by Brenda Hiatt
“I can’t believe how big they’ve grown.” Violet caressed the largest dog pup while Dina reacquainted herself with Foxglove. “I confess, I was quite disappointed when you had them sent here from Plumrose, for I’d been visiting them almost every day.”
Grant beamed at the litter. “Aye, I must begin inquiring of the likeliest farmers immediately. Farrell tells me they’ve been weaned for a fortnight now.”
He and Lord Rushford went back to the house then, but Violet and Dina continued fussing over the pups for a bit. At Violet’s suggestion, they then made friends with a few other hounds, for Grant was not the only member of the Seven Saints with aspirations of establishing his own pack.
Rush walked quickly back up the slight slope to Ivy Lodge, frowning. Really, he must get his body’s instinctive response to Violet Turpin under better control before she—or worse, Thor—suspected his attraction. His friend might not bear him a grudge for the part he’d played in yesterday’s impromptu race, but Rush doubted he’d forgive him trifling with his little sister.
And he could never do more than trifle, so long as he was engaged to marry Miss Simpson. With that in mind, he did his best to avoid Miss Turpin for the rest of the day.
Monday morning, Rush and Killer were the only ones in the dining room when Miss Turpin appeared for breakfast, again attired in the fetching, sky-blue habit she had worn in the Cottesmore. Rush merely nodded a greeting but Killer quickly rose to pull out a chair for her.
“Give you good morning, Miss Turpin,” he greeted her. “I take it you are as eager for today’s hunt as I? ’Twill only be my third since dispensing with that accursed crutch I had to use for so long.”
“You seemed to do very well on Saturday,” she commented charitably, for she must have noticed he was not among the better riders on the field.
“Aye, I was pleased to discover I’ve lost none of my skill despite being put to pasture for so long,” Killer replied with a grin. “Pity Rush convinced me to sell Nimbus to him, for I feel certain I could handle him now.” He shot a glance at his friend.
Rush had offered a ridiculous price for the horse in order to prevent Killer attempting to ride it again. Perhaps he should take the added precaution of having Nimbus sent up to Rushford Abbey to remove temptation completely.
“Likely you could,” Miss Turpin responded sympathetically, with a quick glance at Rush. “Though if Lord Rushford has chosen not to hunt him, it is doubtless because the horse still needs more training.”
“Hmph. That’s exactly what Rush says,” Lord Killerby grumped.
Most of the others now joined them in the dining room, to include Mrs. Turpin and Lady Killerby.
“Shall I assume from your attire that you mean to ride with the hunt again today, Miss Turpin?” asked the latter.
“That is my hope, my lady, though of course that will be up to the Master—and my brother.”
Thor shrugged. “I’ll not stop you hunting if Assheton Smith gives you the nod. I warn you, however, that he is not a particularly good-tempered man. Nowhere near so easygoing as Lord Lonsdale.”
“Oh, but she must ride again!” Stormy exclaimed. “’Twas such a treat to see her in the Cottesmore. We will all add our voices to Thor’s, Miss Turpin, should there be any difficulty.”
When others spoke up in agreement, Rush remained silent, determined not to intervene this time should Assheton Smith refuse.
* * *
Which was precisely what he did, when they assembled at Quorndon Hall.
The other members of the Seven Saints made good on their promises over breakfast but their entreaties were unable to sway the Master of the Quorn. Rush suspected that certain members of the Old Club, nettled by Miss Turpin’s superb performance on Saturday, had persuaded him that it would be beneath the dignity of the Quorn to allow yet another woman onto the field.
“Yes, yes, I made a special exception in Lady Anthony’s case,” Mr. Assheton Smith told them testily, “and quite a lot of abuse I’ve taken for it since. I’m sorry, Miss Turpin. When Mr. Osbaldeston takes over Mastership of the Quorn next season, you can apply to him.”
Though clearly disappointed, she gave in with good grace. “I suppose I must content myself with riding behind at a distance, as I’ve seen others do.”
Still frowning, Mr. Assheton Smith looked to Thor. “What say you, Turpin? Are you willing to have your sister numbered among such women?”
To his sister’s obvious dismay, Thor shook his head. “Sorry, Vi, it simply won’t do. Mother specifically tasked me with safeguarding your reputation after, well—” He cleared his throat. “You see, the only women other than Lady Anthony who ever follow the hunts a-horseback these days are those of, ah, easy virtue. I’d be failing in my charge if I permitted you to be mistaken for one of them.”
“But—”
“I said no, Vi,” he snapped. “You’ll either hand Ares over to Farrell now or ride him straight back to Ivy Lodge and spend the rest of the day there.”
Rush could not but share a measure of her disappointment, for he’d looked forward to seeing her riding full-out again. “Here are Lady Killerby and Sir George now,” he said, hoping to console her. “You may at least follow the hunt with them.”
He waved to the approaching party and Lady Killerby’s driver guided the low-slung phaeton toward them.
“Give you good day, Lady Killerby. Have you room for another?” Rush inquired.
“Of course,” Lady Killerby replied. “Particularly as Mrs. Turpin pleaded off at the last moment.”
Thor was immediately concerned. “My wife is not ill, is she?”
“No, no, just a wee bit queasy over breakfast. Perfectly normal just now,” she assured him. “I take it Mr. Assheton Smith was not to be persuaded? I feared that would be the case. Do join us, Miss Turpin.”
Though Violet still looked rebellious, under Thor’s stern gaze she finally nodded. “Thank you, my lady.”
Just then, the horn sounded.
“Ah, they’ll be starting in a moment!” Lady Killerby exclaimed. “If one of you young men will help Miss Turpin down—?”
When Rush hesitated, Killer took Miss Turpin’s gloved hand in his own to swing her down from the sidesaddle. Subduing the first twinge of envy toward the smaller man he could ever remember experiencing, Rush tipped his hat to the ladies, turned his mount and went to join the others.
Violet fumed silently as the rest of the gentlemen trotted off to join the hunt. She’d so wanted to ride the Quorn. Trundling behind in the phaeton would not be the same at all.
“There! We are all quite cozy, are we not, my dear?” said Lady Killerby comfortably when Violet was ensconced in the rear seat, slightly above her hostess and Sir George. “I have an extra carriage blanket here, should you grow chilled during the chase. Henry manages remarkable speeds over rough terrain, as you may have noticed Saturday. I dare swear we will have near as good a view of the hunt as you would have on horseback, for I had this vehicle specially designed for the purpose.”
“And grateful I am for that,” Sir George declared. “I thought the hunt forever lost to me until the first time Lily invited me to accompany her. Not quite the same as riding to the hounds myself, of course, but there are…compensations.”
The look that passed between the older couple briefly diverted Violet from her disappointment. Clearly Sir George Seaton and Lady Killerby were somewhat more to each other than “old friends.” Violet suppressed a smile, for she dearly loved a good romance.
“Ah, and they’re off!” Lady Killerby exclaimed as multiple horns sounded. “After them, Henry!”
With a lurch, the phaeton took off in pursuit and Violet soon discovered that Lady Killerby had not exaggerated her coachman’s abilities. By the time those at the rear of the field reached the first covert, the phaeton was no more than half a furlong behind. They had ample time to catch up as the Huntsman and whippers-in cast the hounds into the covert to flush the fox.
While ma
ny of the gentlemen were occupied with changing from their covert hacks to their hunters, Julian Bigsby trotted over to the phaeton.
“What! Are you not riding today, Miss Turpin?”
Violet regretfully shook her head. “The Master would not allow it, and my brother felt it might give the wrong impression were I to follow at a distance as a few, ah, ladies have been known to do.”
He snorted. “Assheton Smith has never been what I would consider forward-looking, but I’d no idea your brother had become such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“He can be,” Violet assured him, “particularly with regard to me.” Then, belatedly remembering her manners, “Are you acquainted with Lady Killerby and Sir George Seaton?”
“Only in passing. I give you good day, my lady, Sir George.” He tipped his hat politely, then turned back to Violet. “I’m minded to have a word with Assheton Smith myself. Old-fashioned he may be, but it borders on cruelty to deny the rest of us the pleasure of seeing you ride to the hounds again, Miss Turpin. I counted that a rare treat on Saturday.”
She dimpled at the compliment, gazing coyly up at him through her lashes. “Flatterer. But Julian, I thought we had agreed you are to call me Violet?”
Though he shot a quick glance at the others, his dazzling smile remained in place. “I feared you might have forgotten, so dared not presume—”
“Oh, pooh. We are old friends, are we not? Which reminds me—”
Before she could finish, a hound gave cry that it had scented a fox. The whippers-in rounded up the others and a moment later the entire pack was in pursuit, baying melodiously.
“I’ll seek you out again at the first check, shall I?” Julian hastily wheeled his mount around as Henry whipped up the phaeton’s pair to follow the hunt.
Violet ached to be galloping along on Ares again, taking her place near the frontrunners. Instead she was forced to trail behind even the slowest riders, for there were barriers such as ditches and hedges that horses could surmount but the phaeton could not. There were gates and bridges, of course, but those took them well out of the way.
The first check did not occur for more than half an hour, by which time the phaeton had fallen a quarter of a mile behind the main pack. As Lady Killerby’s coachman attempted to close the distance, Julian trotted back to meet them.
“This seems a good chance to continue our interrupted conversation,” he said as they all moved forward together. “By the looks of that patch of brambles, it may take some time for the hounds to flush the fox again.”
As if to confirm his words, whines and yips drifted back to them as the pack tried to penetrate a thorny tangle the much smaller fox had slipped through easily.
“Poor dogs,” Violet exclaimed, imagining the scratches they must be sustaining.
“’Tis what they’re bred for.” Julian shrugged. “I believe you were about to tell me something when we were interrupted before?”
Violet blinked, bringing her focus back to the handsome face now regarding her intently. “Oh! Yes. I wished to ask whether you mean to attend our little ball at Ivy Lodge on Thursday? You received an invitation, did you not?”
“I did, and I thank you, my lady.” He bowed to Lady Killerby from the saddle. “But I fear I’ll not be able to accept as I leave for London on the morrow. This, alas, is to be my last hunt of the season. Dare I hope I shall see you there this spring, Violet?”
Though disappointed, she summoned a smile. “Indeed. In fact, I expect to arrive there within a fortnight.”
“Well, that’s just capital. No doubt there will be balls enough there to compensate for my missing this one. Might I engage you now for a dance at the first one we both attend, or am I too forward?”
She giggled at his absurdity. “Of course I will dance with you, Julian. As many times as you wish.”
At that, Lady Killerby cleared her throat. “Now, now. You mustn’t be so hasty, Miss Turpin. You cannot know what other gallants may introduce themselves to your notice before then.”
“I see her ladyship means to warn me off,” Julian said with a wink, “but having a few rivals will only make my pursuit of your heart a more stimulating challenge. Assuming it is yet winnable?”
Though her cheeks warmed slightly at the rapid pace of the conversation, she lifted her chin with a toss of her curls. “Winnable? Perhaps. But only by someone worthy of it.”
“Then you’ve not set your cap at anyone yet? I am relieved, for I’d be quite heartbroken if you had. Dare I ask what sort of man you might deem worthy?” he continued in the same teasing tone.
An image of Lord Rushford arose unbidden but she quickly pushed it away.
“He would have to love me to distraction, of course,” she replied lightly. “That would be the first requirement. If he can be romantic and heroic as well, so much the better. Indeed, my absolute ideal would be a man as brave, daring and selfless as the Saint of Seven Dials.”
Julian blinked in surprise. “The notorious thief? Surely you do not know who he is?”
“No, though I should love to meet him. In fact, that will be my primary goal when I reach London. After reading so much about his exploits, I can easily imagine myself falling in love with that dashing scoundrel—preferably while assisting him in his noble crusade.”
Lady Killerby laughed. “Come, Miss Turpin, you cannot mean that.”
“Do I not?” she replied. “The Saint is both hero and rogue in one, stealing from the most undeserving members of Society right under their upturned noses and giving to those who need it most.” A romantic sigh escaped her. “Yes, such a man as he could easily win my heart.”
“You’ve a soft spot for rogues, then?” Julian leaned forward from the saddle, capturing her gaze with one so intense that Violet felt both excited and vaguely alarmed.
“Here we are, and just in time,” Lady Killerby exclaimed, rather more loudly than necessary.
Pulling her gaze away from Julian’s, Violet saw they’d reached the stand of brambles between two fields where the fox had taken cover. Before they could draw to a halt, the hounds flushed it out to continue the chase. Everyone, including Julian and the phaeton, immediately leapt in pursuit.
Though sorry to have her conversation with Julian interrupted, Violet was also vaguely relieved, for she’d sensed his words held more layers of meaning than she fully understood. Her attention now split between parsing their recent exchange and the ongoing hunt, she remained unusually silent for some time.
* * *
Not until the conclusion of the hunt did Violet have another opportunity to speak with Julian. As everyone made their way back toward Quorndon Hall, he again drew alongside the phaeton.
“I must return to my lodgings now to prepare for tomorrow’s journey but I did not wish to leave without bidding you farewell, sweet Violet.” He spoke quietly enough that Lady Killerby, chatting gaily with Sir George about the day’s highlights, did not overhear. “I shall be counting the days until I see your lovely face in London.”
She smiled up at him, her earlier misgivings forgotten. “I shall be staying with my aunt, Mrs. Philomena Puttercroft, in Mortimer Street. Promise you will call upon me once I arrive, for otherwise I’m like to have a deadly dull time there.”
His answering smile was warm. “Of course. It will be my very great honor.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Until then, my flower.” Sketching a quick bow from the saddle, he touched his fingertips to his lips, winked roguishly and cantered off.
Seconds later, her brother and Lord Rushford rode up, having lingered behind with most of the others for the kill. “I hope you did not find today’s hunt completely irksome?” Grant asked warily.
Lord Rushford, by contrast, did not even look at her, instead seeming focused on something in the distance.
“It could not compare to riding, of course, but Lady Killerby and Sir George were exceedingly pleasant companions,” she replied graciously, with a smile for her hosts. “Indeed, I am quite grateful for their willingnes
s to allow me to intrude on their tête-à-tête.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing Lady Killerby color at her words, while Sir George noisily cleared his throat, confirming her surmise about them. Alas, that was all the satisfaction she was likely to have that day, with Julian leaving and Lord Rushford as distant as ever.
Taking leave of Lady Killerby’s party, Rush and Thor cantered on ahead toward Ivy Lodge. Thor was anxious to see his wife again, to confirm that she was not truly ill.
“What do you think that bounder Bigsby was doing, talking with your sister?” Rush asked as they went, partly to distract his friend from worrying. “I didn’t know they had renewed their acquaintance.”
“Nor did I.” Thor frowned. “I noticed him speaking to her at the start of the Cottesmore, as well. Meant to ask her about it but forgot. How long has he been riding to the local hunts? I don’t recall seeing him last autumn.”
Rush thought back. “Only a few weeks, I believe. I first spotted him in the Belvoir in January but as he seemed desirous of avoiding me, it’s possible he arrived earlier and I missed him.”
Thor chuckled. “Sounds as though our little lesson was a lasting one, then. Good.”
“I hope so.” But Rush had not cared for the way the man had been looking at Miss Turpin as they rode up to the phaeton. Perhaps he needed a reminder? At the very least, he would keep a close eye on Bigsby while Miss Turpin remained in the Shires.
For his friend’s sake, of course.
“What say you we cut across the fields rather than taking the road?” he suggested then. “’Twill almost certainly get us to Ivy Lodge more quickly, as dry as the ground is just now.”
Thor instantly agreed. The two turned their mounts to leap the low hedge bordering the road and thundered across terrain similar to what they’d already traversed during the hunt, each man busy with his own thoughts.
