by Brenda Hiatt
"A joke, Anthony, just a joke," Stormy protested with a chuckle, putting up a hand as if to ward off a blow. "Come, the field is leaving us behind."
True to her word, Tessa rode her mare extremely well. Though Anthony knew it would drive up the price to his detriment, he couldn't help feeling proud of her. At the third check, Anthony managed to get her a bit apart from the others long enough to tell her so.
"You and Cinnamon are putting us all to shame," he said cheerfully. "Well done."
She gave him the first smile he'd seen on her face that day. "Thank you. Really, though, neither of us would be happy doing less than our best, whatever the inducement."
He nodded his understanding. "I see that now—and how that would be true no matter what horse you rode." His intent was to let her know he no longer blamed her for Nimbus, but she frowned at his words.
"I . . . I suppose," she said.
Drawing closer, he lowered his voice so that none of those milling nearby could hear him. "I presume there is still no reason to believe our, ah, evening together has been discovered?"
She shook her head. "You need not worry, my lord. Your reputation seems quite safe."
Startled, he laughed. "My reputation? That's scarcely what I was worrying about. I should not care to see you made uncomfortable on my account, however."
"That's very kind of you—" she began, but was interrupted by a cheery "Halloo."
Turning, they saw Lady Killerby wheeling toward them, her burly coachman expertly guiding her low phaeton over the rough field. "I see they did not exaggerate about you, Miss Seaton," she called as she drew near. "Indeed, you are the best rider out here today, bar none. Sorry if that offends your male pride, Lord Anthony." She winked at him playfully.
"Not at all, my lady," he replied with a mock bow. "Indeed, I must agree with you."
She regarded him narrowly for a moment before turning back to Tessa. "Your mother rode much as you do, my dear, but I suppose you've been told that before. You, like she, are a credit to our sex."
"Thank you, my lady." Tessa seemed vaguely uncomfortable with the praise, though Anthony couldn't think why.
"Good of the farmers to place their gates for my convenience," Lady Killerby continued. "That way I'm never too far behind the action. Also good of the fox to lose himself periodically so that I can catch up, eh, Henry?" she said to her coachman.
"Aye, m'lady," he agreed blandly, though Anthony noticed a faint twitch of his lips. "There, the hounds have found 'im again. We'd best be off." He flicked the pair of bays into a trot and Lady Killerby waved a teal-gloved hand.
"I'll see you at the next check," she called.
"It would appear she did not only come to Leicestershire to care for her son," Tessa commented as she and Anthony urged their horses in the same direction. "I'd no idea before today that someone could follow the hunt thus."
"It's not common, but I've seen it done before —though some courses will not allow it, naturally. Perhaps your father would enjoy doing the same sometimes?"
The look she gave him was fraught with alarm, though she quickly concealed it. "Perhaps," was all she said, before setting her mare into a canter to again take the lead in the chase.
* * *
It was with definite regret that Tessa saw the hunt end, even though the fox escaped the hounds, which would normally have been a source of relief to her. Riding back to Quorndon Hall, she tried to eke every bit of enjoyment possible from her last moments on Cinnamon's back, but doubts and worries kept getting in the way.
"Perhaps she'll sell to someone you know, so that you'll still be able to visit her," Anthony suggested kindly, riding up next to her.
She tried to force a smile. "Perhaps. In any case, I'm sure I'll become just as attached to another horse soon." She did not believe it, however. She had formed a special bond with Cinnamon, and that was something rare, even for her. Especially for her.
"What horse do you plan to ride next?"
"You mean, what horse does my uncle intend me to ride?" she asked, only realizing when he frowned that she should not have spoken so clearly. Why was it that she could not seem to guard her tongue around this man?
"Probably the gelding my uncle bought last week," she said before he could comment. "Though he won't be ready for sale for some weeks. He does need experience in the hunt, however."
She tried not to think about Vulcan, afraid Anthony would somehow divine her thoughts —or that she'd end up telling him everything. He'd forgiven her for the business with Nimbus, but Vulcan was far worse. The very fact that he was in her father's stables was damning to her mind, for no reputable dealer would ever have purchased such an animal.
Glancing ahead, she saw Lady Killerby in her phaeton, waiting for the returning field. She'd been forced to stop an hour or so ago, when they'd leaped a ditch with no convenient way around.
"So, Miss Seaton, were you first in at the kill?" she demanded as they drew close.
Tessa shook her head. "There was no kill today, my lady. But I confess that if there had been, I'd not have been there to watch it. I fear I'm too squeamish to be a truly competitive fox hunter."
"That's hardly a failing in a lady," said Lord Rushford, riding in from their left just then. "It's the riding that's the thing, in any event. Which reminds me, Anthony, did you hear? Harleston is talking of organizing a steeplechase."
Lady Killerby actually clapped her hands. "Lovely! I adore a steeplechase. We have one or two per season in Nottinghamshire, and I make it a point never to miss watching them. What is the purse to be?"
"It will depend on the number of entrants, I presume," Anthony said.
"Aye, and the wagering —which is like to be brisk," Lord Rushford agreed. "I'll be surprised if the winner walks away with less than ten thousand pounds."
Tessa's attention was caught, along with her breath. Ten thousand pounds? Such a sum would pay for every repair needed at Wheatstone, with a substantial amount left over.
"How many gentlemen are likely to enter?" she asked with studied casualness, ignoring the look Anthony gave her.
Lord Rushford shrugged. "I'd guess twenty at the least, though it will depend on the weather and the course, which hasn't been decided yet."
When they got back to Quorndon Hall, she would ask Uncle Mercer to discover the details. If there were any way she could compete, she would do so, for with ten thousand pounds she'd never have need to ride a questionable horse for sale again. Surely even her uncle would see the wisdom in that?
She was still mulling the possibilities with growing excitement when Sir Charles Storm joined the group around Lady Killerby's phaeton. "Miss Seaton, I've had a thought," he said. "Well, it was someone else's thought, but I'm not averse to stealing a good idea."
"I fear I don't understand," she said, though when he beckoned her to move a bit apart from the others, she followed —as did Anthony, she noticed.
"No, no, of course not. Never seem able to come right to the point, do I?" He shook his head, grinning. "Thing is, I overheard a couple of men talking, saying they meant to approach you about riding their mounts in upcoming meets so that they might sell them for more— rather as Mr. Mercer had you do today, with this mare."
"Don't be absurd," said Anthony before she could respond. "Tessa —Miss Seaton —isn't for hire."
Sir Charles looked shocked. "Of course not. Never meant to imply she was. I was thinking more along the lines of a favor— though of course I'd be willing to share a percentage of the profits, if I get a good price for this fellow." He tapped his gelding between the ears.
"Still," Anthony began, but Tessa reached out to touch his arm.
"It's all right, my lord, I'm not offended."
Suddenly, it seemed that all manner of opportunities to raise revenue were coming her way. Opportunities that wouldn't compromise her ethics— though they might compromise her reputation. But so long as her father never got wind of it . . .
She turned to Sir Charles with a
smile. "In fact," she said, "I'm quite flattered by your request. I promise to give it some consideration, and to discuss it with my uncle."
Lord Anthony seemed less pleased than she at this development, though she couldn't think why. To her, it seemed an admirable answer to her problems, for she could not be assured of winning a steeplechase, even if she were allowed to enter.
* * *
When the members of the Quorn met for dinner that evening, Anthony discovered that Stormy was only one among many who were eager to convince Tessa to ride for them. Her performance that day—and the price her mare was likely to fetch as a result —was second only to the proposed steeplechase among the topics discussed over the meal.
"I hear Wheatstone isn't what it used to be," said Sir Brian Olney in response to another comment. "Seems as though the Seatons might be amenable to a bit of extra blunt, if that's true."
Tom Billingsley nodded vigorously. "That's what I'm hoping. Mean to offer her a fair sum to ride my Striker. Hoped to sell him this season anyway, and there's no question he'll fetch more with such a rider to show him."
"But is he broken to sidesaddle?" Sir Brian asked. "Ah, thought as much," he crowed when the crestfallen Billingsley shook his head. "Conqueror is —m'sister insisted on riding him last summer. Guess that gives me the advantage, eh?"
Anthony felt obliged to speak up. "You all speak of this as a certainty, but I rather doubt Sir George will be sanguine about his daughter riding other men's horses for money. I'd advise against counting your chickens —or pounds —just yet."
"Perhaps, perhaps," Stormy agreed from across the table. "But that doesn't mean we can't talk about it—and plan our own strategies." His smile showed that he clearly thought his talk with Tessa that afternoon gave him an edge.
The others agreed, and Anthony resisted the urge to speak again on the subject. He hadn't missed the eagerness in Tessa's eyes when the steeplechase had been mentioned, nor her apparent willingness to do as Stormy suggested and ride for hire. He was determined to prevent her from involving herself in either enterprise.
Still, it wouldn't do to display an obvious interest in Tessa before the other sportsmen, not yet— particularly as he would be bidding on her mare after dinner.
He was glad of that restraint later, when John Bingle said to him, during the auction for Cinnamon, "You seem determined to come away with that mare, Lord Anthony. Does that mean you've found a companion for the remainder of the season?"
In seasons past, Anthony had gifted more than one mistress with a mount, though he hadn't realized it was common knowledge. Considering his plans for Cinnamon, he wasn't particularly pleased to discover that.
"Not at all," he said dampeningly. "I've been wanting to add some depth to my stable for some time. This mare seems a good start."
"Ah. Good luck to you, then." And Bingle turned to top Anthony's last bid.
In the end, Anthony had to pay just over eight hundred pounds for Cinnamon, but he was content. He could scarcely wait to see the expression on Tessa's face when he gifted her with the mare. Not that he could do so immediately, of course —that would give rise to unwelcome talk, given what Bingle had said. He wouldn't do anything that would pose the slightest risk to Tessa's reputation.
No, he would wait for . . . Yes, of course. The vague plans that had been circling in his brain for the past few days suddenly crystalized.
He would give her the horse as a wedding gift.
Startled by his own thoughts, he stared into space for a moment, waiting for his usual, instinctive revulsion to the idea of matrimony to assert itself. Instead, he felt a sense of rightness, even inevitability. Mesmerized by this sudden shift in his thinking, he at first did not hear Thor speaking to him.
"—hurry to leave," he was saying.
Anthony shook his head sharply, bringing his friend into focus. "What? Who?"
Thor grinned. "You seemed miles away —and at some pleasant place, judging by that smile on your face."
"Yes, a most pleasant place," Anthony agreed. "But you were saying?"
"I was just observing that Emery seemed in a hurry to leave once he had your money in hand. Stopped to talk to that gent there, then headed straight for the door. Bad form, if you ask me." The big man shook his head with a frown.
Anthony followed his gaze. "That gent, you say? Who is he?"
Thor shrugged. "He wasn't at the meet today, nor at dinner. Didn't arrive until the auctions were nearly over, in fact. Local fellow, I think. Saw him last year at a meet or two. Hightop? Something like that."
"Hilltop?" Anthony asked with a sense of foreboding.
"Aye, that's it. At least, I think that's it. I see Rush has ordered another bottle. Let's go help him drink it, shall we?"
"Of course," Anthony said mechanically. Mr. Hilltop would hardly have made a point of telling Mr. Mercer that his niece hadn't been to dine at his house, he reminded himself. No reason to think either one of them would have mentioned Tessa, in fact.
He sat down with his friends, who toasted his acquisition of the new mare, joining in their talk about the next meet they planned to attend. Not until they were leaving for Ivy Lodge an hour or two later did he think of Mr. Hilltop again.
For a moment he frowned, but then shrugged. If the worst occurred and it was discovered Tessa had not been at the Hilltops' Friday night, it would only speed the decision he'd made tonight. And perhaps that would be no bad thing, he thought, remembering again the softness of Tessa's lips beneath his own.
He would make her an offer this very week, he decided, gripped by a sudden eagerness to taste those lips again —and more. Then discovery, if it came, would not matter. Nor would she need to put herself at risk in a steeplechase or take other men's money for her riding. Yes, it was an admirable solution.
* * *
Tessa and her father had just finished breakfast in the parlor the next morning when a knock came at the front door. Startled, Tessa rose and went out, reaching the top of the stairs just as Griffith opened the door to reveal Lord Anthony —alone.
"Good morning," he called out, spotting her at the same moment. "I have a favor to ask of you and your father, if I might come up?"
She nodded to Griffith, who preceded Lord Anthony up the stairs so that he could properly introduce the visitor before he entered the parlor.
"Lord Anthony," Sir George exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise this is. I assumed you would be at the Cottesmore meet this morning."
Anthony bowed, first to Sir George and then to Tessa, holding her gaze with his until she felt herself beginning to color. "I will ride with the Belvoir tomorrow, but today I thought to do something a bit more productive —and I have come to beg Miss Seaton's assistance, if you will allow it, sir."
"Assistance?" Sir George echoed Tessa's thoughts. "What sort of assistance, my lord?"
"As you may recall, I recently acquired a gelding that once resided in your stables —the horse I originally came here to ask about. I am attempting to improve his manners, but I feel sure I would make more headway with Miss Seaton's help, as she already knows the horse."
"He means Zephyr, Papa," Tessa said. "Please—"
But Sir George was frowning. "Yes, yes, I know what horse he means. A chestnut, sold to a fellow named Ballard. Though at the time you pretended to be interested in purchasing another beast from us, as I recall," he said with a sharp glance at Anthony.
Tessa blinked at her father's easy recollection of the details of that earlier conversation. She hadn't thought he'd paid such close attention.
"I was not precisely pretending," Anthony said with a grin, "though that was not the primary motive for that visit." He slid a glance at Tessa and she remembered how worried she'd been at the time that he would reveal her secret. She felt no such worry now.
"Papa, I would very much like to assist Lord Anthony in this." She turned her most beseeching gaze upon her father. "He was most forbearing, you know, given that the horse was not fully trained when Uncle M
ercer sold it. I feel we owe it to Lord Anthony to ensure as far as possible that he does not suffer from his generosity in buying Zephyr from Mr. Ballard."
Though he still frowned, Sir George nodded slowly. "I do see your point, Tessa, but I cannot feel it is proper for you to go to this gentleman's stables to work with his horses when—"
"I assure you that propriety will be preserved, sir," Lord Anthony broke in. "Lady Killerby is at the house, and there are any number of grooms and stable lads about the stables. Indeed, Lady Killerby insisted that Miss Seaton take tea with her during the course of the morning, could I prevail upon her to come."
Sir George's brow cleared. "Did she indeed? Dear Lily, how kind she is. In that case, Tessa, I suppose it will be all right, provided you do not spend too much time at the stables."
"She need not spend any time there, Sir George, now I think on it, for I can have the horse brought round to the front lawn and we can work with him there —in full view of the house. Really, all I seek is Miss Seaton's advice and presence," he added with another glance at Tessa. "I would never expect her to do any of the dirty work of training."
She opened her mouth and then closed it, realizing that to protest that she enjoyed the "dirty work," as he put it, would do her case no good with her father.
"Very well," said Sir George, making her glad she'd held her tongue. "That will serve nicely, I believe. Pray thank Lady Killerby for her hospitality, as I know Tessa will do as well. Really, we must return it, and soon."
"Thank you, Papa," Tessa said, giving her father a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I will run upstairs and change into something suitable for a few hours outdoors, and be ready to go in a few moments."
"No hurry," said Anthony equably, dropping into an armchair near the fire. "Your father and I can talk hunting until you return."
Tessa did hurry, nonetheless, for she was more than eager to show Lord Anthony that she could be of help— more help than he expected, in fact. Of course, she also wanted to see Zephyr again, she reminded herself as Sally buttoned her into a peach wool day dress that was loose enough in the skirt to allow for riding, but demure enough for a tea indoors as well. Snatching up her brown pelisse and matching bonnet, she ran back down to the parlor.
