by Brenda Hiatt
"I've no doubt you will, if I'm any judge of horseflesh," he replied, casting an appreciative eye over her mount. "What a handsome animal that is."
"Thank you, my lord," she said again. "We think so."
"And he'll be up for auction this evening," Uncle Mercer chimed in, speaking for the first time since Lord Anthony had approached. "Feel free to spread the word."
He nodded. "I'll certainly do so. Ah, there's the signal. I'll see you on the field, Miss Seaton." Touching the brim of his hat to her, he expertly wheeled his gray and headed for a knot of mounted gentlemen on the far side of the yard.
"I hope none of them gents will queer the deal for us," Uncle Mercer muttered as Tessa prodded Nimbus forward to join the field.
She paused. "What do you mean?"
"Three of them was down at the stables last week, remember? Nimbus wasn't exactly at his best just then."
Tessa frowned, her earlier misgivings nagging at her again. Remembering the leaking roof, she pushed them aside. "Then I'll just have to convince them they were mistaken, won't I?" Touching her heels to the bay's side, she directed him to a place at the rear of the others, alert for any sign of hostility he might show toward the other horses or their riders.
She still wasn't sure how her uncle had changed her father's mind. When she had first asked him if she might ride to hunt, her father had firmly refused, though there had been a certain wistfulness in his eyes. After an hour closeted with Uncle Mercer, however, he had all but insisted she ride, as though he had been in favor of it all along. Not for the first time, she felt vaguely disturbed at her uncle's influence over her father, even though in this case it had worked to her advantage.
Her performance today would determine whether she would ever ride with the Quorn again —or with any other hunt, for the masters of the Belvoir and Cottesmore Hunts were also here for the opening of the season. She was therefore determined to make a good showing, her mount's temperament problems notwithstanding.
"What is Miss Seaton doing here?" Stormy asked as Anthony rejoined his friends. "Never say she means to ride to the hunt?"
Glancing back, Anthony saw that she and Emery were moving into position, ready with the rest to follow the Master and his whippers-in to the covert. "So she tells me."
Rush and Thor followed his gaze, then both turned back to him in consternation. "That's the very bay we told you about last week," Thor said. "The one we saw in the paddock at Seaton's. I'd swear he wasn't even broken."
"Completely wild," Rush agreed. He looked again. "Yes, it's definitely the same animal, for I noticed his left rear sock was shorter than the other three."
Stormy, after another long stare, concurred. "I didn't even notice the horse at first, what with the novelty of seeing Miss Seaton herself here, but they're right. He looks docile enough now, however, so perhaps we simply caught him on a bad day."
"Perhaps," said Anthony thoughtfully, remembering how she had calmed Zephyr on the road last week. "It will be interesting to see how they do in the hunt together."
"Aye, I'm thinking she'll be a treat to watch —if she isn't thrown," said Rush with a grin. "Maybe I won't ride so far forward today."
Anthony bit back a totally uncalled-for response. Why should he mind if his friends admired Miss Seaton? Kindred spirit though she seemed to be, she was really nothing more to him than an enigma. A very attractive enigma.
"Perhaps I'll join you," he managed to say lightly.
Mr. Smith set the hounds in motion then. Flanked by his two whippers-in, they guided the pack uphill to the covert, just over a mile away. The hunting field followed at a distance, most riding covert hacks, with lightweight grooms mounted on their hot-blooded hunters. A very few rode their hunters to the covert, including Miss Seaton. Because no one else could safely ride him? Anthony wondered.
He and Rush allowed most of the field to pass them as they went, so that they could better observe Miss Seaton and her bay. The horse moved beautifully, without the slightest sign of skittishness. If he didn't trust his friends implicitly, Anthony would never have believed what they'd told him of that bay.
"Maybe Stormy's right," Rush commented as they approached the covert. "I can't find any fault with that horse today —nor his rider." He flashed Anthony a grin that made his hackles rise.
He longed to tell Rush to keep his eyes on the horse, but knew better than to open himself to the ribbing that would follow. "Their true test is yet to come," was all he said.
While those on hacks changed horses, the hunstman gathered the hounds and sent them out to draw the covert, a two or three acre stand of trees and thick underbrush. Anticipation rose to its height as all the assembled waited to see whether the hounds would find and flush a fox, or whether they'd have to change horses again to try another covert.
Long minutes passed, and Anthony couldn't help stealing quick glances at Miss Seaton, a short distance away. She looked tense, but that was not to be wondered at for her first hunt. Still, he might be able to—
The bell-like sound of the hounds giving tongue distracted him. They'd scented a fox! Excitement rippled through the fifty or sixty gathered horsemen. Then, "Tally-ho!" came the cry of one of the whippers-in as the fox was spotted breaking cover.
It was bad form to override the hounds, so all held back until the pack was free of the covert and well in pursuit of the fleeing quarry. Then, with shouts of "Yoicks!" and "Hark!" by the younger, more excitable sportsmen, the field leapt into action.
Anthony felt the familiar thrill sweep through him. Oh, how he missed this, when hunting wasn't in season! He set Faro's head toward the center of the pack; those hounds had their heads down and were clearly hot on the scent, and would stick once the fox disappeared from sight.
So swept up in the hunt was he that for a moment he forgot to keep an eye on Miss Seaton as he instinctively moved toward the front of the field. They neared the first hedge, still tall and shaggy this early in the season, as the field hands had not had time since harvest to layer it properly.
He thought to glance back then, and saw that Miss Seaton had passed most of the others as well, though Mr. Emery had fallen back. Eyes alight, face into the wind, she was flying along with the best of them. She was magnificent, as he'd known she'd be.
Angling toward her, he was able to watch her clear the hedge just ahead of him and she did so superbly, with none of the hesitation that might be expected of a lady riding sidesaddle. It was as though she and her mount were one.
The hounds grew quieter, and glancing ahead he saw that the fox had disappeared into the stubble of a harvested wheat field. The huntsman and whippers-in cast the hounds and soon a clear baying told them that the scent had been recovered. Leaping a ditch and a low stone wall, the mounted sportsmen galloped in pursuit.
Anthony spared a quick look over his shoulder to see Mr. Emery's mount refuse the wall. Backing off, he set the mare at the wall again, and this time she cleared it, though now Emery was among the stragglers bringing up the rear of the field.
The wheat stubble gave way to a rougher fallow field, the transition marked by a three-railed fence. The hounds went under, as the fox had presumably done, and the Master and whips over. The rest of the field spread out, some to jump the fence and others, less intrepid, to find a gate. Anthony set Faro at the fence as he always did, and saw that Miss Seaton was doing the same.
He couldn't deny a knot of alarm in his chest as he watched her charge the fence at full speed, but his concern was needless. The bay cleared the three rails as easily as he'd done hedge and wall, continuing on at a gallop on the other side.
Partway through the fallow field, the hounds lost the scent, allowing the rest of the hunting field to catch up to the leaders while the hounds cast about to find it again. Anthony took the opportunity to ride close to Miss Seaton.
"First check," he said cheerfully. "What think you of your first hunt so far?"
Her shining eyes and brilliant smile answered him before her words
did. "It's exhilarating." He couldn't help thinking the word applied equally to herself. "What a shame that more ladies don't get to experience this."
"Perhaps you will start a trend," he suggested, admiring the color the wind had put into her cheeks, and the honey-colored curls that had escaped her tall, jaunty hat.
"That is certainly my hope. I fear most gentlemen do not share it, however." She glanced over at a small knot of older sportsmen who were glaring in her direction.
Anthony chuckled. "Their pride is pricked, that is all. They don't like to feel that they can be bested on the field by a lady. Those more secure in their own abilities will not feel so threatened."
As though to support his statement, Rush, Stormy and Killer rode up just then. "My compliments, ma'am. Excellent run so far, eh?" Stormy said.
"Aye," Killer agreed, "even if this nag did refuse that last fence. That's a splendid beast you have there—Miss Seaton, is it?"
She inclined her head— regally, Anthony thought. "Yes. And thank you. Nimbus will be up for auction tonight, should you be interested. My uncle will be handling the transaction." She nodded toward Mr. Emery, who was only now joining the rest of the field.
Anthony raised a brow, for this was the first he'd known of the relationship. It explained much, he thought, recalling his original opinion of the younger Mr. Emery as well as the elder.
"Will he indeed?" Killer said enthusiastically. "I've had an eye out for a new hunter, as it happens. I believe I'll go have a word with your uncle now." He turned his horse in that direction.
"Don't do anything rash," Anthony called after him, mindful of what the others had said about the bay. Killer was a capital fellow, but not the best rider in the world.
Turning back, he found Miss Seaton frowning at him. "Do you mean to dissuade your friend from bidding on Nimbus?" she asked.
He shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable under her curious brown gaze. "I've never been in favor of buying a horse simply because it shows well at a single meet. I'll simply caution him to examine Nimbus for himself before committing any large sum of money to his purchase." He glanced at the others for support.
Rush cleared his throat. "Thing is, Miss Seaton, we happened to see this horse in your father's paddock last week. He seemed a bit . . . ill-tempered at the time."
"As I told them, though, we could have simply caught him on a bad day," Stormy put in. "Most horses have 'em."
"They do," she agreed with a smile that Anthony thought looked a tiny bit strained. "Surely, none of you gentlemen think you would have trouble managing a horse that a mere female like myself can handle?"
They all laughed, but Anthony couldn't help feeling her line had a rehearsed sound to it. Before he could comment further, however, the hounds gave tongue and the huntsman blew several sharp notes on his horn, signaling the resumption of the hunt.
Everyone wheeled their horses around and a moment later they were off again, flying across the fallow field and into the next. With the start the fox must now have, they were all but guaranteed a long, excellent run for the rest of the day.
* * *
Skimming across the countryside on Nimbus again, Tessa couldn't help feeling the hounds had found the scent in the nick of time. She'd been able to tell from Lord Anthony's expression that he saw right through her "mere female" ruse, and she feared he meant to call her to account for it.
Nor could she blame him, not really. Nimbus had improved remarkably over the past few days, as she'd spent more time with him in the company of other horses and people, but she was by no means confident that he'd behave himself without any influence from her whatsoever. Still, what choice did she have?
Father's readiness, even eagerness, to allow her to ride in the hunt, once Uncle Mercer convinced him, showed her how desperately he needed to believe that the Seaton family still held a position of importance in Leicestershire. To rebuild that position —or even a credible illusion of that position —they needed funds well beyond the rents, which seemed to cover fewer and fewer expenses every year.
At the next check, she was careful to keep her distance from Lord Anthony. She owed him no explanations, of course, but she feared that if he pressed she might say more than she intended. There was something about him that drew her, that tempted her to an openness that was unfamiliar to her after so many years of keeping her own counsel.
The third check was longer, as the fox had crossed a stream before heading into a rockier area that apparently held little scent for the hounds. While the hunstman and whippers-in sent the hounds here and there, Uncle Mercer approached Tessa, where she sat a bit apart from the others.
"This was a clever scheme, if I say so myself," he said. "Already three different gentlemen have expressed an interest in that horse. The bidding will be brisk tonight, unless I miss my guess."
When Tessa did not reply, he frowned. "What? I thought you'd be pleased, much as Wheatstone needs the money."
She managed a slight smile. "Oh, I am, of course. I'm, er, merely realizing that I'm likely to be sore tomorrow. It's been almost a year since I've ridden so much in a single day."
He grunted. "A hot bath and some liniment will cure it. If this goes as well as I think it will, you'll want to be ready to ride to hunt again in a few days, so we can sell this one as well." He gestured to Cinnamon, beneath him.
Tessa nodded, trying to shake off her lingering misgivings. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she assured him, but then she saw Lord Anthony headed her way and wondered if she'd spoken too soon.
Her uncle wheeled away to speak to another knot of gentlemen, offering her no reason to ignore Lord Anthony's greeting.
"You seem to be holding up well, Miss Seaton," he said with a smile that made her hope she'd imagined his suspicion earlier. "I must say I admire your stamina."
She was abruptly reminded of that double-edged conversation in her father's study last week. "Thank you, my lord, though I was just telling my uncle that I expect I'll feel the effects tomorrow. I've not been used to such hard riding."
"It certainly doesn't show." His gaze was frankly admiring, bringing warmth to her cheeks. "Pray don't feel you must finish out the day if you are tired, however. Probably half of the men who started with us won't, you know."
She'd noticed that the only other woman in the hunt had gone back at the second check —not that she'd taken a single jump that Tessa had seen. She longed to ask who that woman was, but suspected from something her uncle had said that she was not quite . . . proper.
"Oh, I believe I'm good for another few miles, at least," she said, oddly anxious that he not think her faint-hearted. "And Nimbus here is barely winded." As soon as she said that, she wished she hadn't.
"So I see. He is a fine animal, however unpredictable his temper might be."
"His temper has improved greatly," she felt obliged to say, hoping it was true. "We've not had him long —only a few months —but he responds far better than he did at first." That much was definitely true; he'd been difficult even for her to handle when Uncle Mercer first brought him home.
"Then you've had a hand in his training?"
Tessa stared at him, trapped. Her father was adamant that no one outside the family know that she visited the stables, nor would Uncle Mercer or Cousin Harold appreciate her confessing her assistance to this gentleman.
"I, ah, have ridden him quite a few times," she finally said. "That has allowed me to mark his progress."
He smiled, though his hazel eyes were again too perceptive. "Then I am even more impressed with how you are performing on him today. I would never have expected such riding from someone who wasn't intimately acquainted with his—or her— mount."
"Thank you," she said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge his implication. "I have spent more time with him these past few days, knowing I'd be riding him today." Papa had agreed to that, once Uncle Mercer had convinced him to let her ride with the Quorn. So much extra time with the horses was enough to make this enterprise worthwhile to
her, apart from the money.
"Of course." His expression was knowing —perhaps even amused.
She met his gaze squarely, refusing to be intimidated or mocked, and sensed a subtle change in him as he returned the look. It was as though something, some sort of understanding or awareness, passed between them. Tessa felt her cheeks warming again, but didn't look away, afraid that might reveal even more about her unsettled response to his nearness, his intensity.
The huntsman's horn recalled her to her surroundings. "The scent," she said unnecessarily. "They've found it."
For an instant she thought she saw something like surprise in his face, but she couldn't be sure, for they both turned their horses at once to rejoin the field for the next run. Tessa's heart was pounding, but not from anticipation for the chase this time. But no, she did feel a sense of anticipation. It must be the hunt, therefore, for what else did she have to look forward to?
* * *
As the day wore on, Anthony found himself staying close to Miss Seaton. He told himself it was so that he could more accurately evaluate her mount, but he knew there was more to it than that. It bothered him, for he felt an attraction that went beyond anything he'd ever experienced before.
"Infatuation," he muttered to himself as he watched her clear a hedge that three quarters of the field had elected to go around. He'd felt it before, to a particularly alluring actress or even a fresh and beautiful debutante. But it never lasted past a few minutes' conversation, which invariably revealed an empty head.
True, he'd had two—no, three— conversations with Miss Seaton now, but it did not signify. He still knew little about her except that she was a remarkable horsewoman.
And that her head was decidedly not empty.
A vague sense of self-preservation kept him from approaching her at the next check, but it did little good since Killer used the pause to discuss her mount —and herself.