by Brenda Hiatt
He vaulted into Cinder's saddle. "It was my pleasure, Tessa— believe me."
She smiled uncertainly, afraid her voice would betray her further. Turning the mare's head, she started in the direction of Wheatstone with him at her side. Though she knew it was impossible, she couldn't help thinking how nice it would be to always have him there.
"You're suddenly very quiet," he commented when they had trotted half the distance without a word.
"I'm sorry. I . . . I was merely working out the story I will give to my father when I get home." Belatedly, she realized that she needed to do exactly that.
"It's barely ten o'clock. Can't you keep to the story you gave last night? It's perfectly plausible that you'd have stayed the night, given the weather."
"Yes, of course, but he's likely to ask for details —topics discussed, dishes served, that sort of thing. I don't wish to sound as though I'm making them up on the spot. As you so astutely pointed out, my father is an intelligent man."
He nodded and changed the subject. "Your uncle said something about selling Cinnamon at auction tonight. Had he intended you to ride her in the Cottesmore today?"
"The Cottesmore!" Tessa gasped. "It has already begun! Uncle Mercer will be furious. Were you not intending to ride with it as well?"
"It's no matter," he said with a shrug. "I've hunted the last three days running, so should probably give Faro a rest anyway. What will your uncle do?" His voice was casual, but he was watching her closely.
Tessa urged Cinnamon to a canter before replying. "He really cannot do anything, I suppose, but he will be angry."
Occasionally Uncle Mercer, like Harold, threatened to tell her father about her evening rides, or the state of their finances, but she doubted he would really do it. He would not risk Papa's health that way. Besides, should her father finally learn the truth, her uncle would have little hold on her.
"He can't do a thing," she repeated with a growing sense of relief. "Either he can try to sell Cinnamon tonight anyway, or he can wait until I ride her in a meet next week. Sorry, girl," she added to the horse, patting her neck.
"I know it's business, but it seems a shame you can't keep her," Anthony commented. "There is clearly affection on both sides."
But Tessa refused to discuss her family's financial straits, as it would only underscore the differences between them. "I will miss her," she admitted, "but we bought her with an eye to resale, so I've known from the first that she couldn't stay."
"Have you ever been allowed to keep a horse you cared about?" His voice was so gentle, so sympathetic, it almost moved her to tears.
Resolutely, she stiffened her spine. "Of course. When I was a child I had a pony, Bluebell, that I quite doted on. She died but two years since, and I kept her till the end." It was not quite the same thing, though, and she knew it.
"We're nearly in sight of Wheatstone, so I'll leave you now," he said after a long pause during which she wondered desperately what he was thinking. "Did I not promise we wouldn't be seen?"
She reined Cinnamon to a walk, wondering whether he was more concerned with preserving her reputation or his own freedom. Quickly, she thrust away such an ungrateful thought. "Thank you, my lord. You've been very kind— particularly since I bear some of the blame for what happened to your friend."
"Anthony," he reminded her with a smile that went straight to her heart. "And you've made me realize that I'm not free of blame myself. Good day, Tessa." He touched his hat to her, a look in his eyes that was almost as intimate as a kiss.
"Good day . . . Anthony," she said. Then, fearing that he might read in her expression what she felt in her heart, she turned away and set Cinnamon into a canter toward the house.
Anthony watched her ride away, various feelings battling for ascendancy: admiration, trepidation and something stronger, stronger even than lust. With a muffled curse, he wheeled Cinder around and headed back to Ivy Lodge at a gallop, as though he could somehow leave all of his conflicting emotions behind him.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
Bypassing the stables to postpone a meeting with her uncle or cousin, Tessa went straight to the front door, where she handed Cinnamon over to Jonas. Indeed, she was quite anxious to use the necessary and change before facing anyone. And to think.
Sir George called a greeting as Tessa hurried up the stairs toward her room. Anxious that he not see how she was attired, she responded without entering his study, saying she would return shortly. As Sally helped her out of her crumpled habit and into her rose-colored morning gown, she pondered the night just past.
Should the truth become known, her reputation would be ruined, but somehow she could not bring herself to care. Instead, her thoughts were filled with Anthony's face, his voice, the gentle way he'd spoken to her, the generous way he'd forgiven her for what she'd done to his friend. When would she see him again?
She gave her head a quick shake to dispell such thoughts, earning her a puzzled glance from the maid. The more she knew of Anthony, the more it seemed she had found her perfect match in him—in a man who liked her as she was, with her odd talents and many faults. But it didn't matter. He wasn't about to offer, and she couldn't leave her father even if he did— which made her fantasies just that.
"Thank you, Sally," she said when her hair had been brushed out and simply arranged for a day at home. With a nod at her reflection to remind her of her duty, she rose and headed downstairs.
"Here you are at last, Tessa," her father greeted her. "I see you must have slept well at the Hightops', your eyes are so bright. I assume you have breakfasted?"
"Actually, no," she confessed, suddenly aware of her empty belly. "The Hilltops rise late, and I wished to get home to you. I'll ring for more tea and another plate." She did so, then seated herself at the small table across from her father.
"It was most kind of them to let you stay the night when the weather turned to rain," he commented as a maid brought in a fresh pot of tea and a plate of pastries. "As we now owe them an invitation, I'd thought to have them here to dine next week. What say you?"
Tessa nearly choked on the bun she was eating and had to take a long sip of tea before she could answer. "Surely there is no need of that, Papa? I'm certain they do not expect it, for they know you do not entertain."
"Nonsense. Have you already forgotten how well I did two nights since? It will be the neighborly thing to do. We could even invite two or three other families and make a party of it."
Why had she not foreseen this? It would be disastrous for her father to speak with any of the Hilltops now. Lying certainly had its pitfalls, but now she was obliged to do so again.
"I fear they would not be able to come anyway, Papa, for Mrs. Hilltop told me they leave for London in a few days, and mean to stay the whole winter in Town."
"Indeed? Then it was doubly kind of them to have you to dinner last night, when they must be busy with preparations for their journey."
Tessa glanced sharply at her father but saw no sign of suspicion in his expression. "Yes, I thought so," she said carefully. "I was quite profuse in my thanks."
"And how does Miss Hilltop? She is to make her come-out, is she?"
As Tessa had not seen Cynthia Hilltop in more than a year, she had no idea, but she murmured a vague assent, then changed the subject before she was forced into more falsehoods. "I hope Uncle Mercer was not put out that I was not here to ride in the Cottesmore today."
This successfully diverted her father. "He was, rather, but I told him it was no matter —that you could ride that mare he wishes to sell in the next hunt just as well. He was quite insistent, however, that you speak with him on your return. After you finish your breakfast, of course."
"Of course." She'd known that confrontation couldn't be put off for long. Finishing her pastry and tea, she stood. "Is he in his office, or at the stables?"
"The stables, I believe. Wear a cloak, my dear, for it has grown quite windy, I see."
"I will, Papa, thank
you." Dropping a kiss on his head, she ran upstairs for her cloak before heading out to the stables.
"Here you are at last," Uncle Mercer greeted her. "Too late for the Cottesmore, of course. Now it will be Monday at the soonest before we can sell that mare, and you know how the estate needs the money."
"Two days will make little difference," Tessa replied, irritated by his manner. "Is that the only reason you wished to see me—to scold me for missing the hunt?"
He glared at her, then shook his head. "I want you to start working with Vulcan. I've discussed it with Harold and we think you can have him ready to hunt by the end of the season. With his bloodlines, he'll fetch even more than Nimbus did, for he has breeding potential."
"Vulcan? But that is absurd!" she exclaimed. Vulcan was the wildest horse they owned, an uncut stallion, far more vicious than Nimbus had been, even at his worst. He was kept in the far paddock, well away from the other horses, and even Tessa had never been allowed near him.
"You said it was absurd to expect Nimbus to behave well enough to hunt, and see how well that turned out?"
"But it didn't turn out well at all," she protested. "Did you not hear? Lord Killerby rode out on him yesterday and was injured, as was Nimbus."
Clearly this was news to him. "When did you hear this?" he demanded.
Belatedly, she realized she could not tell the truth —at least, not all of it. "Lord Anthony told me. When he escorted me to the Hilltops' last night." Billy would likely have mentioned her riding out with Anthony, so there was little point in denying that much.
Her uncle cursed. "That's the same lordling who began the prying, is it not?"
"Yes, it is. I fear this incident may cast yet more suspicion on us—and on me. Indeed, he seemed quite angry when he told me." That much was true, even if he had forgiven her later. The memory brought a warm glow. "We'd best stick to properly trained horses for the remainder of the season, Uncle Mercer."
"We have few of those left," he replied sourly.
Tessa was tempted to point out that that was due to Harold's poor techniques, but knew that would only anger her uncle further. "We have Cinnamon. I'll ride her in Monday's meet, unless you wish to sell her tonight."
"No, she'll fetch a better price if your riding is fresh in the gentlemen's minds, and the Quorn is the biggest hunt. As you say, two extra days matter little. When Harold returns from the village, we can consider —ah, here he is now."
Tessa turned to see her cousin riding up on Thunder, their old brown gelding. "So, you are back, I see," Harold greeted her unpleasantly. "Have a good time at the Hilltops', did you?"
Had he spoken to someone in the village who had given the lie to her story? But she could do nothing but brazen it out. "Cynthia was rude to me, as usual, but the dinner was very fine."
"And what of that popinjay you rode out with last night— alone? Did your dear papa know about that?"
"Lord Anthony?" Her surprise was only partly feigned. She was glad now she hadn't tried to conceal his presence here. "He merely escorted me there —he didn't stay for dinner." Again, fear that he'd discovered the truth gripped her.
"If he wasn't invited to dinner, what was he doing here?" Harold demanded then.
Tessa decided to take the offensive. "He came to tell me about Lord Killerby's accident on Nimbus. Perhaps you heard of it in the village?"
Harold nodded. "Aye I heard, though it appears both man and horse are like to recover. It's not our fault, you know. Accidents do happen, after all."
Though her relief muted her anger for the moment, Tessa felt obliged to say, "They are less likely when a horse is properly trained beforehand. I won't be party to such a deception again."
"What?" Harold looked to his father. "Did you not tell her what we'd decided about Vulcan?"
Uncle Mercer nodded. "But she has a point. We'll make no profit if men start demanding their money back, for you know Sir George won't hesitate to comply. It might be wisest to sell a few of the better beasts first. Still, I'd like to see how she handles a brute like Vulcan —see what her limits are."
Though irritated at the way they discussed her as though she were not present, Tessa couldn't help feeling a degree of eagerness to take on such a challenge herself. "I'm quite willing to work with him," she said, "so long as you don't plan to sell him anytime soon."
The three of them walked out to Vulcan's paddock, picking their way carefully through the mud left by last night's rain. Along the way, they passed other horses being exercised by the stable hands, to include the chestnut gelding Tessa had worked with yesterday.
"Here, now!" Harold called out to the lad longeing the horse. "Tighten up that line, and don't be afraid to ply the whip if he stops." He entered the paddock to demonstrate, and at once the gelding flattened his ears and veered away. Harold snatched the whip from the stable lad and sent it whistling toward the chestnut's hindquarters.
"Harold!" Tessa exclaimed. "Stop that. I made excellent progress with this horse yesterday, and I'll not have you undo it all by making a perfectly good-tempered horse fearful."
Her cousin whipped the horse again, apparently for mere spite, then rejoined them after a parting word with the stable hand. "I've warned you before, Tessa, don't tell me how to do my job," he growled. "Especially in front of the hands."
"If you did your job properly, I wouldn't have to say a thing," she snapped back. "You do more harm than good with such methods, as I've told you numerous times." She looked to her uncle for support.
Uncle Mercer, however, only shrugged. "There are many schools of thought on horse-training," he said. "And Harold is right that it's bad for discipline when you criticize him in front of his underlings. But do try not to take your temper out on the horses, son, eh?"
Tessa bit back a retort, knowing it would do no good. Uncle Mercer always took Harold's part in such disputes, no matter how clearly in the wrong he was. She was glad Nimbus was no longer in Harold's power, however unready to hunt he might be. Soon Cinnamon would be away from him as well.
Most of their horses had the potential to be superb hunters or hacks, if they could only be removed from Harold's inept training. If only—
They reached Vulcan's paddock and were greeted by a scream of fury as the stallion spotted them and charged the tall fence. He was as intimidating as Tessa remembered —coal black, a full seventeen hands high, and completely unbroken. She stepped back, along with the others, when he stopped a hairsbreadth shy of crashing into the fence to stretch his long neck toward them, teeth snapping.
Harold nudged her. "Go on, go on, see if your magic works on him," he said with an unpleasant grin. Clearly he expected her to fail, and Tessa honestly expected the same. This horse was a monster.
She took a tentative step forward, staying well out of reach of those enormous teeth, which Vulcan instantly directed her way. "Now, then, lad, what are you so angry about?" she asked in her lilting singsong.
The stallion snapped at her again, then gave another scream, this time of frustration.
Tessa tried again. "Vulcan, Vulcan, calm down. Everything will be fine, I assure you." She moved a tiny bit closer, though not close enough to be bitten.
Now Vulcan's ears twitched and a shudder ran across his skin, as though he were trying to twitch off a biting fly. He swung his head back and forth, teeth still bared, though he did not snap again. The wild look had not left his eyes, however.
"That's better," she cooed. "Not much better, but better." The words, of course, were unimportant. It was the tone that mattered —and he seemed to be attending, at least a little.
Half an hour later, the horse was standing quietly, only an occasional stamp of a rear hoof showing any sign of agitation. Tessa had not attempted to touch him, of course, but she was gratified that she'd been able to soothe him to this point with her voice alone.
Backing away from the fence, she turned to her uncle and cousin, who had been watching in open-mouthed silence. "I believe that is enough for today. Trus
t takes time to build, but I seem to have made a first step. I'll visit him again tomorrow."
"I'd not have believed it," Harold exclaimed. At the sound of his voice, Vulcan reared, neighed fiercely and galloped away.
Tessa sighed. "Perhaps it would be best if I came alone next time. I promise to be extremely careful."
Neither man thought this wise. "How can I gauge your progress with him if I do not watch?" Harold asked and his father agreed.
"And what if the brute were to injure you?" Uncle Mercer added. "There would be no one around to know, or to go for help."
In vain she argued that one of the stable lads could watch from a distance. Finally she gave up, hoping that they would eventually see that she was right, at which point their greed would likely win out over any concern for her safety.
Walking back to the house, she realized that her life had become much happier of late. Not only was she riding to the hunt, a wonderful, exhilarating experience, but she was able to spend more time with the horses. She also had the first real friend she'd had in years in Lord Anthony —and it appeared that last night's indiscretion had gone undiscovered.
Her shoes were muddy from the fields, so she went in by the kitchens and upstairs to change her footwear before coming down to speak with her father. Perhaps between them they could come up with some other task for Harold, one that would keep him from spending so much time with the horses.
As she approached his study, the sound of voices told her that her father was not alone. This was surprising, as Griffith had been in the kitchens eating when she'd passed through. Had he finished so quickly? But when she entered, it was to see Lord Anthony sitting in the chair next to her father.
At her entrance, he rose and bowed. "Ah, Miss Seaton, I'm delighted that you have returned. I understand you were forced to stay the night at the Hilltops'?"
She curtsied, hoping her father would not notice the color she felt rushing to her face. "I, ah, yes, my lord. They were kind enough to invite me so that I would not have to ride back in the rain. How does Lord Killerby today?"