by Julia Parks
"Good morning, miss," he said, giving her a nod.
Her nose slightly elevated to show that she was not in the habit of conversing with just any strange gentleman who hailed her, she said, "Good morning, sir. I'm sorry. Have we met?" Never mind that he was her neighbor. He couldn't know that she and his brother had twice conversed in the garden at midnight—twice.
"No, not formally. My name is Maxwell Darby. I saw you one day in the park last week, though I daresay you did not notice me as you flew past." He leaned forward and touched Thunderlight's nose. The stallion gave a gentle snort and shook his head. The man smiled and said, "As a matter of fact, I have been searching for you ever since that day."
"Really? What on earth for?"
"Because you have my horse!"
"Because ... I beg your pardon! This horse belongs to me—or, rather, to my father."
"No, no, I don't mean my horse. I mean, oh, devil take me. I've started this all wrong."
"I think you have, sir. Good day to you." Kate turned the stallion toward the gates. The sooner she got away from this man the better. He might be her Sir Milton's brother, but he was all about in the head if he thought her horse belonged to him!
A sharp whistle sounded, causing her to jump. Thun-derlight stopped, refusing to budge. Another long whistle and the stallion reared up and pivoted. Kate held on for dear life as his feet pounded the ground, and he trotted back toward her neighbor. Shaken, Kate tried to turn the horse, but he was determined.
"Hallo, Thunderlight," said Mr. Darby, scratching behind the stallion's ears as the big horse butted his head against the man's chest. "Sorry, but I couldn't let you get away again. May I start over?"
"Please do," said Kate, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowing angrily. It was a rare happening when she could not control her horse, and she did not like it or this brother of her Sir Milton, not one bit!
"I know that your father won Thunderlight in a fair match race. What I should have said was that I... what I meant was, when I am in town, the Marquess of Craven well allows me the run of his stables. Last spring, it was I racing Thunderlight, and winning every time, I might add. He's a magnificent horse."
Thawing slightly, Kate smiled and patted the stallion's neck. "Yes, he is wonderful. But I don't understand. What happened?"
"I went home to the country for the summer, but the marquess, I suppose, enjoyed winning those races. He continued to race him, but with his groom riding Thunderlight. That was his big mistake. If I had been riding him, he never would have lost to your father."
"Really?" said Kate, looking him up and down. "I take leave to doubt that, sir. You must weigh half again as much as that groom. And since I was the one on our gelding that morning ... oh, I should not have said that. Papa told me not to tell anyone. Please, Mr. Darby, you will keep that to yourself, will you not?"
"On one condition—Miss O'Connor, isn't it?"
She nodded, but she asked warily, "Kate O'Connor. How did you know that?"
"I made inquiries about the race and Thunderlight. I found out a man named O'Connor won the stallion, but I could not discover his direction," said Max.
"I see," said Kate, studying his face and thinking how very handsome he was. He cleared his throat, and she said, "You spoke of a condition, Mr. Darby?"
With a winning smile, he continued, "Yes, it is that you allow me to ride Thunderlight one last time."
"No, I cannot. I should not."
"I promise you, I only want a moment or two."
Those deep blue eyes gazing soulful ly into hers won her over, and she said, "Oh, very well. I suppose no harm can come of letting you put him through his paces."
He slid off his gray gelding and held up his hands to help her dismount. Kate rolled her eyes and motioned him away. She had no need of help when it came to horses, and she was impatient with any man who thought otherwise.
A moment later, her sidesaddle lay on the ground, and Mr. Darby swung onto the big stallion's back. Kate held the big gray and watched as Thunderlight pranced across the grass, practically dancing while Max Darby guided him this way and that. He bent over the stallion's glossy neck, speaking to the stallion. Thunderlight grew still, listening and waiting. Suddenly, Mr. Darby gave him the office to start, and they flew across the park and out of sight.
Kate waited a moment, consoling herself with the fact that she had the advantage of knowing Mr. Darby was her neighbor and would be easy to find when she had him arrested for a horse thief.
The groom, who had been watching all this in silence, said sorrowfully, "Mr. MacAfee's goin' to boil me in oil, he is."
"Nonsense, Bobby. They will be back in a moment."
It was closer to five minutes before Thunderlight and
Mr. Darby appeared at the far end of the clearing. Kate heaved a sigh of relief.
Her eyes sparkled as she watched the pair. Thun-derlight was dancing once again, as if overjoyed to have Mr. Darby riding him. If ever she had seen a horse and rider who belonged together, it was these two.
Mr. Darby slid to the ground and handed the reins to her groom. With quiet expertise, her handsome neighbor switched the saddles. Turning, He cupped his hands to throw her into the saddle. Then, with a final pat, he swung up on his gray gelding.
"Thank you, Miss O'Connor. I enjoyed that. I wish ... .thank you."
He turned his horse around, but stopped when Kate said quietly, "If I can get away, Mr. Darby, I am usually in this area of the park by ten o'clock each morning. If you would care to ride with us."
His smile transformed his face, and he nodded, lifting his hand in salute before trotting away.
Kate watched him until he was out of sight. He might not be her Sir Milton, but Max Darby was a very handsome man. She suspected that he had caused more than a few hearts to flutter.
"We should be getting back, miss."
"What? Oh, yes. Let's go. And, Bobby, I don't think we need mention this to my father or to Mr. MacAfee."
"Bless you, Miss Kate."
"I have found him!" exclaimed Max, throwing open the drawing room door, causing his brother to break the point on his pen.
"Found who?" said Tristram, picking up the knife to trim the point yet again.
"Thunderlight, of course!"
Tris put down his pen and turned around to face his older brother. "Where was he? Who has him?"
"I saw the same girl riding him in the park again, although she was not racing across the grass. She actually had him under control enough to keep him at a canter. I watched her for several minutes before showing myself. I was afraid to wait any longer because I thought she would give him his head, or lose control, at any minute."
"But who is it?"
"It's like I told you before. It's a Miss O'Connor. Her father is the Irish horse breeder I told you about. Blast!"
"What is it?"
"I forgot to ask where they are staying. Little good it has done me to know the man's name, since no one seems to know where they live."
"I'm surprised that you would forget that."
"Well, it's understandable. I was so excited to ride Thunderlight again ..."
"She let you ride him?"
"Oh, yes. What's more, she told me she would be at the park tomorrow morning, if I should wish to join her. I tell you, Tris, she is an unusual girl. Not beautiful, not like Miss Beauchamp, but she possesses something indefinable. And her hair? Bright red, and short—most unusual and attractive."
"Oh-ho!" said Tristram, raising an eyebrow.
"No, no, I am completely committed to Miss Beau-champ, especially since the marquess said her family is both wealthy and desperate."
"I did not understand that," said Tristram. "Why would they be desperate when Miss Beauchamp is such a beauty? And so very sweet. I am sure you could not
find a more agreeable creature. Surely she will have suitors galore."
"She may be all that you say, but according to Craven-well, the mother is the problem. She scares them aw
ay, trying to flirt with them herself. She also got into some sort of scandal last year. The whole family had to go and rusticate in the country until everything blew over."
"Despicable. No wonder Miss Beauchamp is quiet as a mouse. She is probably ashamed of her mother's antics."
"Yes, well, you leave the mother to me. I have accepted the mother's invitation for both of us to go for a drive along Rotten Row this afternoon."
"Us? I don't want to be anywhere near that woman! She frightened me half to death last night!"
"Yes, I could see it in your eyes. I would have laughed, but I was too busy ingratiating myself with the dreadful woman. Don't worry. I'll be doing the same thing this afternoon. All you have to do is talk to Miss Beauchamp and tell her what a capital chap I am, how much I admire her, and so on. You can handle that, can you not?"
"I suppose so, but I would much rather be forced to ride that stallion of yours than to spend five minutes trapped in a carriage with that pushy female."
"Whew, you really were put off by her! I have never heard you say you would rather be on horseback."
"Exactly," said Tristram, turning back to his manuscript, picking up his pen, and dipping it in the pot of ink.
"But you'll be ready to go at half past four, will you not?" said Max.
"I'll be ready," grumbled his brother.
Max grinned and went out the back door, whistling softly as he traversed the garden and sat down on the small bench near the wall. Feeling rather foolish, he nevertheless called quietly, "Iseult! Iseult!"
"Stoopid," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes.
It had felt great to be up on Thunderlight again. He was glad he had taught him to answer that whistle. Otherwise, the girl might have ridden away, and he would never have seen the big stallion again—or the girl.
Max frowned. He was obviously very taken by that girl to have mentioned her to Tristram in such glowing terms and then to think of her again. She was only the daughter of an Irish horse breeder, and she was hardly a great beauty.
Oh, but on horseback, she was magnificent. If he were the poetic sort—which he most certainly was not—he might even say that the girl and Thunderlight were like a work of art or bit of poetry. They moved so well together. At least Thunderlight's new owner would take care of him. The stallion loved to run so. He needed someone who would appreciate that, appreciate him, and he rather thought Miss O'Connor would do so.
There he was again, thinking of the girl instead of the horse. The daughter of an Irish horse breeder. He wondered if she would enjoy a bit of dalliance?
"No, no, no!" he muttered. He was supposed to be concentrating on the beautiful, sweet Miss Beauchamp. He would have to forget all about Miss O'Connor.
"Sir Milton? Is that you?" The furtive whisper brought him to his feet.
"Yes, it is I, fair Iseult. I had lost hope of hearing your voice again."
"I ... I cannot stay long, but I wanted to tell you that we should meet. Not more than an hour ago I ... I met your brother in the park."
Max frowned. His brother? What the devil. . . Tristram hadn't been in the park. He had been the one ...
He began to laugh, the sound growing until she began
to shush him. "Sh! Someone will hear and wonder why I am talking to a wall, a laughing wall."
"I am sorry, fair Iseult. I had no idea ..."
"No, of course you did not. It was your brother I met, but I think we should meet, too, face to face."
"Oh, I heartily agree, fair maiden," said Max, his amusement threatening to burst forth again. How ironic that he had spent the past week searching London for the mysterious Irish horse breeder and all the while he and his intriguing daughter lived right next door.
"Good. Your brother Max is to meet me tomorrow morning in Green Park. He knows where. Will you accompany him?"
"I shall count the hours, my dear Iseult."
"Until tomorrow morning," she whispered, and he could tell from her tone that she was smiling.
Then she was gone, leaving Max to chuckle to himself, marveling at his good fortune. Perhaps he should have been a gambler like his father—except that he would be lucky.
How fortuitous this visit to London was turning out to be. He had settled on a girl suitable to marry. Fortunately, her wealthy family wanted to see her settled quickly, so they would not quibble at his lack of fortune. In addition, he had discovered he was neighbor to a delightful scamp of a girl, who, if he played his cards right, might end up in his bed for a bit of fun before settling down to dull, married life.
Sometimes the fates did smile on him!
With her first ball under her belt, her mother's worries had eased, and Kate found she had more freedom again. It was not like at home in Ireland, but when she
mentioned that she wanted to go shopping with only Dolly for company, her mother had not quibbled over the proposed expedition, only mentioning that she had promised to drive in the park with her and her aunt at five o'clock.
Their first stop took them to Layton and Shears, the drapers on Henrietta Street, for some new ribbons to refurbish the gown she had worn the previous evening. Her mother insisted that Kate must do something to make it appear different, or she would be considered sadly out of fashion. She debated on blue or ivory, and finally chose the blue.
From there, they went to Nicholay's Fur and Feather Manufactory to purchase two ostrich plumes for one of her mother's headdresses. Finally, they arrived at Hatchards, number 187 Piccadilly, for the latest novels.
Dolly sat on a bench by the front door while Kate perused the shelves. She selected two novels and took them to the clerk at the front desk. The young man sat on his tall stool, his nose in a book, oblivious to everything around him. Kate cleared her throat. Finally, she tapped the counter, and the young man jumped.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, miss!" he exclaimed, his voice squeaking and his face turning red.
"That's all right," she replied, smiling at him. "You were so engrossed, I hated to disturb you."
"Oh, please, miss, you will not tell Mr. Goforth, will you?"
"Certainly not. I am no tattler," she replied. Then, picking up the book he had put down, she asked, "What are you reading that made you forget where you were?"
"It... it is a new novel, by someone named Mr. Poorman."
"I don't think I have heard of it before. Might I like it?"
"Oh, I don't know, miss. It's not like these two that you have selected. It is all about knights and adventures. There is only one girl in it."
"But the tale is well written?" asked Kate.
"Yes, miss. One of the best I have read yet."
"Do you have another copy of it? For I would not wish to purchase this one and deprive you of the pleasure of finishing it."
"Yes, miss, I have another right here. And these two?"
"Yes, please," said Kate, opening her reticule. Books were one of the luxuries she allowed herself. She often spent the evening reading to her mother, with Dolly nearby drinking in every word. This Mr. Poorman's novel might not appeal to her delicate mother, but it certainly did to her.
When Kate and Dolly arrived home, she went straight to her room. Not bothering to change, she opened the novel. The very first line grabbed her interest as she read, " 'We will take the castle and save the damsel, even if she does not wish to be saved!' said Sir Milton."
Her excitement mounting, Kate began to read, her breath catching in her throat when the damsel turned out to be named Iseult. Almost panting, she frowned and set the book aside. Coincidence? How likely was it that her neighbor, the average Mr. Tristram Darby, would have chosen to call himself Sir Milton and to call her Iseult? It was impossible! thought Kate, picking up the book again. As incredible as it seemed, Tristram Darby had to be the author of this novel. She read another page and then smiled. Her Mr. Darby of the garden wall had a great deal more depth to him than she had previously guessed.
The smile still playing on her lips, Kate quickly lost
"How do I look? Is my cravat..."
"Your cravat is fine," said Tristram, grinning at his older brother and shaking his head. "Really, Max, the way you are behaving, one would never guess that you were as experienced with the ladies as you are."
"Experienced with other ladies is one thing, Tris. This is the one who counts," said Max, running a distracted hand through his hair.
"She must be quite taken with you. I mean, to invite us to join them in their carriage. That is rather telling, don't you think?"
"I don't know. It was Mrs. Beauchamp who extended the invitation," said Max. "I must say, it is rather difficult to tell if I am making any headway or not. I have no experience with courting someone like Miss Beau-champ, where the mother is the key to success."
"Do you really think that winning Mrs. Beauchamp's approval is so important to your success? I had always thought winning the admiration of the lady in question was the most important factor," said Tristram.
"And how many ladies have you courted, halfling?"
Tristram glared at him, but Max only chuckled. "No, trust me. I know what I am doing with Mrs. Beauchamp. If I want to wed Miss Philippa Beauchamp, it is through the mother—as unsavory as she may be—that I must go. Marriage is not like in your knightly tales of Sir Milton."
"Perhaps not, but I still think it should be the two parties concerned who are . . . well, involved."
"Never you mind," said Max, giving his cravat a final tug. "There! That is perfect. No, Tristram. All you have to do is tell Miss Beauchamp how much I admire her and how admirable I am. I'll take care of the mother."
"With pleasure," said Tristram.
Half an hour later, Max and Tristram went up the steps to the front door of the Beauchamp town home. The interior was freshly painted and filled with ornate furniture, black lacquered with red and gold dragons painted on the surface. The butler led them straight to the drawing room, where the furnishings were much the same.