Hallie patted Piccola’s forehead while she nuzzled a carrot off Hallie’s palm. “She will win me many more races before she retires, my lord. Unfortunately, we have no horses for sale at this time. We’ve not been in business all that long.”
Jason said, “James and Jessie Wyndham will be visiting in August. They’re bringing us stock they’ve selected themselves.”
“Yes,” Hallie said. “Come see us in September.”
“I will,” Charles said. “It will interest me to see what an American considers good breeding and racing stock. Ah, Miss Carrick, Lord Brinkley told me about the shine on your boots. Said his man Old Fudds still couldn’t get it just right.”
“Practice,” Hallie said.
“That is true of most things, I’ve found,” Charles said, and turned to Jason. “You’ve begun well, Jason.”
“Thank you,” Hallie said.
Charles Grandison laughed. “I would like to meet this misogynist butler who stole Elgin’s hat and cane.”
It was later, over Cook’s lovely tea and gingerbread that Hallie asked, “Lord Carlisle—”
“Call me, Charles, please.”
She smiled, inclined her head. “Have you and Lord Renfrew known each other long?”
“Elgin is horse mad,” Charles said. “He has asked me to assist him in buying quality horseflesh.”
“It is an expensive undertaking,” Jason said, and chewed a raisin Cook had put in the gingerbread.
“Oh, you don’t think Elgin has enough pounds in his pockets?”
“I really don’t know,” Jason said. “Nor do I really care.”
“I suppose you told Jason, Miss Carrick, that Lord Renfrew would very much like to marry you?”
“No, I did not tell him that. Why would I?”
“He is your partner, ma’am. Were you to wed Lord Renfrew, why then, it would be he who would deal with Jason here and your horses.”
“I hadn’t realized that marriage went hand in hand with incompetence. Marriage would make me stupid, then?”
“A lady as lovely as you are could be as stupid as a chamber pot and it wouldn’t matter.”
Jason, in mid-drink, spewed the tea out of his mouth and began coughing. Hallie walked to him and smacked him hard on the back. He finally caught his breath. He grinned up at her. “Ah, thank you for the brute assistance.”
“I have four young siblings. One is always prepared to do anything, including cauterizing a wound. Now, Lord Carlisle, about Lord Renfrew.”
“Charles, please.”
Hallie picked up her teacup and saluted him, and yet again she inclined her head. “I don’t suppose Lord Renfrew asked you to come to Lyon’s Gate to, er, soften me up a bit?”
“I scarcely know the gentleman.”
“You and he are of an age,” Hallie said.
“Surely he is older.”
“I don’t believe so, unless he lied to me. I believe Lord Renfrew is thirty-one years old.”
“Hmm. Yes, Elgin lied. It is a nasty thing, a lie, but some feel compelled to do it, particularly when the young lady is of tender years.”
“I’m no longer tender, sir.”
A very handsome dark brow arched up. Charles looked toward Jason, then back at her. “You must take care, Miss Carrick, this young gentleman here is known for his prowess with the fair sex. Tender or no, it has never mattered. Why, stories are legend about—”
“I’ve been gone five years, Charles. The legends are good and dead.”
“But new ones are well begun in Baltimore,” Hallie said. “So many females running toward him in the rain, bumping umbrellas.”
Charles burst out laughing. “Good God, I can picture that.”
Hallie said, “I, myself, sir, saved Jason from a bevy of eager ladies at the ball last evening. Their strategy—a lovely narrow wedge headed by a very determined young lady—was excellent, but I was faster.”
Jason rose. “All of this must be amusing to the two of you. I, however, have work to do, work that will make me sweaty and dirty and completely unappetizing to the fairer sex.”
“Not Cook.”
Lord Carlisle’s lovely eyebrow went up again. “Cook? What is this?”
Hallie said, “Cook swoons whenever she sees Jason. He’s caught her twice now, one time she took him to the floor. When he is at the table, we eat very well indeed. If not, why, both Mrs. Tewksbury and I lose flesh.”
Jason threw up his hands and walked out. Hallie, without pause, said, “It took me long enough to arouse him. Thank you for your assistance, sir. Now, you will tell me what is going on with Lord Renfrew. There is no reason for Jason to have to suffer through another recital of the man’s mental and moral failures. He told you our history, I presume?”
Charles nodded slowly. “He told me he was foolish, that he didn’t realize the value of the precious jewel in his very hand.”
“Surely you’re making that up. Elgin really said such an idiotic thing?”
“Well, perhaps not. It’s difficult to know, Miss Carrick, whether to flatter, to soften, or to spit things right out into the open.”
“Spit, please, sir.”
“Only if you will call me Charles.”
“No, I don’t know you well enough yet. Please don’t ask me until sometime next week, if, that is, you’re still in the neighborhood.”
“You wound me, Miss Carrick.”
“I doubt that. Like Jason, I have a lot of work to do.”
Charles finished off his tea, sighed, and sat back in his chair, legs stretched in front of him. “Elgin’s father drank, his mother took lovers—he had a very difficult family—”
“You will not make excuses for him. Elgin Sloane is a man, he must be held responsible for his actions. That he obviously believed me to have less mental aptitude than a cow—well, now, that’s a painful tonic to swallow. However, when I discovered the truth, I would have shot an arrow through his gullet if I’d had my bow with me.”
“As I said, Miss Carrick,” Charles said, “Elgin made some bad decisions, decisions he bitterly regrets. He has changed. He has grown into his years, although it has taken him longer to grow since he lied about his age.”
“How old is Lord Renfrew?”
“I know for a fact that he is thirty-three.”
She laughed, simply couldn’t help herself. “Twenty-four months, he lied about twenty-four months. He believed that to an eighteen-year-old-girl head over boots in love, twenty-four months would make a difference?”
“One never knows about females. My own wife was a mystery to me until the day she died. I see you are still feeling the pain of the blow he struck you.”
“What blow was that?”
“What he did isn’t all that dishonorable, Miss Carrick. Elgin desperately needed money to restore his uncle’s estates. The old man was a wastrel, unworthy of his lands and title. Elgin knew he would have to make the ultimate sacrifice.”
“The ultimate sacrifice,” Hallie repeated slowly, savoring the words. “I had no idea I had achieved such status. That’s the only blow he told you about?”
“Good grief, there’s another?”
“Indeed. The thing is, Lord Renfrew was bedding another woman at the same time of our betrothal.”
Charles winced. “I can see why he wouldn’t want to admit that to me. That does make him appear in a rather stupid light, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yes. Now, you can’t buy my mare and you can’t push Lord Renfrew’s suit. You’ve drunk your tea. Would you like to leave now, sir? Perhaps take Lord Renfrew’s hat and cane to him?”
Charles slowly rose. “I knew that messengers were always kicked, yet still I came. That second blow, he didn’t tell me about that one. Next time I will know better.”
“Lord Renfrew must have a hold on you, to actually convince you to come here. To be his emissary, that is certainly sinking oneself very low.”
“Oh yes, certainly he has a lovely hold over me. If he didn’t, can you pos
sibly imagine I would be here to push the nitwit’s suit with you?”
She laughed, felt a tug of liking. “What is the hold he has on you?”
“I don’t believe I’ll tell you that, Miss Carrick. May I call you Hallie?”
“No. Perhaps next week. If there is a next week, which, given the company you keep, is highly unlikely. Jason and I are very busy. I do not like to have to spend time sipping tea when there are stalls to muck out.”
“A lovely thought, that,” he said. He walked to her, his stride strong and graceful, making Hallie wonder just who Charles Grandison was. He collected her hand, turned it over and kissed her wrist. “Such soft skin,” he said.
“If you lick me, I shall kick you out the front door.”
He laughed. “Oh, no, I don’t lick a lady’s flesh, at least not in the drawing room, Miss Carrick. It has no finesse, only the value of shock. I dislike such artifice.”
She wondered what he was thinking when he mounted the lovely gray Andalusian gelding held by Crispin, their youngest stable lad, all of thirteen, and watched him accept Lord Renfrew’s hat and cane from Petrie. She watched him ride the Andalusian through the open gates and down the drive. An excellent riding horse—proud, agile, calm. She wondered what his name was. She wondered what hold Lord Renfrew held over Charles Grandison.
Hallie wanted to work her horses, she wanted to sweat, to perhaps sing a ditty. She didn’t want a man to make a fool of her ever again.
Ten minutes later, she was walking quickly toward the stables. She could still hear Petrie and Martha arguing, hear Cook singing as she prepared Master Jason a Spanish frittata, and Angela humming as she sewed another divided skirt for Hallie.
She whistled until she wasn’t more than twenty feet from the paddocks, and heard a scream.
It was Delilah, and she was loose. So was Penelope, and both were in the paddock running after Dodger, who, with a tremendous jump, cleared the paddock fence to race off into the distance.
“What the devil happened, Henry?”
Jason came running around the corner, a hoof pick still in his right hand. He gathered what it was all about. “Bring me Charlemagne. He’s the only one fast enough to catch Dodger.”
But Hallie was faster. “He’s my horse,” she said, slid the bridle into place, grabbed his mane, and pulled herself up. “I’ll fetch Dodger home, sir. You calm the mares.”
Jason watched her ride that brute of hers bareback at a gallop. He watched Charlemagne take a fence in full stride. He shook his head and went to the paddock.
“The little missus sure can ride,” Henry said. “I ain’t niver seen a female ride like that ’un.”
“It’s a pity Charlemagne’s bloodlines aren’t worth spit, else we could make a lot of money off him.”
“Old feller’s an accident o’ blood, Master Jason, an’ that sometimes ’appens. He niver shoulda been so mean nor so fast.”
Not five minutes later, Corrie and James rode up to the stable. “We saw Hallie riding like the wind. What’s going on?”
“Dodger’s ladies were fighting over him. He escaped, and Hallie went after him.”
James handed his brother Bad Boy’s reins. “You’d best make sure she doesn’t break her neck.”
CHAPTER 28
It was the fault of Major Philly’s cow, who was wandering free in her pasture, chewing placidly on the fresh summer grass as she stared after Dodger, who was still running faster than the wind. The cow was unaware that Charlemagne was running right at her, all his focus on Dodger, who was still a good thirty yards ahead of him.
When the cow saw Charlemagne, eyes wild, head down, she mooed loudly in alarm.
Charlemagne heard the moo but didn’t see the cow, but Hallie did. In a last-ditch effort to avert disaster, she threw herself against his neck, grabbed the reins close to his mouth, and jerked as hard as she could to her right.
Charlemagne ripped the reins out of her hands, jumped straight into the air, slashed out at the cow with his hooves, missed, and sent Hallie hurtling over his head.
Jason saw the whole thing. He was so frightened he cursed until he’d run out of both human and animal body parts. He leapt off Bad Boy’s back, dodged the cow’s butting head, and fell to his knees beside Hallie.
She was pale except for two bloody scratches on her cheek. He felt for the pulse in her throat, couldn’t find it. “Don’t you dare be dead, damn you. I want Lyon’s Gate, but not over your dead body. Open your eyes, you bloody female, now. You don’t wish to be the first buried here in this cow pasture, do you? There, I found your pulse. You’re alive, so stop pretending you’re not. Wake up, woman.”
“I wonder where all past owners of Lyon’s Gate are buried?”
Her words were slurred, but he understood them. “Good, you’re here. Keep your eyes open. How many fingers am I waving in front of your nose?”
“A blurry fist. You’re shaking your fist at me. What nerve.”
“Hold still.” He started with her arms, then skimmed his hands lightly over her, ending with squeezing her toes in her riding boots. “Do you have pain anywhere else other than your head? Don’t lie there with a vacant look on your face, answer me. You didn’t groan, is it only your head?”
“Yes, it’s only my head. Get that fist out of my face.”
“My fist is two fingers. Keep your eyes open, Hallie. I saw what happened. Ah, here’s Dodger, come back to see what trouble he caused. I tried to shout after you that Dodger always came home by himself, but you were off to save the day rather than pause for just an instant to see if your assistance was even needed.”
“He comes home by himself?”
“Look at poor old Charlemagne. He’s blowing after that adventure you put him through. Charlemagne could have hurt that cow, and you have no idea how much Major Philly loves his cows.”
“Would Dodger really have come back since Delilah and Penelope were after him?”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t know either since this is the fist time two mares wanted him. He was frantic, Jason. He wanted only to escape. Charlemagne doesn’t come back. Can you teach him to come home?”
“Maybe. Right now, all three horses are standing no more than six feet from me, wondering why you’re lying here on the ground.”
Jason felt in his pocket and gave each horse a sugar cube. “You want one too?”
Hallie looked at him, then at the horses, all three of them still staring down at her, chewing on their sugar cubes. She was glad she didn’t know what they were thinking. The cow mooed. Jason gave the cow a sugar cube too.
“This is humiliating,” she said, and closed her eyes.
“Open your damned eyes!”
“No,” she whispered and turned her face into his hand. He felt her warm blood against his palm. “Can I have a sugar cube?”
He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. He felt her warm breath, then he realized she was asleep, or unconscious, he didn’t know which. He felt the lump behind her left ear growing bigger. She wasn’t going to like the way she felt when she woke up. Jason sat back on his haunches, popped a sugar cube into his mouth. Dodger, seeing him do that, whinnied. “Well, my fine fellows, what the hell do I do now?”
He looked up when he heard Major Philly say from behind his right shoulder, “I say, Mr. Sherbrooke, what are you doing with my sweet Georgiana? Why is Miss Carrick—she is Miss Carrick, isn’t she?”
Jason nodded. “She was thrown.” He turned back to Hallie to see Major Philly’s Georgiana butting her head, licking her hair and face.
“Get that fist out of my face.”
“It’s Georgiana, not my fist,” the major said. “Is Miss Carrick all right, Jason? She doesn’t look at all the thing, you know. There’s blood running down her face.”
Hallie moaned and didn’t breathe in. She didn’t move.
“Here’s a sugar cube,” Jason said and stuck it in her mouth. “Suck on that and I’ll get you home.”
“I say, Mr. Sh
erbrooke, poor Georgiana is overset. Her eyes are rolling in her head.”
“Give her another sugar cube, sir, she’ll be fine.”
When Jason carried Hallie into the house, Martha yelled, “Heaven’s groats! There’s blood dripping off her face. She’s dead!”
Petrie, to Jason’s surprise, said as placid as a vicar who’s drunk the sacramental wine, “Calm yourself, Martha. Master Jason would have told us if she was dead. She looks bad, though. Shall I fetch a doctor, or is it too late?”
“I suppose it would be best to have her head checked. Send Crispin. He knows where Dr. Blood lives.”
“Yes,” Corrie said, coming into the drawing room, “he can ride Petunia, my mare. Dr. Blood is such a good physician, but such an unfortunate name.”
“Hello, Corrie,” Jason said. “You and James came for a visit? Everything’s all right at home, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, but Hallie—”
Before Petrie took himself off, he said to Corrie, “I can see her chest moving, my lady. Well, since she’s a female, it’s not quite accurate to say chest, but you know what I mean—”
“Everyone knows exactly what you mean, Petrie. Go.” Jason sat beside her, held her hand, told her that even though Major Philly wasn’t pleased with her for scaring the bejesus out of his cow, Jason had talked him around. “Keep those eyes open and listen to me. Twenty years ago, James and I helped him herd his cows into another pasture when his dog, Oliver, was ill and couldn’t do it. He always called us Mr. Sherbrooke.”
“Because he couldn’t tell us apart,” James said.
“Probably not, but it was a nice touch, made us both feel very important. The thing is that Georgiana is a very sensitive bovine. It’s possible her milk has been adversely affected.”
“All right, if it isn’t her fault, then it’s Dodger’s fault.”
Jason tucked the lovely afghan his grandmother had knitted over her. “Do I recall preaching about taking responsibility?”
“You listened to what I said to Lord Carlisle about Elgin Sloane, did you?” asked Hallie.
Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123) Page 115