by Sandra Owens
“No, this will be his first time in the ring.”
He almost snorted in skepticism. But from the time she brought the colt in, Chase had been riveted in place—almost forgetting to appreciate the sight of her in black leather breeches. Not quite, however, as Claire now lay over the saddle on the colt’s back, her marvelous bottom high in the air. He was becoming rather fond of her breeches. She looked spectacular.
As she slowly rose, she swung a leg over the saddle and then trotted the colt around the ring. Chase checked the time on his pocket watch. Fifty minutes.
“Bloody amazing,” he muttered.
Harry came to the fence, his eyes shining with excitement. “Did you see, Father?”
“I did and if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“I know, and it was the best thing ever. Lady Claire is going to teach me how to do it. Isn’t she splendid?”
“She most certainly is.”
He smiled at his besotted son. It was a safe bet the twins wouldn’t think much of his plan to find her a husband. He was no longer sure himself.
Claire stopped the colt in front of Harry. He reached up and scratched the horse under his chin. “What is his name, Lady Claire?”
“I don’t know. He has yet to tell me.”
Harry’s eyes went wide. “He’s going to tell you his name?”
She grinned. “They always do.”
Harry stared at the colt as if waiting for him to speak.
Chase chuckled. “I think she means that if you observe him long enough, his name will come to you.”
Claire winked at him, the first woman in his one and thirty years to do so. She dismounted and placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“Your father’s right. For example, you remember Honey, the little filly I introduced you to this morning?”
Harry nodded.
“Well, her name is Honey because she is the sweetest horse I’ve ever met.” Claire held her hand under the colt’s mouth and he snuffled her palm. “Tell me, Harry, what you have observed about this one?”
Without hesitating, Harry listed all the things he had noticed. “And he prances,” he added lastly.
Claire studied at the colt thoughtfully. “You’re right, he does. Very good. So, if you were to give him a name, what would it be?”
“Prancer!” Harry exclaimed.
She made a show of giving Harry’s choice serious consideration. “I think you almost have it, but not quite.” She tapped a finger over her lips. “Let’s see. Prancer, Ancer, Lancer—”
“I know! I know!” Harry cried, jumping up and down. “It’s Dancer. His name is Dancer.”
Claire clapped her hands in delight and borrowing Harry’s favorite word, said, “Splendid. See, I told you he would give you his name.”
Harry’s face lit up in bliss and Chase’s heart did a funny dance. He wryly wondered just how large her supply of pixie dust was. His son looked at her with calf eyes and he feared he just might be, also.
“Would you like to ride him, Harry?” she asked.
“Oh yes, please.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Chase asked.
“Yes, Dancer’s calm for his age.” She gave Harry a leg up and handed him the reins. “Only at a walk, and remember, use a gentle hand.”
She stepped back to the fence and they watched Harry walk the colt around the ring. “He has a light but firm hand. I’m going to enjoy teaching him.” She reached up and smoothed a lock of his hair. “Thank you for allowing it.”
Chase almost purred. What was she doing to him? “Claire?”
There was a question in there somewhere, but damned if he knew what it was. He took a deep breath and inhaled her scent—horse and leather mixed in with violets. The essence of Claire. One side of her mouth curved up in a secretive smile before she walked to the center of the ring, turning her back to him.
Had she just dismissed him? Again? What the devil was the meaning of that smile? Chase wanted to climb over the fence and demand answers. She was ignoring him, all her attention on Harry and the colt.
He wanted her attention on him, wanted to bury his face in her neck and inhale her fascinating scent. He wanted…well, there were a lot of things he wanted to do to her. The woman confused the hell out of him. Disgruntled, he left to go spend time with Bensey.
Claire smiled when Chase strode away. His eyes had smoldered when she’d smoothed his hair. When he had taken a deep breath, she somehow knew he was taking in her scent. It had taken all of her resolve to walk away from him. She sensed it would soon be time to move to the next stage of her plan.
“You can bring Dancer up to a trot, if you wish, Harry.”
Harry grinned happily as he and Dancer trotted around the ring. Keeping an eye on them, she considered the next steps of her strategy, the Ignore Him stage.
During the Advance and Retreat stage, she would get the horse used to her touch and then back off, keeping his curiosity focused on her. When he showed true interest in her, she would turn her back and ignore him. She had yet to meet a horse that liked to be snubbed.
Had Chase reached the point of true interest? Her instincts said he had and she always trusted her intuition with the horses, so she would trust her feelings now. The Ignore Him stage would begin as soon as his mother arrived.
Ignoring Chase was going to be a difficult thing to do.
Chapter Twelve
Harry monopolized the luncheon conversation with a passionate recounting of his morning to Bensey. Every sentence began with, “Lady Claire said,” or “Lady Claire did this, or that.” To Bensey’s credit, he listened attentively.
Chase leaned toward Claire. “I do believe you have an ardent admirer, Claire,” he murmured.
She brushed her hand over his and sighed. “I’ve always wondered how it felt to be admired.”
His skin rippled under her touch. “And how does it feel?”
“Wonderful.” Such a blissful smile lit her face that his mind immediately set about conceiving ways to make her happy just to see her smile like that again.
“Lady Claire said the colt would tell me his name, Bensey, and he did. He told me his name was Dancer. Isn’t that the most splendid thing ever?”
Bensey gave a sad little shake of his head. “Horses can’t talk, Harry. Even I know that.”
Bensey’s comment sent Harry off on a detailed explanation of how the colt had told him his name. Chase turned his mind to Claire’s comment. It bothered him that she had never had anyone in her life to admire her. When her father should have admired her skills at chess, he had, instead, demeaned her. Her husband hadn’t appreciated her talent with the horses even though she had made a name for Hillcrest Stables to the benefit of his pockets.
This beautiful, talented and loving woman had so much to offer, and he didn’t understand how the two most important men in her life hadn’t been her biggest admirers. It didn’t make sense to him when even a nine-year-old boy could see her worth. He felt a surge of anger on her behalf. Someone should show her how special she was. An idea sprouted in his mind.
“Would you like to go with me to the conservatory this afternoon, Lady Claire?” Bensey shyly asked.
“I would be delighted to. Shall I meet you there at four and we can sit and admire the flowers while we have tea?”
His son smiled in sweet pleasure. Love me, love my sons, Chase thought for no good reason.
An approaching carriage sounded from outside. Claire went to the window. “Oh dear, it’s the Fisherman’s carriage.”
The twins exchanged a look of panic and fled with a quick, “Excuse us,” tossed over their shoulders. Chase longed to join them.
“I must go and change into a black gown or Mrs. Fisherman will be scandalized.”
He clenched his teeth. “Heaven forbid.” Claire only had two weeks left of official mourning. As far as he was concerned, her lavender gown was perfectly appropriate.
“You don’t know
her, Chase. If she sees me in anything but black she’ll tell everyone, making it sound as if I’m a horrible woman who doesn’t mourn her husband.”
No, he did know Mrs. Fisherman’s kind—didn’t mean he had to like it. “Go and change. I’ll manage until your return.”
She gave him a grateful smile before she, too, fled. Chase chose an apple from the plate of fruit, pared it and sliced it into neat wedges while he waited. Smithfield entered with a card on his silver tray.
“My lord,” he said, holding out the tray. “Mrs. Fisherman is asking for you. Mr. Fisherman and Miss Fisherman have accompanied her.” Smithfield opened his mouth and then snapped it closed.
“Go on, you obviously have something more to say.”
“Mrs. Fisherman did not inquire after my lady,” Smithfield sniffed.
“Then your lady is more fortunate than I,” Chase said, amused to see the butler’s lips twitch. “Show Mrs. Fisherman and family to the drawing room. I’ll attend them after I finish my apple.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Chase removed his pocket watch and placed it on the table. Slowly nibbling on the apple, he managed to waste seven minutes. He’d been aiming for ten. Heaving a great sigh, he stood and left to face the dragon.
“Mrs. Fisherman, Miss Fisherman,” he said upon entering the drawing room.
The family stood, and the Fisherman ladies curtseyed. “Lord Derebourne, it is a pleasure to see you again. Allow me to introduce my husband, Mr. Fisherman.”
Mr. Fisherman bowed. “My lord.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Fisherman. Ladies, please have a seat.”
Mrs. Fisherman immediately took control of the conversation. “As I am sure you know, Mr. Fisherman is the vicar, and it is his duty to welcome you. He hopes to see you at services on Sunday. It is important for the villagers to see their lord uphold his Christian duty.”
“Now, Miranda—” Mr. Fisherman began.
“I am sure, my lord, you appreciate how important your support means to the village,” she said, talking over her husband. Mr. Fisherman gave Chase a sympathetic smile as she continued on. “Not to speak ill of the dear departed, but the previous Lord Derebourne was lax in his duty to the village. Why, I was telling my dear Rhonda, I’m sure things will improve now that you are in residence. Do you not agree, my lord?”
Chase thought Mrs. Fisherman was sure of many things and that Mr. Fisherman must be a saint. Much to his relief, Claire stepped into the room before he had to respond. He happened to see Mrs. Fisherman’s lips thin when Claire entered. He and Mr. Fisherman stood.
“Ah, there you are Lady Derebourne. I wasn’t sure if you were aware we had guests,” Chase said.
She wore her black gown and white lace cap. He didn’t know which he hated most. Pleasantries were exchanged and Claire took a seat next to Miss Fisherman.
Mrs. Fisherman again took control of the conversation. “Lord Derebourne was just agreeing to attend services Sunday morning, my lady, and we were discussing how important his support is to the village. It was sadly regrettable, my dear, that your dear departed husband did not take more of an interest. I have always wondered how, as his wife, you didn’t have more influence with him.”
She waved a dismissive hand at Claire. “But it is of no matter now, as the new marquess will certainly prove to be up to the task.”
The woman’s cheek astounded him. Never mind he hadn’t agreed to attend services, but to insult Claire in her own home was beyond the pale. He glanced at Mr. Fisherman to see his reaction and, by God, if the vicar wasn’t asleep. Well, now Chase knew how the man tolerated his wife.
Claire gave Mrs. Fisherman a tight smile. “I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Fisherman.” She turned a smile on Miss Fisherman. “It’s nice to see you Rhonda. You look lovely. Blue is a good color for you.”
The girl blushed, but there was pleasure on her face at the compliment. Chase smiled at the girl attempting to hide behind Claire’s back. “Lady Derebourne is right, Miss Fisherman, blue is a lovely color for you.” The color was nice, although all the bows and flounces were unfortunate.
Her pink blush turned a deep red and she peeked over Claire’s shoulder. “Thank you, my lord.”
“The dress was delivered yesterday, my lord. I told my dear Rhonda I was certain you would like it. Did I not say so, Rhonda?”
“Yes, Mother,” Miss Fisherman said so softly Chase strained to hear her.
“Wait until you see the gown we had made for the assembly, my lord.”
Chase didn’t at all like the sly gleam in Mrs. Fisherman’s eyes.
“Rhonda’s dance card fills quickly, Lord Derebourne, so you will want to claim a dance without delay upon your arrival.”
Miss Fisherman disappeared behind Claire. If there was a potion for invisibility, Chase was certain Miss Fisherman would gratefully drink it. He seriously doubted her dance card filled all that quickly, but he felt sorry for her.
“Then I shall claim a dance now. Would the first dance be acceptable to you, Miss Fisherman?”
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered.
Mrs. Fisherman set back with such a satisfied expression that Chase wanted to shake her for her insensitivity to her daughter’s feelings. It was obvious he intimidated the girl. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to want any part of her mother’s matchmaking attempts.
Just how much longer was this visit going to last? In the drawing rooms of London, the Fisherman’s would have far surpassed the time of a polite fifteen minute call. The good vicar still napped, oblivious to his daughter’s discomfort.
“It doesn’t appear as if your mother has arrived to act as chaperone for Lady Derebourne, my lord.”
Startled out of his contemplation, Chase met Mrs. Fisherman’s calculating eyes. “My pardon?”
“My lord, it isn’t seemly for Lady Derebourne to reside here in the abbey alone with you. I would once again offer myself as chaperone. Of course, my Rhonda shall remain as well. We have our valises in our carriage and can stay immediately as I am sure you do not wish to risk Lady Derebourne’s reputation.”
Chase counted to ten. “No need, Mrs. Fisherman. My mother arrives tonight, so as you see, it isn’t necessary to disrupt your household.”
A flash of irritation crossed her face before she turned to Claire. “It is a shame, my lady, that you will not be able to attend the assembly as you are still in mourning.”
Chase blinked. Oh, no, no, no. Perhaps it would be inappropriate for her to dance, but be damned if he would attend the assembly without Claire. Deciding it was best not to gainsay the woman now, he stayed quiet.
If only his mother were here. Mrs. Fisherman would be child’s play for Lady Anne. Chase scanned the room. The vicar still slept, Miss Fisherman hid herself behind Claire, and Mrs. Fisherman prattled on about who knew what.
Enough was enough.
“I beg your forgiveness, but I have an appointment with my steward and must take my leave. Mrs. Fisherman, Miss Fisherman, it has been a pleasure.”
“Surely, my lord, your steward can wait a few minutes,” Mrs. Fisherman protested.
“Surely, madam, he cannot. Good day.”
The rat. Claire narrowed her eyes at Chase’s retreating back. She’d had to bite her cheek to keep from grinning at his curt response to Mrs. Fisherman. Not that she blamed him, but manners prevented her from doing as she wished and following him out.
It meant suffering through another twenty minutes of questions concerning Lord Derebourne before Mrs. Fisherman woke her husband and the family took their leave. What did his lordship like to eat, what was his favorite color, how long had Lord Derebourne been a widower followed by an interrogation about the twins.
Claire kept her answers as vague as possible, saying only that she didn’t know the man very well as they had not had much contact since his arrival.
She thought it best not to mention the two searing kisses they had shared or that they had seen each other’s toes. The satisfied gleam in the
woman’s eyes when Claire admitted she didn’t know the marquess very well grated. What right did Mrs. Fisherman have to try and put a claim on Chase?
Claire wanted to shout at the woman to give over, that there was a better chance of falling through a fairy ring than Chase marrying Rhonda. Her heart went out to the girl, and she wished there was some way she could help Rhonda and Bobby. When the back of the Fisherman’s carriage finally disappeared from sight, she went inside to find the traitorous rat that had jumped ship and abandoned her to the clutches of a determined Mrs. Fisherman.
“You may enter,” a cautious voice responded when she knocked on the door, and then she was certain she heard a muttered, “As long as you are not Mrs. Fisherman.”
If only she had the gift of mimicry. It would serve him right if she could impersonate Mrs. Fisherman’s voice. She opened the door and entered, preparing to tell him how she felt about his abandonment. Before she could speak, he gave her a boyish grin and her eyes fixated on his dimple.
“You are here to chastise me for leaving you alone with the dragon and rightly so. I’m sorry, Claire, but I just couldn’t take any more. It makes me angry every time she’s rude to you. I had to leave before I spoke my mind.”
Warmth spread through her. No one had ever cared enough to get angry on her behalf. All right then, maybe he wasn’t a rat. And she really did like his dimple.
“Apology accepted.” Grinning, she added, “She really is awful, isn’t she?”
He shuddered. “Indeed. Have a seat and visit with me for a few minutes.”
Since she wasn’t at the Ignore Him stage, she accepted his offer. “I feel sorry for Rhonda.”
“As do I. She’s the shyest girl I’ve ever met, but she seems nice enough.”
Claire nodded. “She is very sweet. You do know Mrs. Fisherman is determined to have you for her daughter.”
Another shudder. “Not in this lifetime. It doesn’t appear to me Miss Fisherman agrees with her mother, or is that only wishful thinking on my part?”
“No, you’re right. You scare Rhonda nearly to death. She’s in love with Bobby, the blacksmith’s son. He’s as shy as she, but he finally found the courage to ask Mr. Fisherman for her hand and was denied. It’s too bad, really, as they suit each other very well.”