Tales of a Viscount_Heirs of High Society

by Eleanor Meyers

  She eyed him warily but shrugged. After all, he was largely right, and he had the idea that she liked the opportunity to speak only as herself as much as he did.

  "It's a fair amount. Two thousand pounds a year, which is certainly nothing to sneeze at. Enough to find me a husband, I suppose. Enough to make sure that he treats me decently enough."

  There was something so practical about the way she said it that made James look at her more closely.

  "I don't believe that I have ever heard of anyone speak of marriage quite like that before."

  "Oh?"

  "As practically as if it were a transaction at a horse fair."

  "Oh, believe me, if I were purchasing a horse at the fair, I would be far more careful than all that!"

  "Than when you are looking for a husband?"

  She laughed, a bright sound that reminded James of the birds singing in the hedges. "I suppose I should be more careful, shouldn't I? A husband who kicks is surely more of a problem than a stud that kicks."

  James scowled. "You shouldn't even be considering a husband who kicks, so to speak."

  "Nor will I. I promise, I will put at least as much thought into choosing my husband as I do a horse. But I suppose it's something that doesn't interest me all that much. Someday, I will marry because it is the right thing to do, and hopefully, the man I choose, or more likely, who is picked for me by my uncle, will be a kind man who tolerates my love of horses and riding."

  "You are very calm about all of this."

  She must have caught some of the censure in James’ voice because she shot him an amused look.

  "Believe me when I say that this calm was hard-won. My mother died when I was no more than five, and my father largely had the raising of me. He let me run around, not even like a son, but like a wild thing, and when I was inevitably told that I would one day have to marry, I cried and shouted like anything."

  "What calmed you?"

  She was still long enough that James wondered if she would answer at all, and then she shrugged.

  "I was calmed when my father told me that I might find a man who loved horses as much as he and I did. That didn't seem so bad, that there would be three of us instead of two so very fascinated by the farm. But why all these questions? If you're going to take my heartfelt memories and return to Fairport to buy fine horses from my uncle, I am sure I will not forgive you."

  "Nothing so very sinister, I promise you. I suppose I am just curious."

  He was more than just curious. There had been a case not all that long ago in London, of questionable inheritances and some truly underhanded dealings, and for some reason, listening to Jo relate her tale of woe was ringing some bells in his head.

  "So, how long as your uncle been selling off the horses of your father's stud farm?"

  "Almost as soon as he was created the Marquess of Fairport, really. Perhaps some... three, four months?"

  Judging by Tempest's quality, the former Marquess of Fairport had been one hell of a horse breeder, and all of London knew that the stud farms of Yorkshire were among the finest in the world. The current marquess could be making several fortunes off his late brother's bloodstock if he sold them at Tattersall's in London... so why hadn't he?

  "So, if I have answered all of your questions, you should answer some for me. That seems only fair, yes?"

  "I suppose it does. All right. Ask away."

  "What would you do with Tempest if you owned her?"

  "Cherish her forever as the goddess come to Earth you and your father obviously think she is?"

  "Good answer, if faintly blasphemous, but truly. You saw her and immediately wanted to buy her. There was a reason for that."

  "I suppose I would have come up with something after the fact. Hunted with her, likely. You might not think much of it, but the hunt uses many of the same skills a cavalry horse needs. Not so very different than what you were hoping for."

  "But would you have bred her?"

  "I am not in the business of doing so, no. Perhaps I might have if a friend or a colleague had come to me with a good idea for a match and the proper facilities to do so."

  Jo shook her head sadly. "All that money, and no idea how to use it. It is a shame."

  James laughed out loud. "I'll have you know that I took over the Westmont estates when I was nineteen, and I doubled the yield by the time I was twenty-four. No one else in the world would say that I have no idea how to use my money save you."

  She grinned, and he was enchanted to discover a small dimple on her chin that appeared when she did so. "I'm sure you're very clever when it comes to sheep and cows and wheat, but when it comes to important things like horses, you seem a bit slow, that's all."

  He started to take exception to that, but then she asked him another question.

  "What are you doing in Yorkshire?"

  A part of James froze. The part that won duels and bluffed his way through risky hands of cards and lied when asked if he knew a certain lovely lady, however, managed to keep a smile on his face.

  "Why, whatever do you mean?"

  Jo shot him a look as if he were not fooling anyone. James couldn't remember the last time someone had had the spirit to doubt a thing he said. "I mean that the season is not quite over. We might be rustics out here, but I know that well enough. London's in full swing right now, getting in all the fun it can before everyone comes out to rusticate before the little season in a few months. I would think that a man like you would be carousing the night away, not spending his time in a desolate little hunting lodge near West Riding."

  "You were grateful enough for that desolate little hunting lodge last night."

  She drew Tempest up for a moment so that she could execute a fairly competent bow from the mare's back. "Thank you so much for the pleasure of sleeping on your cold stone floor, my lord. It was surely the most exciting and invigorating experience of my young life."

  "All right, no need to rub it in. It certainly isn't an impressive hotel."

  "And you are stalling. Why are you here and not there? If you're impulse buying horses off the road, it's certainly not because of horseflesh."

  James paused, thinking for a moment. He could certainly tell her it was none of her business, because it certainly was not. He could also tell her a lie. He might have been a gentleman, but there were a surprising number of things that gentlemen were permitted and even encouraged to lie about.

  For some reason, he didn't want to do either of those things, and that left him with the unpalatable option of telling her the truth. Of course, James had always been good at finding alternate options, and one came to him at the turn of the road. To their right was a distant little village, and to their left was a wide-open paddock, empty except for a towering chestnut tree a good half-mile away.

  "I'll tell you if you beat me to that chestnut tree."

  "Oh, but—"

  Before she could get whatever she was getting ready to say out of her mouth, James had wheeled Gunner around and set off for the tree as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. He laughed to hear her cry of indignation at being taken in by the same trick she had played on him the day before, and then he heard the thunder of Tempest's hooves as she raced after him.

  The paddock was perfect for racing, the ground springy but not rutted with roots or mud. James bent low over Gunner's neck, promising the gelding every type of treat if he would only win. He knew Gunner would run his heart out if only James asked him to, but Tempest was like something out of a fairytale. She caught up to him less than halfway to the chestnut tree, and she started to pull ahead.

  Out of the corner of his eye, James could see Tempest and, riding her as skillfully as a professional jockey, was Jo. He glimpsed her pale face set in concentration, bright strands of auburn hair whipping across her cheeks, and he had to turn away, focusing instead on the chestnut tree in front of them.

  Gunner and Tempest were nose and nose for just a few strides, and then, as easy as a summer breeze, the mare star
ted to pass the gelding.

  I knew she was most likely going to win. It won't be such a bad thing to tell Jo anyway.

  Soon enough, he was looking at Jo's back, and then she started to pull away ahead of him. She reached the shadow of the chestnut tree, but then to James' surprise, she hauled back on the reins hard enough to set Tempest nearly back on her haunches.

  "Stop!"

  Her shriek nearly pierced his eardrums, and James reacted without thinking. He pulled back hard on the reins, turning Gunner instead of stopping, and he rode a tight circle before he came up alongside the stricken Jo and the much put-out Tempest.

  At first, he wasn't sure what Jo was looking at hidden in the tall grass at the base of the chestnut tree. He thought it must be a cow, or perhaps a large pig dead on the ground, especially with that strong acrid smell in the air, but then he looked closer and saw the cause of Jo's concern.

  It wasn't a cow or a pig, but instead a dainty mare, her belly distended by pregnancy. She lay on her side in an attitude that looked unnatural even to James’ untrained eye, and as he stared, she lifted her narrow head and screamed.

  * * *

  6

  CHAPTER

  SIX

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  Before she thought twice about it, Jo was off Tempest's back and searching for a place to secure her. Every instinct in her body told her to go help the mare on the ground, but her father had drilled his instructions into her mind almost before she could walk, long before she could ride.

  Look after your horse. Always, always look after your horse.

  After what felt like an hour but was more likely just a few minutes, she found a derelict section of fencing that was still standing beyond the chestnut tree. James was right behind her, but he hesitated before tethering Gunner.

  "She looks like she's having a bad time. We should run find her owner. He likely lives in that little town across the road and down the valley."

  Jo was already moving, brushing past James with the expertise born of literal years of her life spent in stables.

  "You can do that if you want. I want to be here."

  She was focused on the mare, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw James hesitate and then dismount and tether his gelding next to Tempest before he hurried after her.

  "Do you have experience with foaling?"

  "Some. I watched Tempest's birth, and I helped with several others. Mostly though, horses have been taking care of this on their own for quite some time. All we likely need to do is watch and to make sure that she doesn't get into any kind of trouble."

  However, after carefully approaching the mare and calming her, it was clear to see that she was definitely in trouble. A long line was attached to her halter that ended in a frayed break, meaning she had likely escaped from whatever holding pen her owners had kept her in. More than that, however, she was still, when in most of the foalings Jo had attended, the mare would always be restless.

  "She's meant to be up and pacing, getting up and lying down. Why isn't she?"

  James shrugged, but she hadn't really expected him to have an answer for her. When she inspected the mare, however, she figured it out very quickly.

  The foal had started to make its entrance into the world; two small hooves were visible, but Jo realized with a lurch that instead of being pointed up, they were skewed sideways.

  "Damn it all to perdition. It's not a breech, thank God, but that's still not good. The foal is trying to emerge crooked. She must have been pushing for some time, poor thing, and now is too tired to move."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Jo bit her lip. If there was a farrier in town, he would hardly be more knowledgeable than she was, but he would have the tools necessary to cut the foal from its mother's body if worse came to worst. It had happened a few times, and her father always said the foal's chances of surviving once its mother was dead were hideously low. She glanced down at the mare, who was looking up at her with nearly human eyes of anguish. She abruptly made her decision.

  "I'm going to help her, and James, I am afraid you are going to need to help me."

  "Tell me what to do."

  She nodded, grateful beyond words for his calm acceptance.

  "In her position, even if she can push, the foal won't come out easily. We need to shift her at least a little, perhaps a lot."

  Jo stripped off her jacket and her cap, throwing both aside so she could see and work more effectively. She showed James where they could push, and together, with some shouting and direction, they shifted the groaning mare to her side. She took a few snaps at both of them, but she was clearly too exhausted to do more, something for which Jo was profoundly grateful.

  "All right, beautiful, don't worry, don't worry, we'll take good care of you. James, stay close to her head, and if you need to hold on to her to keep her down, do so. She may not like what I'm about to do next, and the last thing I need is for her to turn around and think I need a good biting."

  "What are you… Oh. Oh, yes. For the love of God, be careful, Jo."

  "I always am. Now let me work."

  Kneeling behind the mare and rolling up her sleeves, wishing she had her father's expertise, or his skill or his understanding, she took a deep breath. She didn't have any of those things, and she was on her own. Carefully, she reached down, and when a gentle tug on the protruding hooves did not miraculously dislodge the foal, she reached in, feeling desperately in the blood and muscle for the give the mare so desperately needed.

  By the end, her knees were sore, her back ached like fire, and her shoulder was wrenched, but something she did worked. With a movement that was nearly liquid in its ease, the foal slid free, landing on the ground with a thump. At the same time, Jo cried out to James to let the mare go, and she lurched back herself. She was filthy, exhausted, and sore, but she couldn't take her eyes off the foal on the ground. James came to help her up, and together, they retreated back to the chestnut tree.

  "What happens now?"

  James’ voice was hushed, almost awed.

  Jo smiled.

  "Now we hope that the long labor didn't tire her out too badly. We can step in, but it is far better if the mother handles it."

  The foal, as pale as a bolt of unbleached silk, all legs and unwieldy head, broke through the thin white membrane that covered it, drawing its first breath and making Jo nearly faint with gratitude. Some foals couldn't stand the pressure of a long birth, and all of that work would only end in one small death. This one, however, seemed strong and curious, and as the mare licked hard at its fur, it staggered to its feet with the wavering grace of all things newborn.

  "Come on, honey, come on, just a little more..."

  As Jo watched, barely aware of James’ arm around her shoulders, the foal took its first wavering steps and then found its mother's udders. After a few tries, it was suckling.

  Jo sagged with relief back against James.

  "Oh, thank Heaven."

  "Is that it?"

  "Yes. My father always said that no matter how disastrous the birth is, no matter what goes wrong or what happened, if the foal is standing and nursing and the mother calm, everything else is going to be fine."

  "Well, that's certainly—"

  Jo would very much have liked to hear what he was going to say next, but she was distracted by the fact that the sky seemed to be going dark and everything seemed as if it was coming from very far away. She heard James call her name, each time repeating it with more panic and fear.

  She started to reassure him that she was fine, that she only needed a few minutes to rest after all, but then the darkness took her, and she knew no more.

  * * *

  The first thing that Jo felt when she woke up was a sense of confusion. Why did she smell lavender? Why was she in bed?

  She lurched up with a start, looking around for help, but a young woman sitting by her bed
reached out to touch her hand.

  “It's all right. You're safe. You're among friends, I promise.”

  The girl sitting by her bed looked perhaps a year or two older than Jo was herself, with dark honey-blond hair and eyes that were an almost unsettling shade of violet. She was the sort of slight and fairy-like creature who made Jo feel immediately rather large and clomping, and for a moment, she had trouble stuttering out anything at all.

  “I was in the field with the mare, and James—”

  “It's all right. Your companion brought you here after you fainted, and he and my head groom told me how you helped Bella.”

  “Bell—the mare? Are she and the foal well?”

  “Yes, and they are being looked after by a very remorseful groom. It was a freak accident that she escaped, and once she had, we feared she might have gone down to the river. We didn't even think of the north paddock. I must offer you my thanks for that timely rescue.”

  “You're of course welcome, but... who are you?”

  The girl smiled a little, and Jo was struck by her sadness as well as her beauty. “I'm Clarine Waters. I suppose I should say Lady Clarine now, shouldn't I? No matter. Call me Clarine, and that was my mother's horse you saved. Thank you, I cannot thank you enough.”

  “It was nothing. I couldn't have done otherwise... but please, tell me why I'm here. The last thing I remember was being in the paddock with—”

  “Oh, your husband. He brought you here and explained everything. I'm sorry you've had such a terrible misfortune on the road, but rest assured that I will help you.”

  Jo started to ask Clarine exactly what she meant by all that, but then there was a gentle knock on the door before it opened to reveal James standing there.