Lord Featherstone assisted her into the chaise and handled the reins himself, driving down the road, farther into the duke’s estate. Meg tipped her head back, enjoying the feel of the warmth on her face as she admired the grounds. She took a detailed accounting of the scenery around them. With the sun shining, England was a completely different place. The meadows were beginning to sprout green grass, birds chirped, and buds clung to tree branches.
The earl did not seem to want to enjoy the serenity of a late winter’s morning and instead filled the silence by describing his holdings in Somerset. Though Meg had yet to learn anything about the man himself—aside from his inability to grow a full mustache—she did learn that he had an income of 15,000 pounds per annum, an estate of more than 10,000 acres, which required a bailiff, land agent, and auditor to manage in his absence. Not to mention various other properties that accompanied lesser titles he had inherited. Lord Featherstone informed her that Hawthorne House itself had 34 bedchambers, a ballroom, extensive gardens, stained glass windows, a large conservatory, and a dining room to rival that of any estate in England.
Meg nodded and smiled in all the right places, but the earl apparently did not expect her to answer, so she allowed her mind to wander as he talked, specifically to the elegant horse pulling the carriage. Did Lord Featherstone realize that the horse would perform better if given her head? He held the reigns so tightly that it looked painful for the animal, and in Meg’s opinion, the man was a bit too free with the whip.
She had almost resolved to mention it when movement between the trees caught her eye. She turned her head to look closer. There were people in the forest. It was most certainly a band of outlaws, she thought. “I think there is someone in the woods, my lord,” Meg whispered.
Lord Featherstone peered in the direction Meg indicated, and they both saw the flash of color and glint of metal between the trees.
“Most likely poachers,” he said, turning his gaze back to the road. He sniffed, and his lip curled as they moved past the spot. “The duke will undoubtedly need to be informed. Britain prosecutes such criminals severely.”
“For hunting in the forest?” Meg asked, looking back over her shoulder.
“They are stealing the duke’s animals,” the earl said, his eyes narrowing. “If they are apprehended, they will be transported for a minimum of seven years.”
“What does that mean, transported?” Meg began to feel the sinking feeling of unease.
He shrugged and ran his finger over his upper lip. “Deported, consigned to seven years of hard labor, and never allowed to return upon penalty of death.”
“Perhaps they are simply trying to feed their families,” she said. She was horrified with the injustice of it all. “How can the duke own the animals when they could at any moment walk in and out of his forest?” She tried not to allow her voice to rise, though she was not entirely successful.
He looked down at her, shaking his head and patting her hand where it rested in her lap. “Miss Margaret, do not concern yourself. Such things are not a lady’s affair. You must put them out of your mind and leave these matters to men.” He wrapped his hand around hers.
Meg bit down on her lip to prevent herself from arguing further. She lifted her hand away. The earl’s touch had been the opposite of comforting. Her throat ached, and her eyes began to prickle. It was yet another reminder of the self-importance of the aristocracy and her reasons for wanting to avoid the entire upper class.
Lord Featherstone must have considered her silence to indicate agreement, and so continued to regale her with descriptions of his wealth and importance, which in his eyes were apparently all that mattered, and Meg thought the carriage ride could not end quickly enough for both her sake and the horse’s.
When they neared the castle, she had readied herself to make a dash for her sanctuary in the library when she saw that the duke awaited them near the front entrance.
He waved and smiled, and once the carriage came to a halt, he held out his hand to help Meg step down. “A lovely day, is it not?”
“Yes, and we have had a nice tour of your estate. It is so very beautiful with the sun finally shining,” Meg said.
He laughed. “I imagine the English weather takes some getting used to after the warm climate of South Carolina.”
The earl joined them, and the duke turned to him. “I thought with the clear sky, it would be an excellent time to flaunt my new racehorses, if you are still interested.” The duke’s smile grew larger, and his enthusiasm was nearly tangible.
“I’d be delighted, your grace,” Lord Featherstone said, tipping his head.
The duke turned to Meg. “Would you join us, Miss Meg?” He offered his arm, and Meg did not even hesitate.
Thoughts of escaping Lord Featherstone’s company dispersed as she anticipated a tour of the duke’s stables. She slipped her hand beneath her cousin’s elbow. “Thank you, Your Grace. I would dearly love to see your horses.”
“If you are not too tired from this morning’s excursion,” the earl said. “Perhaps you would prefer to rest during the heat of the day. I wonder if the stables will keep a lady’s interest.”
Meg made sure to turn away before she rolled her eyes. “I will endure it the best I can, my lord.”
The duke squeezed her hand, where it rested on his arm, and when Meg looked at him, he gave her a quick wink.
Meg smiled, hoping that the duke’s wink indicated that she was not the only one to find Lord Featherstone’s assumptions about her absurd.
When they stepped through the doors, the smell of animals and straw assaulted her senses, but she felt comforted by the familiarity of it. She’d spent countless hours at her grandfather’s horse farm. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and she looked around in awe. The duke’s stables were grander than the Royal Exchange building in Charleston. The ceilings were high and the stalls spacious, separated by wooden partitions. Uniformed grooms moved purposefully as they tended to the animals, some leading the horses outside to the track for exercise, some feeding, and some cleaning the floors.
A stable hand led the earl’s Yorkshire coach horse into a stall and filled a trough with water as another brushed the animal after its outing with the carriage.
Meg scanned the rows for one horse in particular, and finally, near the other end of the stable, she spotted the white head of Patito.
The duke led them past the stalls telling about each horse as they passed. Meg was in love. Some of these breeds she had only read about in equine reference books. The duke certainly had an eye for high quality horseflesh as well as beauty.
When they reached Patito’s stall, Meg released the duke’s arm and stepped closer. “Hello, Patito,” she said in a soft voice, patting his neck. The men continued to talk, and she allowed the stallion to nuzzle her cheek. Meg’s heart jumped when Carlo stepped around from the other side of the horse. She’d thought him pleasant-looking before, but with his face clean shaven and his dark eyes wide with surprise, she was caught off guard by how handsome he was.
When she opened her mouth to greet him, he shook his head, placing a finger in front of his mouth and looking pointedly over her shoulder.
Meg realized how inappropriate it would be for the duke and Lord Featherstone to see her greet a servant familiarly and so held her tongue, but she could not help the contentment she felt at seeing him. She gave Carlo a small smile, patted Patito one last time, and made her way to where the men were waiting.
She noticed the duke nod politely to Carlo, but Lord Featherstone did not appear to notice any of the servants or acknowledge their presence.
Carlo kept his head bowed, which looked unnatural for a man who stood so straight. He stepped back into the shadows, and Meg’s insides squirmed uncomfortably. A groom must remain subservient in the gentlemen’s presence, she reminded herself.
The duke and earl had stopped in front of a stall and were admiring a black horse when she rejoined them. Meg was taken aback by the animal�
�s beauty.
“A Thoroughbred,” she said. “He is so majestic.” The horse was obviously bred for racing, with a lean body and long legs.
She stepped closer, but the earl stretched out his arm, blocking her from moving closer. “Be careful, miss. An animal like this is spirited. I’d not want you to be frightened.”
“Oh, I shan’t be frightened, sir. My grandfather owns a few of this breed, though they are older. And I quite enjoy riding them, especially if they have a bit of spirit.”
Lord Featherstone made the sniffing noise that Meg was beginning to loathe. “It is a pity your education in appropriate behaviors was so neglected.” He looked down at her with a sad smile. “Though your enthusiasm is delightful, such an activity as riding a racehorse is hardly suitable for a lady.”
Meg did not answer. Her throat was tight, but this time it was not from the despair of injustice. The earl infuriated her with his condescension. It did not appear that she and Lord Featherstone had any topics on which they could agree, especially as they concerned her. The idea of remaining with the earl and withstanding his barbs suddenly seemed more than Meg was willing to bear. She was emotionally exhausted from merely a few hours with the man.
“I am sorry, gentlemen, please excuse me. I believe I’ll take your advice, my lord, and rest for a few hours,” Meg said, dipping in a curtsey. She kept her eyes on the stable floor, not wanting to see Lord Featherstone’s arrogant expression and not wanting the duke to see the discouragement she knew she would not be able to hide.
“Come, I will accompany you back to the castle,” said the earl.
“No, thank you, I will be quite all right alone. Continue your tour.”
Lord Featherstone nodded. “With such a delicate constitution, it would be best . . .”
Meg did not stay long enough to hear the remainder of his words but hurried from the stable toward the castle glancing back only once to see Carlo’s gaze on her from the shadows. She rushed down the path, into the great hall, and up the staircase.
When she arrived in the library, she stopped when she heard a snore; peeking around the back of the wingback chair near the fireplace, she saw Colonel Stackhouse. But when she realized her footsteps hadn’t awakened him, she tiptoed to her spot on the window seat and closed the curtains, grateful to be alone as she fumed.
Meg opened a book and tried to read, but even Ann Radcliffe was unable to distract her from her irritation. “Not a suitable activity for a lady indeed,” she muttered. “Well, my lord, perhaps you would prefer it if I were to misquote Shakespeare and recount the number of drawing rooms at Hawthorne House.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, which she realized was painfully tight. Angry tears sprung to her eyes, and she swiped them away. Was this the life she was destined for? A life with someone like the earl? A man of wealth who cared little for the people beneath him and less about a woman’s opinion? The idea of marrying a man like Lord Featherstone was simply too repulsive to consider. How could her family expect this of her?
As she considered all the things that had unsettled her, she thought of how the earl had treated the poor horse. Was this how the aristocracy treated their wives? She had never seen the duke behave in any way but kindly toward Serena, but perhaps he was an anomaly. How could she guarantee she would not find a husband who was cruel and controlling? How could she form an attachment in a society she wanted no part of?
Meg sighed and leaned her head against the cool of the window. A movement drew her attention, and she turned to focus her gaze on the lane that ran from the stables to the side entrance of the castle. Carlo stood there, waving one arm at her, holding the reins to Patito and a beautiful dark Thoroughbred. When she waved back, he beckoned to her and then motioned toward the saddles on the animals. She saw the dark horse was equipped with a lady’s saddle, and she sat up straighter. She pointed at herself and raised her brows, tipping her head toward him.
Carlo nodded, raising his own brows and smiling.
Meg flung aside the curtains and hurried out of the library as quietly as possible so as not to wake Colonel Stackhouse. She skipped down the stairs before whirling around and running back to her bedchamber for her riding coat.
Chapter 5
Rodrigo tapped his foot as he waited for Meg. As soon as the men had left the stable, he’d saddled Patito and one of the duke’s Thoroughbreds and hoped he would find Meg at her spot in the window seat. If not, he supposed he would have had to send a servant for her, but gratefully she was precisely where he’d seen her so often the last few days as he’d gone back and forth to the stables to tend to Patito. He’d been trying to devise a way to see Meg again, only to have the opportunity fall directly into his lap.
The dark horse was not a young racing horse such as the one she had admired with the duke but one a few years older, and much gentler. But he would not tell Meg that. Not after seeing the way the earl’s words had affected her. He’d realized that Meg was not a lady he would ever tell that she was not capable of something; first of all because she would likely do it anyway, but mostly because he would never want to be the one to cause such a disheartened expression on her face. It had stung him to see, and he’d immediately felt the need to give her a chance to prove that she could indeed manage a spirited Thoroughbred. Even if it was just to prove it to herself. But despite this, the idea of Meg riding a dangerous racehorse was more than he was willing to entertain until he saw how she handled herself on horseback.
This young woman and her well-being had moved to the center of his thoughts in the past few days. He’d seen her reading in the window and had contemplated for hours what sort of books she found interesting. He already knew she favored unconventional romances, and she longed for adventure. She was intelligent. He could tell that immediately by how she spoke and studied the world around her. In fact, he was surprised how much he knew about Meg Burton after only interacting with her one time.
She hurried out of the castle and joined him much sooner than he had anticipated, wearing a brown riding coat and hat. Her eyes shone with an excitement that soon enveloped him and made a ride in the country sound like the most wonderful activity imaginable.
“Carlo! Patito! Are we to go riding?” She clasped her hands together, her face shining.
The stallion whinnied, and she patted his nose.
“I believe you mentioned having some experience with this breed.” Rodrigo nodded toward the dark mare, and Meg moved toward the horse, reaching up to run her hand along the animal’s neck.
Meg nodded. “My grandfather raises horses on his farm outside of Charleston.” She took the reins and pulled the mare’s head lower to stroke her nose. “What is her name?”
“Bonnie.” He could not help but be impressed with the way Meg handled the animal. She showed no fear, speaking softly and moving smoothly so as not to startle the horse.
“Hello, Bonnie,” Meg said in a gentle voice, keeping eye contact with the mare. She continued stroking the horse as she moved to study the animal’s trappings. Meg expertly checked the saddle’s cinch, making sure the strap was tight and adjusting the stirrup before she turned to Rodrigo. “I do not typically ride sidesaddle. On my grandfather’s farm, he allows me to wear breeches and sit astride. But I am up to a challenge.” Her eyes twinkled. “That is, if you and Patito think you are prepared for a race.”
Rodrigo’s brow lifted on its own volition. A race? He had not done anything for the sheer diversion of it for longer than he could remember. “Patito and I accept your challenge.” He inclined his head. “I’m afraid I did not think to bring a mounting stool,” he said.
“Oh.” Meg’s cheeks colored slightly as he stepped closer to assist her onto the horse, and even though Rodrigo did not want to cause her any embarrassment, he found it to be incredibly charming to see her blush.
Meg placed one gloved hand on the saddle pommel and the other upon his shoulder. She stepped into his linked hands and bounced a few times before they both lifted tog
ether, and she situated herself upon the saddle, slipping her foot into the stirrup and arranging her skirts.
Once he was certain Meg was securely seated, Rodrigo mounted Patito and turned to her. “Are you ready?”
Meg looked thoughtful. “I think Bonnie and I should become used to one another before we show you and Patito how ladies lead the pack.”
Rodrigo felt a lightness inside at her words, an impulse to grin like a fool. He’d not grinned in years. Meg seemed to contain an endless supply of joy that seeped into him when she was near.
He watched Meg as they rode down the path away from the castle. She had not misrepresented her skill with a horse. She sat straight in the saddle, looking at ease as she balanced in what he could only imagine was a horribly uncomfortable position. She led the mare masterfully, understanding when to allow Bonnie freedom and when to retain control. She spoke softly but firmly to the animal, and occasionally he noticed Patito reacting to Meg’s voice as well. It seems he wasn’t the only male having a difficult time resisting this young lady’s charms.
After a few moments, she turned toward him and grinned. Then suddenly she spurred Bonnie with her foot and riding crop. The horse leapt forward under Meg’s encouragement and broke into a full-out gallop.
Patito needed no urging. He sprang after them, and they followed Meg and Bonnie away from the path and through a meadow.
Meg glanced back once then leaned forward, pushing her horse faster.
Rodrigo followed, both exhilarated at the competition and at the same time terrified that Meg might be thrown and injured. He knew she would be furious to know he had such thoughts, so he kept them from showing on his face. He ground his teeth and gave Patito his head. The stallion surged toward Bonnie, and when they neared, Meg reigned the mare in, laughing.
Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince Page 5