by Brenda Hiatt
"So you've been hunting since you were young?" Miss Seaton asked before the rest of the field caught up. "Did you ever ride in a hunt with my father —or my mother?"
Anthony blinked. "Do you know, I think I did, though I wasn't acquainted with them at the time. I'd forgotten, as it was years ago, well before the war. Is your mother fairer than you are?" He dimly recalled his uncle pointing out a strikingly beautiful woman in a wine-colored habit much like the one Miss Seaton now wore.
"She hasn't ridden in quite a long time, has she?" he continued when she nodded. "If she is the one I remember, I saw her only once, at one of my very first meets. I could not have been more than fourteen years old at the time."
"She died almost ten years ago," Miss Seaton replied, her brown eyes shadowed, "and had not ridden in the hunt for several years before that. I believe she only hunted once or twice after I was born, for it was becoming less and less common for ladies to do so by then. She contented herself with riding on the estate —and with teaching me."
Anthony nodded. "I seem to remember—"
"Miss Seaton!" Stormy's voice interrupted him. "I certainly understand now why Mr. Emery was unwilling to sell that mare on Monday. Alas, I fear that after today, with you showing her to such advantage, she will be beyond my means to purchase."
Sir Brian Olney sidled over on his chestnut. "I plan to take part in the bidding for her myself," he volunteered. "Emery does mean to offer her for sale, doesn't he?" he asked Miss Seaton.
"Yes," she replied. "Probably after the Cottesmore on Saturday." That would be the next gathering of the majority of the sportsmen in Melton-Mowbray.
"Has your father owned her for long?" Stormy asked then.
Anthony thought she hesitated before answering. "Only a few months, though I confess I have already grown fond of her."
"Then why—?" Sir Brian began.
Noticing the distress in Miss Seaton's expression, Anthony cut him off. "Sadly, business often leaves little room for sentimentality," he said. "Did any of you see Porrington after the tumble he took on that double? He was mud from the waist down."
The others chuckled and began discussing the advantages of knowing how to fall properly during a hunt. Anthony glanced at Miss Seaton and found her smiling at him with what could only be gratitude for his changing the subject. He smiled back, shaken again by the effect she had on him.
To his relief, the hounds gave tongue again before he was forced to analyze his feelings further. Glancing back, he saw that Emery was still more than a furlong behind, along with one or two other stragglers. The fellow really wasn't much of a sportsman.
Anthony couldn't help wondering if he was as inept at managing the Seaton estate as he was at riding to hunt. Perhaps at dinner tonight he would have an opportunity to determine that— discreetly, of course.
It wasn't until the next check that it occurred to him that it was neither his business nor his responsibility.
* * *
The hunt ended only an hour after noon, when the hounds lost the scent entirely and were unable to find it again, despite repeated casting by the hunstman. Tessa was just as glad —not only because the fox had escaped, but because she'd be less sore while playing hostess at tonight's dinner.
It also meant she'd have more time to prepare. She almost hadn't ridden today, there was so much to do at home for their first dinner party in many years, but her father had insisted that the servants could handle everything. Tessa wasn't so sure, but when Uncle Mercer reminded her of how badly they needed the money from Cinnamon's sale, she had finally agreed.
As she turned her mount's head toward the road, Lord Anthony rode over to her. "I imagine you are in a hurry to return home, what with all of us descending upon you tonight," he said, echoing her thoughts, "but I wanted to compliment you again on your riding today. I hope we will see you at many more meets this season."
She smiled at him, startled to realize that she was almost looking forward to tonight's dinner party— though not to its probable effect on her father. "Thank you, my lord, but that will be up to my father. I confess I quite enjoy it, so I hope that he will agree to it."
"Perhaps we can encourage him to do so over dinner tonight," he said with a grin, as Lord Rushford and Sir Charles Storm approached, followed by Mr. Turpin and little Lord Killerby.
She debated cautioning him and his friends against tiring her father tonight, but decided she would wait to see how the evening played out. Lord Anthony seemed quite perceptive, so no doubt he would realize that Sir George's strength was limited. If not, she would simply ask them all to leave.
"Until tonight, then, gentlemen," she said, nodding to each in turn. As a man, they all bowed from the saddle, expressing their eagerness for the visit, and then she turned and rode back to where Uncle Mercer waited on old brown Thunder.
"Mind you don't get too chummy with the gentlemen," he cautioned her when she reached him. "Your father wouldn't like it. Most are only on the lookout for their next mistress, you know."
Stung by the reproach when she'd expected praise for her riding, she responded sharply. "My father invited those very gentlemen to dinner tonight, so I don't think it is for you to pass judgment on my socializing with them. I've neither said nor done anything improper."
She was not so certain she could vouch for her thoughts, however. More than once during today's hunt, she had admired Lord Anthony's physique as well as his riding, and even allowed her imagination to wander along paths that were far from proper.
"No need to snap at me, missie," her uncle said now. "I only mention it for your own good. Sir George did charge me with your protection, remember."
Tessa had to suppress a smile at the thought of Uncle Mercer trying to protect her from the athletic Lord Anthony —or any of the others, for that matter. "None of the gentlemen have said or done anything improper either," she assured him.
Not entirely to her surprise, he looked relieved. "Glad to hear it—and your father will be, too. You rode well today, by the way. We should get five hundred easy— perhaps even more."
Though such a sum still seemed excessive, she nodded. "Good. We'll need it, for the workmen keep finding more that needs repairing in the west wing."
On reaching Wheatstone, Tessa went first to the kitchen to be certain dinner preparations had begun, then hurried upstairs to see her father. He was in his study, as usual, a decanter of wine at his elbow and his notes spread out upon a table before him. He appeared to be dozing.
"Papa?" she said softly, not wishing to wake him if he was deeply asleep.
He stirred at once. "Tessa, is that you? Back already, eh? It must have been a short run." Though he smiled, his eyes were bleary, either from sleep or wine.
"Yes, the fox eluded the hounds, but not before giving us a good race across the countryside. How are you feeling today? You look tired." She settled a mantle across his shoulders, tucking it in around the back of his chair.
"A bit tired, I suppose. I fear I didn't sleep particularly well last night. I so want this dinner to come off well, for your sake as well as mine."
"Pray do not worry, Papa. Everything will be fine, I'm certain, as long as you do not overtax yourself. I won't allow the gentlemen to stay late."
Sir George frowned. "It would be rude to ask them to leave before they are ready, Tessa, and I won't have that. You will be gracious, however late they stay."
"Of course, of course," she quickly reassured him. "I will be everything that is proper, just as you would wish."
He relaxed. "Of course you will, my dear. I never doubted it. And now, you'd best go up and start getting yourself ready, hadn't you? Have a bath, put on your nicest gown and have your maid do up your hair the way I like it. They'll be here in just a few hours and, as I recall, it takes ladies some time to dress for a special evening." He was smiling now.
She'd had no intention of primping for Lord Anthony —or the others —but she would not upset her father. "I'll do that. Why don't you rest
for a bit, so you will be fresh for the evening."
Dropping a kiss on his brow, she went to confer with the housekeeper and their few other servants. Uncle Mercer had gradually dismissed more than half the staff they'd had at the time of her father's accident, saying that they could not afford their salaries. As a result, they were now reduced to Mrs. Bealls, who did double duty as housekeeper and cook, two maids, one of whom acted as Tessa's abigail when not doing housework, one lad who filled the post of footman and general servant, and old Griffith, her father's personal manservant, who also served as their butler when necessary.
Tessa set them all to various duties in preparation for the evening ahead before finally heading up to her chamber to ready herself for the coming ordeal.
* * *
After debating among themselves whether to wear London evening dress or formal hunt attire, Anthony and his friends decided on the latter. "Sir George made it clear he wanted to discuss hunting, so this will better set the mood," Anthony had reasoned, and the others had agreed.
The invitation had been for six o'clock, so the early November darkness had already fallen as they rode up the long drive to Wheatstone. Light glowed brightly from the windows of the lower stories, at least in the central block of the house. Fewer candles appeared to be kindled on the upper floors, and the two wings were nearly dark.
As the group neared the house, two grooms appeared to take their horses, though Anthony suspected from their youth that they were stable lads pressed into temporary service.
"Thankee, m'lord!" exclaimed the boy who took Cinder's reins when Anthony handed him a shilling. His enthusiasm implied that he was not accustomed to receiving vails for service.
The old butler, more polite this time, showed them into the house and up the stairway, into a sumptuously appointed parlor on the right. Sir George propelled his chair forward to greet them.
"Welcome, gentlemen, welcome indeed!" he exclaimed, his speech very slightly slurred. "We have quite looked forward to your visit, and hope we will make an enjoyable evening for you. Come in, do, and seat yourselves. We have time for a drink and some conversation before dinner."
As they all filled glasses from the decanters on the sideboard and disposed themselves about the room, Anthony took note of their surroundings, wondering if he'd been mistaken about the estate's lack of money. Nothing in this room, at least, looked faded, worn or repaired.
"Will Miss Seaton be dining with us?" Killer asked as he sat near the crackling fire, saving Anthony from voicing the question.
"Indeed, she should be joining us at any moment," Sir George replied, beaming. "Made an impression on you, has my Tessa? Quite the rider, my daughter —much like her mother before her."
They all voiced agreement, and Rush said, "Yes, she's the admiration of the Quorn, sir, and now the Mountsorrel as well."
Sir George's smile dimmed slightly. "She's not drawing too much attention to herself, is she? Improper attention, I mean." He drained his wineglass and held it out for the hovering butler to refill.
"She's done nothing the least improper," Anthony hastened to assure him. "It's simply natural that a woman riding to hunt would attract notice, rare as that is these days. Particularly when the woman is as accomplished at the art as your daughter. She takes fences better than nine-tenths of the men riding, from what I've observed. You have every reason to be proud of her."
He was glad to see the worry leave Sir George's face, which then brightened even further. "Ah, there you are, my dear. Join us, do. You all know Tessa —or, I should say, Miss Seaton?"
Anthony and his friends jumped to their feet as she entered, Anthony wondering how much of his praise she had overheard. Most of it, judging by her heightened color.
She was most becomingly dressed in a low-cut evening gown of rose silk cinched below her breasts by a wide ribbon of deeper rose. Though her face was perhaps not as white as fashion preferred —not surprising after two days riding outdoors —her shoulders and chest were as creamy as any London debutante's. It was all Anthony could do to keep to his place when every sense was urging him to go to her, to touch her smooth cheek, the silkiness of her upswept hair, the curve of—
"My compliments, Miss Seaton," he said aloud before his errant thoughts could progress any further. The others echoed his words as she advanced into the room.
Her blush extended down to her cleavage, Anthony noted with interest.
"Thank you," she murmured, clearly nonplussed at so much blatant admiration. Not meeting Anthony's eyes —or anyone else's —she moved to her father's side. "Are you warm enough, Papa?" she asked, smoothing a fold of his cravat. "Would you like a lap rug?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, waving her away. "Don't fuss, Tessa. Have a seat, and we can all talk of the hunt until dinner is ready. I understand the fox won today?" He smiled around as Miss Seaton retreated with obvious reluctance to take the chair closest to her father.
Anthony obliged his host by beginning a blow-by-blow account of the morning's ride, supplemented by comments from his friends. Sir George became animated, his expression more alert than Anthony had yet seen it as he asked questions and offered his opinion on some of the older sportsmen he had ridden with in years past.
Miss Seaton, Anthony noticed, said not a word, casting frequent, worried glances at her father, though Anthony saw no particular cause for her concern. If anything, the color in Sir George's cheeks had improved, and the bleariness faded from his eyes as his refilled glass went untouched.
Dinner was announced a short time later and they repaired to the dining room across the hall, Miss Seaton accompanying her father despite his looks and nods that were clearly meant to encourage her to take one of their guests' arms instead. At the table, however, she was obliged to take her place at the opposite end from her father, while the five guests and Mr. Emery, who joined them at the last moment, filled in along the sides.
Anthony was not the only one who moved to sit by Miss Seaton, but after some subtle jockeying for position, he managed to take the chair on her right, while Killer sat opposite him on her left. Rush and Thor sat by Sir George, with Stormy between Killer and Rush and Mr. Emery between Anthony and Thor. This suited Anthony quite well, as he hoped to discover a bit more about Mr. Emery this evening.
Accordingly, as the soup was served, he turned to the older man and said, "It must take most of your time to manage an estate the size of Wheatstone, and the stables as well. It is good of you to take time away from such duties to chaperone Miss Seaton on the hunting field, and to dine with us tonight."
Mr. Emery's glance slid around the table, then back to Anthony before he answered. "I am able to delegate some of my responsibilities, of course, my lord, as any good manager must do. I try not to neglect the demands of family —or society —for the sake of business."
"Speaking of the estate, Mercer, did I hear some sort of work going on in the west wing earlier today?" Sir George asked from the other end of the table. "What—?
"Some painting, Papa, that is all," Miss Seaton said before her uncle could respond. "It was my suggestion that we have it done."
Sir George nodded. "I suppose it is due, as were the chimneys you mentioned having cleaned. You will take admirable care of a house of your own someday, Tessa." He winked, then smiled around at the gentlemen.
Remembering the sagging roof on the west end of the house and the leaning chimney he had noticed on his first visit, Anthony raised his brows but asked no questions, instead changing the subject to alleviate Miss Seaton's obvious embarrassment at her father's comment.
"Sir George, did you perhaps know my great-uncle, Alden Trowbridge? He was a deal older than you, of course, but he was quite the avid foxhunter in his day."
"Trowbridge? Why yes, I remember old Trowbridge well," Sir George exclaimed. "Never saw him refuse a fence, even in his sixties. He was your uncle?"
Anthony nodded. "On my mother's side. He left Ivy Lodge to me, and it now houses the Odd Sock Club."
"Exactly," Stormy said. "We didn't care for the way they did things at the Old Club, so we started our own. In fact we five are the founding members."
Stormy tactfully did not mention the specific incident that had led to the formation of the Odd Sock, to Anthony's relief. Killer was already feeling put-upon about his purchase of that bay. On that thought, while Stormy and Rush gave Sir George a few more details about their hunt club, Anthony turned again to Mr. Emery, though his question was really for Miss Seaton.
"That horse Lord Killerby bought, Nimbus —have you any tips on how to get the best out of him? He seems a bit, ah, resistant to the change of ownership."
"I, er—" Mr. Emery began, glancing across Anthony at Miss Seaton, who responded, as Anthony had hoped she might. She'd been silent far too long for his liking.
"Nimbus was gelded quite late," she said, "so he still thinks like a stallion in many ways. That's why he dislikes being near other horses, particularly males. I'd recommend stabling him next to a mare, if possible, and keeping him away from other horses until he's had time to get well used to his new surroundings."
Again, Anthony was struck by her intelligence, her insight about horses —and her beauty. "Anything else?" he asked, holding her gaze for a long moment and enjoying the way her cheeks pinkened. He felt an answering response stir within him, but then she glanced away.
"He's a big horse, so you'd think it would take exceptional strength to control him, but that's not necessarily the case," she said. "I've observed that gentleness and confidence generally get better results than brute force." She sent a significant look toward her uncle.
Anthony wondered if her words were aimed at Mr. Emery himself or toward his absent son, the trainer. He wondered why the prickly younger Mr. Emery had not joined them for dinner, as he was also family, but before he could think of a discreet way to ask, Killer joined the conversation.