“Oh, August,” she said, weeping now and trembling as she realised how close they’d come to losing each other. “You’re hurt!”
“Nothing serious, love,” he said, pulling her tight and then wincing. He looked down at her, anguish in his expression. “Are you sure, Patience?” he demanded, his eyes searching hers. “He didn’t …”
Patience shook her head, forcing a smile. “No, he was too busy telling me all the appalling things he was going to do to actually do more than bruise me a little. Good God,” she said in fury, aware that she was blaspheming now as well as swearing, but hoping she would be forgiven in the circumstances. “That bloody man just loves the sound of his own voice.”
August let out a startled laugh that trembled a little, and sounded just a touch hysterical as he pulled her close.
“Oh, August, your mother!” Patience exclaimed, suddenly remembering the vision of Lady Marchmain trying to stop Stephen from attacking August.
“What?” August asked, his face incredulous as Patience realised he’d not have seen what happened, dazed from the punch that had almost knocked him out.
“She tried to save you, August,” Patience cried, as they hurried to the slender figure, lying on the cobbles.
“Mother!” August cried in horror, as they knelt beside Lady Marchmain. A pool of thick black liquid glinted behind her head. “Oh, my God.”
The head groom, Mr Grant, stumbled into the yard, looking dazed, and Patience yelled at him. “Go and get help, we need a doctor right now!”
Grant nodded and hurried away, stumbling steps as he lurched unsteadily towards the house. Patience turned back to August, who was staring at the still figure of his mother in shock.
“She’s still breathing,” Patience said, taking his hand and squeezing it tight as August nodded, ashen-faced in the silver light of the moon. “She tried to save you, August,” she added, watching August’s eyes grow wide. “She did it for you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice thick as he looked up at her. “She’s always hated me.”
Patience shrugged, not able to explain it any more than he could. “Apparently not,” she said, trying to smile at him and finding it a hard expression to find. But then August pulled her to him, holding her with a fierceness born of terror that she well understood, and she knew that they would get through, no matter what.
***
The next days were a jumble of doctors, interviews with the local magistrate, and clinging together to reassure each other that all was well. August could not bear to have Patience from his sight, despite the fact the danger was past. St John had died before the doctor had reached him. Patience had been badly shaken by that fact, but in her usual matter-of-fact manner, she had accepted that it was necessary and moved on. She said that with a choice between St John’s life and August’s, there was no question in her mind. With quiet calm and dignity, she simply shrugged and accepted the fact that she would do the same thing again, if given the same choice.
Caro and Cilly had needed to be sedated, such was their horror over what had happened, both women hysterical and overwrought. August could only smile as he compared them to his wife. Even after everything she’d been through, there had been no breakdowns or hysterical scenes. In fact, it had been her who had seen to her sister and step-mother, calming them enough for the doctor to be able to give them a sleeping draught.
A week passed, and little by little things returned to normal. Lord Nibley had arrived two days earlier, much to August’s relief. Caro was a highly-strung creature, and as much as he was fond of his sister-in-law, she was wearing on his nerves. He could only thank God that he’d come to his senses in time and married the right sister. Percy, however, seemed to have a way with her, and within hours of his arrival, she was far calmer and looking at her husband-to-be with an adoration August felt no surprise at now. If he’d once thought Caro out of Percy’s league, then he had done them both a disservice. Caro was far from shallow and she’d seen the goodness in Percy. He was a man who would always stand by her and cherish her, come what may. It had taken August a little while to realise it himself, but this was what mattered in life.
Now, settled quietly in his mother’s … in his study, August looked down at the ledgers in front of him with a frown. Since his mother had been incapacitated, he had at last been given the opportunity to study the finances of the business, and while things looked healthy enough, they could have been better. He had always believed his mother infallible. After all, she had taken the stud farm from strength to strength after the death of his father. With affection, August had to admit that the man had been a genius with horses, but too free with his advice and services. He would offer ridiculous prices to those he counted as friends, and as he made friends wherever he went, this had not been good for their bank balance. Giving away for free what he ought to have charged for was a familiar row that he’d heard his mother and father shouting over. The last Lord Bright had been a genuinely good-hearted fellow and a wonderful father to August, but no businessman. Lady Marchmain was his polar opposite, and, not the for the first time, August wondered how they’d ever fallen in love. For love it had been, once upon a time, for his father, at least, he remembered that much. That his mother had ever experienced such an emotion was hard to credit. She had taken the business in hand, though, and despite being a woman, she was well respected. Yet August could see some of the decisions that had been made of late were not viable.
She had begun offering boarding services, whereby a mare could be kept on the property with the desired stallion, during and after foaling. This was an excellent idea, but once they were not getting paid enough for. Once August calculated the costs involved, he discovered that they were barely breaking even despite the illustrious names who used their services. That the Duke of Sheringham was one of their best clients made everything clear to August. His mother was an inveterate snob. Keeping a duke happy and being able to speak of him as an intimate would weigh far heavier with her than actually making a profit from a man who could well afford their fees if they were ten times the price. That one of their best foals was going to be sold off to the man for a fraction of the going rate was enough to make August’s blood boil.
He knew the duke by sight, and he was a handsome and charming fellow. It was hard to credit the idea that his mother, of all people, should be swayed by a pretty face, but put a dukedom beside it and he didn’t doubt she’d be happy to give the man a hefty discount. Just as bad, however, was the fact that she’d raised the prices on their usual services, way above that of their competitors, and from the last year’s accounts, it was obvious this strategy wasn’t working. He had no doubt she’d hoped that their illustrious clientèle would have made people want to pay the inflated price, but August knew a lot of those in the business, and rubbing shoulders with a duke wouldn’t sway them from wanting the best deal. They were serious men and they wouldn’t throw money away for no good reason. For once, it seemed she’d miscalculated because of her own ingrained snobbery. August sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He could just imagine the scene if he tried to raise this with her.
As if he had magicked her up out of thin air, the door opened and Lady Marchmain entered. For a moment, August faltered as her hard green eyes took in the sight of him behind what she considered her desk. But then he reminded himself that this was his inheritance and tried to squash the feeling of being caught red-handed.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, the words clipped and cold. August looked back at his mother. Her thin face was even more drawn than usual, the high cheek bones that had once been the highlight of a beautiful face giving her severe features an almost skeletal appearance. He wondered if there had ever been anything soft about her. Surely there had, if his father had loved her?
“I might ask you the same thing,” he returned, not moving but sitting back in the chair and holding her gaze. “The doctor said you were to remain in bed for another week at least.”
August stared at her, wondering why it was she hated him so. “I’m not going to ruin anything,” he said, striving to keep his tone calm. “I would work with you, if you would only let me. But the fact remains that this house, this business, all of it belongs to me, not you.”
Lady Marchmain sneered at him and August could not understand how she still had the power to hurt him, after all these years. Surely he should have grown used to it by now? Why did he still care?
“I won’t let you run the place into the ground. You’ve got all of your father’s worst qualities and none of the good,” she said, staring at him as though the sight of him offended her. “He at least didn’t gamble and whoremonger his way through life.”
August got to his feet, his fists clenched now as he clung to his temper, yet guilt pressed down on him, too. There was truth in what she said, after all. He’d never been the man his father had been, a fact she was always more than ready to point out to him.
“I’ve changed,” he said, wishing he didn’t sound so defensive, but the woman always got under his skin. It only worsened as she laughed at him, dismissing the idea.
“Just because you’ve managed to hold onto a wife for a few weeks doesn’t mean anything, August. She’s a strong woman, I’ll grant you that. She won’t suffer fools, not for long. How long do you think it will be until she sees past that handsome face of yours and realises how weak you are, how lacking in substance?” She shook her head at him as all of his old insecurities rushed to the surface. “I give it six months,” she added, tilting her head and looking him up and down, measuring his worth as though he was one of the stallions she put up for stud. “You might be able to keep her amused that long, I suppose. At least you could do something useful and provide us with a decent heir at last. With her bloodline, perhaps the child will actually have a brain in its head.”
“Stop it,” he shouted, loud enough that she actually jumped a little. He stalked over to her, towering over her, though she looked far from intimidated. “Why did you do it?” he demanded, wishing to God he didn’t care about the answer, but needing to know. “If you hate me so much, why did you defend me? You could have died. Why not just let St John kill me for you? Then you’d have the place to yourself and be free of me.”
She just stared back at him, unblinking. “Because, like it or not, you are Lord Marchmain, and until you have done your duty and provided an heir, you still have a purpose in life.” She gave him a cool look before turning on her heel. She paused at the door, throwing her final words over her shoulder without even looking at him. “I suggest you get on with it.”
Chapter 25
“Wherein our heroine plays her cards close to her chest.”
August stood, staring at the door, stunned. What a bloody fool. For a little while, he’d actually believed that she harboured some tender feelings for him, enough at least that she’d not see any harm come to him. But he meant no more to her than the horses did. For she’d never had any passion or feeling for them either, not like his father. To her, they were business assets and nothing more. They had a value for the service they could provide, and once their usefulness was spent, she had no further interest in them. Like poor old Beaumaris. He’d been one of his father’s best horses and sired more cup-winning horses than any other they’d had. Yet once the poor old fellow was too old to perform, his mother had wanted him shot. He was a drain on their resources, by all accounts. The row over that one had been spectacular and he’d wanted to squeeze the life from the woman for her callousness. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d offered to pay for Beaumaris’ board out of his own allowance, though he could little afford it.
Without any conscious thought, his feet took him out of the door and through the orchard, across the fields to where the old horse was cropping the grass. It looked up as August approached, giving a little huff of greeting before lumbering over and pressing his greying nose into August’s hands.
“Hello, old man,” August said, feeling his heart ease a little as the huge horse pushed at his shoulder, a gentle nudge from such a big animal. It broke his heart to think the old fellow wouldn’t be around much longer, and with him, he felt his last connection to his father would be gone, too. “Yes, I know,” he said, reaching for the apple he had plucked from a tree enroute. “This what you’re after, eh?”
August watched as Beaumaris chomped with a peaceful air of content and leaned into him, comforted by the familiar scent of hay and grass and warm horse.
“August!” Turning, he felt his heart lighten further as he saw Patience waving to him, and then his mother’s words returned to haunt him. Would she really tire of him so soon? “There you are,” she said, smiling and breathless as she lifted her skirts clear of the long grass, hurrying towards him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Is anything wrong?” he asked, concerned all at once by the anxiety in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said, pausing in front of him and reaching out to take his hand. “You tell me.”
August frowned at her and she sighed.
“I heard shouting,” she explained. “But by the time I got downstairs you were gone. I saw your mother walking towards the stables, however. It didn’t take her long to start trouble, did it? She’s been out of bed what - half an hour?” She looked angry now and August smiled at her, touched by her concern. “I know it’s unchristian of me, but I can’t help thinking how peaceful it’s been while she was bed-bound,” she added with huff of annoyance.
August laughed and pulled her close, smiling as Beaumaris snuffled at her, apparently approving as he allowed her to pet him.
“He likes you,” he said, as Patience reached up to scratch behind the horse’s ears. Beaumaris lowered his head, closing his eyes with a blissful expression. “That’s what I look like, isn’t it?” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck. “Putty in your hands,” he murmured.
Patience sighed and looked up at him with chagrin. “I think you’ll find it’s the other way about, but I shan’t argue about it.” Her face grew serious and she reached up, putting one hand to his cheek. “What was it about this time?”
August shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about it, somehow afraid that if he confessed the truth that Patience would see his mother was right. Yet there was no use in hiding it from her. Either she would find him out and his mother would be proved right, or the hopes that he clung to were as solid as he’d prayed they were and she would stick by him. Even if he didn’t deserve it. “The usual things,” he said, avoiding her eyes, not wanting to see if she couldn’t hide the fact she agreed with his mother. “I’m good for nothing but providing an heir, by all accounts. She said that’s why she tried to save me, not because she cared in the least. She just couldn’t have St John killing the family stallion before he’d done his duty. I’ve been told to get on with it, by the way,” he added, quite unable to keep the hurt and bitterness from his voice. “It’s about all I’m good for, apparently.”
Patience grew very quiet, but he could feel the tension singing through her body, and dared a look at her. There was a dark expression in her eyes, but when she saw him watching her, it cleared a little. “Your mother is …” She stopped and took a deep breath, taking a moment to push a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “I shan’t say what she is,” she said, the words clipped and precise. “As it would shock you and you’d think you’d married a girl dragged from the gutter. But,” she said, as August could not help the smile that curved over his mouth. “I forbid you from listening to a word she says to you.” To his relief, she put her arms about his waist and hugged him, looking up at him with such love in her eyes that he wondered how he could have doubted it. “How you’ve become the man you hav
e with her undermining you at every turn is a mystery to me, August.” The words were low and sincere and slid into his heart like the warmth from a fire on a cold day. “I’m very proud of you, do you hear me? Don’t you ever doubt it.”
August blinked hard. No one had ever said that to him before. Not since his father had died, at least.
“I love you,” he said, struggling to get the words past the knot in his throat.
Patience looked up at him and smiled. “I love you, too,” she replied, before her face became business-like again. “Now then,” she said, taking his arm as they turned back to the house. “Tell me what you discovered about the business in the ledgers you were talking about.”
***
Patience stared out of the window at Lady Marchmain as she got into the waiting carriage. Hatred was a new emotion to her and one she never thought to experience. Now she knew it, though. She knew it intimately and felt the fierce heat of it simmering under her skin.
August was being torn apart by that hateful woman, and she wasn’t going to let it continue. He’d persisted in his endeavour to take his place as head of Finchfield’s Stud, but it was an uphill battle. The head groom, however, had been swayed and begun to confide in him, and little by little, the rest of the staff who were occupied with the stud had begun to follow suit. It was clear to them that August had inherited his father’s way with horses, and that he knew what he was talking about, and they respected that. But with every little victory, his mother became ever more spiteful. Determined to undermine him, she attacked him at every turn and had even begun to try and cause trouble between him and Patience.
Patience had come to the end of her tether.
The household staff were the worst to deal with. Many of them had been with Lady Marchmain since she was a newly-wed, hand-picked by her own father and loyal still to the family. Patience had tried her best to live up to her name and take the time to allow them to get to know her, to see that she wasn’t hell-bent on turning their lives upside down. Yet nothing happened in the house unless Lady Marchmain sanctioned it, and of course if she knew it was what Patience had wanted, it was never going to happen.
Persuading Patience Page 22
