Saving Lady Ilsa

by Crystal Kauffman

  But when the driver opened the door it was Roberta who stepped out. She smiled bashfully at the driver, her blush visible even in the fading light of dusk.

  Dietrich narrowed his eyes. The driver hopped onto the bridge and snapped the reins. The carriage rolled away.

  Roberta fumbled with the door latch. Clumsy fool. The baby screeched again, shattering his nerves.

  “Where’s Ilsa?”

  Roberta winced and closed the door gently behind herself, stalling.

  “She in’t with me.”

  “I can see that!”

  She straightened her spine. Dietrich understood the big woman wasn’t much afraid of him, and it solidified his suspicions.

  “She ain’t comin’,” Roberta said, confirming as much. “Mr. Stratton sends his compensation.”

  “He what?”

  She tossed a messenger’s sack onto his table. He stared at it like she’d thrown a spider at him. “He offers compensation for the salary of her replacement.” Roberta glared at him. “I trust you’ll be payin’ fer your last order of wool from that.”

  He lifted the sack. It was heavy, indeed, but it hardly compensated. The stack of pound notes inside made his breath catch.

  But it still wasn’t enough. He needed Ilsa back where she belonged—working her days in his shop, and working her nights in his bed with her legs splayed open.

  He would have his rightful heir, if he had to beat it out of her.

  * * * * *

  Ilsa was still reeling when she sat down to lunch with Bradford and Frederick. Not only was she feeling increasing trepidation about Dietrich’s intentions, the visit with Bradford’s solicitor had twisted her stomach into knots. While his cottage—rather his estate—in Aberystwyth was far too grand to accept regardless, she simply could not marry Bradford if she could not provide him and Frederick what they truly needed of her. It simply wouldn’t be fair to them. Even if they wouldn’t admit now to themselves they wanted the woman Bradford chose as his wife to be spouse and lover to them both, she knew they would realize it eventually. If she couldn’t join them in their bed—together—she couldn’t stay.

  And to her chagrin, things turned even worse when Bradford delivered an insistent invitation she join them on their ride in the afternoon.

  “We’ve been granted a short reprieve from the rain, and the horses are restless.”

  She set her soup spoon down, feeling embarrassed though she knew she had no reason to. “I do not ride.”

  “Everyone rides,” Frederick said.

  “I have never been on the back of a horse.”

  He lifted his brows. “Truly? Never?”

  She smothered a frown. “Mr. Brudenel, do you understand why the working class is called such? I assure you it is not because they spend their time frolicking about on the back of a horse.”

  Which in itself was an entirely terrifying prospect. She’d once had her foot tromped on by a horse which she’d sworn had been purposeful, and another time nearly been run over by the unconcerned driver of some nobleman’s Clarence. Horses had come to frighten her so that she took care even approaching a carriage to board.

  “Enough work for the while, Ilsa,” Bradford said in a gently stern voice. He helped her out of her chair and took her by the elbow. “All ladies must learn to ride. I know a fine habit was delivered with the dresses yesterday, and I long to see you in it.”

  She wrung her hands. “I’ll confess it, then. I’m afraid.”

  This seemed to amuse Frederick even more. “Afraid, you? I don’t believe it.” She tossed him a frayed glance and the humor left his face. He rose and approached as well. “I suppose horses can be a trifle fearsome, but you’re one of the strongest women I know. And I think by now you’ve learned to trust Bradford.”

  Ilsa looked at him. Bradford lifted his brows. “I would never let harm come to you.”

  “The dapple gray, I assume,” Frederick said.

  “Of course. I’ll tell Havers.”

  “Never mind. I’ll go.” Frederick paused at her side and touched her elbow just below Bradford’s hand on her arm. “I promise, you’ll have a grand time.”

  Her stomach was swimming by the time Ilsa met the men in the gathering area by the stable. She’d had breakfast on the lower balcony at the rear of the house one rare, sunny morning, but she’d never seen the stables up close. She understood this was a special area for members of a fox hunt to gather before the horn, with mounting blocks for the ladies and decorative planters of flowers and sculpted juniper creating a garden-like setting.

  She laughed, nearly brought to tears when she saw their mounts. Frederick held the reins of a sleek black thoroughbred and a groom held the animal she supposed Bradford would ride—a large, sturdy-looking chestnut with a white blaze and four white socks. But it was the fat gray pony looking funnily out of place beside the two spectacular horses that caused her heart to swell with gratitude. She needn’t have recognized the sidesaddle to know this was her mount, for it was a sweet-looking, squat animal more suited to a child than any experienced male equestrian. It stood calmly, long pink tongue lapping in and out as it worked the bit in its mouth. It regarded her with soft, patient eyes as she approached.

  “Ilsa, meet Daffodil.”

  She smiled, all the tension rushing out of her. “Utterly charmed.”

  He handed her a peppermint. “Hold your palm flat, like this. That way she won’t mistake one of your fingers for a carrot. There you go. You’re the best of friends already.”

  Daffodil picked up the peppermint with gentle, velvety lips. The pony was short enough she could see over its withers. Frederick mounted his impossibly tall horse with ease. The beast immediately tried to leap away. He reined the animal back, causing it to rear.

  “Oh my,” she said, impressed by his calm skill. He quieted the horse with a pat to the neck and walked it around them in circles. It tossed its head and snorted, eager for a gallop.

  “You’ll sit here, like this,” Bradford explained. “One knee over, one knee under, and your rear leg in the stirrup. Don’t be afraid, Daffodil is an excellent tutor.”

  Ilsa stroked the pony’s neck. “Be nice and there are peppermints a‘plenty in your future.”

  “Ready now, up!” Bradford lifted her by the hips as though she weighed nothing. Ilsa experienced the most peculiar flutter in her stomach. He made her feel delicate and feminine, when being taller than many men usually made her feel clumsy and oafish.

  Daffodil shifted under her weight and Ilsa grasped a handful of mane. Her leather gloves gave her a slippery grip on the pony’s silky hair, so she grasped for the loose reins instead. Bradford took her hand.

  “Easy now, you’re doing fine.” He gathered the slack in the reins and showed her how to properly hold them.

  “I don’t feel fine.” She held tight to the reins and Daffodil started walking backward. “Bradford!”

  “Don’t pull so much. She thinks you’re telling her to go back.”

  She released her tension, and sure enough, Daffodil stopped.

  “Horses are delicate creatures. You need only to give gentle commands. A nudge from your heel, a pressure on the rein. When walking a straight line, merely a shift of your weight will urge her to alter course. Try it now, lean just a bit.”

  She did, and Daffodil stepped sideways to compensate like a person might who was pushed on the shoulder.

  “Let’s try a walk now, shall we? Give a nudge of your heel and a cluck of your tongue.”

  Ilsa’s hands were shaking as she did. The pony ambled forward with a pleasing, rolling motion. Contrary to her fears, Ilsa did not feel as though she would fall.

  Bradford walked with her to the end of the open area. “All right, now give a slight pressure with your left rein, and perhaps glance at me to shift your weight ever so slightly. That’s it, well done. In most cases, a simple glance in the direction you wish to go is all you need.”

  The pony made a wide circle back toward Brad
ford. “Now a slight tug on both reins again, tell her ‘ho’ and lean back. Very good.”

  Ilsa was grinning like a fool. She gathered the reins in one hand and patted the pony on her silky neck. “Good girl. An extra serving of oats for you tonight.” Daffodil’s ears flipped back to listen.

  “We’ll take to the track around the greens. Frederick has started without us.”

  Sure enough, far across the rolling green hillside, Frederick was seen cantering toward a low box hedge. The black horse soared over it gracefully, Frederick looking expert in the saddle.

  “Surely you don’t expect me to do that,” she said with a nervous tremor. Truly, sitting atop the horse felt different than she imagined it would, and she liked the way Daffodil’s ears flipped around every time she spoke. Though she’d hardly walked ten steps upon the horse, the experience was so far thrilling.

  “Daffodil is too old for anything like that, but in her youth she was an obedient little hunter hack. She was my young cousin’s, until Adeline grew out of her.” He swung upon his chestnut and rode over to her. The horse towered over them, but Daffodil seemed at home walking beside him.

  “Now you’ve made me feel silly,” Ilsa chided him.

  Three steps and the large chestnut was already well ahead of them. Bradford reined the horse back and waited for the ambling pony to catch up. “This track winds around the property. Daffodil knows the route by heart. You’ve merely to go along for the ride.”

  Frederick cantered up and swung into step beside Bradford’s horse. The thoroughbred was breathing heavy and a sheen of sweat glistened on its neck. Its high energy stirred up the chestnut.

  “Shall we ride fences together?” he asked Bradford. His eyes held a light of energy as well.

  Just then a blackbird swooped out of a tree, spooking both horses. They tensed and whirled around, poised for flight.

  “Whoa!” Frederick said, laughing.

  “Pegasus, for God’s sake,” Bradford reprimanded his mount.

  Ilsa gave a little shriek, but other than lifting her head, Daffodil reacted with calm.

  “I’ll stay with Ilsa a few minutes longer, until she’s comfortable.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him in half-truth. “Daffodil has just proven herself a perfect nanny for the likes of me. Go on, have your fun. I’ll just continue to walk, here, at this slow pace. Slowly.”

  When he hesitated, she nodded. “Go.”

  Bradford and Frederick galloped off, winding and snaking around the green, always within view, urging their horses over a lovely course of obstacles. Though she’d never seen a hunting green before, Ilsa suspected this one was first-rate. Here an immense fallen tree lay just so, there a row of hedges were perfectly manicured. A solitary section of three lengths of fence, all of different heights, were painted bright red and white. Bradford guided his horse to the centermost and Frederick urged his horse over the tallest section. She could hear their excited voices, lightly challenging each other, and watched in awe as Frederick followed Bradford over a neat stone wall.

  “You don’t feel left out, do you, girl? That is sport for the boys and I much prefer this ladylike gait.” A flick of the ears was rewarded with a pat to the neck. “Good girl.”

  A drop of water hit her face, then another. Far in the distance, thunder rumbled. She tensed, but the pony simply flicked her ears about and kept walking. Ilsa gave a small tug on her left rein, and then another, and was quite pleased when Daffodil walked off the track toward a squat oak. The skies opened up with a gentle shower and dark spots peppered her navy blue habit just as she reached the shelter of the branches.

  Frederick and Bradford trotted their horses over.

  “It looks like we didn’t escape the rain after all.” He dismounted and handed the reins to Frederick, then helped her dismount. “I apologize, Ilsa.”

  “I think it’s wonderful.” She breathed in deeply. “Do you know, I haven’t smelled the rain in the country since I was a child.” She’d braced her hands on his forearms when he helped her down, yet she didn’t move away.

  Frederick led the horses to a low branch and looped their reins lightly, then moved behind Ilsa. “Are you cold?” He stroked her arms, pressing his body close.

  “Perhaps a bit,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. He dragged a loose lock of hair from the bare skin of her neck, making her tingle.

  The skies opened up, blurring the landscape with silver sheets of rain.

  “Have you given thought to your decision?” Bradford asked in a low voice.

  “You know you are wanted,” Frederick added.

  “I do,” she whispered. Imperceptibly, they had both moved closer until she felt their bodies pressing front and back.

  “And you have nothing to fear from us,” Bradford murmured, leaning to nuzzle her cheek.

  Frederick’s hands slid around her middle, making her drag in a heated breath. She leaned back against his shoulders, staring up at Bradford.

  Though fully clothed, in her mind she was naked, being displayed by one for the other. She closed her eyes and instantly fought the sensation of too many rough hands demanding her surrender, too-strong bodies overwhelming her from all sides. She sucked in her breath and stiffened.

  “Perhaps from you I don’t,” she said, gently pulling away.

  “But the fear is still there,” Bradford finished for her.

  She moved a few paces, staring out at the sheeting rain. Thick drops ran through the leaves of the oak and tapped on her shoulders and the top of her hat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It seems I am not the right woman for you after all.” The silence behind her she took for one man passing a silent message to the other. Perhaps they were formulating the way to voice the termination of this strange arrangement. She wouldn’t blame them in the least. But as hard as she tried, even as she promised herself that to return to Dietrich would make her life a hundred times worse, she could not envision herself naked in bed with the two of them without a surge of terror.

  “Ilsa, do not consider it a fault you are not prepared to service two men,” Bradford said, and strangely, it was Frederick who added, “I think you’ve done a jolly good job of tolerating us so far.”

  “True.” Bradford’s boots swished through the leaf litter. He stepped up behind her and gently touched her arms. “The wrong woman could cause me untold misery and bring about the ruination of my family name.”

  “Oh Bradford.” She whirled around and threw her arms around his middle. “I would never harm you. Never!” A rush of tears flooded and overflowed, and she sobbed like she hadn’t since she was a little girl. Frederick cautiously edged closer and stood beside them, rubbing his hand over her back with all the tenderness of a parent soothing a colicky child.

  These men were so kind and good to her. Ilsa felt worthless, ashamed she could not give them the one thing they needed of her. Bradford let her cry without paltry reassurances and she was glad, even as she knew it meant his acceptance their time was over.

  “I’m sorry.” She pulled off a glove to swipe her tears away. “I know a woman’s tears are a more fearsome thing to men than battle.”

  Bradford chuckled. “But you feel better now, yes?”

  She nodded. “I suppose I needed that.”

  “The rain is letting up,” Frederick said. “Perhaps we should take advantage of the lull.”

  Bradford helped her back onto Daffodil’s back and the two men mounted up. Not another word was spoken as they walked back to the stable at an easy pace. A groom took Daffodil’s reins and Bradford helped her down. “Go to the house and get dry,” he said in a gentle voice. “We’ll see you at dinner.”

  She wanted to protest. There were a hundred things she wanted to say, but nothing would come that didn’t seem like an excuse for cowardice.

  She watched them depart into the cavernous mouth of the barn with despair hanging over her heart as dark and heavy as the rain clouds in the sky. On heavy feet, she trekk
ed back to the main house alone, knowing tonight would be their final meal.

  Chapter Six

  Ilsa dressed in the emerald chiffon gown that had arrived the day before with the riding habit and several silky unmentionables. She stood in front of the mirror, soaking up the vision of her reflection. She would never again wear anything so fine, let alone call it her own.

  The brown parchment envelope in her hand tarnished the sight. She moved it behind her back and a new rush of tears stung her eyes.

  “Stop it, Ilsa.” It had been less than two weeks she’d been here, less than two weeks the cottage in Aberystwyth had been within her grasp. Though it had been her lifelong dream to own a cottage where she could live in peace, this one had been a very brief fantasy from which she could recover. She was strong. What was it they said? Easy come, easy go.

  Besides, this was no cottage. It was an estate sitting upon nine acres of land. She did not want something so grand, just a tiny two-room hut nestled into the forest somewhere. Her dream would come true another time.

  Unwelcome, her thoughts strayed to Dietrich. A shudder hit her shoulders. Had he sent for her because he needed her to finish her work? It was a legitimate reason, yet she could not escape the disquieting suspicion that with Katrin’s baby unsuitable to call his heir, he wanted to have another go at her.

  She forced the thought away. I must do the right thing, regardless. She looked at the envelope in her hand and a surge of regret rocked her heart. They deserve a woman who can be what they need, in all ways.

  She found Bradford and Frederick in the drawing room sipping aperitifs. A roaring fire snapped and popped in the hearth. She’d come to love this room, and understood why it was the place Bradford and Frederick occupied most. Though the furniture was fine, it possessed a slightly worn quality, comfortable and familiar, and something in the way it was arranged appealed to her. Both men rose and Bradford approached her.