by Blue, Andie
Before Ainsley could make up his mind whether to take on John or not, the tournament director came outside. “Sam Taylor, it's time to play now.”
John reached down to help her up. She wanted to fall into his arms for comfort, but she willed herself not to. “Thank you,” she said in a low, steady voice. She hobbled back into the building, leaving behind the angry Ainsley and trying to ignore the sharp pain in her ribs. She couldn’t believe she’d actually been kicked. She gave a last disbelieving glance at the villain who had meant to do her great harm. Maybe being a man wasn’t so fun.
Just as she thought, it was now down to her and Douglas Wright, the fiercest competitor. She saw him setting up the board at the last remaining table and took a deep, steadying breath. Breathing hurt. She sat down at the table and sent up a prayer.
“I’m Douglas Wright,” he said while looking her in the eye.
“Sam Taylor,” she said simply and shook his hand.
“I’ve never seen you in a tournament before,” he said conversationally as they began to play. “I’m surprised you’ve done so well.”
He was obviously a gentleman. His voice was soft and pleasant with a touch of a northern accent. His clothing was impeccable and his hair well groomed. There didn’t seem to be one hair out of place.
“Thank you,” she muttered, trying not to wince with the pain the kick had caused her. She had never been the victim of such violence. The incident had shaken her, and she found it hard to concentrate on her opponent’s words.
“Where did you learn to play?” Douglas asked, his gaze shrewd.
“My brother taught me,” she lied, uncomfortable with his line of questioning.
“Who is your brother?”
“Can we just play?” she snapped, knowing his tactic was to learn more about her and discover her style of playing before they began.
Douglas gave her another indecipherable look, but he didn’t ask any more questions. He played confidently, taking enormous risks while looking bored. She had the sudden desire to spill her drink in his lap and see if the mess would unnerve him.
Tempting, but not the best way to gain an advantage.
It got very quiet in the room with spectators moving in closer to see how the game would end. The temperature in the area around her seemed to go up unbearably and Samantha hoped her fake mustache wouldn’t melt off her face.
She had chosen poison as her weapon of choice but was having a tough time getting close to the dragon. Every time she moved forward, Douglas put an obstacle in her place. She was also having difficulty concentrating and could feel herself losing control of the game.
Within another half dozen moves, she knew he had her beat. She did her best to make up for the stupid moves she’d already made, but it was pointless. With a final flourish, Douglas killed the dragon and won the contest. The observers all cheered and rushed forward to praise him.
She stiffly congratulated Douglas, trying her best not to give in to tears. She would hardly make a convincing boy if she were sobbing hysterically.
After the tournament director awarded her second place of fifty pounds, John came up to shake her hand.
“Great job, Sam,” he said, steering her toward the door. “I think it’s best to make a quick exit before we get another glimpse of Ainsley.”
As they went outside to retrieve her horse, Samantha clutched the newly won purse close to her chest and looked around nervously for the drunken man who had kicked her. He didn’t appear to be waiting for her, but she wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.
“I’ll ride home with you,” John said as he untethered Lord Chattel’s chestnut not far from Samantha’s horse. They quickly mounted their horses and took off into the night, riding as swiftly as they could.
Sam was very grateful to be finished with the exhausting charade, and to have John riding silently beside her. Her winnings were respectable and would buy her another six months of security. It wasn’t as though a woman in her position could have earned the money in any respectable way. Still, she was so disappointed in herself. If she’d just been able to focus more, if she hadn’t let the beating she’d taken and Douglas’ questions rattle her, she was sure she could have won.
They made it safely back to her house around midnight. John dismounted and helped Samantha down. She was exhausted.
“Thank you for your help today, John,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m not sure what would have happened to me if you weren’t there.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” John wiped the tears off of Samantha’s cheek and pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her weep against his strong shoulder. “You were magnificent today, Samantha. Really, you should be very proud of yourself.”
She wiped her face and reluctantly pulled away from John. The only thing she wanted to do now was get out of this disguise, climb into her bed, pull up her covers, and hibernate for a week.
“Thank you, again, John. I must get inside now. Please come for a visit soon.”
He said he would and turned away as Sam walked up to the house. Despite her small victory, she felt beaten in every possible way.
Three months later
Fatigue pulled at Samantha like a heavy weight. During the months since the Chattel contest, she’d done everything in her power to stretch her winnings, including taking over Mrs. Potter’s nighttime duties. As a result, she’d existed in a fugue of exhaustion, up nearly all night with her mother and working herself to the bone around the farm during the day.
Since Mrs. Potter wasn’t in the house at night, Samantha’s mother had gotten even more querulous and demanding. She woke Samantha up repeatedly for the simplest tasks, lighting her bedside lamp or pulling up her covers, all things she could have easily done for herself. When Mrs. Potter had been with her she hadn’t done that, and Samantha knew she was trying to make her suffer for disrupting her routine.
Samantha found her mother’s behavior completely frustrating, but she didn’t know how else to comfort her, so she had no choice other than to deal with the situation.
Sometimes, when she sat down with her mother for a simple dinner of vegetables, cheese and bread, she fantasized about the delectable meals she’d had with Lord Chattel. The savory meat pies flavored with herbs, the bread pudding dripping with syrup… Just thinking about it made her mouth drool. During that blissful month, she’d had no pressing responsibilities, nothing demanding her attention except the evening games of Chattel. She’d been free to sleep late, read all day, and go on long, invigorating rides over the rolling hills of Nico’s beautiful property.
With a sigh, she finished mucking out the stall in her small barn and wiped her arm across her brow. What she wouldn’t give for just five minutes of rest now.
Leaning against her rake, she took a deep breath and gazed down the road, letting her mind drift to Nico. She longed to see him again. Even if she’d had plenty of hours to spend in her bed, she probably wouldn’t have gotten much sleep, because her dreams were always filled with him.
She didn’t know what she missed more, the long conversations they’d shared over the Chattel table, or the times he’d taken her in his arms. She missed the friendship she’d never expected to find, especially not with someone like him, someone so far above her reach.
A rider approached, and her heart leapt in her throat when she realized it was John. What was he doing here?
Tossing aside her rake, she hurried to meet him at the gate, trying to hide her excitement. Her days had been so long and filled with drudgery that she would have welcomed any distraction, but she was doubly thrilled at the idea that she might actually hear word of Nico.
“John,” she cried exuberantly. “I'm so happy to see you. What brings you here?”
He gave her a wide smile and dismounted, tying his horse to the gate. “I was nearby, so I wanted to call on you and see how you were doing.” He hugged her and patted her on top of the head. “I like your hair like this. It s
uits you.”
“Thank you.” She touched her shorn locks a bit self-consciously. Her hair had grown quite a bit in the past few months, but was still far too short to be stylish. She motioned him toward the house. “Please, come in. Have some tea.”
“That would be nice,” he said, following her inside.
Samantha introduced him to her mother and Mrs. Potter, then led him into the kitchen where they could have a bit of privacy. As she put on some tea and scrounged up some scones she’d made yesterday, he kept up a running monologue about what he’d been doing since she’d seen him last.
“I’ve been working in the preserve,” he told her proudly. “Lord Chattel told me I could do the game hunting while he was gone, and I’m enjoying it. Since he returned, he assured me he doesn’t have the time, so he said I could continue.”
Once she’d made the tea, she prepared them both a cup and sat down at the table across from him. “How is Lord Chattel?” she asked, striving to sound nonchalant.
“Oh, he’s fine,” John assured her. “He just returned from Paris last week and has buried himself in his work again.” He rolled his eyes a bit with his words.
“Did he achieve what he hoped to while he was in Paris?” she asked.
John shrugged. “I don’t rightly know about that. He doesn’t talk to me about his work. Probably knows I wouldn’t understand if he did.” He perked up. “He did purchase a few new horses a couple of days ago. Beautiful animals.”
“What would make him buy more horses?” she asked perplexed. During the time she’d spent with him, she hadn’t thought him the type to spend money just because he could, and he’d seemed well satisfied with the horses he had.
“I'm not sure, but it might have something to do with the woman he’s courting,” John told her conspiratorially, taking a large bite of his scone.
Samantha almost dropped her tea. She’d nearly forgotten about Lady Morgan and couldn’t believe how deeply John’s words pained her. “Is Lady Morgan back from Italy?”
“Yes, the Viscountess and Lord Chattel have been going to several parties together. Frankly, I'm surprised. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never had much time for the ladies.” He winked at her. “I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t a bit queer, if you know what I mean.”
Samantha wasn’t quite sure she did know what he meant, but his news made her feel as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. She felt exactly the same as she had when she’d lost the Chattel game. “What’s she like?” she asked dully.
“She’s very beautiful, but pretty flighty. One minute she wants to go riding, the next she has changed her mind and wants to take the carriage into the village. She’s as silly as he is serious.”
John lowered his head toward Samantha and said, “I think she even flirted with me, but I would never tell Lord Chattel that.”
Samantha knew she had absolutely no right to feel proprietary about Lord Chattel, but for some reason she did. She hated to think of him saddled with some silly woman who wanted to be taken shopping and to parties. She wondered why he’d be attracted to such a person. He’d seemed the type to want a woman who offered him more than just beauty.
“I came here to make you an offer,” John said, leaning back in her chair and giving her a probing look. He seemed not to see her distress over the conversation.
“I’m looking for an assistant groom to help me. Lord Chattel authorized me to hire someone. It’s mostly helping to care for the horses and equipment while I continue to do the game hunting. The wages are extremely generous. It pays six pounds a month plus room and board. I thought perhaps you might know someone interested.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Perhaps your cousin, Sam Taylor. The one who played in the tournament.”
Samantha looked at him in shock, while it dawned on her what he was suggesting. “Me?” she whispered. “I would love that work. You know how much I love caring for horses. And the pay is far more than our costs are here, so it would help me greatly. But wouldn't Lord Chattel be furious? Why would you risk his wrath and hire a woman?”
“He wouldn't be furious as long as you could do the job. And I know you need help from somewhere. Look at you.” He gestured to her obvious weight loss. Samantha’s cheeks reddened as she looked down at her dingy clothing that now hung off of her slight frame.
John continued talking, not noticing her embarrassment. “I think he would be happy with the solution. He has asked me to check up on you from time to time and he was happy about your second-place win in the tournament.” He finished his scone, excitement building in his tone. “Maybe if you come to work at Bentley Park you can learn more Chattel and win first place next time.”
“Would I work in costume?” Samantha doubted the practicality of this position.
“I guess you'd have to,” he said pensively. “At least some of the time, when guests arrive.” He paused to think. “I don’t know. Maybe it won’t work.”
Samantha frowned, sad to see the opportunity slip away.
“What if we give it a try?” John asked with a boyish smile. “You could come next week and we’ll see how it goes and what Lord Chattel thinks of it.”
Samantha beamed at the chance to be close to Nico again and to bring Mrs. Potter back on full time. Would John’s crazy idea really work? Or would she be thrown out on her arse?
John grabbed his hat and shoved to his feet. “Think about the position, Sam, and send word if you decide you want to do it.”
“Thank you,” she told him, standing up and hugging him impulsively. “I will think about it, and I really appreciate you thinking of me.”
She walked him out to the gate and then leaned against it, watching him ride away. If she accepted the post, it would give her the money she needed to pay Mrs. Potter and pay for household expenses. She could also give a bit to Tom for lending a hand.
John’s offer would help her stay afloat, but she wasn’t sure how she could handle it emotionally, being so close to Nico and watching him with another woman. She imagined a beautiful woman giggling at Nico’s every word and fawning over him. How could she bear it?
***
Nico entered his barn, harried and in a rush, noticing a young, red-haired lad in the stall with his sorrel. He had been anxious about one of the new horses that had been injured the previous day. “Are you the new groom?” he asked impatiently, closing the gap between them.
The lad turned around, guilt on…her…lovely face.
“Samantha,” he said, startled, and stopped mid-stride to stare at her.
She was dressed in the same britches he’d seen her in before, a white shirt and a deer skin vest. It looked like she had lost a bit of weight. Her hair was much shorter and fell just below her ears, giving her the look of a pixy.
Nico felt torn between wanting to embrace her and trying to look controlled. Was it obvious on his face that he had thought about her every day for the last three months?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“John offered me the job of the assistant groom. What do you think?” she asked sheepishly, obviously hoping he wouldn’t toss her out.
“I think you will be great at the job. I’m just surprised.” He wiped the hair out of his eyes, drinking in the sight of her.
“You're going to go around in costume every day?” His brow arched up.
“It is fine. I rather like the britches, as you know.”
He smiled and considered commenting on her britches but rejected the idea. Instead he welcomed her to the position and told her a little about the horse’s injury he was concerned about. They examined him together and Samantha gently rubbed a numbing ointment on his leg.
“I’ll make sure to rub more salve on his leg throughout the day. Not to worry, he should heal up shortly.” Samantha seemed grateful to have a temporary distraction.
“I heard your trip was successful,” she said, fishing for more details.
“Yes, it was. I learned a great deal and hop
efully helped them.” Nico turned serious as he spoke about the institute..
“I’m glad you’re back safely.” Samantha returned her gaze on the horse. “John tells me that you're escorting Lady Morgan to a lot of parties.” The words hung in the air uncomfortably.
“Yes,” he said, feeling guilty.
“Since when do you like parties?”
“Since I need political connections in order to bring my discoveries into the English hospitals. Lady Morgan has a way of bringing people together for a cause and right now I am the cause.”
“Well, good for you,” she said. The mood between them was strained.
Nico asked about Samantha’s mother and they talked a few minutes about her condition before he excused himself to go back to work.
As Samantha watched him leave, her heart literally hurt. If felt like a weight sat upon her chest. Would she always be a spectator in life? On the outside looking in.
She pinched herself. “Come on. Stop it. He is happy in his world with his work and you need to be happy with this opportunity to keep things afloat. Stop being a spoiled brat.”
Sam threw herself into her work for the next week, hoping to prove to both John and Nico that she was the best assistant groom they could have hired.
“That’s Lady Morgan,” John said, indicating the grand black lacquered coach that had just turned up the drive pulled by half a dozen matching bays.
Samantha stared at the coach, jealousy rising within her. She’d been back working for Nico for a week now, and this was the first time his…Lady Morgan…had come to visit.
“I can take care of it,” she told John confidently. “You can go ahead and go out into the preserve as you were planning.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, giving her a speculative look. “If so, you’d best put on the rest of your costume.”
Samantha nodded and hurried to the tack room, where she’d left her vest, coat and hat. She rubbed a tad bit of dirt along her chin. Since her hair was still short, and she wore trousers anyway when working in the stable, no one would be able to tell she was a girl from a distance, but fooling Lady Morgan up close would take the entire outfit.