Jonah hardly knew Hannah’s husband at all. But if he was a good enough man to help her overcome the prejudice of a long-standing feud…
“I’d like that,” Jonah said. “Thank you.”
“You could come every day, if you want to.” Hannah looked hopeful and, wonder of wonders, even a little shy. “I’d like seeing you more. You’re so close by, and yet…”
“I know,” he said. “I know. There’s distance between us that has nothing to do with miles. I’d like to see it gone.”
Hannah blew out a shaky breath, then beamed at him, looking very much like the freckle-faced imp who used to bid him farewell, waving hugely, before each school term. “I would too.” Impulsively, she dived into his arms and hugged him.
Chandlers gave rather good hugs.
“I might be gone sometimes, though,” he said, muffled, into a mouthful of her pinned-up hair. “For travel.”
“That’s not the sort of distance I’m worried about.” She pulled back, looking interested. “You mean you might be going back to London to get your wife so I can finally meet her?”
“I haven’t sorted out the idea yet. But thank you for the suggestion.” He hesitated, wondering if she’d like his pet idea. “I’ve another, though. What do you think about adding jumpers to the stables?”
“Jumpers?” She leaned against the latched stall door, folding her arms. “I’ve never thought about it at all. Is this one of our father’s notions?”
“No, it’s mine. My idea. I like jumpers. Hunters. Horses like Jake. Sturdy horses that take training well and can carry a rider all day.”
She nodded slowly. “Jake’s a wonderful horse. Too friendly for competition, and of course, he’s gelded. But a stallion from one of Kate’s lines—well, I’d have to research the bloodlines. Imagine, though, if we crossed a hunter with one of these Arabian broodmares!”
“A good sort of imagining?” He felt a few missing pieces nudging into place.
“The best. The right sire could have a champion hunter.” She snorted, sounding horselike herself. “The devil! The right sire could have them dancing with the Lipizzaners at the Spanish Riding School.”
Jonah chuckled. “Maybe we’ll wait on bursting into royal circles on the Continent. For now, I could write to Biggie about it to get some advice from her.”
“She loves the steeplechase. And giving advice.” Hannah drummed her fingertips against the white-painted wood of the stall door. “The Crosbys used to keep hunters, do you remember? Before Bart’s mother all but bankrupted the estate.”
After two years of marriage, Hannah kept her tendency to refer to the Crosbys, those old rivals, as a separate family.
“So you can ask your beloved husband what he’d advise. How sweet and charming,” Jonah teased.
“If you think either Bart or I are sweet and charming, you’ve been kicked in the head by one of these horses. But yes, he’s my beloved, and I’ll see what he knows about training them.” She made a little leap. “Jumpers! More horses to race!”
“More horses to raise,” Jonah said. “We don’t have to race them. We only have to get them ready.”
She pulled a face. “What’s the fun in raising them without racing them?”
“For you, maybe nothing. For me? It’s everything I want.”
He was a stepping-stone here at the stud farm, yes. But he was also a foundation. Without a healthy start in life—safety and good food and careful training—there would be no racehorses. No jumpers. No purses and illustrious bloodlines. A good finish required a good start.
It was what Irene and he had never had.
But if he fought for her, maybe they could begin anew. He felt the ring in his pocket again. And as he and Hannah kept watch over the horse in his charge, ready to bring new life into the world, he made plans.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Irene laced her fingers and murmured a reminder. “I am an exceptional young lady. I deserve the best and am prepared for the worst.”
Though no one could really prepare for the worst, could they? All she could do was steel her spine and hope, hope, hope as she entered the stable to which the groom had directed her.
The journey to Newmarket had been quicker than she’d expected—one single but arduous day, starting near dawn and arriving in waning daylight. She and Rebecca Carpenter had traveled together, as Rebecca had been assigned a mission in nearby Cambridge.
Irene had a mission too, one Mrs. Brodie had challenged her to complete: come to a compromise with her husband and return to work happy. And then the headmistress had made another suggestion. A suggestion Irene hadn’t even thought of and one she loved—and hoped Jonah would like as well.
In case he didn’t, she’d left her name at the house as Mrs. Chalmers when she’d deposited her valise.
“I am an exceptional young lady,” she said again into the sunset sky and entered the broodmare stable.
Jonah was easy to spot among the several grooms caring for the horses. The tallest, the biggest, the most dogged with the shovel and straw bedding. She knew the shape of him by heart. As she watched, he let himself out of a stall at the far end of the stable, and before she could move to greet him, he caught sight of her.
“Irene.” She saw the movement of his lips as they shaped her name. He smiled his greeting, one of those rare and glowing smiles, then looked stricken. He strode toward her, long strides eating the distance between them in a few seconds. “Why are you here? Is it Bridget’s Brown? Did he die?”
Only Jonah Chandler would move so quickly from greeting a person to thinking about a horse.
“No! He’s a bit stronger now,” Irene reassured him. “Or was yesterday when I last saw him. And your father is keeping my father away from him.” She shook her head. “Not my father, actually.”
“Sir William isn’t keeping Victor away?”
“No. Victor isn’t my father.” She glanced at the other grooms caring for the horses, mindful of the many ears about. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
“This way.” Without another question, he led her back the way he’d come, past generously sized stalls that culminated in the largest of all.
“Our newest baby,” he mentioned with a nod at the stall he’d just left. A broodmare with a still-round barrel and patient dark eyes was nursing a long-legged foal. A gold-touched bay, its fuzzy black tail danced as if the whole world was interesting. “My sister Hannah called the foal Muffin. It probably won’t stick as a name, but it’s good to have something to call her.”
“She’s lovely,” Irene said honestly. “She looks healthy and strong. You must be pleased.”
“And relieved,” Jonah said, and she knew he was thinking of the mare and foal who had recently been lost.
He admitted her into a room at the end of the stable, a small office with a bookshelf filled with ledgers and fat editions of the Thoroughbred bible, the General Stud Book. The room smelled of paper and ink and horse and leather. The desk was scattered with papers; a single battered chair sat on either side of it.
Jonah guided Irene into the near chair, shutting the door behind them. Beside her, he leaned back against the desk, bracing himself with his hands. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. And not because of Bridget’s Brown.” She smiled, though her throat closed. “Because of you. But I owe you more truths.”
“About Victor? There’s more to know than his bigamy?”
She nodded, lacing her fingers again. Fixing her gaze on one of the scribbled-on papers on the desk, she explained about the letters from the royal duke, the king’s third son, who’d once loved her mother and had fathered Irene. About Susanna’s measured, even relieved, reaction to learning about Victor’s bigamy—and her plans to share the truth.
About the fact that Victor had surely known that he wasn’t Irene’s true father, but he’d presented himself as such all the same. Had used her family feeling to manipulate her.
As she spoke, Jonah stood u
p, went around the desk to fetch the other chair, then dragged it around to sit beside her. To draw off her gloves and take her hand. To listen.
It seemed to take forever to tell. When she finished explaining, she looked up from the paper. What was written on his face? She couldn’t read his expression. It was shuttered, lacking his usual look of easy understanding.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“You’ve proof of all this,” he said, not asking, but mulling over. “That you’ve a royal connection. Well, damn.”
“Good damn or bad damn?”
His thumb stroked over the back of her hand. “That’s up to you to decide. What do you think? You could certainly pursue an annulment now. You’re royalty.”
Annulment. Her heart stuttered. “I’m hardly royalty, Jonah. I’m the unacknowledged natural child of a royal duke who has never been a part of my life. Not much of a connection to the House of Hanover.”
He was still looking at her as though she’d transformed, unreachable. “The Duke of Clarence and St. Andrews has acknowledged his FitzClarence children with Mrs. Jordan.”
She lifted one shoulder. “I have letters should I wish to force the duke to acknowledge me, but I don’t see the need. You asked what I think? I think it doesn’t change anything, really. I’m still me. Just as you said when we learned of Victor’s bigamy.”
He looked at their linked hands. “I suppose I keep expecting you to leave.”
“If you think I have more reason to leave, what does it mean that I’m here?” She tugged her hand free of his, but only so she could lay it on his cheek. His stubble was rough on her palm, the lines of his cheek and jaw hard. When she spoke, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “I didn’t have to come to Newmarket,” she added. “I wanted to. I want to be with you.”
“I do believe you, but…”
“But?”
He drew back. Opened his eyes. A hazel gaze pierced her. “The things I love most about you are the things that have separated us. How deeply you care for others. How daring you are. Your sense of justice and right. You might choose me now, but you might not tomorrow. And if you choose something or someone else instead, I don’t wish to stand in the way.”
“And I love you for that.” She took a trembling breath. “I don’t only teach and carry out missions because I want to help people. I do those things for myself too.” They allowed her to reclaim power. To set her foot in a world that made no space for her.
“I know that. You love your work.”
“I do. But the thing is”—a secret smile curved her lips—“I want more in my life than work. I want a family, and I want to build it with you. You accept me just as I am, and that makes me want to be better. But I wasn’t right about how to be better.”
“What do you mean?” He looked hopeful. Wary. Eager.
“I thought for so long I needed to work harder. That I owed it to the world. But I can’t give and give if I never replenish myself. I’ve the right to a life of joy, of my own choices.”
Slowly, he nodded. “What changed your mind?”
“My mother’s love affair. My employer’s challenge. Talking to my brother about trust. I realized you’ve never broken my trust. You’ve never pushed. You’ve done what you promised and been where you promised to be. You left me, telling me you were coming here. And here you are.”
His smile was pure delight, so sweet on his strong features that she felt all spun around and dizzy. “And here you are too,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “I took your leaving as a sign that you didn’t care for me. I should have noticed that you always came back.”
“I always do.” Why were they in separate chairs? She clambered into his lap where, at once, he brought his arms around her. She settled her head against his shoulder, adding, “If we’re apart in future, I’ll do what I can to bring us together again. You see, I have a mission for you. It’s to take on a partner.”
“Only that? I completed that mission the day we met. I’ve wanted you as my partner since the moment I saw you. I adore your bravery and honesty and cleverness. I adore you.”
She was blinking wet eyes. “I’m honored that you see me that way, just as I see you. And fortunately, Mrs. Brodie wants a representative in this area of England. With the racecourses and the Jockey Club and Cambridge nearby, there’s a great deal of money and influence to be had.”
“As well as a great deal of scandal,” Jonah agreed. “I’d love for you to work nearby, but you wouldn’t be able to teach.”
“I’d have missions, and I’d have you,” she said firmly. “Those are not stated in order of importance to me.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, wry, “but as it happens, I’ve an idea of my own. Now that I know you’ve the possibility of work in the area…let me think about this.”
Leaning forward with Irene still in his lap, he grabbed a slip of paper and a pencil from the desk. As he jotted a few notes—a brief calendar—she appreciated the flex and play of his muscles against her form. It hadn’t been long since they’d been together, but it had been too long.
“Here’s a suggestion,” he concluded, holding the little paper before their eyes. “We can live here part of the year and in London for the rest. You could teach the fall and winter quarters at your academy, from September to April.”
She did love hearing it called her academy. It wasn’t without a pang—more than a pang—that she’d planned to leave behind her teaching.
“Most Thoroughbred races take place between April and July,” Jonah continued, “and during that time, you could be with me in Newmarket. I will work with the horses and be present for the racing season here. I don’t love being at the track, but the horses always need something. And during a race meet, there will be plenty of scope for your missions.”
“Politics and intrigue,” Irene agreed. “At the track or in Cambridge, someone will always be needing a purse put back into a pocket.”
“What do you think? Would Mrs. Brodie allow you to miss the spring quarter and return after the summer holiday?”
“Considering she’s called me one of the finest teachers she’s ever encountered, I think she would manage the schedule, yes.” Irene’s brows knit as she looked over the calendar Jonah had jotted. “But what about the horses here? How will they get along without you?”
He laid a smacking kiss on her cheek. “There is much to do at the stud farm, but my sister and her husband will work here. And I can travel back if I need to. Now we know the distance from London to the stud farm can be traveled in a single day. After being apart for months on end, if we need to work apart for a week from time to time, it’ll seem like a wink.
“And in London,” he added, “I can train hunters and jumpers. Those skills don’t require a lot of open land, just…time. In between, I can help you with missions. If you like.”
“I’d like that,” she decided. “Very much.”
“It might not work out perfectly once we try it,” he warned. “But if it doesn’t, we can try something else. A different arrangement, different timing.”
“I agree. We each give up a bit for the sake of a greater gain: being together. But we don’t give up the things that are truly important to us.”
“Exactly. I won’t ask you to stop being all the wondrous ways you are. I’ll help you, because when the world isn’t made for a person, you don’t change the person. You change the world.” His voice went thick with emotion. “I want to do that too. Not just in missions, but every day.”
“By taking in a dog or an orphan?” she teased.
“Of course. By doing business with a kind man instead of a bigot.” He paused. “By using our money to benefit others.”
“What money would we use? I won’t be paid until the next quarter day.”
“Nor will I, but I do have savings. As long as we’re both earning, we won’t need the interest of the capital. That money could have paid for Laurie to go to Harton. Instead, your father—I mean, V
ictor—won enough to cover Laurie’s tuition.”
“If Laurie’s still allowed to attend,” Irene said grimly. “If the trustees find out about his illegitimacy…”
“Then his royal sister could intervene in his favor.”
Jonah sounded as if he were teasing, but it was a good suggestion, at that. When Irene returned to London, she’d speak to her mother.
And Jonah’s idea of giving away their interest and combining their earnings? That was a good suggestion too. Earning alongside her husband. Contributing like a man and for her work to help women—the notion was pleasing. “I’ve plenty of ideas for how to use spare money.”
To place women in safe and steady employment, especially women caught in the web of that old crook and horse thief, Goodman. To fund scholarships for black and brown students to attend the academy or embark on an apprenticeship.
As she recounted the possibilities, he trailed a hand up her back, then down again.
“I like it,” Jonah said when she finished. “I like all of those ideas. I’m more glad than I can say that you came to Newmarket. But if you hadn’t, I’d have come for you in London. I had a sort of…grand gesture planned.” He’d reddened as he stuttered, and now she had to know.
“What was it going to be?” She poked him in the arm. “You could still do it, you know.”
He prodded her upright, then reached into a pocket and pulled forth a small velvet bag. As she settled against him again, he encircled her with his arms and shook open the bag.
“I have your wedding ring. I was thinking of proposing to you again. Maybe at your academy?” His hand closed around the ring before she could see it. “It’s silly, though. It’d be pressuring you to choose me, which is what I didn’t want to do.”
“Not at all! It’d be showing me that you want me and asking whether I wanted you back. But I’m glad you didn’t go forward with the plan.” She laid her hand on his, coaxing open the fist. “I wanted you to know that I chose you. That I’d come for you.”
“I’ll change the plan, then. Not a grand gesture, but a small one.” He opened his hand, then plucked up the ring and held it to the sunset light from the window. “May I?”
His Wayward Bride (Romance of the Turf Book 3) Page 25
