighed and poured her a glass of creamy milk, just delivered from the cowshed, and push a toasting fork into a slice of bread. "I'll do it." Hermione said, taking it from her. "You get on with whatever you were doing." She sat on the fender in front of the range and opened its doors to toast the bread.

"You'll spoil your complexion sitting so close to the fire," Dobby said his own cheeks were rosy from working in constant heat. "Hold something over your face."

Hermione laughed and ignored him. "what has been going on while I've been away? Has Sally-Ann's young man proposed yet?" Sally-Ann was one of the maids who was walking out with a groom. "Has your sister had her baby? Have they started haymaking on Home Farm?"

Dobby laughed. "You don't change, Miss Hermione. Still as full of questions as ever."

"How can I learn if I don't question?"

"And that's another one. In answer to your first, yes, Dean has proposed, but they've decided to wait a year before naming the day, and you are burning that toast."

Hermione hastily pulled it off the fork and turned it over before holding it to the fire again. "And the rest?"

"My sister has had a boy, but it was touch and go. It was a difficult birth and she lost a great deal of blood and the infant was weak—" He stopped suddenly, remembering his audience was an unmarried and carefully nurtured young lady. "But I not be telling you such things. Suffice to say he is beginning to put on a little weight now and is to be called Luke after his father. And I forgot your last question."

"Have they started haymaking?"

"I heard they were going to make a start today. Why do you want to know that?"

"I like to watch the men at work."

"Miss Hermione!" Dobby was shocked, knowing, as Hermione did, that the men worked in shirtsleeves, many of them with their sleeves rolled up, displaying muscular arms and, in the absence of collars and ties, a certain amount of neck and chest.

Hermione, laughing, removed the toasted bread from the fork and returned to the table to spread it thickly with butter, "There's no harm in seeing how the work is done. I admire the skill of the men, all working in unison. It must be back-breaking, but they are all so cheerful."

"So they would be, considering the wet winter we had and everything so late. They are glad to be working again. Are you sure you won't have any more to eat? That's hardly enough to keep you going all morning."

"It is quite enough, Dobby. For the last two months I've had nothing but seven-course meals, tea parties and complicated picnics. I have had my fill of food."

"You've enjoyed yourself, then?"

"Oh, yes, it was wonderful, but I'm glad to be home." She finished her milk. "Now I'm off to have Midge saddled." With that she picked up her hat and danced out of the kitchen door, munching the last of the toast as she went.

The outside staff were all busy. Some were working in the garden, others grooming the horses that had brought her and her mother home. Some were cleaning out the carriage; some were saddling up some of the riding horses to exercise them. The horse master had a young colt on a long lead and was training him to answer to the bit. She watched for a moment in admiration and then went into the stables where Midge put her head over one of the doors and snickered. She stroked her nose. "Have you missed me, old thing? Well, let's go and have a good gallop, shall we?" she opened the door and slipped inside to saddle her.

"Miss Hermione, I'll do that for you," it was young Dean, Lavender's intended.

"Thank you, Dean, but you are busy, I can do it myself."

"Not too busy, Miss. I mean, my lady." He hurriedly corrected himself, remembering she had just returned from her debutante season in London and that meant she was grown u and a proper lady now and must be treated as such. "I must make sure the girth is properly tightened or his lordship will have my head on a plate"

She laughed. "Miss will do fine, Andrew." She watched as he deftly saddled the mare. "I believe congratulations are in order." And, because puzzled, added, "I understand you have spoken for Lavender."

"Oh, yes, miss, thank you, miss." He led the horse out into the yard and bent to clamp his hands for her to mount. "Mind how you go. She hasn't had much exercise lately."

"I will." She excepted her crop from him and trotted out of the yard towards the drive. Halfway down she turned and cantered across the grass and on the parkland that surrounded the Hall.

Midge was frisky and Hermione decided that the park was too restricting and made her way to a gate, which led on to a lane. From there, she found herself on to a wide, grassy track between a meadow and a fields of growing wheat. Due to a cold, wet spring, the second year in succession, the wheat had struggled to grow and the harvest would be late. She had heard tell that there was a new machinery being tried that would do the job of several men and wondered if they would accepted that, or would they be afraid of being thrown out of work, as the cotton workers had been a few years before? Life was hard enough for them as it was, what with one poor harvest after another and the price of corn kept artificially high, but how would they fare if farmers began to merchandise jobs that until now had been done by men?

The haymakers were busy in one of the meadows and she reined in for a minute to watch. The men were moving steadily moving forward, their muscular arms, tanned from the sun, working to an age-old rhythm. Swathe after swathe was falling from their scythes and behind them the women raked it out to dry in the sun. She rode on up to the heath, where she let the mare have her head and before long they left the cultivated fields behind. The heath was covered in scrub and a few trees, where sheep nibbled at the heather and sparse grass. Skylarks nested up here, and butterflies flittered from flower to flower. Overhead a kestrel hovered.

She drew the horse to a walk as they topped the rise and then stopped to sit, looking down on to a valley with a river snaking along the bottom. Down there were more cultivating fields, and a few farm buildings. Across the valley more sheep were grazed on more meadows. It was all her father's land, acres and acres of it that had been in the family since the Reformation, as he was very fond of telling anyone who would listen. It was good hunting-and-shooting country, too, and later in the year her father would invite friends and relations to stay for a week's shooting and again just after Christmas for the hunt, as he did every year.

She put her hand up to her face to shade her eyes when she spotted three men in the valley. They were certainly not labourers, because two was dressed in top hats and tailcoats. The third was more casually dressed. They appeared to be examining something on the ground and she spurred her horse down the steep slope towards them, crossed a narrow wooden bridge over the river and cantered up to them. She realised as she drew near that they were using a theodolite and one carried a notebook in which he was making notes. They looked towards her when they heard the horse and he youngest of the three, who had been squatting down examining the ground, stood up.

He as a hugely impressive specimen of manhood. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders were massive, straining the cloth of his tweed tailcoat. His chest was broad and his hips, clad in plain brown trousers, were slim. He wore a loosely tied neckcloth and, unlike the other two, he was hatless. He had large hands that, at the moment she reined in and stopped, were crumbling the soil between his fingers.

He smiled, displaying even, white teeth. "Good morning, miss." His accent, while by no means uncoth and certainly not betraying the patois of the peasant, was not refined as a gentlemen's would be. She found it difficult to take her eyes off him and, though she knew there were two other present, she was facing him and him alone.

"What are you doing?" she asked without returning his greeting.

"Surveying, miss."

"Surveying what?"

"The land, miss, for a railway."

"Here?" She asked astonished. She had heard her father say more than once that he abominated railways and would not have one on his land, which was inconsistent considering he used trains himself when it suited him.

"It looks as good a route as any, but we can't tell until we've walked the whole way."

"From where to where?"

"Leicester to Peterborough, to join the Eastern Countries Railway to the Midlands."

"I find it difficult to believe that my father has agreed to it?"

"And who is your father?"

He did not appear at all overawed, which made her all the more determined to stand on her dignity. "The Earl of Luffenham and, before you ask, you are on his land, which, if you are surveying, you surely know already."

The young man bowed, though it was more a formality than any show of respect. "I am sorry—if I had known who you were, my lady, I would have addressed you correctly,"

He saw before him a child of wealth and class on a superb horse, judging by the size of the horse and the easy way she sat on it, she was quite tall. Her riding habit, which was spread decorously over her feet, was a dark-blue taffeta with military-style frogging across the jacket. Her ting riding hat, with its wisp of a veil, was perched on top of dark golden ringlets. Her eyes, looking fearlessly into his, were a greeny-grey. He would like to despise her, but found himself admiring her spirit. She was evidently not afraid of approaching three men and telling them exactly what she thought of them.

"That doesn't answer my question. Has my farther agreed?"

"We are not seeking the agreement of anyone at the moment, my lady. We have yet to establish the feasibility of such a line."

"And to do that, you must trespass."

One of the others gave a little cough, which made her drag her eyes away from the young man towards him. "My lady, I think you will find the Earl's land begins on the other side of the water." And he pointed in the direction of the river behind her.

"It does not. It extends up to that ridge. Her riding crop indicating where she meant. "This whole area is Luffenham land." She swept her arm in a wide arc.

"Until we see evidence we must beg to differ, my lady."

"Then I suggest you to apply to the Earl, who will no doubt supply it. In the meantime, desist whatever you are doing." The youngest man laughed and she swung her round to face him again. "It is not a laughing matter."

His amber eyes were alight with amusement. "I am sorry, my lady, but we have been given a job to do and we will not meekly leave it on the say-so of a young lady who can have no idea what she is talking about. I suggest you continue your ride and we will talk to your papa when the time is right."

His condescension infuriated her; thought she would have liked to go on arguing, she was not sure enough of her facts, and instead wheeled round and cantered off. Once back over the river, she slowed to a walk, thought she did not look back. She was sure that if she did, she would see that they had resumed their inspection of the terrain. She ought to have asked their names so she could tell her farther who they were, but nothing on earth would persuade her to humiliate herself further by turning back to do so.

The man had been insufferably rude and the two others, who were older and should have tried to curb him, had said nothing, except to back him up. But my, he was a handsome devil, all bone and muscle—but he had a warm smile and laughing eyes, which in some measure made up for his insolence. Of course he would not approach her farther, that would be done by his superiors, which was a pity because she would have liked to meet him again, if only her first impressions that he was a conceited brute of a man who had no idea how to behave towards a lady.

She wondered what her farther would say when she told him about her encounter. He hated change, anything that might interrupt his ordered way of life, and she had heard him rant against the railways so often, she knew he would send the deputation away and threaten to shoot them if they came back on to his land. And he would be angry with her for even speaking to them, so perhaps it would be best to say nothing. He would find out for himself soon enough.

Harry had not returned to his task, but was standing watching her go, admiring the way she rode, her back held straight, the reins held easily in her gloved hands. He realised that he had been arrogant and had not explained carefully enough that he and his colleagues were simply trying to find the best route for the line and that the Earl's land, far from being compact, was sprawled all over the place, taking in a farm here, and hamlet there, woodland, heath and pasture, as small parcels had been added over the years. A broad strip stuck out like a tongue between the Malfoy estate and the land n the other side, which his father had bought a few years before to build himself a mansion. The railway, if it took the shortest route, which it was almost bound to do because it was costed per mile, would cross straight over that small tongue before going on to the Malfoy estate. Viscount Malfoy had agreed to sell his section to the railway company and had also assured them that he could guarantee that Granger would consent to part with his piece of land. He must intimated that he had some influence over the Earl.

"So that was one of the Earl's daughters," Arthur Weasley commented. "I heard he had three."

"I wonder if they are all like her."

Weasley laughed. He was in his fifties and had works for Harry's grandfather and father since he was old enough to work at all, which made him more outspoken then most employees. "God help the Earl if they are. He has to find husbands for them. And dowries."

"Are we really on the Earl's land?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter if we are. If he won't agree to sell, then the land will be compulsorily purchased—you've been in the railway business long enough to know that, haven't you?"

"yes of course I have, but I hate dissension. It makes for bad feeling all round."

"You know your trouble lad," Arthur said, laughing. "Great lump that you are, you're too soft."

"I'll show you whether I'm soft or not," Harry said, putting up his fists and punching the other man lightly on the shoulder. Remus Lupin, the third man of the party, watched in amusement as they began sparring, though neither would have dreamed of hurting the other.

"Pax," Arthur said, holding up his arms in surrender, "I give in. You're not soft."

Harry, who was hardly out of breath, dropped his hands. "Come on, let's get on with the job. I don't fancy a run in with the Earl's men. Not until it becomes necessary, anyway."

They worked on and by late afternoon had surveyed the land along the valley bottom, which would be the easiest route for the line, ad were approaching the village of Luffenham. "I reckon this is as far as we need go today." Lupin said. "I suggest we start again at the other end tomorrow and work our way back to this point. We might find a better route."

"Right, we'll call it a day." Harry said, finishing his notes and putting them in his pocket.

After arranging where to meet, they mounted the horses they had been leading and went their separate ways. Weasley and Lupin went north where they had lodgings while Harry rode home over the hills on a huge black stallion called Firebolt, which his Godfather, Sirus Black, had bought for him four years before on his Twenty-first birthday. "The size you're getting, you need a big horse," he had said. "I'm blowed if I know where you get it from. Your father is not much above average in height. As for your mother, she's tiny. Must be a throw-back to some distant ancestor."

His mother's ancestry was unquestionable. She was the daughter of Viscount Evans, the last of a long line, which had not thrived in the way the Malfoys and Grangers had thrived. His lordship had been glad enough to let his daughter marry the son of a mill owner with no pretentions to being a gentleman, but who had become wealthy through business. It was that money, and a generous contribution to Dumbledore's army in the shape of uniforms, that had led to his being a created a baron. Harry could just remember his grandfather, who worked all the hours God made, driven by ambition and a fear that whatever wealth he had created could disappear in a puff of wind and he would be back where he started. It was a trait he had passed on to his son, Harry's father.

"My father worked himself into the ground," James Potter tod his own son. "He was either at the mill or the factory every morning before seven and we didn't see him home again until late evening. His efforts meant I could be educated and learn new ways, but that doesn't mean I could take my ease. I worked, too, and so must you. You can take your pick where you start, but start at the bottom you will."

Of his father's many interests, harry could have chosen the woollen mill in Leicestershire where the original fortune had been made, or the engineering works in Peterborough, but he had plumped for building railways, which his father had only then begun to contract for. They were the transport of the future and the whole concept excited him. Starting at the bottom, he had become a navvy and developed muscles, along with a clear understanding of how then men worked, shifting tons of rubble every day with nothing but picks and shovels. He had discovered how they lived, married and looked after their children. Under the tutelage of contractors employed by his father, he had learned about explosives, cutting and viaducts, bridges and tunnels, about surveying and costing and keeping within a budget, which was of prime importance if the shareholders were to be paid. He considered himself the complete railway man.

He had been so busy he had had little time for the ladies, but he supposed that sooner or later he would have to begin thinking about marriage. His father, who was still rooted in his working-class past, would not care in the least whom he chose, so long as she was not extravagantly frivolous, but his mother might be more particular that he chose someone of breeding. The Earl's daughter certainly had breeding, but was she frivolous? Judging by the riding habit she was wearing, she was certainly accustomed to extravagance. She was spirited, too, but he could deal with that.

His laughter rang out, startling a flock of starlings who had settled on a tree beside the road. What on earth had made him think of her, the spoilt child of a stick-in-the-mud peer, who would certainly not consider him a suitable husband for his daughter? He would probably never meet her again. On the other hand, if he had cause to visit the Earl on railway business... He laughed again, raising his face to the sun. You never could tell.

AN: right well that chapter one finished please R&R and let me know what you think and if I should carry on with this story. You might notice that the character are very OOC and there in no magic in this story.