Without warning Henry felt his horse’s gait falter. He reined in the stallion with a curse, and Phantom slowed to a trot. Even from his seat he felt the pronounced limp, and his ire cooled abruptly as concern for his favorite mount supplanted it. He halted the horse and swung down from the saddle. With a frown, he gingerly examined each dark hoof, finding nothing amiss. Shaking his head, he reached for Phantom’s reins and led the horse on foot through the park. Minutes later Glenfield rose up in the distance, the familiar gray stones weathered to a pleasing silvery patina. “Just a bit further,” he told the horse as they approached, “and I will have the viscount’s groom examine you.”
“Sir, your horse!” a decidedly feminine voice called out from the shadows, startling him. “Please, stop at once. He is injured.” Henry looked to see who was issuing the order and saw a small slip of a girl, not much more than five feet tall, striding purposefully toward him. She was wrapped in a scarlet cloak, and even in the fading light he was certain he had never laid eyes on her before.
“He has only just begun to limp,” he called out through clenched teeth. “I will have him examined by the Rosemoors’ groom, Miss... I am sorry, I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance,” he said, attempting a polite smile.
She threw off her cloak and hurried to Phantom’s side. Henry’s jaw dropped. The chit was wearing breeches! Fawn-colored wool clung to shapely legs, tapering down to black knee-boots. A loose-fitting, white linen tunic skimmed her hips. Golden hair, loose and uncovered, tumbled down her back in rippling waves. The fading sun cast a warm, orange glow upon her anything-but-girlish form. Obviously, she was not so young as he first supposed.
“Sir, I must insist you let me take a look. There,” she said, “on the left foreleg, between the knee and fetlock. A tendon, I think.”
He crouched down and looked where the girl pointed. He grimaced—it did look swollen. However had he missed that? Silently, he cursed himself for his carelessness.
The girl pulled off her gloves and knelt to feel Phantom’s leg. “It’s warm. A bowed tendon, I’m sure of it.” She stood and reached for the powerful animal’s muzzle, offering her hand for the horse to smell. Phantom licked her palm and lowered his head to rest upon her shoulder. “You poor beast,” she cooed, stroking his mane.
Henry blinked, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. Phantom was wary of strangers, tremendously head shy. He’d never seen him behave this way, and it was more than a little unsettling. “However did you do that?”
“Do what?” she asked, dragging her gaze from Phantom to Henry with an irritated flash of impossibly green eyes.
Who was this odd girl who had so bewitched his horse, and what was she doing out near dark in boys’ clothing? Perhaps one of the Rosemoors’ servants, he thought, then shook his head. No, not a servant. She speaks like a lady. But she couldn’t be, not dressed as she was.
“...some mud, and perhaps some peppermint oil,” she was saying.
He realized she was still speaking to him. “I beg your pardon. What were you saying?”
“A poultice, sir,” she said impatiently. “I was saying I need to ice the leg and then apply a poultice.” She shook her head with a scowl. “I must ask Cook at once if she has any peppermint oil.”
“Surely you realize what an odd situation this is?” he sputtered. “In case you have not noticed, you are a female, and females do not generally possess the ability to diagnose equine injuries—”
“In case you have not noticed, sir, I just did.”
“—much less the skills to treat them.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He raised a brow. “But you are a female?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I thought so.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “I just wanted to make sure you knew it.”
He saw her bite her lower lip, perhaps suppressing a smile?
“I can assure you I’m in possession of many years of informal training in veterinary arts, and if you’ll allow me to lead your horse...what was his name?”
“Phantom.”
“If you’ll allow me lead Phantom to the stables, I’ll see to his care with the utmost attention. If you doubt me, please feel free to inquire with Lord and Lady Rosemoor.”
Henry’s head was spinning. This was madness, and yet...he felt certain she did know of what she spoke. Reluctantly, he nodded his assent and handed her the reins. “I accept your word, Miss...ahhh...”
“Do you, now? How lucky for me.” This time her smile was evident and it lit her eyes like freshly polished gems. He couldn’t help but grin foolishly in reply.
Without a backward glance, she led Phantom away, her own horse following docilely behind. Henry shrugged in bewilderment as he stared at her shapely backside, so clearly defined, swaying ever so enticingly with her feminine gait.
No, not a lady, but certainly comely enough.
He started to follow, but stopped to fish out his watch from his waistcoat. Checking the time, he saw that he was more than a half hour late for his engagement with the viscount. With a surprising certainty that Phantom was in capable hands, Henry hurried toward the house’s wide front steps, taking two at a time, and promising himself he would return and check on the horse at the earliest opportunity.
Chapter 2
“We’re in agreement on that count, Mandeville. It’s glad I am to have young men like you on our side. It’s an outrage, and I’ll speak with Lord Grey as soon as we arrive in Town.” Lord Rosemoor’s gray brows were drawn into an angry line.
“As will I, Rosemoor. It’s insupportable. I must say, I’m looking forward to taking my place in Parliament. I’ve spent these past few years in Scotland thinking about what needs to be accomplished. First and foremost is educational reform. Let us get the children off the streets, little thieves, and get them into schools, instead. It’s the only hope we have for our future—educating England’s children, no matter their station. ‘But if you ask what is the good of education in general, the answer is easy; that education makes good men, and that good men act nobly.’”
“Ah, the wise words of Plato. You think like your father.” Lord Rosemoor smiled as he set down his glass.
“Perhaps, but unlike my father, I will see the vision to fruition. We need to gain the ear of easily swayed men and win them to our side. The time is ripe for a Whig government, if we play our cards right.”
“True. It does not bode well for our country if the damn Tories—ah, but here are the ladies, so our business must be concluded.” Lord Rosemoor stood and snuffed out his cheroot. “Lord Mandeville, you must now properly meet our dear friend and guest. I present to you Miss Lucy Abbington.”
Henry looked up from his sherry in surprise as Lady Rosemoor approached with a young lady on her arm. The girl wore a gown of pale-blue gauze trimmed in green. Her curls were piled atop her head, a ribbon the color of emeralds woven artfully through the arrangement. His indignation at the current political situation defused at once.
Exquisite. That was the only word Henry could think of to describe her.
“Good evening, Lord Mandeville,” Lady Rosemoor said, gliding to his side with a polite smile.
“Lady Rosemoor.” Henry bowed to his hostess and took the girl’s proffered hand. “Miss Abbington, a pleasure.”
“My lord,” the girl murmured with a small curtsey, her eyes lowered. “I apologize for my conduct earlier. I didn’t realize to whom I was speaking. I meant no disrespect.”
Henry shook his head, confused. Earlier? This couldn’t be... And then she raised her eyes, so unbelievably green, just like... His mind scrabbled to grasp the situation. Yes, the eyes were the same, but the rest of her was so very different.
She was every inch a lady, and a desirable one at that. However had she affected such a transformation in so short a time? And why was his heart suddenly hammering in his chest?
He struggled to regain his composure. “No apology is necessary, Miss Abbington.
I fear I didn’t offer proper thanks for your attentions toward Phantom. I’m most grateful for your assistance. Rest assured I’ve been properly chastised for doubting your abilities.” He smiled sheepishly at Lord Rosemoor as his hand found his glass. He took another swig of the sweet liquid. This Miss Abbington smelled of lavender and saddle leather, and...was it peppermint? He involuntarily moved closer, breathing in her scent. It was intoxicating. Henry downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion, and set the glass down upon the sideboard.
“Have no fear, Mandeville,” Lord Rosemoor said. “You would not be the first man surprised by Lucy’s unusual skills. Her grandfather was a baron, you know. Lord Wexley, a fine man. But our Miss Abbington has quite the reputation as an animal healer.” The viscount patted Miss Abbington’s shoulder with a look that Henry thought an odd mixture of pride and amusement.
The girl’s eyes twinkled as she met his gaze, a smile dancing upon her lips. “I do try to be helpful when called upon. But of course, as a woman, I lack the necessary education.”
Henry couldn’t possibly draw his gaze from hers, not even if the butler had run into the room screaming ‘fire!’ at the top of his lungs.
“She’s being modest, Mandeville,” Rosemoor said. “People travel some distance to seek her counsel and care. She has an uncanny affinity with the beasts. I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it myself on several occasions. Besides, I’ll wager there isn’t a horse anywhere she can’t ride. You should see the way—”
“Charles, please,” Lady Rosemoor hissed. “You are embarrassing Miss Abbington.”
Miss Abbington didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. “I’m afraid you make me sound like some sort of sorceress, Lord Rosemoor, which I assure you I am not.”
“Of course not, dear.” Lady Rosemoor patted her hand. “I wonder what’s keeping my daughters? Dinner shall soon be announced.”
Henry finally managed to drop his gaze. His stomach grumbled in anticipation as the savory aroma of mutton assaulted his senses. The Rosemoors’ cook was exceptional; he could always count on an excellent meal at Glenfield, along with pleasant company. He found the Rosemoor girls amusing, and they struck Henry as more guileless than most. He couldn’t resist another glance in Miss Abbington’s direction. She looked up and their eyes met briefly before she looked away, but he felt her presence in every fiber of his body.
He raked a hand through his hair and wondered if she did possess some mystical powers. First she had captivated his horse, and now he found himself inexplicably drawn to her, as well. Perhaps it was simply a result of his lengthy celibacy, he assured himself. The breeches she wore earlier had suggested sensual curves that the current fashions concealed so well. Yes, that was it. He was a man, after all.
And she was a woman. Definitely a woman.
Lucy peered curiously at Lord Mandeville from across the room as he downed his sherry and slammed the empty glass on the sideboard with unnecessary force. Colin joined him, refilling the marquess’ drink before pouring his own. She took a moment to study him while the two men engaged in conversation, their voices a low rumble. His eyes, which she first supposed to be almost black, were instead a deep shade of blue, startling against his sun-darkened skin. His hair, unfashionably short, was as black as a raven’s wing. He was elegantly attired in a dark-blue riding jacket, its fit accentuating his muscular form. A neatly folded cravat lay atop crisp, white linen. He cut a fine form, indeed. Well over six feet, he was narrow in the waist but broad in the chest, and his arms appeared frighteningly powerful.
Jane was right. He certainly was not hard to look at. No wonder Colin had seen fit to warn her.
She reflected back on their meeting by the stables. He was a bit insufferable, but that was to be expected. He was a marquess, after all. Yet she had to concede he had made her smile, even as he insulted her. Now that they’d been properly introduced, he shied away from her like a nervous colt, keeping a safe distance while he eyed her cautiously—or was it curiously?—from across the room.
Lucy’s attention was drawn away from him as her aunt rushed into the room, her lace cap askew atop gray curls.
“May I present Mrs. Stafford, Miss Abbington’s aunt?” Lord Rosemoor was saying to the marquess. “She has accompanied her niece here from Nottinghamshire.”
“A pleasure, Mrs. Stafford,” Lord Mandeville said.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, my lord.” Aunt Agatha bobbed a curtsey and readjusted her spectacles, her face a deep scarlet. “All mine,” she added, breathlessly. Her faded eyes danced as she clasped her hands to her bosom, basking in the man’s rakish smile.
The kind of smile that made most women melt, Lucy thought, grateful for her own sensibility. She brushed her forehead with the back of one wrist and stared at the carpet beneath her feet. Its intricate pattern became nothing more than a blur. She was barely aware that Jane and Susanna had at last made their appearance and were now chatting easily with their distinguished guest.
A bell sounded in the doorway, and the hum of conversation ground to a halt as the butler announced the meal. Lucy followed her hosts to the warmly lit dining room, settling herself into her chair with a sigh.
Mercifully, she found herself seated beside Colin, more than half a table’s distance from Lord Mandeville. She hated mutton, the evening’s fare, but barely noticed the food she pushed about her plate, so engrossed was she in avoiding looking in the marquess’ direction any more than was necessary. Instead, she focused on remembering everything she’d learned about bowed tendons and their treatment. It had been more than a year since she’d actually treated such an injury. She wanted to make certain she proved her skill as far as Phantom was concerned.
Yet she couldn’t help but notice that her aunt’s head was frequently bent toward Lord Mandeville’s. Just what could Aunt Agatha possibly be discussing so intently with the man? She forced her thoughts back to the horse’s injury with a scowl.
At last the sweets were laid before them, a mélange of tempting delicacies. Lucy’s mouth watered in anticipation as she roused herself from her thoughts long enough to notice that, as Jane had predicted, Lord Mandeville had steered the conversation toward equine matters. He was animatedly discussing his current breeding plans with Lord Rosemoor.
“My groom informs me that Medusa appears ready to foal any moment now. This breeding was much anticipated,” Lord Mandeville was saying, and Lucy’s interest was instantly piqued, the sweets forgotten.
“Lord Mandeville,” she said, endeavoring to make her voice as level as possible, “tell me about Medusa.”
“I sent Medusa to Covington Hall from my estate in Scotland with orders for my groom to breed her to Phantom. She is from exceptional stock, and I wanted to introduce the bloodline into ours at Covington. She is from the Scottish Galloway lines, but”—he waved a hand—“of course you wouldn’t know—”
“Of course I do,” Lucy interjected, perhaps a touch defensively. Maybe more than you do, she thought.
“Ah, yes.” He scratched his head. “I forgot.”
Lucy smiled weakly. “Is this the first time Medusa has been bred, then?”
“Ahem.” Lady Rosemoor cleared her throat and twisted her napkin in her hands. Jane caught Lucy’s eye and archly raised a brow with a sly smile. Lucy stifled a laugh, her mood briefly lightened.
Lord Mandeville didn’t seem to notice his hostess’ discomfort and continued enthusiastically. “It is indeed the first time she’s been bred, but Phantom has sired a number of fine specimens. He has proven a fine stud by any standard.”
The marquess’ eyes met Lucy’s, and her pulse quickened in response. She fidgeted with the neckline of her gown in discomfiture. “I should love to see Medusa,” she said, as businesslike as possible. “And the foal, of course, when it chooses to arrive. But I’m afraid Phantom must remain here at Glenfield for a few days at least, before he will able to return and meet his progeny. And his leg shall take months to heal fully.”
“Quite serious, I’m afraid,” Lucy said, “and yes, I’m certain. Fortunately, it appears to be a mid-line bow, not nearly as serious as it could have been. I wonder, should I go check on him now?” She started to rise from her seat.
“Lucy, dearest,” Aunt Agatha interjected, “I must insist you first finish your meal.”
“Your aunt is right.” Lady Rosemoor nodded in agreement. “I am sure Simmons is taking good care of the marquess’ horse. So, Lord Mandeville,” she said, obviously anxious to change the subject. “Will your mother join you in Town for the Season?”
Lord Mandeville’s eyes appeared to darken. “Yes, I believe she is taking residence with my sister in Grosvenor Square. I shall have Mandeville House to myself.”
“I do hope you will find time to call upon us in St. James, as we are practically neighbors. We shall give a ball soon after our arrival to introduce Susanna and Miss Abbington. You shall expect an invitation, of course.”
Lord Mandeville grimaced. “To be frank, Lady Rosemoor, I was hoping to avoid the social scene altogether. I have a duty to Parliament, but I confess I do not enjoy the social aspects of the Season.”
“Humph. I second that.” Lord Rosemoor raised his glass.
“Well, my lord,” Susanna said, her cheeks flushed, “I do hope you will change your mind. Most gentlemen do manage to enjoy both aspects of the Season.” She looked to Lord Rosemoor with an amused smile. “Even my father does, despite what he says.”
“It’s true,” Jane added. “Besides, I believe as much politicking takes place in the ballroom as it does in the House of Lords.”
“How right you are, Jane. Come, girls, let us leave the gentlemen to their port.” Lady Rosemoor rose with a smile, and Lucy gratefully followed her hostess out.
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