by Brianna York
“Thank you, sister. I am indebted to you once again,” Matthew said then, bending over and kissing the top of her head gently. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to get emotional again. She heard her brother’s booted feet cross to the door followed by a soft swish and a subtle click as he closed the door behind him. Sighing in some relief and chiding herself for feeling such a need to be protected and sealed away from other people, Alex opened her eyes and stared rather sightlessly at the ledger in her hands. She had never before found herself in a situation where she could not decide what course of action was best and she did not like the sensation. Giving herself a mental shake, she gathered her scattered thoughts and went back to work on the books.
Eleven
A
fter shutting the study door, Matthew realized that he had never been so ready to get out in the fog on the back of his stallion. A good gallop was the cure for all evils, or so it was said.
He had passed the music room when suddenly he heard noise within. Halting, he satisfied his curiosity by backing up two steps and poking his head in the door. His mother stood beside the piano looking up at the portrait of Matthew’s father. The noise that had caught his attention had been caused by Emmeline opening the flute case that Matthew had left on top of the piano.
“Good morning mother,” he said coolly, leaning against the doorframe idly.
She started, one white hand going to her slender throat as she whirled around. “Oh, Matthew! Must you scatter my wits by scaring me?”
His smile was bitter and rueful. “I suppose sometimes I must, mother,” he replied.
She had no reply to that particular comment, so she turned away from him, her eyes again on the portrait of Matthew’s father. “It’s your father who is to blame,” she said abruptly.
“I’m sorry mother, but for what?” he inquired without much interest.
She tilted her head to one side as she gazed at the painting intently. “It is your father’s fault that you are so much like him. My mother told that your first born could either be a dream come true or a miserable disappointment. You were neither, but you were ever so hard to handle, and you always looked and acted so much like him. I never seemed able to reach you at all.”
Matthew detected traces of old hurt and made an attempt at offering olive branch. “Would an apology make you feel better, Mother?”
She turned away from the portrait, a cold and unreachable expression on her face. “Of course not, Matthew dear. It is really too late for such overtures, don’t you think?”
Matthew shrugged negligently and straightened away from the doorframe as he made to leave.
“Wait a moment, Matthew,” his mother said, her imperious tone setting him on his guard instantly. “There is something that I wish to discuss with you.”
Matthew leaned against the doorframe again and regarded his mother with hooded eyes. “Such as?” he asked, his voice dripping boredom. He wished that his nerves would act like his voice, but they were jangling with warning.
Emmeline stepped away from the piano, crossed the room on dainty feet and seated herself in a delicate chair. She arranged her skirts neatly, then crossed her slender hands in her lap demurely before she went on. “It is about Alex.”
His jangling nerves were clamoring now, and he brutally resisted the urge to clench his hands into fists. He was not a child any longer, and he would not allow Emmeline to make him act like one.
Matthew had still not replied to her last comment, but Emmeline thought that she read a touch of anxiety in the set of his shoulders. Good, he was hearing her now. Feeling more at ease now that Matthew was not, Emmeline raised one white hand to her throat and stroked the cold links of a gold chain from which a beautiful emerald hung. “I think that it is high time that your sister married, Matthew. What is she? Twenty-six now? She would be well shelved if not for her beauty.” She could not prevent a curling of her lip as she said the last. When Alex had been younger, she had been glad that the girl was lovely as it would make her easier to marry off. However, when the stubborn chit refused to marry, she had learned to curse the girl’s extreme beauty as a fault to accompany her great arrogance.
Matthew smiled derisively. “It is not for me to decide when and to whom Alex marries, mother. Now, if you are quite through...” he began to turn away, but Emmeline stopped his departure again.
“Do you not think that it would be in both of your interests for her to marry and remove herself a bit from your life? I often think that you and she lean on each other far too much.”
Matthew lifted one brow. “I thought that siblings were supposed to care for each other to some extent, mother.”
His mother nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed they are.” She hesitated, then met his eyes again, some actual and sincere emotion coloring the expression on her face. “You know, Matthew, that there are other women besides your sister who are worthy of your love and trust.”
Matthew’s shoulders hunched, anger and shock coursing through him in equal parts. He pivoted slowly so that he was facing his mother again. “I suppose that I might learn to feel that way again, Mother. In the meantime, we shall not discuss this again.” He closed his eyes briefly, then whirled and was gone.
Emmeline raised a hand as if to make him stay, but he was already out of the room. She sighed and dropped her hand back into her lap. Matthew had always made her feel so helpless. Nothing she did ever seemed to be the right thing. She rose and went to look out the window at the stable yard below. Matthew emerged from the kitchen and bounded across the yard, emanating physical well-being and beauty. She clenched her fingers around the emerald pendant at her throat. She had come back to attempt to mend fences with her eldest child, but it appeared that she had left him alone with his pain for too long. She turned sad eyes away from her son to stare at the man in the portrait. She had loved his father in spite of their painful fights and eventual estrangement. She had never been able to reach him either, she acknowledged to herself.
She shook her head and drifted across the room to stroke the keys of the flute nestled in its case. Perhaps it would be her fate to share little more with her son than their mutual love of music. She hoped that would not be the case, but she felt vague stirrings of doubt that she might have saved her efforts to rebuild fences until it was too late.
∞∞∞
"I’ll take Apollo out now,” Matthew called to William as he bounded down the back stairs. He watched William hurry off to do his bidding and thanked fortune that he had decided to dress in his riding attire this morning. He was spared wasting valuable time out of the saddle by his foresight.
He paced about, tapping his crop against his leg. As he paced, he struggled to banish the conversation with his mother from his mind. He had nearly succeeded when Apollo emerged from the stable row, tugging a bit on William's capable hands and blowing through his delicate nostrils in eagerness to be off. He caught sight of Matthew and stretched his head out to touch his owner's outstretched hand for the briefest of seconds before snorting at it and looking away toward Hyde Park. Matthew smiled as he always did when in the horse's incredible presence, taking the reins from William and slipping them over the stallion's beautiful head. He ran a gloved hand down the powerful steel-gray neck in a soothing, familiar caress, his anger at his mother put aside for good now. "Easy," he told the horse as he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung lightly aboard. He patted the stallion again when the animal held impatiently still. "Thank you, William," he told his coachman, making to ride off.
“I think that you should know, Your Grace,” William called before Matthew rode away. “Baron Tyndale left not a half an hour ago on Deuce. He was headed in the direction of the park.”
Matthew’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Thank you William.”
Matthew asked the horse to trot on with a gentle squeeze of his calves as they entered Hyde Park. He cued Apollo to canter, settling into the comfortable rocking motion with habit born of many miles spent in that very
gait. He went another couple of minutes, allowing the horse to warm up, then galloped him out until he had worked out all the kinks that a night spent in a stall had created.
“Good boy,” he congratulated the horse as he slowed the animal to a walk and reached back to pat his sleek, steel-gray hip.
“Hallo!” The voice was Forrest’s, his tone saying that he was unsurprised to see Matthew.
Matthew watched the large bay hunter that Forrest had borrowed from his stables amble up to them. Apollo whuffled in greeting to his stable mate. “Did you have a good ride?” Matthew inquired, turning Apollo about and falling into step alongside Deuce.
Forrest laughed and leaned forward to stroke a hand along the crest of Deuce’s arched neck. “It was sufficiently challenging to make me feel alive again,” he replied.
Matthew nodded, chuckling. Deuce had an extensive repertoire of tricks up his sleeve, and only an excellent horseman like Forrest or Matthew would be able to enjoy riding him.
“I do believe I have guessed why he is named Deuce, however,” Forrest said next.
“Have you?” Matthew inquired playfully.
Forrest nodded slightly. “It’s really quite obvious once one has ridden him. It’s because he is so deuced annoying.”
Matthew laughed heartily at that. “Bravo, Forrest! You have hit the mark, as usual.”
A companionable silence fell between the two men then, broken only by the sounds of the horse’s hooves and the quiet creaking of tack.
“I wish that you would tell me what is bothering you,” Matthew ventured cautiously.
Forrest was silent for a long time. “I think that now is not really the time, Matthew.”
Matthew shrugged. “It’s certainly your decision. However, I think that you should know that my sister is already in great turmoil over whatever impasse is forming betwixt you two.”
Forrest grimaced. “I would not have it be so.”
Matthew cocked his head to one side in some consternation. “T’would be simple to set the situation to rights. You need only talk to her, Forrest.”
Forrest shook his head firmly. “I would rather not ruin things with yet more foolish mistakes.”
Matthew sighed. He reached back with one hand to finger the end of his stirrup leather. “I realize now that at least part of the trouble stems from myself. You are afraid that she would not love you once she learned what life is like away from my house, aren’t you? Well?” Matthew pressed him.
Forrest had tightened his grip on the reins unconsciously and Deuce raised his head in annoyance and stiffened his body. “I do not even know if she loves me, Matthew.”
“She loves you,” Matthew reassured his friend.
Forrest’s eyes jumped to Matthew’s face, naked hope in them before he turned away again and forced himself to relax. When Deuce had settled some, he said, “It’s not as simple as you think it is Matthew. I simply cannot ask the daughter of one of the richest peers England has ever seen to become the wife of a lowly baron. I can ask only so much of her, and I believe that leaving her current station for one much less comfortable is asking too much.”
Matthew watched his friend for a long moment, noticing the ticking of a muscle in Forrest’s cheek. “I know that you find this hard to believe, Forrest, but Alex loves you and not your money, or your title, or any of the other things that have nothing at all to do with you yourself. She wouldn’t change you for the whole world, I’m sure. The longer you wait to talk to her, the harder it will be.”
Forrest muttered something that Matthew did not catch, one of his long-fingered hands stroking the crest of Deuce’s neck in a smooth, practiced motion. Then abruptly, “I suppose that I am afraid that she will refuse me. I remember your wedding and I...” He trailed to a halt and glanced apologetically at his friend. “Sorry, old man. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
Matthew unclenched his jaw with efforts, irritated that three years later, the disaster of his wedding day could still hurt so much. “It is certainly not your fault that you were best man in my comical wedding attempt,” he said, bitterness lacing his words in spite of himself.
Forrest opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it. A small silence descended upon the two men. Finally, Forrest said quietly, “How will I know whether she is in love with me or not?”
“Only one way to find out, Forrest,” Matthew replied firmly, trying to dispel his own doubts along with Forrest’s.
Forrest nodded a bit grimly. “I know.” He drew a deep breath and looked up at the sky as if searching for guidance of some sort. “If I want to know for certain, I shall have to ask her to marry me.”
∞∞∞
“This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet,” Tess read aloud from her tattered copy of Romeo and Juliet. She sighed and snapped the book shut, her eyes wandering to the street below her window. Dunsaney’s face rose in her mind’s eye and she sighed dreamily as her heart flip-flopped in her chest. Every one of the past few days she had primped and fussed before the mirror, then descended to the morning room and waited impatiently for Matthew to call on her. He had not appeared. She knew that she was being impatient, but she couldn’t help herself.
There as a sudden rapping at her door and she started slightly, shaken from her daydream. “Yes?”
“A note arrived for you, Miss.”
Tess recognized the voice of the maid, and slipped off the window seat. She opened the door and thanked the small, neat woman holding it. The weight and quality of the paper as she took a hold of it caused her heart to thud once, very hard. She felt like the air had been squeezed from her chest as she unfolded it.
Miss Dartmoor,
I would be honored if I might engage you to ride with me tomorrow morning.
It was signed with his flourishing and ornate signature. She squeaked in delight and hurried to her escritoire to pen a reply. She felt her heart skipping and hurrying busily in her chest as she attempted to think coherently enough to write the note she would send to the Duke. She completed the note and folded it meticulously. She pressed her hands to the small scrap of paper, her mind already busy planning her attire for the morning. Giggling, she whirled in circles around her room until she was dizzy, then collapsed breathlessly onto her bed. She hugged her arms tightly around herself, for the moment free of worry and her soul buoyed by her hope of love.
Twelve
“R
eady Alex?” Matthew shouted over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs. He slipped his pocket watch out of his vest pocket and checked the time. “We are going to be late!”
“I’m coming!” Alex shouted back at her brother, hurrying from her room. She struggled to pin the jaunty little hat that accompanied her royal blue riding habit to her ornately-arranged hair as she made her way down the stairs. Matthew was fussing with his own hair as he stared intently into the small mirror on the wall beside the door. “You look fine, Matthew. Stop fussing and help me pin this hat to my hair.”
Matthew straightened his shirt points, brushed his lapels, then turned to regard his sister. “Are you sure that you trust me with that hat pin?” He asked her, one brow winged skeptically as he watched her wrestle with the five-inch long pin and the hat.
She glowered at him. “Any man that spends as much time as you do on his hair should be more than equipped to stick a hat pin through a hat.”
Matthew sighed and relieved her of both the hat and the pin. “All right, but you cannot expect perfection as this is my first attempt at hat-pinning.”
Alex rolled her shoulders to remove the cramps her struggles with the hat had caused. “You are guaranteed to have more success than I will.”
Matthew rolled his eyes. “That’s not terribly encouraging, Alex.”
“It probably wasn’t meant to be,” Rob said as he stepped into the foyer.
“Oh hello!” Matthew greeted his friend. “I want to thank you for joining me on such short notic
e. I decided that a party of people would look far more respectable than Miss Dartmoor and myself all by ourselves in the park.”
Rob was smiling at the rather odd scene before him. “I do not mind in the least,” he assured Matthew as he watched his friend struggle with Alex’s hat. Alex giggled as the plume of the hat invaded Matthew’s mouth and he spat it out in exasperation.
“Really, Alex, I think this may be asking too much,” he ground out between gritted teeth. Then, “There. I think I have it.”
Alex turned around to check her appearance in the mirror that Matthew had been using before, and nodded her approval. “You are better at pinning a hat than my abigail,” she informed her brother. “I shall remember that.”
“Matthew, I think that you will be late.” Matthew glanced up to see his mother and brother making their way down the stairs. He tried not to be annoyed at his mother.
“Good morning, Mother, Julian,” he said quickly. He glanced around at the small group of people and nodded. “Are we ready then?” Matthew asked.
Rob nodded, and held out his arm for Alex to take. “I am if the rest of you are.”
Matthew led the way down the hall and through the kitchen. Swinging open the door, he held it open for his sister and his friend to pass through ahead of his mother and brother. As he joined them in the stable yard, he noticed the definite cold chill to the air. “Let’s hurry and get mounted up,” he said with a shiver, striking out across the stable yard. “It’s too bloody cold to stand around for long.”
It was ten more minutes before the small party set off to keep Matthew’s appointment with Miss Dartmoor.