by Brenda Hiatt
"Thank you, Miss Seaton," he said warmly. "That's just what I've been telling these fellows. Clearly you were able to handle Nimbus and you're even smaller than I. But, tall chaps that they are, they insist on seeing my lack of inches as a handicap."
When she smiled at Killer, Anthony experienced the first twinge of jealousy he'd ever felt toward the man. "Most men see being female as a far more severe handicap, I assure you, Lord Killerby. But we all have our own strengths and talents. We need only discover them and make our best use of them."
Glancing down the table at Sir George, who was still in animated conversation with the others, Anthony leaned toward her. "And when one talent is taken away, others should be developed, should they not? Your father has a keen mind."
She frowned at him, clearly startled. "Of course he does. He uses it to study, and to write his memoirs. The bits I've read are remarkably good."
"But is that all he does? What of the estate? The stables? Surely—"
Now she glanced down the table, alarm evident in her expression. "I'll not have him worried by such matters," she said in a lowered tone. "His heart—"
"Seems equal to mental exertion, if not physical." He kept his voice low, as well. "I fear you do Sir George no favors by coddling him, Miss Seaton."
Her cheeks pinkened again, but this time with anger. "I believe you forget yourself, my lord. That is surely none of your concern."
"Perhaps not," he replied with a shrug, "but I like Sir George and would see him happy —as he seems to be this evening. What say you, sir?" he asked then, turning to Mr. Emery, who had been listening but rather obviously pretending not to. "Would you like to see Sir George take more of a hand in the estate? It would lighten your load, I should think."
Mr. Emery blinked, then frowned. "I fear Miss Seaton is right, my lord, that Sir George is not up to the task. His heart is not strong. He is easily wearied, and often falls into melancholy, reminiscing about the past." His voice sank to a whisper. "I'm afraid his mind is not always as sharp as it appears tonight."
Anthony suspected much of that could be attributed to boredom —and, perhaps, to drink —but did not say so, sensing that he had antagonized Miss Seaton enough already.
"So the entire management of the estate is in your hands?" he asked, to clarify things. "Sir George has no input at all?"
"I occasionally consult with Miss Seaton, who has an interest in the estate, and who can be trusted to have her father's best interests at heart," Emery replied stiffly.
"Of course she does," Killer chimed in from across the table, though Anthony was sure he could not have heard everything they'd said. "You've no need to mollycoddle Sir George the way you try to do me, Anthony. Leave that to Miss Seaton."
* * *
CHAPTER 6
Tessa swallowed, glancing quickly at her father's animated face at the other end of the table. No, clearly he had not heard Lord Killerby's comment. Not that it was true, of course. She did not mollycoddle her father! She simply took care of him, which was surely her responsibility as his only daughter.
For six years, she'd never doubted for a moment that she was doing the right thing by allowing her father to live in the past, free from the worries that might sap his strength. Papa seemed perfectly content to putter about his study, secure in the belief that the estate was as rich as it used to be, that the stables were still the envy of all the Shires. How could it be better to dispell those illusions?
She rose. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will retire to the parlor so that you may have your cigars, or brandy, or whatever it is gentlemen do when they are alone at the end of a meal."
Every man but her father scrambled to his feet, clearly caught off-guard. Not surprising, as the sweetmeats had not even been served yet, but she felt a distinct need to get away from Lord Anthony's unsettling presence. Dropping a half-curtsey, she turned and left the dining room.
What was it about that man that made her rethink every aspect of her life? It was most uncomfortable, she decided, and she didn't care for it at all. Or for him. She was tempted to go upstairs to bed, but knew her father would be disappointed if she did so. With a sigh, she entered the parlor instead.
"Finished entertaining all them swells Uncle George invited to court you?" Cousin Harold greeted her unpleasantly, making her instantly regret her decision.
"They're not courting, they're talking horses and hunting," she replied tartly, taking a seat as far from Harold as possible. "I only hope they do not tire him too much."
Her cousin snorted. "So them fine gents haven't been throwing pretty compliments your way? Maybe I should have come to dinner, whether I had the clothes for it or not, to make sure none of 'em said anything they shouldn't to you."
Tessa had noticed with discomfort Harold's increasing possessiveness toward her over the past month or two. Now seemed as good a time as any to put a stop to it. "You may trust my father to protect me from any unwanted advances, Harold. For that matter, I can protect myself. It is in no way your responsibility to do so, in any event."
"It could become my responsibility." He got up and moved across the room to stand next to her, one hand brushing her bare shoulder. "You used to follow me about like a puppy, Tessa. You idolized me. Did you think I didn't know?"
She shifted in her chair so that his hand fell from her shoulder. "I was a child then. I didn't know any better. Now, I do."
His thick lips twisted in a sudden sneer. "Oh, think you're too good for me, do you, now all these fine gentlemen and lordlings are dancing attendance on you? If they knew you were granddaughter to a horse-trainer, their intentions wouldn't be honorable ones, you know."
"As I told you, they came to see Papa, not me. And I've made no secret of who I am, so don't think to hold that over my head."
"So they know, do they?" He gave a knowing nod. "Now I get it. Word is, your precious Lord Anthony has a new mistress every year— usually gifts her with a horse, in fact. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Tessa glared at his leering face. "You have a nice job here, Harold, training my father's horses. I doubt you want to jeopardize that."
He laughed at her. "Who do you think you're fooling? Uncle George does whatever Father tells him to, and my own father's not about to turn me off. Especially now that we're getting such good prices for some of the horses I've trained."
"You've—?" she began, torn between outrage and amusement. Did he really think his training had anything to do with it? Yes, he probably did. "I have influence with my father as well, Harold —rather more than Uncle Mercer does, I imagine."
He leaned over her, and she realized uncomfortably that he could probably see right down her low bodice. "We're all family, Tessa. No need to wrangle over influence —or for you to be missish. I never said I meant to tell anyone about Grandfather, now, did I? Let's be friends, as we used."
Again he put his hand on her shoulder, then slid it lower, beneath her collarbone. She twisted away from him and stood up. "Stop it, Harold. We are cousins, nothing more, and that's all we will ever be." It was almost a relief to finally have it out in the open.
He blinked, clearly surprised, though she couldn't imagine why, as it had been a decade or more since she'd shown him anything but distant politeness. In fact, she thought she'd made it fairly clear of late that she didn't even like him. Remembering the snippet of conversation she'd overheard out at the stables last week, she wondered what Uncle Mercer had been telling him.
"I'm sorry, Harold, but—"
Abruptly, his face took on the bullying expression he wore so often when "training" the horses, and he moved close to her again. "Oh, you'll be sorry, that's certain. I'll—"
"Is there a problem, Miss Seaton?" came Lord Anthony's voice from the parlor door.
Stepping away from Harold, she turned with a distinct sense of relief —and embarrassment at being seen in so awkward a position. "No, my lord. My cousin and I were simply debating our different views on horse training."
&n
bsp; As he'd done during his first visit to the house, Lord Anthony looked Harold up and down, consideringly. "I see," he said, in a tone that implied he saw far more than she'd explained. Then, to Harold, "Having observed Miss Seaton's excellent horsemanship, I'd recommend you heed whatever advice she might deign to give you, Emery."
Harold scowled, clearly ready to argue, but just then a commotion in the hallway heralded the arrival of the others. Tessa took the opportunity to put more distance between Harold and herself, though she was careful not to move too near Lord Anthony, either.
Why had she felt such relief at his entrance, she wondered as she took a seat near the fire. Harold would never have harmed her, for all he'd tried to bully her with words. She should instead have been annoyed that she had not been able to finish her confrontation with her cousin on the spot, for now they would doubtless end up having this conversation again.
Sir George and the rest of his guests entered the parlor, deep in a discussion of famous foxhunts of the past. Tessa looked searchingly at her father as he wheeled himself in, alert for any sign of fatigue, but at the moment he seemed animated and happy— though of course that could be a mere facade. Even if it wasn't, she was certain that once their guests were gone, he would realize how much the evening had tired him.
"Papa," she said when he paused in his recounting of one hunt he recalled, "come join me by the fire, do. You'll be more comfortable here, I'm sure."
For a moment his face lost its eagerness and she thought he would do as she asked, but then he shook his head. "Nonsense. This whole room is quite warm. In fact, I was just going to suggest some whist, as we have enough for two tables. It's been ages since we've played, and you know how I enjoy it."
He glanced around the room, clearly counting up those present. "Ah, Harold, I see you've decided to join us at last. Gentlemen, most of you have met my nephew, Harold Emery, who does such a splendid job with the horses."
Tessa waited until greetings were exchanged before saying, "I'm sure these gentlemen have other things to do than to play whist with us, Papa." If once they sat down to cards, they might be here till midnight!
"Not at all, Miss Seaton," Sir Charles protested. "I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd be glad to oblige Sir George in a rubber or two."
The others gave a chorus of agreement and Tessa's heart sank. It was true that her father had used to enjoy the game. During the first year or so after his accident, Harold and Uncle Mercer had frequently been pressed into service to make up a table, though neither of them particularly excelled at whist. In recent years, however, Sir George had been too tired and withdrawn in the evenings to suggest it.
"We have nine, so we can take turns at one table, or two can play as one," Lord Rushford suggested.
But Uncle Mercer headed for the door, saying, "No need, for I can't stay. I have several matters to attend to after taking most of the evening for pleasure. No, Harold, you stay and play," he added when his son made as if to join him.
"We have just eight, then, which is perfect," Sir George exclaimed, motioning for Griffith and young Jonas, who was playing footman tonight, to set up the tables. A few minutes later, they all settled down to play.
Sir George had insisted that he and Tessa play at different tables, much to her frustration, as that would prevent her keeping as close an eye on her father as she'd have liked. Even worse, she was now trapped in close proximity with both Lord Anthony and her cousin Harold, the imposing Mr. Turpin making up their fourth.
Anthony, on the other hand, was perfectly content with the grouping, as it would give him an opportunity to learn more about this rather intriguing family.
"How long have you worked as trainer for Sir George?" he asked young Mr. Emery as the first hand was dealt.
The fellow shot him a suspicious glance before answering, reinforcing his opinion that the man bore watching. "Just over two years," he said. "I took over when my— when the old trainer died." He glanced quickly at Miss Seaton, then away.
Anthony remembered what Porrington had claimed, so was able to divine what Harold Emery had almost said. "I take it your father oversees your efforts?" he asked then, not wishing to pursue a topic that might make Miss Seaton uneasy.
The other man shrugged. "He oversees the whole estate, but he lets me handle the horses as I see fit."
"Will you be riding in the hunt this season, Mr. Emery?" Thor asked, arranging the cards in his hand.
Emery shook his head. "I haven't time for such nonsense. That is—I'm very busy with the stables." Anthony thought he looked distinctly uncomfortable, but whether from his rude slip or because he wished to avoid the topic of the hunt, he couldn't say.
They settled down to play then, but after a few tricks, Anthony tried another tack. "Much as he enjoyed the hunt, and clearly still enjoys hearing about it, I'm surprised Sir George hasn't found a way to watch it occasionally," he said to Miss Seaton.
Frowning, she missed her turn, realized it, apologized, then said, "Pray do not put such an idea into my father's head, my lord. I fear an evening such as this will be tiring enough for him."
"Do you mean to say he never leaves the house at all?" Anthony asked in surprise.
She shook her head. "Never since his accident. How would he, after all? Stairs alone are a barrier to him, as you can see."
A barrier she had learned to make use of, Anthony suspected, remembering the evidences of financial hardship he had seen on the ground floor that were lacking on this one. "The wings of the house —do they require navigating stairs for access from this floor?" he asked to test his theory.
"Well, yes," she replied with evident surprise. "There is a half-flight up to the west wing and a half-flight down to the east. Why?"
He sent her what he hoped was a disarming smile as he shrugged. "I merely wondered how limited Sir George's world had become since the accident. It must be hard for a man who was once so active to be confined to one section of one floor."
"Oh, he's a great reader, is Sir George," Harold Emery put in cheerfully when Miss Seaton did not at once respond. "He seems happy enough puttering about with his books and papers, don't he, Tessa?"
Anthony thought her smile seemed forced. "Yes. Yes, he does. I fear they have bested us this hand, Mr. Turpin," she said, gathering up the cards as the next deal was hers. "I will strive to pay better attention to the next."
"That is our rubber," she said an hour later. She had indeed paid more attention to the cards— helped, no doubt, by Anthony staying clear of topics that flustered her—and had played much better as a result.
For himself, Anthony wasn't sure any level of play on his part could have compensated for Harold Emery's inferior understanding of the game. As they were playing for points rather than pounds, he'd stifled his frustration with his partner by watching the delectable Miss Seaton at her play and by listening carefully to what little conversation went forth.
There was a tension between Miss Seaton and her cousin that he was certain went beyond different theories on horse training —but then, he'd surmised as much when he'd interrupted them just after dinner. Young Emery had been threatening her in some way, he was almost sure of it.
He was determined to discover exactly how.
The other table ended their rubber a moment later, and though Sir George at once suggested another, Anthony could detect a trace of weariness in his voice.
"You are most kind, sir, but I believe we have imposed upon your hospitality long enough." When his host would have protested, he added, "Remember, your daughter was up early today for the hunt, and rode hard for several hours this morning. I'm certain she would not thank us for keeping her longer from her bed."
The grateful glance Miss Seaton sent him was almost worth the sacrifice of leaving her side so early.
"Why, I had quite forgotten that," Sir George said, looking at his daughter. "How thoughtless of me, Tessa, dear. Are you so tired, then?"
She rather elaborately stifled a yawn. "I confess
I am beginning to flag a bit, Papa, after such a long, full day."
That settled the matter and the gentlemen rose to take their leave with many exclamations of gratitude for an enjoyable evening.
"Perhaps the Odd Sock Club may return the favor and have you to dinner at Ivy Lodge, Sir George," Stormy suggested, oblivious to the sudden alarm on Miss Seaton's face.
Anthony saw Thor nudge Stormy, but Sir George was looking thoughtful. "Perhaps that might be pleasant, if it can somehow be contrived." He glanced impatiently down at his chair. "It may be easier to have you all here again soon, however."
"I'm betting these fellows can get you in and out of a carriage, should you wish to come," Killer volunteered. "We'd love a chance to show you about the place, wouldn't we, Anthony?"
Caught between the urge to help Sir George and his reluctance to distress Miss Seaton, Anthony nodded cautiously. "I'm sure it can be managed, should you wish to come —and should Miss Seaton think it wise. I would invite you as well, Miss Seaton, but Ivy Lodge is a bachelor establishment, I fear."
"I quite understand," she said stiffly, her anxious eyes on her father. "Now, do allow me to see you all to the door."
Clearly, she was hoping that once they were gone, Sir George would forget the idea of leaving the house, but Anthony was not at all certain that he would —or that he should. He waited until his friends had all said their goodbyes so that he could be the last to take leave of Miss Seaton.
"I'm sorry if you feel our visit was a strain on your father," he murmured as he bent over her hand. "I believe you will find that he benefited from it on the whole, however."
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and troubled. "Would that you were right, my lord, but I fear he may have overestimated his strength. It has been many years since he has attempted anything like this evening."
Retaining his light grasp on her hand, Anthony held her gaze with his own for a long moment, willing her to understand that he wished only good for her and her father. Her eyes widened slightly and he felt her fingers tremble in his before she hastily withdrew them.