The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  She had barely finished speaking when Maisie stopped suddenly and put her head down and to the left. Taken by surprise, Amelia slipped from the saddle and went right over the pony’s head and into the dirt.

  “Amelia!” Cara cried out in alarm.

  Mr. Hart grabbed the reins while Henry hurried to the girl. He helped her to her feet and gave her a quick once-over to ensure there were no injuries.

  Amelia looked stunned, but only her pride seemed hurt. “Why did Maisie do that?”

  “Ponies can be right ornery creatures sometimes,” Mr. Hart said. “I think it’s because they’re so smart. They want to know that you know what you’re doing. So you must be firm with her. If she tries to put her head down, you must pull up and back and do the other things I taught you to force her to keep moving forward.”

  “Are you ready to try again?” Henry asked.

  Amelia wiped some of the dust off her arms and clothes. “Yes,” she answered firmly.

  Henry helped her back on the horse. Once more, Amelia got the creature moving. This time they made it successfully around the ring. Amelia sent a proud grin at Cara as she passed by. But on the second loop, for no reason that Cara could see, Maisie came to a sudden stop and put her head down. Once more, the child tumbled to the ground.

  This time, Amelia scrambled to her feet before Henry could reach her. She didn’t look stunned, only angry.

  “For heaven’s sake, child,” the countess said in exasperation. “Mr. Hart told you what to do. Pull up, pull back. Use your foot and whip to keep the pony going forward. And remember to grip the horns with your upper legs so you can’t be forced off the saddle.”

  Amelia didn’t even look in the countess’s direction, just resolutely got back in the saddle. The next time Maisie tried the same trick, Amelia was ready. She pulled back so hard on the reins that the pony whinnied in protest and began to back up.

  “Whoa!” Mr. Hart said, taking hold of Maisie’s bridle. “Calm down, Maisie, that’s a good girl. Easy, now.”

  Amelia looked shaken. “I pulled back! I pulled back!” she insisted loudly.

  “You pulled too hard,” the countess said. “You must get the horse to respect you, but not to fear you. This is the balance you must learn if you wish to be a good horsewoman.”

  Cara thought this sounded like good advice, even if it was rendered too harshly.

  “She’s right,” Henry told Amelia, but his voice was kinder than his mother’s, a tactic that echoed what Cara had been thinking. “This is something you will learn with practice, so you mustn’t get discouraged.”

  “Maisie has what we call a good mouth,” added Mr. Hart. “That means she’ll be responsive to the pressure from the reins as you pull back. So be firm, but don’t yank. That will only hurt her.”

  “I can do it.” Amelia positively radiated determination, and that made Cara proud. She was going to conquer this.

  In the end, it took several more tries, although Amelia did not fall off the horse again. She came close a few times, but she hung on and worked the reins to lift the pony’s head while she coaxed it forward. With each tussle, Cara thought she saw the child growing more confident. At last, she and the pony seemed to understand one another.

  During this process, Cara noticed the countess’s tone change from scolding to grudging approval. Once or twice her eyebrow even lifted, expressing something that looked like admiration.

  Then, without any prompting from anyone, Amelia urged the pony into a trot.

  Amelia had traveled at this speed before, but only while on the long rope with Mr. Hart in control. Cara gasped, instantly worried, because the faster the horse was moving, surely the greater the likelihood of injury if Amelia should fall. There were similar looks of surprise from the others, but they decided not to stop her. Henry and Mr. Hart did their best to follow them, calling out instructions as pony and rider went around the ring. Cara was relieved that today there were no hay bales. She was sure Amelia would have attempted to jump over them.

  “That’s very good, Amelia,” Henry said after a time. “Now you need to bring her to a halt. Collect the reins and remember everything you’ve learned, and you’ll be fine.” He spoke firmly, but Cara thought she detected a note of worry in his voice. What if something went wrong?

  The countess, on the other hand, had only praise to offer. “Excellent, child!”

  “Whoa.” Amelia pulled back on the reins, bracing herself in case the pony tried to resist or made any unexpected movements. “Whoa.”

  The moment the pony slowed to a walk, Henry and Mr. Hart got near enough to grab the bridle if needed. They held off, though, to see if Amelia could bring Maisie to a full stop by herself.

  She did.

  “Excellent!” the countess cried again. She went through the gate and strode up to Amelia. “You still need to work on keeping your torso facing forward, but on the whole, that was well done.”

  Cara could not believe she was hearing these words from the countess. Judging from the looks on the others’ faces, they couldn’t, either. Amelia met the countess’s gaze. If the two weren’t exactly smiling at one another, they were close to it. With Amelia seated on the short pony, she and the countess were practically eye to eye. Henry stood by them, and Cara could see pleased expressions on the three people who were, for the moment, in harmony with one another. The scene impressed itself on her mind, and she was sure that someday she would paint it. This was a perfect moment in a perfect day that she would always remember.

  CHAPTER

  28

  THERE IS SOMETHING I need to speak to you about, Henry, before you go.”

  Henry looked up from his letter, perturbed to see his mother standing there. He was working hard to finish his stack of correspondence before he had to leave for the railway station to meet Mr. and Mrs. Myers. It was aggravating enough that his mother had insisted he go, rather than sending their perfectly capable driver and footmen to do it.

  Setting down his pen, he stood up. “I thought we went over everything.”

  “Yes, everything is ready. I am sure they will all be pleased with their visit.”

  Henry eyed her. “What do you mean all?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Miss Florence Myers is a lovely young lady, and I’m sure you will enjoy meeting her. She’s the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Myers. She’s coming with them.”

  A daughter. Henry could have kicked himself for not researching Myers enough to know he had a daughter. He could already feel his anger rising that his mother had kept this key piece of information from him. “You wouldn’t happen to know the age of Miss Myers, would you?”

  “I believe she is nineteen. A fresh-faced and lovely thing. Charming, too, in her way, although her accent is atrocious. She is enamored with the idea of marrying into English aristocracy, and thanks to her father’s successful business, she brings a very nice dowry with her.”

  “You want me to marry a rich American girl for her money? That’s preposterous!” He ought to have known his mother was hiding something. He ought to have known she would not rest until she had bullied and badgered him into what she thought best for his life.

  Always sanguine when she had the upper hand, his mother never flinched. “You needn’t sound so negative. This would be an excellent way to reestablish our fortune. Many of these American girls have no refinement or understanding of proper etiquette. But those things can be learned if the girl is willing and has an ounce of common sense.”

  She spoke as offhandedly as if she were discussing the weather. It wasn’t the first time she had tried to steer him toward some lady based solely on the size of her dowry. In the past, though, she had kept the field to Englishwomen.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Miss Myers before now?”

  “Because I know how you are. I knew you would reject the idea out of hand. However, I also know we cannot wait any longer to fix the family fortunes—not to mention it is long past time for you to get yo
urself an heir.”

  Henry now understood why this plan of Myers’s coming to discuss business had seemed too good to be true. It was. “This isn’t about the mine at all, is it? It’s about bartering a title for money.”

  “Why can’t it be about both?” His mother threw up her hands. “Honestly, Henry, you’re behaving as churlish as a schoolboy.”

  “I suppose this is also why you insisted that they come here. They will want to inspect the place where their daughter might spend the rest of her life. Aren’t you concerned they will be taken aback when they see half the house is still not livable?”

  “Quite the contrary. They will be impressed at the new construction and renovation. The Americans may be enamored of our titles and our ancient traditions, but they want their comforts, too. Lady Ashton told me her American daughter-in-law does nothing but complain about her huge drafty manor house with faulty plumbing. When the Myerses come here, they’ll see our house is stately, historic, and has modern conveniences.”

  Henry thought this was about the least admirable reason that could be devised for marrying someone. “So everything—the house, the grounds, me—is to be presented for Mr. Myers’s approval? I will not forgive you for putting me in this spot, Mother.”

  “You might very well change your tune. You haven’t even met Miss Myers yet. You may even like her!”

  “Well, that would be a blessing,” he retorted.

  “Henry, the Myerses are coming—all three of them. Mr. Myers is willing to discuss everything with you, from business partnerships to nuptials. This is an unparalleled opportunity. You might as well make the most of it.”

  Henry objected to this entire scheme, but what could he do? It was too late to stop them from coming; his mother had made sure of that. Nor was there time for him to talk to Cara.

  During the ride to the railway station, he considered his options. If he could present the investment opportunity on attractive enough terms, maybe Myers would be willing to negotiate a deal without marriage to his daughter being a stipulation. Henry would do his best to make that happen, even though it might be a false hope.

  But another issue troubled him far more. Now he knew the real reason his mother had insisted Cara step into the shadows while the Myerses were here. She had intended all along to bring a prospective bride into the house, and she could not have Cara’s presence hindering her aims.

  The idea that Henry should sell himself to the highest bidder was galling enough, but it was worse because of what had happened yesterday between him and Cara. When she discovered the presence of Miss Myers, would she think Henry had only been dallying with her? Of course she would. She would be hurt and angry and think him the worst sort of cad. He could only hope to set things right as soon as he could—and pray that it would be possible.

  Mr. Stanley Myers was a big, burly man with a booming laugh and the kind of confidence bred by success. He was just the type of person Henry would have guessed a millionaire American to be. As they rode through the countryside to the house, Myers asked many questions about the area and how the estates were run, questions Henry might have found rudely direct from any Englishman. With Mr. Myers, he sensed only a genuine interest in how things worked, the natural curiosity of a businessman and a foreigner. So he answered the questions as honestly as he could without getting into details he considered confidential.

  Mrs. Myers was more solemn, but nearly as vocal. She seemed obsessed with following the correct protocol for everything. Several times she offered a gentle rebuke to her husband, which he seemed not only to tolerate but to find amusing. The deferential treatment she gave Henry indicated she was awestruck by English nobility. Henry began to feel she viewed him as some wildly exotic being, which made him uncomfortable. He was used to receiving respect from others due to his rank, but this woman’s manners bordered on excessive.

  Miss Florence Myers, on the other hand, was more difficult to figure out. She was pretty enough, he supposed. In truth, it was difficult to tell, because she’d held a handkerchief to her nose from the moment they’d arrived at the station. From what he could see, though, her nose and eyes were red and swollen.

  “I hope you did not find the journey too arduous,” Henry said to her when there was a lull in the conversation. He could not think of a more polite way to ask after her health, for she was clearly indisposed.

  “I am well, thank you.” The answer came out bland and flat, as though she were merely repeating words as she’d been taught. Her voice was muffled from the handkerchief. Henry thought he heard a sniffle as she dabbed the delicately embroidered linen to her nose.

  “My daughter is suffering from allergies,” Mrs. Myers said. She sent her daughter a look that seemed more reproving than sympathetic. “I’m sure she will recover soon.”

  Henry wasn’t sure how a person “recovered” from allergies, but it would be rude to point that out. Mr. Myers said nothing but sent a troubled glance in his daughter’s direction.

  “This must be the venerable Morestowe Manor!” Mrs. Myers said as the house came into view. “Why, it’s magnificent! So stately and grand. Isn’t it lovely, Florence?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she turned to Henry and said, “How old did you say it was, Lord Morestowe?”

  Her forced brightness was painfully obvious, but Henry was happy to turn the conversation to a new topic. He’d seen enough of Mrs. Myers to understand that her question stemmed from her admiration of England’s long history. “It was built in 1726, ma’am. The land and the title were given to my ancestor by King George—the First,” he emphasized. He understood, albeit from a different point of view, how the Americans felt about the third monarch of that name. “As you can see, we are in the process of rebuilding the east wing. We suffered a fire last winter.”

  “I’ve heard old houses can be dangerous,” Miss Myers said. It was the first real observation she’d put forward. Although her nose and mouth were concealed by the handkerchief, Henry had the impression she was viewing the house with far less enthusiasm than her mother.

  “I assure you, you will be perfectly safe,” Henry said. “We have found a blessing in this catastrophe, in that we are now modernizing everything, including the fireplaces. We are also installing a system of radiators for more efficient heating.”

  He hated himself for saying these things, because they were exactly what his mother would wish him to say in order to impress upon the Myerses how wonderful the house was. And yet Henry was proud of the place. He wasn’t going to deny that. “I have every expectation that you will enjoy your visit here.”

  “I’m sure we shall!” Mrs. Myers responded eagerly. “Lady Morestowe has described to us how delightful the grounds are and the many pleasant activities to be enjoyed here. I believe there will even be a croquet match. Florence loves to play croquet, don’t you, dear?”

  Miss Myers nodded, and the tiniest spark of happiness appeared in her eyes. Henry had no idea how a person with allergies could be so enamored of a lawn game. But then, he did not really believe that whatever was troubling her had to do with allergies.

  He’d encountered many simpering mothers and their daughters who were angling for marriage to Henry and the title that came with it. He’d assumed the Americans would be worse, and his initial impressions of Mrs. Myers seemed to confirm that.

  However, he felt unexpectedly sorry for Miss Myers. He doubted that her reticence stemmed from shyness. He did not think she wanted to be here. Perhaps he could talk with her alone and find out what was really going on. This was not likely to be difficult, because if her parents and his mother were determined to get Henry and Miss Myers engaged, they would arrange lots of time for them to speak privately, if chaperoned. If Miss Myers was an unwilling participant in this game, that was knowledge he could use.

  He wasn’t going to lose Cara. Whatever it took, he was going to find a way out of this situation before the damage was beyond repair.

  CHAPTER

  29

 
CARA STOOD at her easel, painting the wildflowers growing near the brook and keeping an eye on Amelia as she played nearby. The child had removed her shoes and stockings and was splashing happily in the ankle-deep water. Cara felt a little envious. Given how warm the day was, she imagined that the cool water dancing over her bare feet would have been deliciously refreshing.

  She understood now why Amelia had plagued her so often about coming here. With shade trees, open meadow, and this little gurgling brook, this spot in the woods was idyllic in every way. She was glad Langham had wanted to come today, enabling her to say yes to the excursion. Though if he hadn’t come, she might have brought Amelia here anyway. After all, Henry was the child’s guardian. Therefore, when Cara became Henry’s wife, she would take on that role as well. It was God’s way of telling her she was forgiven. Cara was sure of that. Why else would He have placed Amelia in her care?

  Langham’s current project was set outdoors, and he wanted to get the details of the landscape just right. He had been engrossed in his work all afternoon, pausing only when they had enjoyed a picnic of sandwiches and biscuits. At the moment he seemed unperturbed by the noises Amelia was making, absorbing them as part of the cacophony of sounds around them.

  Cara decided playing the part of the governess wasn’t so bad if it enabled her to spend lovely afternoons like this, removed from the countess’s company. The riding lesson had led to a thaw in Amelia’s relations with the countess, but that didn’t mean the woman’s attitude toward Cara had altered.

  Someday that would change, though. Cara had spent the afternoon dreaming of all the good things that would come after the Myerses’ visit. Perhaps Mr. Myers would give Henry the financial backing he needed for the mine. If not, there was still the possibility of getting Mr. Everson. As he’d promised, Langham had written to Louise. There hadn’t been time to hear back, but Cara had a good feeling about it. One way or another, something would work out.