Springfield had decided to enter Bandit in the Open Hunter Class at Deep Haven, which would put him up against Arcturus and Gard. And the Englishman spent quite a bit of time readying his horse for the show. He refused to speak to Gard unless absolutely necessary, something that didn’t bother Gard at all.
Soon it was time to head to Deep Haven. The Deep Haven Hunt Club was one of the oldest in the Hudson River Valley with a rich tradition and excellent reputation. And its grounds just happened to border the farm Gard had inherited from his grandmother. He’d have a chance to look things over again in preparation for taking Arcturus there next week, the Good Lord willing.
Getting the horses to Deep Haven took an entire day. Bandaging legs, packing tack and supplies, water for Arcturus and feed for everyone, show clothes and barn clothes. Asa was invaluable, keeping lists and organizing. Schmidt had also hired two extra grooms for the show who needed instruction and supervision.
In addition to being the premier hunter show of the summer, Deep Haven was also known as a place to buy and sell horses. Freeman Schmidt was sending four additional horses to the sale barns, and those needed looking after as well. In all, Gard was in charge of eight horses and three stable hands … though he wasn’t really in charge of Asa.
The show would span three days, the first day taken up with pony and youth classes, the second for model and ladies’ classes, and the third culminating in the Open Hunter Class.
And hopefully in his purchasing Arcturus and starting his future.
Mr. Schmidt, as a well-known horseman and member of Deep Haven, had reserved space for his show horses in the best barn. The sale horses went to another barn, and Gard put them into the care of the new grooms. Asa would check up on them. Gard focused his attention on Arcturus, Spanky, Lacey, and Bandit.
“They traveled well then?”
Gard turned from filling a grain bucket. Beryl stood in the stall doorway, the light behind her silhouetting her form. He hadn’t seen her for two days, and it felt like an eternity. He let the bucket slide back into the grain sack.
“We got everyone here safe and sound. Lacey’s in the end stall.” He’d put the mare in the one farthest from Arcturus so the stallion wouldn’t get any frisky ideas.
“Did you get our schooling times from the show secretary?” Her voice was businesslike as she stepped into the aisle. She held a pair of gloves, tapping them into her palm. But her eyes belied her professional tone. They held questions, questions he didn’t want to answer. And hope, which he couldn’t fulfill.
“Asa just went to pick up the times. We don’t have any classes today, but Lacey goes tomorrow, so she’ll need a pipe-opener schooling today.”
“That’s why I’m here. Is there anything else I can do? I assume we’re washing and braiding tonight?”
He raised his brows. “Yes, but I don’t expect you to do that.”
“It’s one of my favorite parts of showing, all the backstage bustle. And Lacey loves to be braided and fussed over. And you have Arcturus to do for the model class, so you’ll need someone to do Spanky and Bandit.”
Which meant Beryl would be in the barn most of the day. Gard’s resolve to keep his feelings to himself would certainly be tested.
“Miss Beryl, just on time. We’ve got the use of the practice ring in half an hour.” Asa came by, carrying a pitchfork over his shoulder and consulting one of his lists. “Miss Lacey is up on her toes and ready to go. You want me to saddle her for you?”
“No, Asa. Thank you. You’re busy, and I can tack her up.” Beryl smiled at the old man. That was something Gard loved about her, the respect and courtesy she showed to Asa. If he was going to ever marry, his bride would have to accept Asa as part of the package.
Stop thinking along those lines. You aren’t in a position to marry, and even if you were, marrying Beryl isn’t possible.
“I’ll get Spanky tacked up and we can school them together.” Gard retrieved the grain bucket and fed Arcturus before heading to Spanky’s stall.
Lacey, who was in tip-top shape, took to her schooling well. Beryl was calm in the saddle, loose with the reins, and attentive to her mount. He’d instructed and trained them both to the best of his ability. Now it was up to them to carry all that work into the show ring.
Spanky, on the other hand, acted as if he had ants in his britches. He shied at figments of his imagination, bounced around, and generally skidded his way through the practice. It took all of Gard’s considerable horsemanship to keep him under control.
“Hopefully he got his wiggles out.” Gard dismounted at the gate to lead Spanky back to the barn and Beryl dropped to the ground, too.
“It’s like he’s giddy at all the newness.” She shook her head. “If he acts like that during his class, he’s going to get the gate right away.”
“Don’t I know it. And he’s my first ride of the show. If he gets booted early from a class, it might mean my other rides will disappear.” Gard rubbed the back of his neck. “Still, he’s got a couple days to settle down. We don’t go until Friday, so I can school him again before then.”
They returned to the barn and began the process of getting the horses groomed and ready for their events.
Beryl spurned no job, carrying buckets of water, scrubbing Lacey from nose to tail, and walking her in the hot sunshine until she was dry. Lacey basked in the attention, leaning into Beryl and going so far as to start snoring while she had her mane and tail braided.
Arcturus was another matter. He hated being fussed over, tossing his head, snorting, sidling, and letting Gard know he wasn’t in the mood to be prettied up. He stood crosstied in the aisle of the big barn, but he shifted his weight and tugged on the lines frequently.
“Knock it off, big boy.” Gard swatted him on the rump. “It’s your own fault. If you weren’t so good looking, you wouldn’t be in the conformation class. And if you’re going to go, you’re going to be clean and shiny.”
Beryl laughed when Arcturus knocked over the suds bucket. “Do you need some help?”
He eyed the row of tight, neat braids marching down Lacey’s chestnut neck. “Where did you learn to braid like that?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Obviously you didn’t play dress-up with your friends as a child. We all braided each others’ hair all the time.” She motioned to the coiled braid on the back of her head. “Who do you think does this every day?”
He shrugged. “I thought you had a maid or hairdresser or someone who took care of that sort of thing.”
“I do have a maid who looks after my clothes and cares for my room, but I do my own hair.” She picked up the mane comb and her thread. “Would you like me to braid Arcturus?”
Gard considered it. Her braids were better than his, no doubt, but stallions were unpredictable creatures. “All right, but I’m going to hold his head. If he starts acting up, you get out of the way, got it?”
Beryl nodded and got to work. Gard had the opportunity to observe her, loving the way she talked to Arcturus under her breath.
“What a lovely, thick mane you have. You’ll make all the other horses jealous, that’s what.”
The stallion swiveled one ear around, listening to her.
“You’re such a handsome fellow. I know Mr. Schmidt is going to sell you after the show, but I hope whoever buys you remembers you’re more than just a bloodline. I hope they remember you’re a fine individual who likes to roll in the grass right after you’ve had a bath, and that you like your apples cut up for you, and that it takes you a while to settle into a new place …”
She’d learned a lot about the horse. Come to think of it, she knew little things about every horse in the Schmidt barn.
Beryl had just finished and taken the equipment back to the stall they were using as a tack room when Arcturus’s head came up and he whinnied, staring at someone over Gard’s shoulder.
“I thought I’d find you here, Kennedy.”
Wallace Valentine and his friends, Mr. Bentley and Mr. Van
Rissingham.
“Mr. Valentine.” Gard turned to shake hands with him, keeping hold of one of the stallion’s crossties. “Gentlemen.”
“How is this old boy?” Mr. Valentine stepped to the side to view the stallion in profile. “I saw Freeman Schmidt and gave him our price this morning. He said he’d consider it, especially if his mystery buyer can’t come up with his financing by the weekend.”
Gard nodded. He’d have his financing. With the money he would make on his extra rides, it would be just enough. Come Friday evening, Arcturus would be his. If Mr. Valentine wanted, he could book a couple of his mares to come to the farm next spring, but hopefully, that would be as close as he got to owning a piece of Arcturus.
“Beryl, dear, I didn’t know you were in the stables this afternoon.” She had stepped out of the tack room. Wallace held out his arms and she went into them for a brief hug and peck on the cheek. “Your mother was wondering where you’d gone. She and Neville are at the Members’ Tea, and I believe she thought you would attend, too?” He gave her a skeptical look. “She’s going to be more than a bit put out, you know.”
“I know, but I needed to school Lacey, and then there was the grooming to do. Doesn’t Arcturus look fine?”
“He does. And he’ll look even better at Valentine Ridge in the stallion barn.” He put his arm around Beryl’s shoulders. “Oh, I have some news for you. Remember I told you a couple months ago that Cal Brightman was looking for a mare for his wife?”
Beryl’s face froze and the light went out of her eyes. “Yes.”
“Well, he agreed to my price on Lacey. He’ll pick her up after the show, so you can still compete. I got him to agree to that. I knew it would make you happy.” He beamed. “She brought a handsome price, one that will go a long way toward paying my share of Arcturus, here. Isn’t that great news?”
The color went out of her face. Her eyes sought Gard’s, and he could read the pleading, heartbreak, and desperation there. It cut him to the core. Her worst fear had been realized, and her blustering father had no idea he was the cause of her devastation.
Beryl had to get out of there. She was numb everywhere except the pit of her stomach which had tightened into a knot of despair. Panic welled up, and she slipped from under her father’s arm as he turned to talk to his friends. Keeping a tight hold on herself, pushing the sobs down, hardly feeling the impact of her riding boots on the dirt, she headed out of the barn and into the sunshine.
People bustled around the barns—show people, spectators, grooms. Everywhere she looked there were more people. Over to the east, the white roof of the members’ tent poked up, the enclosure where her mother and Lord Springfield were drinking tea and chatting with the upper crust. To the west, the show rings were in use, ponies and youths everywhere.
Melanie Turner went by on the arm of one of her beaux, and though she called Beryl’s name, Beryl didn’t stop. She had to find a place to be alone.
There, she spied a copse near the edge of tomorrow’s hunter course. Lifting her hem, she hurried across the open grass, entering the shade of the trees, gulping for air as the sobs she’d held back overwhelmed her.
Beryl sank to the ground, hugging the slender bole of a white birch, seeing nothing through her tears. Though she had known this day would probably come, she hadn’t been prepared. Her beautiful Lacey …
Strong arms came around her, familiar arms. “Shhhh …” he whispered against her hair, rocking her gently. “Shhhh….”
Gard.
She melted against him, trusting him with her pain as she had trusted him with her heart. He would understand, because he had the capacity to love horses, just as she did.
When the storm of tears finally passed, she went still, pressing her ear against his chest, listening to the thudding of his heart, strong and steady, and the sound of his breathing, feeling the warmth of his muscles through his shirt, the security of his arms around her. Having him here with her was making the loss of Lacey endurable … barely. She sat up, and his hands came up to cup her face. His thumbs brushed at her tears.
The wind had ruffled his dark hair, and his eyes were filled with compassion. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
The endearment spread balm on the raw edges of her heart. She didn’t know who leaned into whom, but before she realized it was happening, his lips were on hers, and she was gathered tightly in his arms again. Pain of a new kind washed over her. Gard did love her; she could feel it in his kiss, feel it in the hunger of his embrace, and yet, what could they do about it?
She quit thinking and just felt, tunneling her fingers into his hair, saying everything through touch that she couldn’t put into words. Her tears wet his face and dampened his beard. When he broke the kiss, it was by degrees, pressing his lips to her forehead and then coming back to touch her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and then burying it in the hollow of her neck.
“Oh, Beryl,” he groaned. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He tucked her head under his chin, wrapping her close. His chest heaved as he drew in deep breaths.
Neither of them had. The heavy weight of Lacey’s sale pressed on her heart again, and she closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of his embrace. At least she had Gard.
Finally she leaned back, looking up into his face. “I don’t know what my parents are going to say, but I don’t care. We’ll make them understand somehow.”
His brows drew together. “Make them understand what?”
“That we love each other. I know they would prefer me to marry Lord Springfield, but that’s impossible. I don’t love him. I love you.”
Gard scrambled to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Whoa, there. Who said anything about marriage? I can’t get married, and I certainly can’t marry you.” The panic in his eyes reminded her of a horse that had just scented danger and stood ready to flee. “I have plans to see through. I won’t be ready to get married for years yet.”
For the second time in an hour, Beryl’s world crashed to bits around her. Mortified, she spun away from him and ran, not caring who saw or what their conclusions might be. And worse, he didn’t try to stop her.
Chapter Eight
Except for pain, Beryl didn’t feel anything. Her mother fussed over her, asking if she was ill, and her father put her distractedness down to pre-show nerves. After a sleepless night alternately mourning for Lacey and aching for Gard, she wanted nothing more than to withdraw from the show and run away from it all.
And for the first time in her life, she avoided a stable. She couldn’t face Gard. Not after humiliating herself as she had.
She sat in the stands between Lord Springfield and her father during the Model Classes, and when the Stallion Model Class was called, she took care to mask her expression. Even so, seeing Gard enter the ring with Arcturus hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Sunlight gleamed off the stallion’s blood-bay coat. Gard had brushed a checkerboard pattern into the horse’s haunches. No false tail was needed, since Arcturus’s black tail was already thick, long, and glossy. He looked impeccable.
Gard looked no less wonderful. Beryl’s seat was right on the rail, and he walked by no more than ten feet away from her. His velvet hunt cap was set at the perfect angle, his breeches pristine white, and his boots glossy black. His black hunting jacket rode his shoulders perfectly, and he moved with easy grace.
The class was a large one, but nobody was surprised when Arcturus won. Gard accepted the rosette, pinned it to the stallion’s bridle, and led him in a victory lap of the ring before heading back to the stables. Beryl’s father was thrilled, rubbing his hands together and beaming as if he already owned Arcturus and was eager to accept congratulations.
“Your first class is right after lunch, correct?” Father consulted his program. “Ladies Hunter Equitation?”
Beryl nodded. “I had best go warm up Lacey.” Even saying the mare’s name hurt.
“Do us proud.”
“Would you like me to walk you to the stables and saddle your mare?” Lord Springfield stood when she did and offered his arm.
“Thank you, no. Stay here and enjoy yourself.”
Gard was just stabling Arcturus when she arrived at the barn. Walking past him, chin high, forbidding herself to shed so much as a single tear, she headed to Lacey’s stall. The chestnut pushed her blazed nose into Beryl’s chest, looking for a treat as always. With a tight throat, Beryl patted her neck instead, opening the stall and leading the mare out into the aisle.
“I polished your tack last night. Shall I saddle her up for you?” Gard asked quietly.
“No.” She couldn’t say anymore past the lump in her throat. Why didn’t he go away?
“Beryl, please.” He reached out for her.
“Just leave it.” She shook off his hand on her arm.
She tacked up Lacey, used the mounting block, and went to the warm-up area without another word.
When the class was called, Beryl rode Lacey into the ring.
It was the worst showing of Beryl’s career. To her mortification, she received the gate less than halfway through the event. To get the gate was to be disqualified for being subpar. And none of it was Lacey’s fault. Beryl hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been listening for the changes of gait, for the changes of direction even, and had nearly caused a collision when everyone reversed their routes but her.
Gard met her at the gate, his face a thundercloud. He took Lacey’s reins near the bit and frowned up at Beryl. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Leave me alone.”
“No. Not when you’re acting like this.” He led the mare toward the stables with Beryl still in the saddle, a helpless passenger.
“And just how am I acting?”
Gard stopped and turned to look at her. “You’re acting like one of those spoiled debutantes I thought you were when we first met. You didn’t get your way in something, so you’re taking it out on everyone around you.”
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 41