by Julia Parks
Moving Tristram's sketchbook, he sat down on the sofa. As he sipped the golden liquid, he flipped through the pages, struck once again by the scope of his younger brother's artistic talent. These were no mere scribbles. They were worthy of publication.
M[ax's smile widened as he came across Tristram's interpretation of him, dressed as a knight of old. Tristram had labeled it Sir Milton. He turned another page and found the drawing of a lady in a cone-shaped hat and flowing gown. With the label of Iseult, he gazed at the woman's face for a moment before realizing it was not Kate, whom Tristram had nicknamed Iseult, but Philippa Beauchamp. Odd, thought Max, turning another page.
"May I have that back?" asked Tristram, standing over Max and holding out his hand.
"Certainly," he said, closing the book and handing it to his brother. "I hope you do not think I was prying. I picked it up to move it, and I opened it. I had forgotten how talented you are, Tris."
"Thank you," said Tristram stiffly. He turned and walked away.
Max was about to call him back, but his stomach growled, and he went in search of food instead. The cook, who came in during the day, was busily preparing their dinner. She greeted Max with a curtsy when he entered the kitchen.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Owens."
"Good afternoon, sir."
"I am sorry to invade your kitchen, but I sent Barton
out on an errand and now find that I am feeling quite ravenous. You wouldn't have a little something that could tide me over until tonight, would you?" He smiled at her, and she was putty in his hands.
"Oh, yes, sir," she said, heading toward the larder. "Just give me a moment to fix you a tray. Shall I bring it to the drawing room?"
"Yes, please. Thank you," said Max, strolling back the way he had come.
"My pleasure, Mr. Darby," called the cook.
"You will marry the man, Philippa, whether you love him or not. Whoever has been planting these strange notions in your head? Marriage is not about love," said Mrs. Beauchamp, sparing a look of derision for her husband.
"Papa!" cried Philippa.
"Child, I know that you are not well acquainted with Mr. Darby, but he is the first to offer for you since ... since that incident last spring. I think we would be foolish to turn down the chance to see you settled. I mean, he is presentable enough, is he not?" asked Mr. Beauchamp.
"He is handsome in the extreme!" said his wife.
"And he is young and fit."
"Very fit," added his wife.
"He seems very kind, too," said her father.
"The essence of kindness, Philippa. Pray stop that caterwauling," said Mrs. Beauchamp, glaring at her daughter. Philippa's sobs subsided, but she continued to sniffle.
"Oh, I have done with her, Mr. Beauchamp!" said her mother before she flounced out of the room.
"Philippa, you do wish to wed, do you not?" said her father, handing her his handkerchief to replace the scrap of lace she was using.
"Yes, Papa."
"Then I think we must face the fact that after that fiasco last spring, we are out of options. Mr. Darby is the only man to come up to scratch since your mother ... no, I cannot bear to repeat the story, but I know what it has cost you, losing your vouchers to Almack's. And the invitations are fewer this fall. I am afraid your status in Society has changed irrevocably."
"I wonder why," said Philippa with unaccustomed sarcasm. "Throwing herself at the husband of one of Almack's hostesses, and in the middle of Almack's, no less. Oh, Papa, how can you put up with it?"
"I know," said the diminutive man, sitting down next to her on the sofa. "You must think me the perfect fool."
"Oh, no, Papa! Never that!" she said, taking his hand and squeezing it.
"You should, because I am a fool," he said, looking her in the eye. "But my reason, despite all your mother says and does, all she has ever said or done, is love. I have always loved her, and I always will."
"Papa, why don't you .. ." Philippa sighed. It would do no good to lecture her father on his meekness. He was a clever businessman, but he was nothing more than a mouse around her overbearing mother.
"So will you accept Mr. Darby? You need not live near your mother, you know. I will settle a handsome sum on you. You and he may have an estate wherever you wish. Only say the word, my dear."
Philippa looked at her father's hopeful face, closed her eyes, and nodded.
"When he asks me, I shall accept."
* * *
Max's afternoon and evening were quiet. Tristram had disappeared, as he often did, leaving Max to dine alone. It did not bother him. He had planned an early night in order to be well rested for the race the next morning.
After playing patience for an hour, he set aside the cards and wandered to his room. There, he stripped off his clothes and threw himself onto the bed. Two hours later, the clock struck midnight.
"Blast," he muttered, rolling off the soft feather mattress and rising. He pulled on his unmentionables and a dressing gown and left the room, in search of company and diversion.
Tristram was still gone, so he was out of luck.
Suddenly he smiled. "Midnight!"
The happy thought that Kate might be outside in her garden, unable to sleep just like him, led him to the garden wall.
"Kate! Kate, are you there?"
He pushed the gate open and whispered, "Kate?"
"I'm here," she replied, her white wrapper looming suddenly in front of him.
"Thank heavens," he said, extending his hand and leading her back to his side of the garden wall. "We can be sure of our privacy on this side of the wall."
"I cannot stay long," she said softly. "I could not sleep, and I came outside on the chance that you would be here."
"It was much the same for me," Max replied, seating her on the stone bench before joining her there. She shivered, and he put an arm around her, saying, "Just to keep you warm, my dear."
"I know."
They sat in silence for a moment, each wrapped in his own thoughts.
Finally, Kate said, "Max, I want to thank you for helping me tomorrow."
"It is my pleasure, Kate," he said, squeezing her shoulder.
"Perhaps, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate it. It is likely that we will not meet after tomorrow. My father's Irish temper may lead him to pack up and take us home."
"Is that not what you want?" he asked.
"Yes, of course, only I would be sorry if we left without my saying thank you."
"I understand. But don't be so glum, Kate. This time tomorrow night, it will all be over."
"Yes, and you will be free to pursue Miss Beauchamp."
"Indeed I shall," he said with relish. Turning to face her, he lifted her chin and said, "I am certain she and I will deal well together, you know. I would not wed her if I did not believe I could ... grow fond of her."
Kate's eyes shone like black diamonds in the shadow of the moonlight, and she nodded. "I know."
Then she lay her head on his shoulder, and the silence of the night engulfed them.
"Where have you been?" hissed Max the next morning when Kate rode up on Thunderlight.
"I got here as quickly as I could. Is that Palmer's horse?"
"That's the one," said Max, winking at her as he reached up to swing her off the stallion's back. "What did I tell you?"
She managed to keep from laughing. Palmer's horse was close to seventeen hands, every bit as big as Thun-derlight. He had a barrel of a body and long, spindly legs—much too spindly to hold all that weight.
Still, when a small groom swung up on the horse's back, Kate almost gasped. Max, now mounted, had no trouble reading her mind.
Leaning down, he said quietly, "Don't worry. The groom may be light, but he's as heavy-handed as his master. Thunderlight and I will have no trouble."
"Nevertheless, I wish you luck, Max," she said, smiling up at him, the energy of the morning race making her heart beat faster. Or was it the handsome man smiling down at her?
Straightening, Max said, "You ready, Palmer?"
"I have been ready," came the imperious reply. "We are agreed as to the course?"
"Agreed. And the stakes?" asked Max.
"Agreed. I will signal the start," said Palmer.
Max hesitated, then nodded, and Palmer took out his handkerchief, lifting it high in the air while Max and the groom jockeyed their horses into position.
Without a word, the handkerchief fluttered to the ground and Palmer's groom drove the big gelding forward with a slap of the whip and a shout. Caught off guard, Max urged Thunderlight to follow.
Kate watched, her heart in her throat. Palmer turned and smiled at her, and she glared in return. The cad! He had done that on purpose!
Soon the two horses and their riders were out of sight, and they waited impatiently for the horses' return.
"What do you reckon, miss? Will he do it?" asked Bobby.
"Of course he will," she snapped at her groom. Immediately, she said, "Forgive me, Bobby. It is just..."
"I know, miss. Me, too."
"Care to expand our wager, Miss O'Connor?" called Palmer as the horses came into view again, the gelding leading Thunderlight by a length.
Kate ignored him and yelled, "Come on, Thunderlight! Come on, Max!"
Max was bent over the big horse's neck, urging him ever faster. Kate shouted with laughter when the black stallion leaped forward, closing the gap in two strides and then steadily inching ahead. Seconds later, they whizzed by with Thunderlight decisively in the lead. Bobby and Kate cheered while Palmer cursed.
Max and Thunderlight returned to her side. Slipping to the ground, Max gave her a hug and handed the reins to the groom.
Turning to Palmer, he said, "Bad luck, Palmer."
"Yes, quite," said the other man, who now had himself well in hand. Kate breathed a sigh of relief that things would not get ugly.
"You brought the bill of sale for him?" asked Max.
"No, I did not. Didn't think I would need the da ... the thing," he amended when Max cocked his head toward Kate. "Sorry. I will have to fetch it from my house."
Max raised a brow, then nodded. "A bit irregular."
"Are you saying I am trying to get out of it?" asked the indignant Palmer.
"No, I merely commented that it is irregular. It is usually better to settle a debt of honor immediately. But I understand perfectly if you forgot," said Max, meeting Palmer's gaze with steely calm.
Palmer looked away first. "Yes, well, it is good of you to understand. Shall we meet here at noon?"
"So late?" said Max. "Make it eleven o'clock, shall we?"
"Very well," said Palmer, sweat breaking out on his brow. "Come along, you fool," he said to his groom. Then he swung up on his gelding, and they rode away.
"Where is he going?" demanded Kate.
"He forgot the bill of sale. I will meet him here at eleven o'clock."
"But, Max, my father is sending Early Girl to Tatter-sall's this afternoon. Eleven o'clock may well be too late," she said.
"We will have time. Don't worry." When she pursed her lips and raised one brow, he added, "Have I let you down up to now?"
"No."
"Then remember that and quit frowning so. We will have plenty of time. Now, why don't I escort you home while Bobby takes Thunderlight back to the mews for a good rubdown?"
"Very well, but I want to be here when you meet with Palmer," she said.
"I don't think that would be wise, Kate. Men's business, don't you know."
"Nonsense. Thunderlight is my horse, and for that matter, so is Palmer's winded gelding. Do not tell me I should not come," she said, glaring at him with her hands on her hips.
"Very well, but he will not swallow it as easily with a female looking on," said Max.
Her nose in the air, Kate said, "And why should I care to make it easier for Palmer to take? If he has trouble honoring his debt, then he should not wager."
Max chuckled and hooked his arm through hers, pulling her toward the park gate. "You, Miss O'Connor, are a hard woman. You are right, of course," he added, when she flashed angry green eyes his way.
Kate smiled, suddenly in charity with him. "Do you think Gunter's tearoom would be open this early? I have a mind to celebrate."
"Nine o'clock? I doubt it. I know a place where there is always a kettle on. You simply have to slip in through the back entrance. No one will be any the wiser."
"I shouldn't," said Kate, gazing into those deep blue eyes. Then he smiled at her, and she nodded, saying, "Surely there can be no harm in two friends sharing a pot of tea."
"No harm at all," said Max, linking arms with her again. "Our Mrs. Owens makes a creditable tea cake, too."
"It could not be as good as mine," she said.
"You cook, too?" he asked. "How can it be that no man has yet snapped you up, Kate?"
"I suppose most men do not fully appreciate a girl who rides better than they do," she replied, an impish grin on her face.
"Perhaps, but with your grace and beauty, your culinary talents, and your exquisite sense of humor, a man would have to be all about in his head."
"You are quite right, of course," she quipped.
"And modest? Why, such a modest soul," he replied. "Are you certain you do not wish to wed here in London? I am certain if I pointed out these sterling qualities to some of my friends, they would leap at the . . . no? Ah well, it will be England's loss when you return to Ireland."
Kate was laughing by now at his absurdity. How
could she not? Their sense of humor was so closely aligned.
"I'll tell you what, my dear girl. I will have Tristram offer for you. He will not feel in the least intimidated by your riding prowess, since he does not ride—unless forced to do so. He would be the perfect mate for you, really. Any time you went out in your carriage, he would be only too happy to allow you to drive."
"An admirable suggestion, my friend, but I am afraid there are two flaws with your plan," said Kate.
"Two flaws? Impossible!"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. First of all, your brother has not shown the least interest in me."
"Oh, well, if you are going to quibble," said Max, his eyes lighting with appreciation.
"And secondly, is he not supposed to wed an heiress also? For truth to tell, I am about as far from being an heiress as ... as the two of you are!"
Max unlatched the gate leading into his garden from the alleyway and stepped aside to allow Kate to enter first. He then guided her toward the house, along the wall that separated their two properties, to keep anyone from spying her as they entered through the kitchen door.
When they were safe inside, Max continued, "Yes, you are right, but I am loath to let such a prize as you slip through our fingers. Perhaps we could adopt you?"
"Oh, now you are being too absurd," she laughed.
"No, no. Only think. We could remain the best of friends. We could ride together anytime we wished. I am not in the least intimidated by your horsemanship, you must know."
Unable to resist, Kate asked, "And why is that?"
"Quite simple," he said, sitting down beside her on the sofa. "I am a better rider than you are."
"You are not!" she exclaimed, cuffing him on the arm.
"I most certainly am. Do you think you could have ridden Thunderlight to victory today?"
"I most certainly could have. Why, you were only toying with that other horse."
Max laughed, "You are right about that. Well, I didn't wish to make Palmer feel too bad about it. I mean, he tried to do the right thing, letting his groom ride in his stead. But the horse was impossible!"
"And so are you!" she exclaimed.
"Me? What did you want me to do? Lose the race?"
"Of course not," she said.
"Then why would you say such a ..."
"If you two children cannot play nicely, I will have to separate you," said Tristram, entering the drawing room wearing pantaloons covered by a silk b
anyan, his feet shoved into his slippers.
"Oh, dear. Did we wake you, Tristram?" asked Kate.
"A good thing if we did," said Max. "He should not be sleeping so late anyway."
"I don't see why he should not sleep late if he wishes," said Kate.
"Well, that is true. It is not as if he is going to go out and accomplish anything."
"Max! How can you say such a thing about Tristram?"
"Indeed," said Tristram, adopting an injured air.
"No, really. Only think about all he has accomplished. Why, not everyone can say that they have written a book."
"Ah, yes, I forgot about your one flaw," said Max.
"My flaw?" said Kate.
"Yes, you read too much!"
"I do not!"
"Children," said Tristram, holding his head. "If you are going to shout at each other, I am going to leave."
"Then leave," said Max.
"No, we are sorry," said Kate. "No more arguing and teasing, we promise. Don't we, Max?"
Max gave her a big smile and said, "Not right now, anyway. Ah, here is the tea tray. Shall I pour? Or would you care to, Kate?"
"I will pour out," she said.
"Oh, good. Although you know that I can do as good ajobatthatasyou."
"Oh, really," moaned Tristram.
"No, no. That was all. No more, I promise," said Max, accepting a cup from Kate.
Tristram accepted a cup and looked from one to the other before asking, "Well, are you not going to tell me who won the race?"
Max and Kate shared an intimate look, and she nodded, giving Max permission to relate the tale. When he was finished, Tristram expelled a long whistle.
"It sounds like a near-run thing."
"Not at all. Max was magnificent. And so was Thun-derlight. They could have taken Palmer's gelding at any time. If he were not such an unpleasant man. I might have felt sorry for him." said Kate.
"Do you think the gelding will bring as much as your mare?" asked Tristram.
"I think so, perhaps more," said Max. "The true horsemen will not bid, but he's a showy thing, and his bloodline is good, so he should fetch a fair price. Speaking of which, we really should be going to get that bill of sale, Kate. It is half past ten."