“Are you looking forward to the hunt, Mister Kensley?” Miss Barton asked.
“I am,” Nathanial allowed. “I’ve never before hunted so late in the season. I fancy it will be a sight easier if we get a good dusting of snow, what with tracks and all. Whisper always seems to enjoy the snow.”
“Whisper is your gray?” Miss Wycliff asked, blue eyes alight with interest. Her brows knit. “Is he a stallion?”
Miss Barton let out a titter. “Becca, what an inconsequential question.” She rolled her eyes, the look she directed at Nathanial one of sympathy that he must endure her silly relation.
Nathanial replied to Miss Wycliff, “A gelding. I’ve ridden him since I reached full height.”
“He’s magnificent,” Miss Wycliff said.
Beside her, Barton puffed out his chest. “He’s fine enough, I grant, but nothing compares to my Falcon. A man wants a mount with a bit of fire in him.”
Nathanial accepted his soup with a murmur of thanks.
Miss Wycliff frowned at Barton. Her lips parted, as if she might speak. Closing them, she turned her attention toward the tablecloth.
“Do you enjoy riding, Mister Kensley?” Miss Barton aimed a smile at Nathanial. “Perhaps tomorrow we could ride together. I would be pleased to show you the route the hunt will take. You’ll want to survey it, I daresay.” She leaned in. “Much of it is rather secluded.”
“Splendid idea,” Barton said between shoving spoonfuls of soup in his mouth, which he’d begun doing even though Miss Wycliff had yet to be handed hers. “Maybe have a bit of a race. Show you how soundly my Falcon can beat that gray.”
Miss Barton shot her brother a hard look. She needn’t have bothered with the reprimand. If Barton hadn’t volunteered, Nathanial would have invited him. He would not ride out alone with the avaricious Miss Barton.
“And you must go as well, Rebecca.” Missus Barton offered Miss Wycliff soup before finally filling her own bowl. A servant removed the soup tureen. “You’ve always said you would enjoy going riding with Charles.”
“You ride, Miss Wycliff?” Nathanial asked. He could easily picture that elegant figure astride a horse.
The face she raised from her soup bowl shone. “I do.”
How inadequate those two short words were to the light in her eyes.
“Yes, Becca has quite the seat on her.” Barton accompanied his innuendo with a leer.
Miss Wycliff’s cheeks turned pink. She tilted her face back toward the tablecloth.
Mister Barton cleared his throat. “Much of a businessman, Mister Kensley?”
Nathanial shook his head. “Not at the moment. I see my compatriots doing well with their investments, though. Sometime soon I plan to venture into that realm.” He offered a self-deprecating grimace. “I’m afraid I have no head for it. I’m a bit prone to taking risks.”
“A wagering man, our Kensley,” Barton added from across the table.
Nathanial kept his smile in place, though the way Miss Wycliff frowned at Barton’s words dismayed him. “Yes, well, once. I’ve given up betting. That is why I am interested in business ventures. Less a matter of chance than of research and planning. Then, you would know that, Mister Barton.”
“Oh yes, Mister Barton is a great one for planning,” Missus Barton interjected.
Mister Barton cleared his throat, something Nathanial found almost as annoying as his wife’s and daughter’s high-pitched voices. “Yes, research and planning.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, I just finished researching a new venture. Sure to make everyone involved quite wealthy.”
Nervous servants began to remove the soup bowls, though some were hardly touched.
“Truly?” Nathanial endeavored to sound hopeful. “I would greatly appreciate hearing more on the matter. Any advice you can provide would be welcome.”
“But not at dinner,” Miss Barton broke in. “Really, Papa, save that sort of talk for your port. I want to hear all about Mister Kensley, and I’m sure Charlie wants to tell Becca about his studies, or some such. You men can talk business later.”
Mister Barton gave his daughter a flat look but reached for a bowl of peas rather than clear his throat again.
Nathanial hid a grin. Establishing what Stirling already suspected, that Mister Barton didn’t have half the luck in business he claimed, would be simple. Nathanial would wager his second favorite horse that in a week, he’d be one up on Stirling and back to his carefree ways.
Chapter Seven
Rebecca took extra care with Maggie’s curls the following morning as they readied for their ride with the gentlemen. The locks would need to endure both indoors and out, as well as being covered and bare. She also hoped the extra attention would mend Maggie’s mood. Her cousin glared at her via the mirror.
“I cannot believe you and Charlie are coming on my ride with Mister Kensley,” Maggie snapped.
“I don’t see why you’re so angry with me,” Rebecca protested. “It’s Charlie and your mother who decided we should go. I didn’t say a thing.”
Maggie’s reflected features twisted into a parody of enthusiasm, hands clasped prayer-like before her. “I do. I do like to ride,” she gushed, then folded her arms across her chest and glared again. “You and your riding! It’s your simpering that put the notion of going into Charlie’s thick skull.”
“I rather think the desire to race Mister Kensley put the notion in there.” Rebecca carefully pinned another curl. “You cannot think you would be allowed to ride alone with Mister Kensley, regardless. Surely, your mother would have protested.” And it wouldn’t be fair to Mister Kensley to trap him that way.
“Not if she wants to see me wed, she wouldn’t,” Maggie muttered.
Rebecca placed the final pin and stepped back. “There.”
Maggie scrutinized her reflection for a long moment. She patted her white-blonde curls, then tossed her head. When she stopped, her curls settled back into perfect order. “Adequate.”
Rebecca pressed her lips closed over a retort.
With a little sniff, Maggie stood. “I assume you will make this right by leading Charlie off somewhere so you can moon over him? I want to get Mister Kensley alone.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Why must you insist on inappropriate behavior? What if this Mister Kensley isn’t a true gentleman?” The intensity in his green eyes filled her mind. Placing her hairpins hadn’t been a gentlemanly thing to do, yet Rebecca hadn’t felt the least bit imposed upon. Far from it. “Your reputation could be ruined and no proposal issued.”
Maggie turned from the mirror. She tapped Rebecca’s chest with a finger. “Give me the afternoon alone with a man and, gentleman or not, he’ll follow me around like a puppy, begging for my attention, for the remainder of his days.”
“Maggie,” Rebecca chided.
“You don’t have to be such a terrible prude anymore, Becca. You can afford not to be.”
“What does that mean?”
Maggie shrugged, but her smirk and the glint in her eyes bespoke of a secret. “Nothing. Only that you have Charlie’s attention now, just as you’ve always wished.” She poked Rebecca in the chest again. “Don’t squander it.”
Rebecca’s face heated.
Maggie’s smirk only widened. In a whirl of white-blonde curls, she headed for her wardrobe and pulled free her best cloak. “And do hurry up, Becca. Everyone is waiting on you,” she shot over her shoulder as she sauntered from the room.
Rebecca opened her mouth to protest Maggie’s departure, but snapped her lips closed again. Obviously, her cousin’s kindness of the afternoon before was gone. Rebecca would have to see to her own hair, and quickly. At least, she could use Maggie’s mirror.
Opting for a simple arrangement of pinned up hair and a few loose curls, Rebecca made quick work of her coif. With a grin of her own, she went into Maggie’s wardrobe for her cousin’s second-best hat, gloves and cloak. If she could ask Missus Barton, Rebecca knew her outerwear would be deemed too much of a travesty t
o be worn in the presence of Mister Kensley. On top of that, Maggie would never reproach her in front of him. No man wanted a shrewish wife.
Rebecca’s fingers stilled halfway through tying the hat’s ribbon. If she dared dwell on his strong features, Mister Kensley was a very handsome man. She touched her cheek. Her skin seemed almost to tingle where his knuckles had grazed her. The way he’d looked at her, with eyes that held both more and less than Charlie’s, made her head twirl, but not in an unpleasant way. How could his light touch quicken her pulse so much more than Charlie’s kisses to her hand?
Lips pursed, she refused to pursue that quandary. She would not dwell on Mister Kinsley’s touch, his eyes, or anything about him. Missus Barton and Maggie had made it very clear Rebecca must keep her distance. In their minds, they already had Mister Kensley and Maggie wed. Not that Rebecca wished to wed him. She had Charlie’s attention now, as Maggie had observed.
Still, even if she didn’t want him, should she warn Mister Kensley? Her loyalty should be to Maggie, but her cousin’s behavior was reproachable, throwing herself at the man and plotting to trap him into marriage. Yet, Rebecca couldn’t turn her back on years of, well, not sisterhood, but kinship, at least. Not for a man she’d just met. Could she?
She caught her concerned expression in the mirror. She imagined Mister Kensley’s piercing green eyes as she confessed Maggie’s plot and nearly laughed. There was no danger to Mister Kensley. A very wealthy, exceedingly handsome man, Mister Kensley must be well-versed in remaining single. Maggie, for all her boasts, was a country miss who hadn’t even had a Season.
Reassured, Rebecca pulled on her borrowed gloves and turned from the mirror. Voices drifted up to her as she made her way down the hall. Maggie and the two gentlemen discussed their route in the foyer. When Rebecca reached the staircase, she turned her gaze to the floor to avoid both the disappointment of Charlie not noticing her and the strange dismay his new, covetous looks awoke when he did.
“There she is,” Maggie cried. “Rebecca, you kept us waiting, as always. I swear, you think you’re a princess.” Maggie added a high-pitched laugh to her words, as if that negated their pettiness.
“She is in my eyes,” Charlie said.
Rebecca willed her face not to heat. She’d dreamed someday Charlie would see her as more than the orphan girl his family took in. In her dreams, though, he’d just been Charlie, the companion of her youth. Not this oiled, pompous gentleman with his saccharine, sycophantic false praises. He’d never been like that before. Were new dresses all it took to gain his favor? Was he that shallow?
“Why, Becca, what lovely outerwear,” Maggie’s sharp observation issued as Rebecca reached the foyer.
“I believe the horses wait,” Mister Kensley said from his spot near the door. He turned from the window. “Something tells me the bay mare is yours, Miss Barton, which means that spirited looking roan must belong to Miss Wycliff.”
Rebecca couldn’t contain her smile. She loved her mare, and to ride. Only Maggie’s distaste for the activity made riding a less-than-daily occurrence. “She is. A gift from our great aunt.”
Mister Kensley shot Charlie a startled glance.
Charlie shook his head.
Rebecca frowned. Why would Mister Kensley be surprised by mention of their great aunt? “Wh—” she started to ask.
“Are we going to linger in the foyer the entire day?” Maggie demanded. She grabbed Mister Kensley by the arm and turned him back toward the door. “Open that,” she snapped at the footman-turned-butler.
The man jumped forward and yanked open the door. Cold air swept in. Candles sputtered. Several guttered out.
Quick to recover from Maggie’s outlandish behavior, Mister Kensley escorted her out. Charlie proffered his arm, along with a smug grin. Rebecca accepted both with as much poise as she could muster. The sooner they were outside, the better. The staff would need to lower the candelabra to relight the wicks before Missus Barton saw the extinguished candles and reprimanded them.
Free of the confines of the house, Rebecca realized how stifling the manor was. The crisp outside air invigorated. A bright dusting of snow covered the ground and the breath of the horses mingled with that of the groomsmen who held them. Rebecca’s relieved exhale clouded the air before her. She pulled away from Charlie to go to Serendipity. The mare strained against the groom who held both her and Mister Kensley’s stunning gray.
With a nod of thanks for the groomsman, Rebecca took the reins. She stepped up beside Serendipity and ran a hand along the mare’s sleek coat. “We’re going to ride today. You will like that, won’t you?”
Mister Kensley moved to her side. “She’s a real beauty. What’s her name?”
Rebecca smiled, pleased to discuss her closest friend. “Serendipity.”
A black eyebrow winged upward. “I fine name for a fine mare.” His green eyes narrowed. An answering smile lurked on his lips. “Is she as fast as she looks?”
“Is Whisper?”
With a chuckle, he turned to his horse and proffered his hand, which Whisper nuzzled. Mister Kensley’s hint of a smile became real as he gazed affectionately at his horse. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Rebecca stared at them, horse and rider. Serendipity nipped at her sleeve. She could see in Mister Kensley’s eyes the same emotions she felt for Serendipity. Love and respect for this creature who was part of her life and with whom she’d forged a bond of trust. Her gaze slid to Charlie, who eyed Falcon, another likely ill-fated stallion in a series of horses, with the same gaze a man might level on a fine curricle. Possessive, proud, but devoid of affection.
“I’m afraid my mare isn’t at all quick,” Maggie’s voice squeaked, pitched loud enough to make Serendipity take a step away. Whisper’s ears swiveled back. Rebecca turned in time to see Maggie bat her lashes at Mister Kensley.
“I’m a terribly indifferent rider, you see,” Maggie said. “But that is only because no one has taken the time to instruct me. I’m sure I should be superior at it, given proper motivation.”
Rebecca thought it a wonder Maggie didn’t do herself some sort of injury, she fluttered her eyelids so hard.
Charlie snorted. “Lay off, Mags. Kensley needs his head on riding. It’s time for us men to race about, while you fair creatures find somewhere out of the way to admire us. Mount up.”
Maggie shot her brother a venomous look, but led her mare, Duchess, to the mounting block. Rebecca followed with Serendipity. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the easy grace with which Mister Kensley took his saddle. She hid her envy. With a side saddle, she couldn’t even attempt mounting without the aid of the mounting block.
Once they were astride, Charlie asked Mister Kensley, “Shall we go take in the lay of the hunt? There’s a perfect stretch for racing over by Archer’s Knoll.”
Rebecca frowned. There were no fields by the knoll, the ground too boggy much of the year. While the footing would be firmer now, a series of hedgerows and ditches traversed the area, the latter an attempt to drain the land to make it passable in the wet months. A dangerous obstacle course surrounded Archer’s Knoll, one the hunt cut through the very edge of. “I don’t think—”
“Of course, you don’t, Becca,” Charlie interrupted, smile indulgent. “You’re just a girl, after all. Racing is a man’s occupation. You’ll get a fabulous display of my skills by the knoll.”
She closed her lips over her protest and nodded.
Charlie led the way. Maggie maneuvered her squat little mare to ride beside Mister Kensley’s gray. Rebecca came last, content to follow behind and watch in amusement as her cousin attempted to flirt while riding. Maggie’s lack of horsemanship hampered her nearly as much as her stature, which combined with Duchess’s diminished height to put her head nearly two feet lower than Mister Kensley’s head. From behind, they appeared more a man escorting a child than a couple.
They made their way along the route Lord Haywood’s hunt master would take, the sky a cloudless blue and
the sun warm despite the season and dusting of snow. As they rode, Rebecca found the day nearly too temperate for her borrowed winter garb. She let the voices of her cousins, occasionally punctuated by a few polite words from Mister Kensley, wash over her in a meaningless murmur, purposefully holding Serendipity to a slow pace to gain distance from the others. She angled her face toward the sun and reveled in the beauty of the day.
When she rounded the final outcropping that obscured Archer’s Knoll, she looked ahead to find the others massed at the base. Setting out over a field, she tapped Serendipity into a trot. She hadn’t realized how far behind she’d fallen.
Acutely aware of three sets of eyes on her, Rebecca rode up. Maggie watched with exasperation, Charlie with that grating, possessive look, and Mister Kensley with lids low, his expression revealing little. When she halted before them, Rebecca felt oddly like she faced a panel of judgement.
Maggie frowned. “Apparently, it’s Becca who needs riding lessons. We’ve been waiting here, freezing, for ages.” She gave a dramatic shiver.
Rebecca’s sigh formed an icy puff before her. “I’m sorry.”
“It was worth any wait to watch you ride across that field, Becca.” Charlie turned to Mister Kensley. “You see? I told you she has a fine seat.”
“Indeed,” Mister Kensley murmured. Whisper stomped a hoof in the snow.
Maggie urged Duchess forward until she stood between Rebecca and Mister Kensley. “While you were dawdling, we decided the course for the race,” she said to Rebecca. “We’re to watch from here while the gentlemen race the ditches.” Maggie pointed. “They’ll go out that way, round the tall oak, and come back along there, by way of the bog’s edge. The first one to pass between us wins.”
Rebecca didn’t approve of that route, at all. “Did you warn Mister Kensley that both ditches and hedges grow wider on the leg back?”
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