Tessa's Touch

by Brenda Hiatt

  * * *

  "Twelve hundred pounds?" Tessa echoed in disbelief. Uncle Mercer had announced the sale of Nimbus the moment he joined her and Sir George at breakfast the next morning. "But that's more than four times—"

  "Well done, Mercer," her father broke in, just as her uncle sent her a warning look. "And well done, Tessa, for I've no doubt your riding helped Mercer to get top dollar for the horse. That should put paid to any questions about the quality of horseflesh at the Seaton stables."

  Tessa, however, wasn't sure of that at all. By now, her calming influence over Nimbus had likely worn off. She only prayed that he wouldn't revert entirely to the unmanageable beast he'd been when they'd first bought him. Surely the time she'd spent with him the past few days would have some lingering effect?

  "I hope you don't mind, Sir George, but I used some of the money to buy a covert hack that I thought could be increased in value with proper training," Uncle Mercer said then. "Harold already has it in hand."

  Tessa's father nodded. "That was wise. We don't wish to deplete our stock by selling faster than we can acquire, after all. At least Nimbus wasn't of our bloodlines, so we're still fine there. How are the mares in foal doing?"

  Uncle Mercer promised to send Cousin Harold up to the house later to give Sir George a full report on all of the horses. Tessa supposed it was a good sign that Papa was showing so much interest, after leaving everything in Uncle Mercer's hands for so long, but she hoped he wouldn't tire himself. She also couldn't help fearing it might lead to him discovering too much about their financial straits. As for last night's sale . . .

  "Who purchased Nimbus?" she asked, interrupting her uncle's self-serving monologue on how well he'd managed the auction.

  "I was getting to that," he said. "Lord Killerby was the high bidder —a friend of those young men who visited the house last week," he added to Sir George.

  Tessa's heart sank. After seeing Lord Killerby's performance in yesterday's hunt, she had no illusions that he'd be able to handle Nimbus. Surely, though, he'd have his own trainer work with the horse before attempting to hunt with him.

  "Oh, that reminds me," her father said then. "I sent a message round inviting those young men to dinner after the Mountsorrel meet on Thursday. They seemed gentlemanly enough, and I realized last night how much I've missed hearing about the hunt."

  "What?" Tessa stared at her father. "Papa, you know you haven't the energy for entertaining. Think of the time away from your studies, your memoirs—"

  Uncle Mercer nodded. "She's right, sir. As well, I must say I'm not certain you should encourage such intimacy, after the way those gentlemen questioned Harold's training —and the honor of this family."

  "Balderdash," Sir George exclaimed with surprising spirit. "They quite understandably wished to discover more about a horse one of them had just bought. No doubt the man you sold him to was unable to give them as much information as they wanted."

  "But Papa—" Tessa began.

  "It's done," he said. "Who knows? I may find I am able to entertain after all, which will open up all manner of possibilities —for you as well as for me, my dear."

  She could think of nothing to say that wouldn't provoke futher argument, but she remained convinced that this was a most unwise idea. Perhaps when Papa found himself exhausted by the end of Thursday's dinner, he would realize that she was right.

  * * *

  "Are you willing yet to admit I was right about that hunter you bought?" Anthony asked Lord Killerby as they prepared to leave for the Mountsorrel meet.

  Killer laughed. "Not a bit of it. Carter is making good progress with him already. Why, he didn't bite at all yesterday, and only kicked one other horse. I've no doubt I'll be riding him in the hunt by the end of next week."

  The others chuckled, but Anthony only shook his head. The gelding had begun by biting Killer's groom, and had been trouble ever since. No other horse could be brought near him, nor was it safe for the grooms or anyone else to do more than feed him. True, Killer's groom, Carter, had managed to get a lead on him and longe him around the paddock yesterday without injury, but it had been touch and go.

  Anthony glanced toward Nimbus's stall as they passed it, but the horse was quiet at the moment. He and his friends all mounted their hacks and headed off at a trot toward the meet, their grooms following with their hunters. Killer, of course, would still be riding his usual hunter, Firebolt.

  "I'd recommend you stay well away from Nimbus until Carter pronounces him safe," Anthony finally said, in as neutral a tone as possible, so as not to ruffle his friend's pride.

  Thor nodded. "Anthony's right. Remember, I'm willing to take a stab at his training myself. I might even buy him off you if he learns some manners."

  "There's no need of that." Killer's chin jutted out pugnaciously —a comical sight, but his friends managed not to laugh. "I'll manage him well enough, you'll see. You'll all see."

  Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Anthony intercepted him with a quick shake of his head and the bigger man subsided with a nod acknowledging that Anthony was right. Killer had a decided stubborn streak, not to mention more pride than stature. More argument might prompt him to do something foolish in an attempt to prove himself to his friends.

  "What think you of that invitation we received to Sir George Seaton's for tonight?" Stormy asked then, mainly to change the subject, Anthony suspected. "Frightfully decent of the old chap, I have to say."

  "I'm surprised his daughter allowed it," Rush said. "Did you notice how protective she was of her father when we were there last week?"

  Anthony had thought the same thing, but only said, "I'd say Sir George is capable of making his own decisions. He seemed to quite enjoy our talk of the hunt when we were there before. Surely he must miss it, as avid a sportsman as he was before his injury."

  The others nodded and rode on for a while in silence, subdued by the thought of how it would feel never to be able to hunt —or even ride— again. Anthony, however, was wondering just how Miss Seaton figured into this invitation. Had she been behind it, or had it been sent over her protests —or even without her knowledge? Perhaps he'd be able to tell, once he saw her.

  She hadn't been far from his thoughts since Monday's meet, even though he had not seen her since. He'd rather hoped she might appear at the Belvoir Hunt yesterday, but she had not. He hoped she was not still sore from Monday . . .

  They caught up with another knot of sportsmen on their way to the Mountsorrel and he dragged his thoughts back to the present. What was the matter with him? He had no business mooning over Miss Seaton like some lovesick schoolboy. If anything, he should be angry at her for the role she'd played in encouraging Killer to part with such an exorbitant sum for that unmanageable hunter, Nimbus. He would say so, too, when next he saw her— tonight at her father's house, if not before.

  "Ah, perhaps now we'll see what that roan mare is really capable of," Stormy exclaimed.

  Anthony followed his glance and there she was, arriving at the meet just as he and his friends did, from the opposite side of the field. As before, she was accompanied by her uncle, and, as Anthony had predicted on Monday, she was mounted on the very mare Emery had ridden that day. Emery himself was riding a rangy brown gelding.

  Though his every instinct urged him to ride over to her at once, Anthony resisted, determined to first bring under control the sudden acceleration of his heart and the inexplicable lift of his spirits. That she should have such an effect on him, and from such a distance, struck him as distinctly dangerous.

  His hesitation, however, allowed several other gentlemen —including Stormy —to approach her first, and in a moment she was surrounded. Clearly, he was not the only one attracted by her unusual blend of spirit, competence and beauty. Abruptly irritated, though at what he could not precisely say, Anthony kicked Cinder in her direction.

  "—delighted to have you ride with us again," young William Jennison was saying as he approached. "I can't describe the pleasure
you gave me on Monday, with your superb performance." There was a chorus of agreement from several others.

  Miss Seaton blushed and lowered her eyes in obvious confusion. "I, ah, thank you, gentlemen," she murmured.

  "Aye," Stormy agreed. "I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing you put this mare through her paces. I quite admire her lines, as I said on Monday." That last comment was directed at Mr. Emery, who was looking rather pleased with himself, Anthony thought.

  "I also am delighted that you are joining us again, Miss Seaton," he said, rather more loudly than he'd intended.

  Her startled glance met his and her color deepened further. "Lord Anthony! I didn't —that is— thank you, my lord." With a barely perceptible shifting of her weight, she moved her mare forward, through the opening the others hastily created. Her uncle followed, now looking less pleased.

  "I'd like to speak with you— with both of you," Anthony said before they could pass him, as they clearly intended to do.

  "About what?" Emery asked with a certain belligerance.

  Anthony coolly looked him up and down before answering. "About the horse you sold to my friend Monday night. It appears his temperament is not quite what we were all led to believe." His glance slid to Miss Seaton, who looked away.

  "That auction was conducted fair and square." Emery was as defensive as his son had been last week about the chestnut, Zephyr. "Are you suggesting otherwise, my lord?"

  "No, really, Anthony," Stormy began, but Anthony silenced him with a glance. Stormy frowned, then shrugged and took himself off.

  "I've no quibble with the auction itself," Anthony replied once he had gone, refusing to rise to Emery's baiting. "But I can't help feeling the horse was, ah, misrepresented beforehand." Miss Seaton still refused to meet his gaze, rather to his frustration.

  "We did nothing illegal," Emery was quick to point out. "It's up to those interested in purchasing to do their own research and draw their own conclusions, after all."

  Anthony raised a brow. "I implied no illegality. Ethics and the law are not always in accord, however." Then, turning deliberately to the silent girl, "I will be interested to see how that mare performs under you today, Miss Seaton."

  Now she did meet his glance. "I've no doubt Cinnamon will do well, as she has a wonderful disposition —no matter who is riding her." There was a certain defiance about the angle of her chin.

  "Indeed. I would not presume to doubt your word, of course."

  "Would you not?" she retorted. "It sounds very much to me as though that is exactly what you are doing. How, pray, can you claim that we misrepresented Nimbus on Monday, simply because I rode him well? Surely, you are not suggesting that any gentleman who calls himself a sportsman cannot handle a horse as well as a lady on her very first hunt?"

  Anthony frowned, for that is exactly what he'd meant to suggest, though put into words it did sound rather absurd. "My apologies, Miss Seaton," he said shortly, then turned his horse and headed back to the rest of the Odd Sock Club.

  Tessa stared after him, frowning —and seething. How dare he accuse her of deliberately deceiving everyone on Monday? She had simply ridden her best and left the rest to chance —and Uncle Mercer. And that money had already gone toward the absolutely necessary repairs on the west wing roof. Clearly, anyone who could afford to pay twelve hundred pounds for a horse had never faced such a choice.

  It was all rationalization, though, and she knew it. "I warned you, didn't I?" she said to Uncle Mercer as her temper cooled, to be replaced by a degree of shame.

  He shrugged. "Lord Killerby looks happy enough," he said, gesturing toward the little man. "I notice he hasn't said anything about being disappointed with his purchase."

  Tessa tried to console herself with that, but she still felt uncomfortable —and guilty —both for her part in what really could be called a deception, and for reacting so angrily when Lord Anthony had called her on it.

  With an effort, she thrust all such concerns from her mind, for she had a different job to do today. She had no qualms whatsoever about Cinnamon's temperament, so felt perfectly justified in making sure she appeared to best advantage and therefore sold for the highest possible price.

  Termites had been discovered in the chimneypiece of the ground floor drawing room, and she feared more such unpleasant discoveries would follow as repairs progressed. And three fields needed draining before frost set in, or there would be no planting them next spring. She'd already discussed their entire stud with Uncle Mercer —and, reluctantly, with her father —with an eye to selling a few more horses this season to help make ends meet.

  As Papa had pointed out, they could not afford to deplete their bloodlines, but she knew of no other way to raise the necessary funds for estate repairs and maintenance. She wished there was some way to hire a better estate manager than Uncle Mercer, but she refused to worry her father by bringing up such a difficult and potentially upsetting subject.

  The signal to head out for the first covert came as a distinct relief from her troubling thoughts. Unfortunately, Cinnamon was so easy to manage that handling her gave Tessa no distraction from her worries. Surely, though, the fences and ditches would do so, once the hunt began in earnest.

  Alas, the first covert was dry, so the whole field had to follow the huntsman for a mile and more at no more than a trot to the next covert. While waiting there for the hounds to sniff out a fox, Lord Anthony moved within a few paces of Tessa, though he did not attempt to engage her in conversation.

  After struggling with her conscience for a minute or two, she finally nudged Cinnamon his way and cleared her throat. "I, ah, wish to apologize for my outburst earlier," she said, softly enough that no one else could hear her.

  Turning, he held her eyes for a long moment, causing an alarming flutter to commence in her midsection. "And I, for what I now realize was a foolish allegation. Perhaps—" he began, but just then the hounds gave tongue that they'd scented a fox.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  With a stab of disappointment he'd never before felt at the start of a hunt, Anthony turned away from what had promised to be a most interesting conversation to watch the progress of the hounds and huntsman. No doubt he would have ample opportunity to speak with Miss Seaton at dinner tonight, he reminded himself.

  A few tense moments later, the fox broke cover, the hounds were rounded up and set on its scent, and the field leaped into action behind them. By the time they reached the first hedge, Miss Seaton had already moved near the front of the field, though the mare she rode now could not be as powerful as the gelding she'd ridden on Monday. Clearly, however, Cinnamon was far faster than Mr. Emery's riding in the Quorn had revealed her to be.

  As before, Anthony noticed that Mercer Emery stayed near the rear of the field, where his indifferent riding would be less noticeable. They were heading into rougher country now, country that would pose challenges to any who were not expert riders. Almost without thought, he worked his way closer to Miss Seaton. Proficient she might be, but she couldn't have much experience with this sort of riding.

  The hounds wormed their way through the next hedge, which the lead riders discovered to be a "double" —a hedge with a ditch on the other side. Warnings were shouted back as the leaders recovered from their inevitable falls, and the field spread out, most looking for another way around.

  Miss Seaton, however, checked only for a moment before setting her mare's head at the hedge. Anthony could only watch, fear rising in his throat. He had successfully jumped this barrier in the past, but—

  The mare lifted, as if on wings, and sailed over the hedge, landing lightly on the far side of the ditch and continuing on without breaking stride. Gasps from the field were followed by cheers. Several of those who'd begun looking for a gap or gate set their horses at the hedge instead, unwilling to be outdone by a woman.

  Anthony was the first to follow Miss Seaton. Though Faro landed heavily, he did not lose his footing or unseat his rider. Glancing back, he
saw half a dozen others clearing the hedge, all but one of which ended up on the ground as their mounts stumbled.

  He paused to be certain no horses or riders were injured, then urged Faro back into a canter behind Miss Seaton and her roan mare. Drawing level with her a few moments later, he called out, "My compliments. I could wish you hadn't given me—us— such a scare, however."

  She grinned across at him, her veil flying in the wind. "Cinnamon can jump amazing distances, farther than most horses I've known. I see your Faro had no difficulty, either."

  "We've had practice," he shouted back, above the thundering of their horses' hooves. Though it was tempting to take as much credit as possible in hopes of impressing her, honesty compelled him to add, "I've been riding this country for years, and have faced that double before. I didn't do so well my first time, I must confess."

  She merely laughed —a wild, beautiful sound —and continued across the countryside. The two of them were now leading the field, and it was all too easy to imagine that they were alone, with the hounds and huntsman well ahead and the rest of the field well behind.

  "Where did you learn to ride like this?" Anthony shouted after several minutes with no sound but the rushing of the wind, the thudding of hooves and the squeaking of leather. He'd heard Porrington's explanation, but suddenly wanted Miss Seaton's own.

  Her face was tilted into the wind, but at that she looked over at him. "Both of my parents loved horses and were excellent riders, so encouraged me to ride from an early age. My father claims I was riding almost before I could walk."

  He found himself grinning. "My Great-uncle Alden used to say the same about me. He's the one who sparked my interest in hunting, when I was but a lad."

  Their conversation was interrupted by a three-rail fence, which both cleared without trouble, then came the hounds' first check of the hunt.