by Eloisa James
“Oh, I cried,” Lady Ardmore said. “When my James and his wife died, and with them those bonny, bonny children, I cried so hard I thought I’d drown myself, as they had.”
“I’m so sorry,” Imogen said.
Lady Ardmore gave herself a little shake. “I can’t imagine how we wandered into such maudlin territory,” she said. “I’d like to know why you’ve come to Scotland, Lady Maitland. The castle’s ripe with rumors. My maid tells me that Miss Essex will be wanting to return to London now, and not marry the earl.”
“That is not correct,” Imogen said, wondering how much to tell the countess.
“My grandson hasn’t told me a smidgen.” She fixed her bright eyes on Imogen. “Yet I can tell this is the marriage for him. He hadn’t shown a scrap of interest in marriage, and though it galls me to admit it, Armailhac was right when he sent him off to London. Your sister’s got backbone, and she’s a Scot, and I can see as well as any that Ewan cares for her.”
Imogen nodded.
“So what’s the fly in the ointment, then?” Lady Ardmore barked. “Your sister looks a bit watery to me, and that’s not her nature, any more than it’s yours. So I’ll ask you again, girl: What’s the matter?”
“She doesn’t believe that Lord Ardmore loves her,” Imogen said obediently, helpless to resist the force of those silvery eyes.
“Loves her?” Lady Ardmore scoffed. “That’s a piece of romantic foolery. Why, I was terrified of my husband. In the old days, that’s the way it was supposed to be. The head of Clan Poley had agreed to marry me and my parents spent weeks impressing upon me that I was never to answer back, nor raise my voice, nor upset my husband in the slightest fashion.”
“That must have been difficult,” Imogen said.
“Ha!” Lady Ardmore said. She thought about it for a while. “It wasn’t so difficult. I was doing my duty. ’Twas a great thing for my family when I married the head of the clan. And I stood by my side of the bargain.”
“Did you ever raise your voice?” Imogen asked, unable to stop herself.
Lady Ardmore gave a little chuckle. “Now, what do you think, lass?” Then she stomped her stick again. “Not for at least a month. Mayhap even six months.”
Imogen thought it had likely been about a week.
“Ardmore and I found a way to talk to each other, though he was none too fond of words. Ewan’s like his grandfather; he waited until he found your sister, and now there’ll be no other for him, not in this lifetime.”
Imogen swallowed away the lump in her throat. “Annabel will come to know that,” she said. “I’m afraid that our father was not always loving towards her, and she has little understanding of her worth.”
Lady Ardmore snorted. “Then she’s the first yellow-haired beauty I’ve found to be so.”
“That’s just it,” Imogen said. “Her own beauty has made it hard for her to believe in Lord Ardmore.”
“There’s many a woman would like to share that problem!”
“Yes,” Imogen admitted with a flash of disloyalty. “But she does feel it, all the same.”
“ ’Tis easy to solve,” Lady Ardmore said, with a briskness that reminded Imogen, rather unnervingly, of Josie. “I shall do so myself.”
“What?” Imogen asked, startled.
The countess stopped Imogen’s question with a raised hand. “You’ll have to trust me, young woman. Do you know, I only met my husband once before we were married.”
“Really?” Imogen asked. Of course she knew that arranged marriages were common among the great families, but: “You had seen him, hadn’t you?”
Lady Ardmore shook her head. “Young ladies were kept to themselves in those days. I was perhaps kept more closely than others, since I was destined to be a countess from the age of five.”
“That’s—” Imogen said, swallowing the word awful.
“The first time I saw Ardmore was two days before our wedding. His younger brothers were up to a lark. They thought to blacken me. Do you know what that is?”
Imogen shook her head.
“ ’Tis akin to tarring and feathering but with treacle,” Lady Ardmore said with a scowl. “Terrible custom, more observed in the breach than the observance, if you follow me.”
Imogen didn’t.
“That’s a line from Hamlet,” the countess said. “In other words, it’s an ancient tradition in Aberdeenshire, but even back then, it wasn’t practiced overmuch, and certainly not on future countesses. Well, these two young boys had got their dander up and determined to make a May’s game of their brother’s bride. Lord knows, they were wild enough for anything. One of them ran off to India and was never heard from again.”
“Did they manage to do it?” Imogen asked, intrigued at the very notion of boys wild enough to lay a finger—or a feather—on this particular countess.
“No, no,” Lady Ardmore said, waving her hand again. “My future husband saved me. Quite a thrilling scene it was.” She nodded and looked to Imogen. “Quite exciting.”
“No!” Imogen said.
“Yes,” Lady Ardmore said with quiet satisfaction. “Yes, I think that will work nicely.”
Thirty-three
When Josie found him, Mayne was sprawled in a chair in Ardmore’s library. He was holding a copy of Weatherby’s General Stud Book, but it looked to Josie as if he were just staring into the distance.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“Thinking about my mortality,” Mayne said, raising his heavy-lidded eyes.
Josie felt herself turning slightly pink, which wasn’t a normal reaction for her. But there was something so thrillingly wolfish about Mayne that it was impossible not to react to the man. How embarrassing. What sort of woman blushed at the sight of her own sister’s lover, not to put too fine a point on it?
“Why do you bother thinking about mortality?” she asked, wandering around the study so that it didn’t look as if she’d come looking specifically for him. “You’re old, but not quite that old yet.”
“God knows,” he said. “Does Imogen have a request of me?”
She came over and sat on the arm of his chair. “I do. I need you to help me,” she said. “Help me help Annabel.”
“I’m tired of helping Annabel,” he said, and the lines of weariness around his eyes deepened. He had beautiful eyes; Josie could certainly see why all those hundreds of women had made fools of themselves over him.
“You have no choice,” Joise said firmly. “And don’t fuss. You’ll exhaust what little energy you have, and I need you to come with me.”
“I have plenty of energy!” he said, looking a bit more alive.
“Good. Because I want to go to Ardmore’s stables.”
She saw a spark of interest in his eyes. “All right.”
“We’re going riding. With Annabel and Ardmore.”
He was far too intelligent for his own good. “There’s something here you’re not telling me.”
“What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” Josie said. “Do you have riding clothes?”
“You know I don’t!” Mayne snapped.
“Perhaps you can wear some of Ardmore’s.”
“The man’s a bloody tree trunk. I’ve never seen muscles like those outside of bargemen.”
“You are a bit willowy,” Josie said consideringly. “Exercise will do you a world of good. Maybe Ardmore can give you some riding tips.”
“That’s enough insults from you,” Mayne said, standing up. “I already said I’d come with you, for God’s sake. Just give me a moment to wrestle some clothing from our host.”
“And make him join us. I’ll bring Annabel to the hallway in a half hour,” Josie said.
She ran off to her room and fetched her satchel of medicines. For a moment she was afraid that she’d forgotten to bring it—but no! She always loathed it when Papa asked for that particular salve, but she’d dutifully made it for him anyway. And carried a small pot of it all the way to England, and now back agai
n to Scotland.
When Annabel walked down the stairs dressed in a habit a half hour later, she expected Josie, but she was mildly surprised to find Mayne there as well. Ewan came out of the breakfast room dressed in riding breeches.
“This is a true party!” Josie cried rather shrilly, herding them all out the door so quickly that Annabel didn’t even exchange a greeting with Ewan.
Her own horse, Sweetpea, was waiting for her, all saddled and ready to go. He arched his great head, blowing into her hand, and Annabel thought with a pulse of shame that he had traveled all the way from Rafe’s estate, and she hadn’t even visited him to see whether he liked his new quarters.
“Annabel!” Josie called. She was standing beside a squat Welsh pony. It was one of the mysteries of their family that Josie, who fearlessly treated the most irritable injured animal, was terrified to ride on them. “Sweetpea looks as if she might have some saddle tenderness.”
“Really?” Annabel ran a finger around the sidesaddle. Sweetpea didn’t react.
“I saw it as he was first brought from the stables, although he seems fine now.”
They started down a winding path that led down a great stretch of lawn to the back of the castle. The grass was still a tender pale green, a May green.
Josie tried hard not to think about how far it was from the broad back of her mount to the ground. Annabel’s horse was twice the height of hers, and of a muscled, sleek type that filled her with terror. But it didn’t matter how many times she compared her plump little pony to Annabel’s great mount; she was still stiff with terror, and the pony knew it. He was expressing his disregard for her by bending his head and taking bites of grass, no matter how sharply she pulled on his reins.
Ewan and Mayne had reached the edge of the lawn, stopping at a path that wound down and around a river. “This is a lovely stretch for a race,” Ewan called back.
Suddenly Josie realized this was a perfect opportunity.
“Mayne!” she cried. He turned around.
“Yes?”
“Help me off this horse,” she said. “Please.”
Thankfully he didn’t make any jokes about the pony being nearly her height, or anything of that nature, just jumped off his own horse and helped her to the ground. “I was right,” Josie said to Annabel, walking over to her. “Do you see how Sweetpea is shifting his legs? He’s a little saddle sore. But look”—she reached into her pocket—“I brought along the salve. Mayne, if you would help Annabel to the ground, I could—”
But Ardmore was there before Mayne could move, reaching up to Annabel. Josie didn’t watch them. She just moved over to Sweetpea and loosened his straps.
Mayne came to her shoulder. “I thought you were afraid of horses,” he said.
Sweetpea was trying to lip some of her hair, and Josie gave him an affectionate little push. “How could anyone be afraid of a horse?” she said absentmindedly. Now she was reaching up under the saddle and rubbing the wintery-smelling salve into Sweetpea’s back, saying a little mental apology as she did so.
“Well, you’re riding a pony,” Mayne persisted. “What are you putting on Annabel’s mount, may I ask? That is not saddle salve. It doesn’t smell right.”
Josie glanced over his shoulder, but Annabel and Ardmore weren’t paying any attention to them. Annabel was looking at the ground, and Ardmore was looking at her.
“Hush,” Josie said to Mayne.
“Do you know that before I met the Essex sisters, no one ever told me what to do?” he said. His voice was incredulous.
Josie tightened the saddle, and then Mayne’s hands came over hers and pulled the saddle even tighter.
“Whatever you’re doing,” he muttered, “I’m sure it’s not something of which I’d approve.”
“Likely not,” she said, giving him a wide smile. She almost ran back to her pony, but then she had to wait for Mayne to put her up on its back.
Ardmore lifted Annabel on her horse with a flattering show of attention. Of course he was in love. All the man needed was a bit of a shock to realize it.
Josie clapped her hands. “Let’s have a race!” she cried. “It wouldn’t be fair to put Ardmore against Mayne, since Ardmore rides his own mount, so it will have to be Lord Ardmore against you, Annabel.”
“Me?” her sister said, settling herself in the sidesaddle again.
“Of course, Ardmore must have a handicap,” Josie said. “You’re riding sidesaddle, after all.”
“But she’s riding Sweetpea,” Ardmore put in. “Sweetpea won the Parthenon Cup a few years ago, didn’t he?”
Annabel nodded. “Papa only gave him to me once it became clear that his ankle would never be the same.”
“Well, I’m sure Sweetpea could manage a small race,” Ardmore said. “For a forfeit, perhaps?”
Josie wasn’t sure why that question had such significance, but Annabel looked taken aback. Sweetpea was shifting uneasily, dancing on his long legs as if he were longing to run.
“All right,” Annabel said finally.
“Annabel takes a start of fifty meters,” Josie said, thinking that should be just about the right distance.
And it was. Sweetpea melted into a smooth gallop, only to rear straight in the air thirty feet ahead of them, his front shoes cutting curlicues in the air as if he thought to topple over backward.
Despite herself, Josie gasped. It was her idea of a nightmare. But Annabel was a consummate horsewoman, adjusting to Sweetpea’s pawing, fidgeting leaps as if they were a normal occurrence.
“What the hell!” Mayne said, and then suddenly Josie remembered that she should be watching the Earl of Ardmore, not her sister.
Her heart sank. Ardmore didn’t look in the least terrified. He hadn’t galloped forward to catch Annabel’s reins, nor did he show any signs of wishing to help her. Why, Annabel could have been thrown off and broken her neck, for all the effort the man was making. He was just sitting there on his horse, his eyes alight with appreciation—she could see that—but with no more alarm than if he were watching a circus performance.
“Oh, no!” Josie gasped. “My poor sister will be thrown to the ground. She might be killed!”
Ardmore gave her a rather sweet smile. “I know you’re afraid of horses,” he said kindly, “and so this must seem terrifying to you—”
Josie didn’t see how it could be viewed in any other way. No sooner did Sweetpea touch his front hooves to the ground than he whinnied and spiraled back up on his back legs, and nothing Annabel was doing seemed to calm him.
“But as you can see,” Ardmore continued, “your sister is a consummate horsewoman. She’s in no danger whatsoever.”
“Of course she is!” Josie said crossly.
But Ardmore just sat on his horse, smiling, until Josie couldn’t take it any more and shouted at Mayne, “Do you go and save her, then!”
At which point Ardmore easily cantered forward. But just then Annabel managed to keep Sweetpea to the ground long enough to jump down from her mount. So when Ardmore arrived, she was holding Sweetpea’s head down and scolding him.
Poor Sweetpea. He was obeying her, even though his ears were twitching madly.
A moment later Ardmore had the sidesaddle off and Sweetpea was rolling gratefully on the new grass.
Mayne cleared his throat. “I gather you made a mistake in the ointment you applied?”
“I must have done so,” Josie said gloomily.
Thirty-four
An hour later they all walked their horses back across the green meadow. Great washes of noise were spilling from the courtyard on the far side of the castle. They rounded the corner and stopped. The courtyard was full of people, hailing each other, shrieking over other people’s heads. The sound was matched by color, great swathes of bright red and orange plaid, with darker green patches here and there.
“Interesting,” Ewan said, handing his horse to a groomsman. “My grandmother seems to have summoned the Crogans. The men are here; I assume the women are foll
owing in carriages.”
“Who are they?” Josie asked.
“A neighboring clan, and a boisterous lot,” he replied. Josie could have seen that for herself. The men milling around the courtyard looked drunk, to her eyes.
“Let’s enter in the rear.” The earl led them around to the kitchen gardens. “I will go greet our guests. Please join us whenever you wish.”
“Ewan wasn’t in the least frightened by whatever you did to Sweetpea,” Annabel said quietly to Josie as they climbed the back stairs. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Poor Sweetpea. I suppose that was Papa’s miracle lotion?”
Josie nodded guiltily.
The moment Annabel pushed open the door of her room, her maid jumped to her feet like an excited terrier. Elsie was looking white and strained, even for someone who ran on her nerves as a matter of course. “Oh, miss, the castle is absolutely crammed with people; you can’t imagine. Most of two counties are either here or on their way. And it’s not just the nobility either; it’s everyone. The servants’ hall is fair run over already.”
“They’re here to celebrate the wedding,” Annabel said, feeling light-headed at the thought.
“Some of them!” Elsie snapped. “The rest are here for a free meal, Mrs. Warsop says. She’s clean out of butter and had to send to the village for everything she can find. But it’s the whiskey that’s really likely to run out. They’re already drinking down there, and it’s not noon yet. And the ladies too, though some of them aren’t acting like ladies by my definition. Mrs. Warsop says that the countess summoned the Crogans this morning, and by all accounts, they drink their breakfast every morning.”
Annabel couldn’t think what to say to that, so she sat at her dressing room table and let Elsie brush out her hair. “Mrs. Warsop needs every hand she can, just to keep pace with the serving. It’s not as if all these servants are willing to help. They act as if they’ve just come for the celebration, and we’re to serve them as well as everyone else.”
Elsie was brushing so briskly that Annabel’s hair crackled. “I just don’t see why those servants have to be so monstrous rude. If it hadn’t been for my respect for Mrs. Warsop, I’d have had more to tell them.”
