Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  “This vain creature is Ares.” The stallion’s ear twitched.

  “He’s beautiful.” Her voice was reverent as she looked Ares over. Deserved, since he represented the best of what the stables had to offer for a gentleman’s riding mount. A glossy pewter gray coat stretched over lithe muscle, lightening for the mane and tail.

  Bringing him to London every year was a substantial cost, but one that had paid off handsomely in the long run. Without any effort, he could name six customers who had purchased horses from him after seeing Ares. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a restive handful during their first week back on the estate, however.

  Stepping aside, he led Teresa over to the mounting block. “This is Hestia, your mount for today.”

  Teresa eyed the tranquil-looking bay mare with white socks. “She seems rather …quiet compared to Ares.” He could easily hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “Remember, I need to see you ride before I can offer a horse more suited to your abilities.” In his experience, what most of the ton considered good horsemanship wouldn’t suffice for the more lively mounts in his stables. “If what you say is true, I suspect I have one or two that would work, but I don’t trust my horses to anyone’s word.”

  His refusal to sell to those who wouldn’t treat the horses with the respect they deserve had actually increased their appeal. Some grumbled, of course — especially those he’d rejected — but the ton overall had responded by turning his horses into status symbols, bestowed only on those who excelled at the highest level. Nonsense, but profitable nonsense.

  Teresa looked back at the stables, clearly noticing their size for the first time. “How many horses do you have?”

  He shrugged. “It depends. We’re expecting a good year this year, with several mares in foal. Of course, two of them are already spoken for and several of the yearlings will be leaving this summer. I believe there are currently over fifty, though.”

  She blinked. “You breed horses?”

  “Not personally, no. Isaac Croucher, one of my tenants, oversees the operation and makes the decisions. He spoke with me about it eight years ago, asking if I would be willing to adjust his lease so that he could breed and raise horses. He told me his ultimate goal was to breed carriage horses for the ton. As it happened, I owned shares in a winning racehorse that was about to retire and asked if he would be willing to broaden his ambitions.” He waved his hand back at the stables. “What you see are the results of that.”

  “That explains your carriage horses, I suppose.” She looked back at Ares. “Is he descended from your racehorse?”

  Martin shook his head. “Not that one, no, but she is.” He handed Teresa the apple slices he had kept in his pocket. “She is rather quiet, but she might surprise you. Give her a chance.”

  Teresa stepped forward, offering Hestia her hand with the apple slices and then leaning forward to pet her and murmur into her ear. Martin didn’t move, allowing both rider and horse a chance to get to know each other. After a minute, she pulled back and moved to the mounting block, pulling herself into the side saddle with ease.

  Another point for her. While she arranged her skirts, he swung up into Ares’s saddle, holding out his hands for the reins. The groom handed them up and then quickly stepped back out of the way as Ares snorted and stamped his foot. “I hope you tire him out some with a run, my lord. He’s been a handful since getting back.”

  Martin laughed and shook his head. “We’ll see, Joseph. It depends in part on my lady.” He looked over to see that Teresa had her reins in hand, the grooms having untethered Hestia and stepped back. “Are you ready?”

  At her nod, he squeezed his legs slightly and felt the rush as Ares leapt forward. It had been far too long for both of them and he had to fight the urge to just let him gallop, instead managing to rein back to an easy canter. Hoofbeats behind him said that Teresa had managed to keep up and he looked back to see her smiling as the wind ruffled the ribbons of her bonnet.

  Her father’s assessment hadn’t been wrong, he decided. She easily had a better seat than half the gentlemen he’d ridden with on the hunt, moving together with Hestia and using only a light touch on the reins. Confidence was clear in every movement. More than that, she seemed genuinely happy to be out riding. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled in the mid-morning sun.

  Directing his attention back ahead, he turned Ares toward Bramburgh. It was an easy ride and if Teresa was serious about wanting to help with the estate business, it wouldn’t hurt for her to meet some of the tenants. That he could check on the new roof and make a decision there was an added bonus.

  Chapter 15

  Teresa could feel the wind tugging at the curls under her bonnet and knew that her hair would be a mess by the time they returned to the estate, despite the hasty efforts of her maid to pin it up. She couldn’t help the smile spreading over her face as she felt the joy bubbling up and spilling out like a fountain.

  After three years of watching the horses in London and dreaming, even being limited to a sedate canter couldn’t damper her spirits. She was riding again, with the promise of more.

  There would be more if she had any say. To either side of the road, rolling hills offered quick glimpses of views she sorely wanted to soak in. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of a flock of sheep on a distant hillside before it was blocked by the next hill, but mostly the land was empty and windswept.

  So different from the woods she’d run wild in as a young girl and yet something about it called to her, whispering lures to explore the hills. She resisted the urge to turn Hestia off the road, promising to return — especially once she was familiar with her mount and could trust a gallop. The terrain was challenging enough that she didn’t want to risk it with an unfamiliar mount and lovely as Hestia was, they were still very much getting to know each other.

  Looking ahead, she took advantage of the fact that his back was to her to cast another admiring glance at Martin. She’d been impressed from that first carriage ride by the quality of his horses but she’d spent too much time in London to immediately assume that he was a good horseman. Far too many of the town beaus boasted of their skill on horseback (and driving) but showed no evidence of it when at Hyde Park.

  Martin, on the other hand, had said nothing. He didn’t need to. His easy seat and calm handling of a restive animal that clearly wanted to take off in a gallop spoke volumes. Her father would have approved, Teresa was sure. He’d had little use for idle boasting when quiet skill was much more convincing.

  As the road reached the top of the hill it had been winding up, Martin came to a stop. She gave the reins a light tug as she came up beside him and looked out to see a small village clustered around a green space, narrow streets only distinguishable by the distribution of the buildings along it. Smoke rose from many of the chimneys and she had the impression that despite the small size, there was nothing quiet about this village.

  “Welcome to Bramburgh, closest of the tenant villages to the estate.” For a moment, Teresa thought she could detect a hint of pride in his voice. “They’ll relish the opportunity to be the first to welcome their countess.”

  Teresa blanched. She hadn’t even considered that this would be her first interaction with any of the tenants, hadn’t dressed accordingly or planned out what she might say. She had been thinking only of the ride and felt completely unprepared.

  Martin must have seen her expression, because he drew Ares next to her. “We could turn back, if the idea bothers you that much.” His voice was quiet.

  Teresa took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, I can do this.”

  A different dress or planning out a few words wouldn’t make a difference in the long run, not if she hoped to establish the kind of connection her mother had had with the tenants on their estate. Her mother had genuinely cared for them, brought gifts when their children were christened and baskets of food when someone in the family died. That was the example she needed to follow, not just to impress on Ma
rtin that she should be involved but because it was the right thing to do for the people she had a responsibility to.

  Martin looked at her for a second more before nodding, apparently satisfied by whatever he saw. He shifted and Ares started down the hill at an easy walk, giving her time to catch up. That was how they rode into the village.

  Someone had spotted them before they entered the village itself and there was a small crowd gathered in front of a sturdy building located just off the village green, where they finally stopped. Martin dismounted, tying Ares’s reins to one of the hitching posts before turning to help Teresa down from Hestia. One of the older boys stepped forward and Martin handed him the reins as she straightened her riding habit.

  “M’lord!” A somewhat stocky middle-aged man stepped forward, offering a bow, clearly serving as some kind of spokesman for the group. “We didn’t expect to see you today, what with the news from the estate.”

  News from the estate? Oh. Presumably they were referring to her. She shifted nervously. Martin didn’t appear to notice, focused instead on the group.

  “How did the roof replacement go, Robins?” Martin shaded his eyes to look up. Teresa looked up too to realize that the building they had stopped in front of featured a roof of slate tiles, where the other homes used thatch.

  Robins beamed. “The missus is real pleased with it, now that we’ve found where the leak is. Should be able to get that patched up in no time.”

  Martin frowned. “A leak? Where?”

  Robins waved his hand up towards the roof. “Over the shop in the back. She thought there might be one upstairs as well but nothing came in during the rainstorm three days ago so it seems not.”

  “Good.” Martin turned to Teresa. “Teresa, this is Eli Robins. He’s been the blacksmith here in Bramburgh since before my grandfather died. Robins, I’m pleased to introduce you to my wife, Lady Carlington.”

  The excited whispers that had been threading their way through the crowd quickly turned into loud cheers as the villagers congratulated Martin on his marriage. Teresa knew better than to think any of it was for her — none of them had any idea who she was — but she was still touched by the outpouring of genuine emotion, even as it surprised her. The Martin the ton knew didn’t seem capable of inspiring that kind of response.

  Martin held his hand up and the crowd fell silent. Robins stepped forward and offered a second, more formal bow. “M’lady, we are very pleased to welcome you here to Bramburgh.”

  Teresa inclined her head in thanks. “I’m pleased to meet all of you. This is a lovely village.”

  Robins beamed. “M’lord takes good care of us.”

  “Speaking of which, I want to see this roof leak.” Martin stepped forward, still squinting up at the roof. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Yes, m’lord, but…” Robins looked flustered. “It’s in the back, in the shop.”

  And not somewhere he wants to take his new countess on the first meeting. Teresa could read between the lines, even if Martin seemed oblivious. An idea struck her and she seized it, looking around. “Is your wife here? I’d like a chance to meet her, if I could.”

  If Robins served as the unofficial spokesman for the village, it was likely his wife would know much of what was happening, particularly for the local families. Her mother had always stressed the importance of being aware of what was going on in the tenants’ lives, no matter what the rest of Society thought of that concept.

  Robins brightened. “Of course, m’lady.” He turned and motioned to a woman in her late thirties, who stepped forward and dropped in a brief curtsey. “This is my wife, Ruth.”

  “If you wanted to join me inside, m’lady, we could sit and have a cup of tea while m’lord sees to the roof.” Teresa got the strong impression of a pragmatic, down to earth woman who understood what Teresa was up to and was more than willing to help.

  Teresa smiled and offered Martin a wave, savoring the quiet satisfaction she felt at the mix of surprise and appreciation she glimpsed on his face before he turned back to Robins. That would be a point in her favor for the next time he considered involving her in the estate management. Turning back, she followed Ruth through the doorway.

  The house was as neat and well-kept on the inside as it was on the outside, exuding a warm welcome that Teresa envied even as she luxuriated in it. Although it was one large room, someone had carefully arranged the room into two sections — a larger kitchen, dominated by the solid stone hearth along one wall and the battered worktable, and the public area, with a dining table, chairs, and china cabinet toward the back and a small sitting area defined by a pair of chairs and a small couch grouped around the smaller stone hearth on the opposite wall.

  What caught Teresa’s eye, however, were the smaller touches — embroidery sitting on a small side table next to a chair between the fire and the window, where the light would be best, and herbs hanging to dry over the kitchen worktable. All furniture was worn but of good quality, and the walls had been recently whitewashed, giving the space a cheery, bright appearance, emphasized by the light streaming in through the two front glass windows.

  Teresa held up her hand when Ruth moved to clear the table next to what was clearly her chair. “Please, I don’t want to cause a fuss. You couldn’t have possibly expected to host me to tea this morning.”

  Ruth offered a small smile. “It’s not a bother, m’lady. It’s an honor to open our home to you.”

  “It’s a beautiful home.” Teresa meant it. The homes of the ton might boast fine furniture and a multitude of rooms but Teresa found most of them cold and unwelcoming, a showcase for excess wealth or family history. Teresa would much rather spend time in a home that reflected the family that lived there instead of Society’s latest ideas of what was in fashion. “Have you and your husband lived here long?”

  “Oh, we both grew up here. Eli was apprenticed to the old blacksmith. When the old smith was pensioned off by the Earl’s grandfather, Eli inherited the cottage and we got married shortly after that. Over fifteen years ago, now.”

  “Quite a while then,” Teresa murmured. “Martin seems very dedicated to the estate.”

  “Oh, aye.” Ruth motioned for Teresa to take a seat and busied herself preparing a pot of tea. Not wanting to get in her way, Teresa sat on the couch in the small sitting area, listening as she continued to talk. “There was a little bit of a rough spot after the Earl’s grandfather died, but m’Lord has worked wonders. Since he inherited the title ten years ago, things have gotten much better.”

  Teresa blinked. Martin had never mentioned his father. He said very little about any of his family, really, although he had introduced her to his uncle, the Duke of Debenford. But that was on his mother’s side. I don’t know if I’ve heard anything about his father’s family at all. Instinct told her to tread carefully.

  “Oh?” She kept her tone neutral but encouraging, hoping Ruth would elaborate.

  “You saw the new roof, of course. We’re the first to get it because he trusts Eli to tell him what works and what doesn’t, but the plan is to replace all of the thatched roofs in the village eventually. Last year the shutters were repaired and all the windows were replaced, most of them with glass. He doesn’t have to come and help with the work himself these days but the first few years, m’Lord was right out alongside the men and repairing fences if that’s what was needed.”

  Teresa did her best to keep the frown off of her face. All of the fences they’d ridden by on the way to the village had been in good repair. The same was true of all the houses she’d seen in the village. Even the thatched roofs showed signs of being recently redone. If the majority of that work had been done recently — and from what Ruth was saying it must have been — that was a substantial investment into the tenant villages.

  Thinking back to her arrival at the estate, she realized that there were signs there of maintenance deferred — worn carpets and older furniture, serving dishes with more signs of use than most London housewives wo
uld tolerate. She’d attributed that to the distance from London, but perhaps there was something more to it.

  “There’s been some grumbling of course, from the older villagers. Mostly they don’t want to plant things their fathers didn’t plant or try a new breed of sheep. But they know what the Earl has done for them and so they don’t protest too much. The younger folks have seen the improvement in the yields for themselves and are happy to go along with the new suggestions.”

  “I hadn’t realized he did quite so much of the work himself.” Most of the gentlemen of the ton spoke of estate managers, on the rare occasion it came up at a dinner party. Martin had mentioned one in the carriage during the journey north.

  “M’lord spends less time here now, but in the early years…” Ruth’s voice trailed off. “Well, there’s no reason to speak ill of the dead. M’lord’s done right by us from the beginning, even if he doesn’t like it much when we talk about what he’s done. Everyone here knows.”

  Not everyone! Teresa bit back the exclamation, knowing it would do little good. If she was reading Ruth right, the woman wasn’t going to be willing to say anything more on that topic. Unfortunate, because Teresa suspected that she needed to understand what Martin’s father had done if she was to have any hope of understanding her husband. Ruth didn’t notice but merely continued to put together the tea tray.

  “I’m so relieved he’s finally found someone down in London who could see his value. We couldn’t understand why none of those fancy ladies were beating at his door, trying to catch him for themselves.” Teresa blinked as Ruth finally seemed to realize who she was talking to and flushed. “Beg pardon, m’lady.”

  “Oh, that’s alright.” Teresa said absently. “I don’t really know what to make of them myself, sometimes.”

  She judged it politic not to mention the circumstances behind her hasty wedding to the Earl as Ruth poured the tea, clearly relieved that Teresa hadn’t taken offense.