by Karen Kirst
“Hale and hearty.” John clasped the groom’s hand in greeting. “We’ve decided to call her Molly. Already she’s the favorite of the house.”
Davis chuckled. “Glad to hear that. They’re all fine puppies. If they take after their mother, they could be the finest litter in the county.”
Was this mere hyperbole, or was the groom really sure that they were an above-average group of pups? “Do you really think so?”
Davis nodded thoughtfully. “Come into the barn. I’ll show you.” He turned to one of the stable lads. “Jim, I expect this wall to be done by the time I get back. No idling or you’ll catch the rough edge of my tongue. You hear?”
The boy nodded, a grin crooking the corners of his mouth. “Aye, sir.”
Davis led the way into the barn, which hummed with far more commotion than it had during his previous visit. “Upon my word, you are turning the place inside out, Davis.”
“Spring cleaning—we do it every year. During the winter months, it’s difficult to keep the place as clean as it should be. Now that the weather’s warm, we can get everything spick-and-span. Ah, here we are.” He motioned John over to the same horse stall, where a fresh, bright layer of straw had been laid.
Madge lifted her head at their approach and wagged her tail. The puppies slept in a heap together, hardly stirring except for the rise and fall of their breaths. It was a cozy picture, to be sure.
“Now, Madge is the offspring of two magnificent collies that were your father’s pride and joy. I am sure you remember them—Bah and Cleo. Cleo was an exceptional mother, as good as Madge here. Bah was your father’s best hunting companion. Both of them the products of many generations of fine breeding. Grant Park has always produced the best dogs in Derbyshire.”
“Have we really?” He was shockingly uninformed about this part of his estate. Of course, he remembered Bah—what a good old dog he was. But John had never stopped to consider more than that. Bah was just a dog. He was excellent on the hunt. That’s all there was to it. That there could be more to the story, or that there were a few generations of history behind each pup—well, who knew?
“Yes. I always wondered why your father didn’t go in for dog breeding in a big way. After all, the pedigrees at Grant Park have been excellent. He didn’t really care for it overmuch. He thought of it as a mere pastime, I suppose.” Davis shrugged and fell silent.
The germ of an idea grew in John’s mind. Could this be something he could try? Something of Grant Park that could be uniquely his contribution to its well-being and its reputation? “What about training?”
“Ah, well. I never got much beyond trying to convince your father that he should breed dogs and sell them. Training them is another excellent idea. These dogs are all going to be bright and quick. They could be trained to do almost anything.” Davis smiled. “I’d even say one or two of them could learn to dance, if we taught them.”
John laughed. “They’re that smart, then? Smart enough to dance their way through a crowded ballroom? Well, that is quite a feat, indeed.” He stared at the pups. This could be his way of easing into life at Grant Park. He had, already, done well with Molly. Raising puppies was interesting, and training them could be, too. “Let’s do it, then. Let’s start with this litter. As they grow, we shall see which of them would be best bred for hunting, others for sheep-herding. We can continue to breed other litters. In time, this could become quite an interesting enterprise.”
Davis clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent thought, sir.”
John’s breath caught in his chest. Was he accepted now? There was something of respect in the old man’s manner, something that went beyond the reserved, expected kind of deference he would receive as master. He was being accepted as a man in his own right, and it meant more to him than he cared to admit.
A sudden thought seized hold of him. What would Hannah have to say to all of this? He could hardly wait to tell her. She, of all people, would understand the importance of carving out one’s own place in the world.
CHAPTER TEN
“There, that should do it.” Hannah closed her valise and turned to Jane with a smile. Ever since they had left her brother’s suite yesterday, Jane had kindly helped her prepare for her journey. That morning, since no Sunday service was being held nearby, Hannah and Jane had read the Bible together and prayed. Then the quick business of packing had been accomplished, thanks largely to Jane’s assistance. She had done everything, from folding Hannah’s nightgowns to packing her handkerchiefs. She had even loaned Hannah a lovely leather case to carry the handkerchiefs in. Hannah protested Jane lending her the case, for what if she lost it or damaged it?
“Nonsense. Besides, I insist you leave it out in the shop as part of a display while you are gone. Who knows? Perhaps someone will see it and decide to order a bunch of embroidered handkerchiefs,” Jane replied. Then she dropped the handkerchief case into the side pocket of the valise and gave it a little pat.
“Thank you so much, Jane. I must confess I could not do all of this without your help.” Hannah lugged the valise over to the doorway of her room.
“Don’t worry about doing that,” Jane admonished. “I am sure that one of the footmen will carry it downstairs for you.”
“I know. It’s just that I need to become accustomed to doing things on my own again,” Hannah replied. “Everyone here is so helpful. I’ve never had this kind of aid. I am used to cooking my own meals, making my own bed, mending my clothes and stirring my own hearth to life every day.” Going back home meant going back to being Nan, to working and toiling away for an uncertain future. She suppressed a shiver. She really wasn’t looking forward to it, but the trip had to be made.
“Hopefully, all that work will make you hurry back all the sooner.” Jane sank onto the window seat. “I shall be desolate without your friendship.”
A knock sounded on the door, and one of the servant girls entered. “I beg your pardon, Miss Jane, but your brother says it is your turn to take the puppy.” She brought in a large wicker basket, and as she set it on the hearth, Molly’s fuzzy little face popped up over the basket edge.
“Oh, the darling thing.” Jane rushed over to the basket. “Does she need another bottle?”
“The master said that she had just eaten an hour ago. I’ll bring another bottle when she’s ready for one,” the maid answered, and then she bobbed a brief curtsy.
“I need to leave a list of the fabrics and notions I require for your wardrobe, Jane.” Hannah turned to the maid. “Is the master available, if I take this list to him?”
“I believe so, miss. He was in his study when I brought the puppy here. Shall I take the list to him?”
“No, thank you.” Hannah grabbed the sheet of paper, which she had torn from her sketch pad. “I need to explain some things to him. If he’s available.”
“Yes, miss. I believe he is.” The maid looked over at Jane. “Shall I bring the bottle in an hour?”
“Certainly. She has been eating every two hours, so that should be perfect.” Jane cooed at Molly and brought her out of the basket.
Hannah followed the maid out of the room, but when the maid turned to go downstairs, she continued across the landing. Butterflies seemed to have permanently settled in her stomach, and her hands had already begun to perspire. She must take care, or she would smudge her list. Perhaps she should entrust the maid with her list—but, no. This was her job, after all. She wanted to prove that she had planned everything out. Every piece of trim, every bit of fabric, was carefully accounted for. Not only would she create a gorgeous wardrobe, she would do so with efficient attention to the Reed fortune.
When she finally came to his study door, she paused for a moment. She must pull herself together. If going home was terrifying her so much, then she must do an outstanding job for the Reed family. There was no other way to save herself from a life of spinsterhood.
She wiped her hands on the front of her skirt and knocked, then assumed the air of brisk comp
etence that had served her so well all these years.
“Enter.” He sounded tired. She must not take up more of his time than absolutely necessary.
She showed herself in. “Sir, I wish to give you the list of materials I will need for Miss Jane’s wardrobe.”
“Is that you, Siddons? Upon my word, I am glad to see you. Come, sit.” He was stretched out on the settee, his long booted legs hanging off the end of it. “Forgive my dishabille. I am utterly exhausted.”
“Um, yes. I understand.” She bustled over and sat opposite him. “I shan’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to show you what I need and how much. You see—”
“Yes, yes.” He ran his hand over his eyes. “Just put it there, Siddons.” He nodded to a nearby table.
She stared for a moment at its polished mahogany surface. Really? Just leave it there? “I did want to let you know how I had planned everything out.”
“My dear Siddons, at present I am so fatigued that I can hardly bring myself to pronounce the second syllable of your name, much less feign interest in calculations about furbelows.” He yawned hugely. “Just leave it there.”
She must do as she was told. There was no sense in pushing harder. If she did, she could easily lose the foothold she had gained. “If you are certain, sir.” She flicked the list over onto the table and sat, clasping her hands in her lap.
He rose up on one elbow. “Why are you calling me sir? Just for that, I am shortening your name. Henceforth, you shall be known as Sid.”
“I am trying my level best to be professional,” she snapped. Temper, temper. Count ten, just like Susannah would recommend.
“Well, don’t. It doesn’t suit you. Come on, be the jolly girl I know you can be.” He lolled back, reclining against his pillow once more. “At least take pity on me, the poor substitute mother for the runt of a litter.”
“Poor man.” She fluttered her eyelashes as though really taking sympathy for his plight. “With an army of servants to help you warm bottles and carry the pup to and fro.”
For a moment his expression darkened and he raised himself up once more. She kept her countenance, though she had overstepped her bounds. When would she ever learn to curb her dry comments? Her lack of control was going to put her entire hope of independence in jeopardy.
“Sid, you will be the death of me.” He chuckled, his shoulders shaking. His laughter was, strangely, not as annoying as she thought or remembered. “I trust very few people, I can assure you of that. I do, however, have great conviction in you. I will buy every single thing on the list and I don’t need to know why you’ve ordered what you’ve ordered.”
“Thank you.” She was unsure what to say. Although his words had a bit of a sting to them—after all, no woman enjoyed being told that she would be the death of anyone, and she certainly wasn’t sure about being referred to as “Sid”—he was laughing, at least. That meant she still had a job.
“You’ll only be gone a week. Is that correct?” He sat up fully, his powerful form dwarfing the back of the settee.
“Yes. I thank you for your generosity.” She found herself on the defensive once more. There was something about him, something that made her feel less like a decisive woman and more like a silly girl, and she despised that loss of control.
“I’m no Lord Bountiful. This was our bargain. I knew you would need to go home to see to matters at your shop.” He rubbed his hands together. “Besides, when you return, I hope to have a new venture started.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” She really didn’t know what to say. Venture? What on earth would a man like John Reed do as a venture?
“I know this may sound ridiculous, but I am going to try my hand at training dogs,” he began. His expression softened and he glanced from under his eyebrows at her. “I had no idea that our dogs’ pedigrees were so fine here at Grant Park. Apparently, though, we have the makings of champion collies. I talked to my head groom, Davis, about breeding and training dogs and he thinks it’s a fine idea.”
For a moment, she was stunned. Was he actually talking about doing something at the Park? Something that involved his own active participation? “Is this not another responsibility?” As soon as she said it, she wished it back. Again, that sharp tongue of hers…
“It is a responsibility. A large one.” If he was offended, he wasn’t showing it yet. “It’s just the seed of an idea, really. I hadn’t thought of it until yesterday, when I went to see the rest of the dogs with Davis. He mentioned that it was something my father wouldn’t do, and for some perverse reason, it took hold with me.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s because I know it would be something of my own.”
She nodded. “I can see that. In some ways, you face the same dilemma as I do with the shop. Here is a great responsibility, built up by other people, me with the shop and you with the Park. But we would each, in our own way, be making it into something we could call our own.”
“Exactly.” He snapped his fingers, and his posture and bearing became more invigorated than she could recall seeing before. He was not a lazy young buck any longer, but a young man enlivened with purpose. It was an attractive change, that much was certain. “I value your opinion of this more than anyone, because I know you will be honest with me. I also know that we are akin in our business lives, as you pointed out.” He leveled his glance at her, and being fixed with those piercing brown eyes played havoc with her sensibility. “So? What do you think?”
*
For some reason, Hannah’s answer mattered more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He affected the position of a young buck, lolling back against the settee with studied insolence. Inside, though, he was on edge. Hannah would never lie to him. Of all people, she would tell him the truth. If she felt as if he couldn’t make a go of it, then she was likely correct and he would have to go back to his old life and the old way of doing things.
“I think it’s probably a sound endeavor.” Her blue eyes grew a shade deeper as she regarded him. “Of course, it will take a great deal of hard work, and that seems to be the one thing you dislike most in this world.”
His first thought was to be angered. Who was she to say he didn’t like hard work? On the other hand, he had played the role of the lazy young rogue about town for so long, it was difficult even for him to accept that he could be anything else. “I don’t hate hard work,” he protested. “What I loathe is hard work without any respite.”
“Some people cannot afford rest,” she replied tartly. Already she was getting worked up. He liked this side of Hannah. When she was too professional, too precise and too polite, he wanted her to loosen her hold on her temper. For even though she had a sharp tongue, her thoughts were clear, concise and invigorating—like a long draught of cool water from a mountain stream.
“Everyone can afford to have time for relaxation and for fun,” he countered. He leaned his elbow against the arm of the settee and regarded her frankly. “You don’t have enough fun, do you?”
Color bloomed in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with a feisty light, and she clasped her sketch pad in her hands until her knuckles turned white. “I have more than enough hilarity for a woman in my situation.”
“You do not.” He spoke the words flatly, glaring out at her from under lowered lids.
She pursed her lips together as though she were biting back harsh words. He pressed his advantage. “Come, then. Stand up. Dance with me.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. “No indeed. There’s no music, for one thing.”
“I shall hum.” He stood, holding his hand out to her.
She clasped her sketch pad to her chest. “That would be ridiculous in the extreme.”
“But it might be fun.” He gently pried the sketchbook from her and placed it on a nearby table. Then he held his hand out once more. “Shall we?”
She shook her head again. He bent down and took her hand in his. It was cold as ice.
“You are a graceful dancer and should indulge in the pastim
e more often, Sid.” He drew her to her feet and took her other hand. “Physical activity can, after all, sharpen your mind. Perhaps you will find your productivity enhanced.” He began to hum a familiar tune, leading her through the figures of a country dance.
He hadn’t danced with Hannah in weeks, but she responded to the figures with the same grace and poise as though she had been practicing with him every day. She kept her eyes stubbornly turned down toward the carpet, and her hands did not grow any warmer.
After a few moments, he paused his humming, but he didn’t let go of her hands. “So. You think my idea is sound enough to try?”
At last, she looked up at him. He must be a little winded from the dance. That was the only way to account for the sudden catch of breath he experienced when she lifted her chin and looked at him squarely.
“Yes. In all seriousness, and assuming you can also be solemn, I do.”
“Excellent.” He resumed their country dance. It seemed the celebratory thing to do, after all.
“Tell me, why do you insist upon so much amusement in your life? And in the lives of others? Why is having fun so important to you?”
He enjoyed her honesty. She compelled the truth from anyone. Now, though, she had turned it on the ugliest, most vile part of his being. If he told her why, she would hate him. Everyone would.
“Let’s just say I’ve seen too many people who’ve been hurt by too much work and not enough play,” he replied, struggling to keep his tone light. “I find that it’s too vital to ignore.”
She eyed him candidly, even as she executed the difficult turn he led her into. “I see. I don’t suppose I will get more of an answer than that. Even if I am dancing like a puppet on a string. You see, I do what you ask. You don’t seem to return the favor.”
She was right, of course. She always was. “There’s a real difference between the two,” he managed, drawing them both to a halt. “You ask the most difficult questions, while I merely want you to indulge the lighter side of your nature.”