Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  “Well, yes, but I thought it was all an uncle’s pride, didn’t really take him all that seriously, you know.”

  “He was quite serious, as am I. Come, Lord Brinkley.”

  She actually heard him debating with himself as he trailed after her. “—damndest thing, a girl, nothing but a young girl—yes, she’d fill a man’s dreams and really she looks striking, lovely vest—but here she thinks she knows about breeding racehorses? Well, that Piccola of hers won, now didn’t she? Maybe all Miss Carrick did was wave her ribbons around the mare to encourage her. It just isn’t right for a young girl to see horses mate. So blatant it all is, so immensely intimate, so disgusting actually. Oh dear.”

  Hallie didn’t know whether to laugh or scream as she listened, striding fiercely ahead of Lord Brinkley, forcing his lordship to take some double steps. Jason looked up from reassuring Delilah to see Lord Brinkley trailing Hallie, his head shaking, seemingly talking to himself. She’d already argued with him? Jason had been expecting this. He quickly gave over Delilah’s reins to Henry, their head stable lad, former head stable lad of Squire Hoverton. Henry stood back from Delilah, told her what a purty girl she was, his voice soft as silk, then finally, he lightly stroked the base of her neck, scratching gently here and there, always speaking quietly to her. He slipped her a lovely fresh carrot, a donation from Cook.

  “Aye, would ye look at that, I’ve got me a friend for life, I do. Mr. Sherbrooke, ain’t she a lovely one? Jest look at them ears o’ hers, all turned forward.”

  Jason turned and smiled. “Yes, she’s alert and interested.” Jason was grateful for Henry. He and Hallie had found him living with his widowed sister in Eastbourne, drinking too much ale because he suffered from melancholia. Jason couldn’t recall any individual ever being so excited before at an offer of a job. He had rubbed his hands together, grinning like a loon. Henry indeed had magic hands and a soft country voice that made every horse in the stable whinny and come trotting to him. He’d discovered four additional stable lads for Lyon’s Gate. He gave a quick bow to Lord Brinkley, told him not to worry, and turned back to Delilah. “Here now, beautiful girl, ye just come with Henry, he’ll feed ye all right ’n’ proper, let yer munch on another carrot or two. Jest ain’t ye a fine, fine girl. Yer going to like ole Dodger, he’s going to make a fine pa for yer baby.”

  “Lord Brinkley,” Jason called, as he strided to the elderly man. “I am Jason Sherbrooke.” As he shook Lord Brinkley’s hand he continued. “I see you’ve met Miss Hallie Carrick. Henry will settle Delilah. We will continue with Dodger tomorrow morning.”

  “Ah, may I see the stables, and Dodger?”

  “Certainly. In a while Henry will turn her loose in this small paddock, and you can see how she likes her temporary home.”

  Hallie let Jason give Lord Brinkley the stable tour. Well, she’d nearly gotten through her first dealing with a gentleman whole hide, or almost. It hadn’t been too bad. At least not yet. She was forced to laugh now, thinking back over his monologue. She wondered which one of him had won the argument. Probably the outraged one. She wondered if Lord Brinkley was staying for the mating tomorrow if he found it so disgusting. She knew if he did, he would be embarrassed to his toes if she were also present.

  When the two men emerged, Henry had just loosed Delilah, a lovely chestnut Thoroughbred of perfect size and proportion, only fifteen hands tall. She had a refined head, a long arched neck, sloping shoulders and a deep chest. The only thing she didn’t have was hard legs. They were on the thin side and that was why Piccola had beaten her. She didn’t have the endurance in those too-skinny legs. Naturally, Hallie wasn’t about to say that to Lord Brinkley. Then, to her surprise, Jason said, “You saw that Dodger is immensely strong. His ancestry goes back to the Byerley Turk. Dodger’s endurance is legendary in America. He has dominant characteristics that appear in all of his foals—the most important one for Delilah’s foal is his thick muscled hindquarters and his hard legs. Dodger is bold and spirited, his will to win is unmatched.”

  “Well, he hasn’t won here in England,” said Lord Brinkley. “Hmm, that does make his stud fee cheaper, and that is a good thing.”

  Hallie nodded. “That is true. You are lucky, sir, for as soon as Dodger begins winning races here in England, his stud fee will rise quickly.”

  After a moment Lord Brinkley announced, “Her legs look hard enough to me.” Neither Jason nor Hallie said anything to that, and after a pitiable sigh, Lord Brinkley admitted, “I heard someone say her legs were too skinny, but I ignored it, put it down to spite and ignorance. Her dam was crossed with Sultan, but her beautiful legs didn’t breed true. Still, I’ve always thought her legs quite elegant.”

  Jason said, “Yes, they are elegant, but too skinny as well. But she is sturdy; look at that short strong back. With Dodger, she will birth a foal with his additional endurance. Just look at her. She’s ready.”

  Delilah was prancing, as if for Dodger, back and forth in the paddock, head high, ears forward, tail up, whinnying. Lord Brinkley swelled with satisfaction.

  Hallie said, “Look at the pride in her, my lord, and the graceful line of her neck. The intelligence in her eyes—yes, that will doubtless breed true.”

  Lord Brinkley continued to puff out his chest until he chanced to look down. “My God, young woman, you’re wearing a man’s boots!”

  Hallie immediately removed her booted foot from the bottom paddock rail.

  She said mildly, “Slippers really aren’t the thing for stable yards, my lord. All the mud and muck and scattered pebbles everywhere. These boots were made by G. Bateson, a longtime apprentice of the great Hoby himself.”

  “Hmm. It offended me when Hoby had the gall to die, fell over a boot he was fashioning, face landed in a pile of leather. Aye, I always gave Hoby my custom until that fateful day. Look at those boots of yours. I can see my face in the shine. Don’t tell me your maid knows how to shine a man’s boots?”

  Jason rolled his eyes, but Hallie said, her eyes shining nearly as clear as her boots, “Actually, my lord, I take great pride in the appearance of my boots so it is I who polish them. It takes me a good half-hour, you know, sometimes longer, until I can see myself clearly in the shine.”

  “I must ask your recipe, my dear. I’ll give it to my man.”

  “It’s all in the size of the hand that measures out the vinegar, and my very special ingredient, anise seed. Does your man have large hands?”

  “Oh, aye, Old Fudds has hands bigger than my mother-in-law’s, God rest her soul as of two months ago, amen. Used to sport in the ring, you know, Old Fudds did, not my mother-in-law. Oh dear, what am I to do? That is really a marvelous shine. Anise seed—who would have ever thought it important for anything save making your breath smell strange and sharp? I can see my eye twitching back at me, clear as day in that shine. My eye—been twitching like this for a good twelve years now, drives my wife quite distracted, particularly in company, She believes I’m winking at other ladies.”

  “What do all the other ladies think, my lord?”

  He grinned at Hallie. “They think I’m winking too. Quite dizzies them up.”

  “Then it’s a good twitch, don’t you think?”

  Jason said, “Er, Lord Brinkley, could you care to see Dodger out of his stall now?”

  “What? Oh yes, certainly.” Lord Brinkley gave a wistful glance back at Hallie’s boots, then turned to follow Jason.

  Hallie called out, “I will provide you with an exact measure, my lord, for Old Fudds.”

  Lord Brinkley stopped in his tracks and gave her a charming bow. If she wasn’t mistaken, he winked at her. Hallie didn’t believe for a moment it was a twitch. She heard him say in a lovely carrying voice, “Nice girl, Mr. Sherbrooke. Does she know a single thing about horses or is she only good at shining boots?”

  “She trained Piccola, my lord.”

  “Hmm. That would raise a man’s confidence, now wouldn’t it? Or terrify him out of his wits. Ah, but it’s
still difficult—I don’t like books that don’t fit their covers.”

  “Sometimes the books in question turn out to be unexpectedly interesting though, don’t you think?”

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning it rained enough to make everyone, horses included, hunker down to stay warm and dry. Lord Brinkley sent them a messenger who looked nearly drowned when he knocked on the kitchen door.

  Jason read the short note, then looked at Hallie. “Lord Brinkley is leaving for Inchbury, doesn’t want to wait until the rain stops. He sends you his direction so you may send him the recipe for his boot polish. He mentions you’re not to forget the exact amount of anise seed for Old Fudds.” He grinned over at her. “That was very well done of you, Hallie.”

  “If he accepts me because of my dandy boot shine, then I’ll willingly accept it. Jason, I don’t suppose Delilah or Dodger have any interest in getting on with the business today?”

  “Not a dollop, at least not when I saw them earlier. Henry came to the back door a few minutes ago, said Dodger was napping, said the nap looked to be a long one. The fact is, Dodger has no interest in females when it’s raining, unlike gentlemen, who are interested in females even when the snow is piled to their noses and—never mind that. Ah, where was I? Oh yes, Henry covered Dodger with a blanket he’d warmed on his own stove top, and kissed his forehead.”

  “What you said, Jason—no, I’m not even going to think of snow all the way to gentlemen’s noses and why—no, I’m not.” Then she laughed. “Oh dear, I can picture Henry lovingly laying that blanket over Dodger’s back, and kissing him. What about Delilah?”

  “When I looked in on Delilah before breakfast, she was eating. Henry said he’d allow her to eat as much as she wanted today. She was frustrated, he said, and eating helped her—all females actually—get through the dry spells.”

  “Henry said she was eating because Dodger wasn’t interested in mating with her?”

  “Oh yes. He also told me that was why ladies who didn’t have good men or were in what one might call a desert of, want, tended to be on the plump side.”

  “I have never been in any sort of desert of want—indeed, I have no notion of what you’re talking about. Nor do I have a good man, if such a thing is possible—and I’m not plump.”

  “You’re young and ignorant, so you don’t count. Angela’s plump.”

  “Not much, and her husband’s been dead for years—that is—no, this is absurd. You’re making it all up.”

  “Not a bit of it. As for Piccola, according to James Wyndham, she’s pregnant—she’s rubbing her belly against the stall door, a sure sign. Not that I ever observed a mare rubbing her belly, mind you. Have you?”

  “No, never even once. What does Jessie say?”

  “She said she always rubbed her stomach on doors when she was newly pregnant. James used to say it was ever so delightful to watch, but it wasn’t really good for anything except more play, that is—never mind that.”

  Hallie punched him in the arm. “You’re making all this up, I know you are.” She looked down at her flat stomach. “Imagine rubbing your belly on something when—” She realized what she’d said and turned red to her hairline.

  “You doubtless will be rubbing in the not-too-distant future.”

  She stared up at him, said not a single word, looked at his mouth. She blinked. “Ah, I didn’t see you when you came in.”

  “I went right to my bedchamber.”

  “So you got soaked going to the stables this morning?”

  He shrugged, took a step back from her. “Of course. But only one of us needed to get his bones soggy, and I did draw Angela’s shortest knitting needle. If anyone croaks of an inflammation of the lung, it will be I. You’re safe.”

  “Well, you’re all dry now, and your wit is overflowing. You had more fun than I did, sitting around here in a blasted gown and ever-so-dainty green satin slippers.”

  “Dainty? Do you really think so, Miss Carrick? I believe your feet are nearly the size of mine.”

  She threw her empty teacup at him, grinned as he snagged it out of the air not an inch from his left ear. “You have very fast reflexes. What will we do today?”

  “We will improve upon our bookkeeping. I’ve spoken at length with James and his steward, McCuddy. We will incorporate some of their practices, change others that fit our operation better. Come along, I’ll show you.”

  They worked, heads together, until late afternoon when Angela knocked on the estate room door. She heard some arguing, laughter, solid silence, and she frowned as she knocked. She didn’t open the door until she heard Jason call, “Enter.”

  “Children,” she said to them, quite on purpose. They were sitting too close together, but on the other hand, neither of them looked the least bit guilty or embarrassed, a huge relief.

  “Yes, Cousin Angela?”

  “Now, my boy, you may call me simply Angela. I’m here to fetch you both so you may beautify yourselves for dinner. I believe Petrie was moaning over the state of your clothes, Jason. Martha told him to get a grip on himself, his whining didn’t set a good example for the staff. And what, she said, would our new housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, have to say about it?”

  Hallie said, “What did Petrie say to that?”

  “I didn’t hear, but I’ll wager his mouth closed and his shoulders straightened right out. You’ve met Mrs. Gray. She’d straighten the shoulders on God.”

  For a moment, Jason frowned down at his tapping pen. He looked toward the far wall, its big window now sporting lovely new pale golden draperies. He heard the rain slapping in windy gusts against the clean glass panes.

  He rose quickly, smiled at Angela, and said, “It’s nearly five o’clock. I had no idea. We have accomplished nearly everything we set out to accomplish. Thank you for fetching us, Angela. I won’t be here for dinner this evening. Hallie, let’s put away our new record books. We’ve worked hard enough.”

  Hallie sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest. “That is the truth. You are very good at mathematics, Jason, excellent indeed. I’ve always done much better with musical notes.”

  “Your entries are much neater than Jason’s, dear,” Angela said. “You could also set your entries to a jaunty tune if you wished. Jason couldn’t.”

  Hallie laughed. “I had my knuckles rapped by my governess if every line and curl wasn’t perfect. However, I’ll get the hang of all of it. Jason, where are you going tonight? To Northcliffe Hall?”

  “No,” he said, not looking at her. “I’ve an appointment in—Well, that’s not important. I will see you ladies in the morning.”

  “But look, Jason, it’s still raining hard.”

  He nodded and left the estate room.

  “How very odd,” Hallie said to Angela. “He suddenly seemed very distracted. I wonder why. I also wonder who would agree to an appointment on this perfectly dreadful evening, and where it is.”

  “You could follow him, I suppose,” Angela said.

  “Hmm,” Hallie said. “I could, but this time I don’t think I will. With my luck, he’d see me—”

  “—and toss you in a ditch to drown.”

  “I was thinking something else, but no matter. I’m starving, Angela. What did Cook prepare for dinner?”

  “Lovely baked sole, I believe, and some fresh green beans. It’s a pity Jason won’t be here. I do believe Cook excels when he is present.”

  “He toadies up to her.”

  “No,” Angela said. “He’s polite and he smiles at her. That’s all it takes. She told me that looking at him made her recipes take wing.”

  Hallie said slowly, nodding, “I heard that every cook in Baltimore wanted to feed him; it was a competition of sorts to gain his attention. Absolutely ridiculous. They did the same thing for my father. Genny always said she couldn’t believe he never became fat as a stoat. He doesn’t gain flesh, you know. I hope I am like him.”

  “You are his female image. Ah, two such glorious m
en, that’s the truth.”

  Hallie grunted.

  Angela said, “It’s better I don’t speak to Cook. Maybe she won’t find out Jason’s not here, and we’ll enjoy the fruits of his bonny self. Also, I must tell you that Petrie was telling Martha that her English is not what a lady maid’s should be, and thus she should keep her mouth shut until it improves.”

  Hallie laughed. “Did Martha smack him?”

  “It was close, but she said smartly that she could only continue to improve if she practiced all the time, and why wasn’t he smart enough to figure his way to that conclusion? And if he was going to continue as an old trout-tooth, she might forget her lessons on purpose. Then she flounced off with Petrie huffing and puffing behind her, without a word to say. Poor Petrie, a misogynist all these years—though he isn’t old at all, is he?”

  “No, Petrie isn’t old at all, just a trout-tooth, Martha’s right about that.” As she walked upstairs to her bedchamber to change—and why should she bother anyway?—she wondered yet again where Jason had taken his bonny self. It must have been dreadfully important for him to go out in this weather. Maybe she would ask Petrie. She excelled in subtlety. He didn’t stand a chance.

  She saw her prey just before she went into the dining room, coming out of the drawing room, humming, oblivious of his looming surrender. “Petrie,” she said, all smooth and guileless, “I wished to ask Mr. Sherbrooke about a matter of importance. Do you know when he will return home?”

  The hum died in Petrie’s mouth, his face turned to stone. Chin going up just a bit, he said, “He did not confide in me, Miss Carrick.”

  But he knew, damn him. Petrie wouldn’t let Jason out of the house if he didn’t know where Jason was going and with whom he was meeting. What was he hiding? How to pry it out of him?

  “It concerns the Dauntry mare coming tomorrow, an urgent matter we must discuss as soon as possible. Surely he said something.”

  “My master spoke only of the bloody rain, Miss Carrick. Ah, he did mention he might ask you to shine his boots for him tomorrow.”