by Lisa E. Pugh
She had been totally honest but not brutal. There was nothing vicious in her assessment. If anything, it bordered on a dispassionate appraisal. Yet there was a compassion there he had not expected, had not hoped for since his mother died. It was beautiful in its simplicity and sincerity.
Margaret shifted uncomfortably in the prolonging silence. She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry if I insulted you. I didn’t mean to.”
“No, it’s not that. Um…” He swallowed hard. “I’m just impressed, that’s all. Tell me, can you see my face with that incisive vision of yours?”
“No,” she replied, her lips curving, apparently amused at the idea. “I've no such gift. I just observe behavior and answer questions candidly. Perhaps too candidly sometimes.”
“Ah.”
She added pointedly, “And I try not to go where I’ve not yet been invited.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. What could he say after that?
As if by mutual agreement, the conversation turned to more mundane topics. The earl entertained his guest with tales from his family’s history, with even more details than Teresa's stories. Maggie responded with the latest news from London. By the time the luncheon was over, they were laughing and chatting like old friends.
With a contented sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “I can’t remember when I last laughed like that.”
“I’m glad I could amuse, my lord,” she smirked.
“Now, you stop that!” Christopher warned with a grin in his voice. “I told you. I get enough of that ‘my lord’ talk from the servants. And you are no servant.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She grinned more broadly and gave him a mock bow.
“You're incorrigible,” he laughed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smugly popped the last grape into her mouth.
“It was certainly meant in admiration.” He considered something for a moment. “Tell me, Miss Taylor, do you ride?”
Startled, she blinked. “I have some experience with horses. Why?”
“I was wondering if you would do me the great honor of going for a jaunt with me. I could give you a tour around the estate. The grounds consist of much more than just the gardens.”
“I would be delighted, Christopher.” As he stood, she joined him and took his offered arm. “However, I have no riding clothes.”
The cowl turned to her and tilted as if he were studying her. “Do you ride sidesaddle, or are you a thoroughly modern woman and wear trousers when you ride?”
“I can ride either way,” she replied, nettled. She couldn't tell if there was speculation or merely a touch of disapproval in his tone, but she didn't appreciate either attitude. “This skirt shows a bit more ankle than you're probably used to seeing, but it’s pleated and, I suppose, it will be adequate for riding.”
He fell silent and shifted as if embarrassed. His hands fidgeted. Clearing his throat, he responded, “Good. Let me show you the stables.”
Chapter 11
The stables were large, clean, and well kept. Built of wood and brick in the half-timber style, they housed a fine assortment of horses. Many were riding stock. However, there were some that were hardy enough to pull a carriage or a cart. A Victorian-style coach, currently being repaired, sat in a side yard.
Margaret went down the line of horses, examining each animal. They were all in fine condition and were obviously exercised regularly. As the days grew warmer, they would be let loose in a large pasture behind the horse barn where they would eat and run unfettered until needed.
As she walked along, a dapple-gray stallion nuzzled her and whinnied softly. Turning, she looked at the horse’s face. It was a beautiful beast, strong and muscular, with a perfectly shaped head. She met its eyes for a long moment. Intelligence and a strong will stared back at her. She gazed at him fascinated.
“I think I’ll try this one,” she said.
His lordship held off getting his black Arabian, Marcus, out of his stall and glanced over at her. He tensed. “Are you sure? That’s my father’s old horse, Shadow. That brute has never let anyone else ride him, including me. Only the senior groom and our most experienced farrier can handle him enough to keep his feet, teeth, and coat in good condition.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to try,” Margaret replied, putting out a tentative hand. The horse sniffed her fingers and lowered his head so she could stroke his nose. She smiled. “After all, he chose me. Didn’t you, boy?”
She petted him gently. The horse nodded, shook his mane, neighed and huffed, stamping a foot. Cooing, she scratched him behind the ears.
The earl's breath puffed out in amazement. “Astonishing. I’ve never seen that animal so docile. Even my father couldn’t be so relaxed around him.”
“Maybe he just needed a woman’s touch.”
Clicking her tongue, she opened the gate and led the horse out. She took the brush and rubbed the bristles down his back with steady strokes, removing anything that might chafe under her weight. Stepping to the shelves, she found a blanket and a small saddle just her size. She strapped it in place and tightened it securely. Then she placed the bridle over the animal’s head. Through it all, Shadow stood still and compliant.
Shaking his head, Christopher finished with his own tack and climbed onto his beast. He waited as she fawned over her ride a bit more. When Margaret mounted Shadow without a problem, they rode out of the stables.
At an easy pace, the pair crossed the small yard and headed for the forest. The earl watched as Margaret guided his father’s horse with a firm expert hand. When the animal began to show a little rebelliousness, she didn't hit or kick him as his old master had done. She whistled, gave a verbal correction, and turned him around in a small circle until he was under control again. Then she led him the way she wanted to go.
Christopher began to reconsider his jesting assertion that she was a gypsy. She certainly seemed to have a talent with horses. She was training this one as they rode. Gradually, the reprimands became less and less frequent.
“ ‘Some experience with horses,’ indeed!” he muttered. He nudged Marcus into a faster trot. Soon, they were riding side by side amid the trees.
After a short time, he remarked, “It seems you're quite knowledgeable about horses.”
“Perhaps, but one doesn’t like to brag.” She smiled with playful smugness.
“How did you learn to ride so well?”
“I was born in Cambridgeshire. My father owned a small estate near Ely, so I grew up around these magnificent animals. After he died during the Spanish Influenza epidemic, my mother and I moved to London. One thing I really miss there is being able to just ride like the wind and not have to worry about a lot of traffic or pedestrians.”
“Would you like to ride over open countryside again?”
Margaret’s eyes widened and flashed with a child-like eagerness. In the depth of his cowl, he grinned. He could give her this experience easily enough, and her reaction was worth more to him than diamonds.
She asked, “May I?”
“Certainly. This estate is more than large enough. Follow me.”
He led her to the edge of the woods. Beyond, a large field stretched in every direction. The only sign of modern civilization was a road that split one section of the field in two. When she saw it, Margaret would recognize it instantly as the road that ran from the village to London, the same one that passed in front of the estate gates.
This road was the scene of my disaster.
He mentally shook his head, silently reprimanding his rogue mind for wandering down that dark path. No, he wouldn't let thoughts of that horrible night interfere with his enjoyment of this moment. He pushed the memories far away and took a deep breath. Fresh crisp air filled his lungs and cleared his mind.
With a sweep of his arm, he declared, “Now, Maggie, you can be free.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when she spurred her horse into a charging gallop. Shadow took off in a gray streak heading
straight for the road. Maggie’s shriek of joy slid behind them on the slipstream.
The speed took Christopher’s breath away. He sat and watched her for a few moments to marvel at the beauty of horse and rider moving as one. Suddenly inspired, he goaded his horse and gave chase.
Marcus was a fast horse, but Shadow was phenomenal. Given his head a little, he raced across the ground as if he were flying. He reacted to his mistress’s subtle instructions instantly, turning one way or the other, and avoiding this or that obstruction.
When they came to the deep ditch by the side of the road, the beast sailed over it like a harrier on an air current. Taking five more steps, he leaped over the ditch on the other side of the road like a gazelle.
Marcus matched him jump for jump. Slowly, the black horse gained ground. He might catch her yet. Christopher was so elated by the pace that he barely heard the screech of brakes behind him.
Winded, Margaret pulled her mount to a stop next to a wall of evergreen bushes. She turned just in time to see his lordship fly over the first gap. His horse responded to him as if they were of one mind. He rode like an expert hunter following the hounds. It was intoxicating to witness.
She watched him soar over the last trench. A moment later, she saw a car on the road skid to a stop a few feet from where the horse had just been. Christopher did not even turn around.
As he approached, she noticed that his hood had blown back during his headlong race. Did he realize it? She doubted it. To spare him any embarrassment, she swung her horse around before he caught up with her.
How she wanted to turn and look at his face! She dearly wanted to know what he looked like, to see the elation, the joy she knew was there. Instead, she rode Shadow in gentle circles, letting him cool down slowly.
As he cantered up to her, Christopher pulled the cowl firmly over his head. He was breathing heavily. His horse was in a similar state.
“By God, but you can ride!” he exclaimed.
“You’re not unskilled yourself,” she replied, glowing with his praise.
“I've never seen a horsewoman like you.”
“Thank you.” She blushed, smiling. “Incidentally, did you see that motorist leaving the village? You were well past him, so there was no chance of a crash. However, he left a large plume of dust behind him.”
Christopher jerked and turned around in his saddle. “No, I didn’t. Thank God they were able to stop cleanly.”
She nodded. He knew what it was like to experience an automobile crash. If he then caused someone else to suffer one as well, he probably would never forgive himself.
Suddenly, his tone became edged. “I hope it was one of those gossips. Would serve them right to get a fright like that.”
Maggie chuckled at his vehemence. Then, looking up at the sun, she quickly checked her wristwatch. “Oh my! Is that the time? I’m afraid we'll have to go back to the stables. I'm meeting Lara Raimond for tea, and I don’t wish to be late.”
His lordship sighed, “Very well. But, let us take it slowly, if you don’t mind—for the sake of our mounts, if nothing else.”
“Of course. They’ve had their run for the day.”
The two friends rode back at a steady pace. They were quiet for most of the journey, neither feeling compelled to maintain a conversation. When they arrived at the stable yard, they dismounted and handed their rides over to the grooms. Then, the earl walked her back to her automobile.
Stopping at the car door, Margaret turned to him. “Thank you, Christopher, for a lovely afternoon. I had a wonderful time.”
“I’m pleased. I enjoyed it as well.” He rocked on his heels nervously. “Will you come again soon?”
“Yes, I will, most certainly. I’d invite you to the village pub for a drink, but I know you wouldn’t come.”
He lowered his head slightly as if confiding a secret to her. “For you, I’d consider it, long and seriously. Who knows? One day, I may shock you.”
Surprised by his response, Maggie smiled. “You’re very gracious.”
“I mean it.” After a beat, he straightened to his full height again. “So, shall we say Saturday afternoon for tea, around three? Or would you prefer supper?”
“Tea is more than acceptable. I will see you on Saturday then.” She climbed into her car. Starting up the engine, she reversed the vehicle and pulled onto the private road. She waved as she drove off.
Grinning like an idiot, Christopher watched her automobile disappear through the trees. What a day it had been! Excitement, sincerity, and humor all rolled into one afternoon.
And he would see her again on Saturday. They would talk again over tea in just three days. It would be a long three days. But oh, what wonderful anticipation!
Margaret Taylor arrived at the teahouse at exactly five o’clock. Lara Raimond was waiting for her. The young woman seemed excited about something.
“Mags, did you hear what happened to Mrs. Vassernatch?” Lara began before her friend even sat down.
The woman in question, Mrs. Vassernatch, was of a long-time village family, and she made certain everyone knew it. She refused to accept Margaret, a “transient” as she called her, and was always one of her harshest critics. When the stories started after the initial trip to the Tobias mansion, she jumped into the gossip pool with both feet.
“Can hardly expect anything better from a Londoner, can you?” she had sneered. “They’re totally without a sense of morality there.”
Margaret tried to look concerned when asked Lara’s question, but eventually gave up. “What happened? Did the old hag get ground up in her own rumor mill?”
If Lara was shocked at the dismissive tone, she didn't show it. She just shook her head. “No. She nearly had an accident outside of town. She was driving on the part of the London road that runs through the Tobias estate when a gray horse and rider raced across the street ahead of her.
“Since there was plenty of distance between her car and the animal, she wasn't very worried. But just as she approached the area where she’d seen the horse pass, a black stallion blazed across her path like a bat out of you-know-where. And she swore she saw his lordship on its back. In any case, a man with a gray hood held the monstrous beast’s reins. He nearly ran her off the road.”
Margaret tried desperately to maintain a properly amazed expression. The coincidence was too much, however. Slowly, a very broad grin spread over her face, and she started laughing. For several seconds, it was all she could do to keep from hyperventilating.
“I can’t say I see what’s so amusing,” Lara remarked, frowning.
“I know I shouldn’t be laughing.” Finally, Margaret inhaled deeply. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“I know you don’t like her, Mags. You have every reason not to. However, you shouldn’t be delighting so publicly at the poor woman’s expense. And if it was Lord Yawron, he should be more cautious when there are automobiles on his property.”
“He didn’t know she was there. He was concentrating on reaching the other side safely.”
“How do you know?”
“I was the person on the gray horse.”
“Then you know how close they came to disaster.”
“Yes. That’s not why I’m laughing. I might not like Mrs. Vassernatch, but I wouldn’t wish an automobile accident on anyone. It has far too many lasting consequences.”
“Then why were you laughing, for heaven’s sake?”
“When I informed his lordship of the near miss, he said that he hoped that the driver was one of the village gossips. According to him, a fright like that was what they deserved.”
“Ah! I see the irony now.” Lara smiled, nodding. “Yes, she deserved the scare at least. Now, shall we order tea?” The two women settled down to an uneventful meal.
It was late at night when another anonymous letter was pushed through her letterbox. Margaret found it the next day.
“There is a special place in Hell for those who delight in another’s misfortune.
You ride a light horse now, but a black one will drag you into the abyss.
Those who play with hellfire will get burned.
Listen to the warning, or everlasting torment will be your reward.”
This was the third such missive she received. She had put up with quite enough of this poison-pen letter writer. Angrily, she crumpled the paper into a ball. She then sent it to her future address by way of the fireplace.
Chapter 12
Thunder. Lightning. Rain. Days and days of rain. Rivers rose, and creeks overflowed their banks. Country roads quickly transformed into muddy tracks. Trees caught fire from Zeus' bolts, only to have the flames instantly doused by the buckets of water pouring from heaven.
Christopher had never seen a storm like it. He could not go riding. He could not enjoy the gardens. He could not even walk to the greenhouses for a change of scenery. He was stuck inside.
Even there, he could find no peace. The tempest howled through the old house. The roof creaked, and the windows rattled. The constant noise set his teeth on edge.
He found it difficult to read in his library or listen to music with nature's assault shaking his house to its foundations. The cacophony drowned out the phonograph and radio. There was nothing he could do.
Forced inactivity was never his strong suit. It wore on his mind and scraped his nerves raw. As he wandered the halls of his manor, he felt like bloody Noah trudging through the bowels of his blasted ark.
After three days of almost constant storms, Saturday was a remarkably beautiful day. The sun came out, small white clouds dotted a perfect blue sky, and the birds sang as if making up for lost time. It was a perfect May Day morning.
Margaret marveled at the loveliness around her as she drove up the estate’s long entrance road. She needed the beauty as a contrast. The dreariness of the last three days had dampened her spirits more than the rain had soaked the grass.