by Mary Nichols
What had he said to Felicity? Were they already betrothed? Each day she looked for a letter from her sister but none came. She did not know what to make of that but there was so much to do she was able to push it from her mind. Richard’s two new horses had arrived and were being fed and put to work to strengthen their stamina, and there was Bright Star, whose training was coming along nicely according to plan. She had been walked out every morning, followed by trotting on the open land at the top of the hill, and every afternoon the filly had a rest in her box, looking out over the door with intelligent interest in what was going on around her. Feeding and grooming and inspection filled the rest of her day. Tomorrow morning, she was due for another gallop. Georgie became almost cheerful.
One of the men whom she had taken on was a real find. His name was Jem Brown and he had come with excellent references from a titled gentleman in the Shires and was hard-working and knowledgeable. He was a very big man, forty or thereabouts, neatly dressed in fustian breeches and gaiters, with a clean stock and a striped waistcoat, in the pocket of which he kept a very fine timepiece. She felt she had seen it before, but when she commented on it he said it had been a parting gift from his previous employer. He had, he told her, only left there because his sister had been recently widowed and needed him to live with her. Dawson, for some reason she could not fathom, didn’t take to him, though he was careful not to let it show. She concluded that her old friend and retainer was jealous and took particular care not to do anything to exacerbate it.
It was Jem who came to her one day with the news that Bright Star had been injured.
‘I only left her a minute, missus,’ he said. ‘She backed herself into the wall and there was a hay-rake there...’
‘What was a hay-rake doing in her box to start with?’ she demanded, running to the filly’s stable and throwing open the door. Bright Star was standing in her box with a wild look in her eye which frightened Georgie. Her rump was streaming with blood from a very deep cut.
‘Shouldn’t go near if I was you,’ Jem said. ‘She’ll kick as soon as look at you.’
‘Nonsense. Go and fetch my bag; we’ll have to dress that.’
He returned in less than a minute with the bag in which she kept salve and liniment, followed by Dawson. The two men held the filly while Georgie tended to the cut. It was very deep and she was afraid it had touched the muscle, in which case there was no question of racing her. Not until the animal was comfortable did Georgie begin questioning the lads to find out how the rake had come to be left in the box. It was Tom’s task to clean the stable out, but he tearfully maintained that he had not left the rake there. ‘Soon as I finished I put it in the tack-room,’ he insisted. ‘You gotta believe me.’
‘I found it in the box,’ Jem said belligerently. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘No, of course he is not,’ Georgie said, and then to Tom, ‘Are you quite sure? Perhaps you had to do something else and just put it down and forgot it.’
‘No, and whatever I had to do I wouldn’t be such a ninny as to leave a rake in a box with a horse, would I? I don’t ever put the animal back after her exercise until I’m sure everything’s right and tight. It’s what I ha’ bin taught and it’s what I do.’ His face was bright red with resentment; he couldn’t understand why Miss Georgie should believe he’d do anything so dreadful.
‘I am sure you are right,’ she said, but it did not answer the original question. How had the rake got there? Had it been a deliberate attempt to harm the filly? In that case, she could discount Tom and, come to that, all her old hands. That left the new ones. She was tempted to dismiss them all, but she knew she could not manage without them and it would be palpably unfair to punish them all for the wrongdoing of one.
She ordered a watch to be kept twenty-four hours a day and worked out a rota for those entrusted with the task. It made them tired and irritable because they still had their ordinary work to do and it did not stop the troubles. One of Richard’s new mounts developed colic, which necessitated throwing out a large part of Georgie’s valuable store of feed which had become contaminated. And another went lame, although fortunately not seriously.
Georgie began to think she was either very unlucky or the victim of a calculated attempt to ruin her. She knew she ought to send word to the Major, tell him what was happening, because loss of horses would affect his chances in the race to York, but she had no idea how to reach him. And he would think her a poor sort of trainer if she could not protect her own animals. She resolved to be even more vigilant.
Bright Star did not heal as quickly as she had hoped and she was forced to withdraw her from the race, but with all the care she was receiving the filly did begin to mend. However, the nursing and the patrolling of the stables half the night, besides riding out and schooling the younger horses, took their toll of Georgie’s health and she began to look and feel haggard, weighed down by her responsibilities. Perhaps everyone was right; perhaps managing a busy stables was no job for a woman. She scolded herself severely whenever such a traitorous thought entered her head and bent to her work with added determination.
She was crossing the stable-yard one morning with a bucket of water, slopping it about because it was heavy and she was too tired to carry it properly, when the sound of a rider coming into the yard made her look up. It was Richard on Pegasus, as tall and handsome and lordly as ever.
He dismounted and stood and watched her as she set the bucket to one side and came to-meet him. She looked deathly pale and moved as if her shoes had lead weights in them.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded when she drew nearer and he could see the dark circles under her eyes.
‘Nothing I cannot handle.’
He smiled; she had become no less stubborn since he had seen her last. ‘Don’t gammon me, Miss Paget. Have you been ill?’
‘No, it’s the horses. Come, I want to show you something.’
He handed his reins to Tom and followed her to Bright Star’s box. She opened the door. ‘See.’
He whistled. ‘How did that happen?’
‘My negligence,’ she said. ‘Fine trainer I turned out to be, didn’t I? I have failed you.’
He made no attempt to contradict her; in her present mood she would not have listened. ‘Tell me what happened.’
She did, as briefly as possible. ‘I had hoped it was only superficial, but as you see the cut is quite deep. She won’t be able to make the start next Tuesday.’
‘No, of course not. But I am sure of one thing; that wound was not made by falling against anything. If it was a rake, it was quite deliberately drawn down her flanks, and hard, too.’
‘That’s what I thought. But I cannot think who could have done it. I have questioned everyone and got nowhere. Someone does not want you to win, but it is only a minor race and I cannot think who could be so cruel to a defenceless animal.’
‘You have obviously done all you can,’ he said, giving the filly a sugar lump and leaving the box. ‘She is recovering but I am not so sure about you.’
She did not want to talk about herself. ‘There have been other incidents. Only small ones, but they have mounted up. I have to have eyes in the back of my head.’
‘You must rest. Never mind the horses; Dawson is quite capable and trustworthy.’
‘But they are my responsibility. I am trying to prove my worth, or were you not aware of that?’
‘I am only too aware of it, Miss Paget. It is taking over your life and if you go on in this way you will be burned to the socket. Come indoors; I wish to talk to you.’
She led the way inside, ordered Mrs Thorogood to make tea and called to Fanny to come and sit with her, then she preceded him into the drawing-room and invited him, as formally as she could, to be seated. He obeyed, knowing that this was going to be a strictly business meeting and she was protecting herself from any chance of intimacy. Neither spoke until the tea-tray was set before her and Fanny had stationed herself in the window-seat with some e
mbroidery.
She poured the tea and handed him a cup with hands that shook. ‘I must give you a report on the horses you bought,’ she said. ‘And also those which Dawson had set aside for you to hire. Bright Star you have seen. I shall allow her only gentle exercise on a lunge until that cut is healed; she cannot be ridden.’
‘Do not blame yourself,’ he said softly, wishing he could take the worried look from her face. ‘There will be other races, many of them.’
She gave him a quick look of gratitude and then dropped her gaze to her teacup. ‘The horses for the York ride are all ready and we await only your final instructions.’
‘I have been over every inch of the route in the last week,’ he said. ‘Ostlers will be at the ready at every stage to bring forward a new mount and care for the one I leave behind. Refreshment for me will be waiting as well, though I doubt I shall need much. I have hired the horses for the last half of the run locally and arranged for them to be taken to the various post houses. I’ll take Pegasus for the first stretch and ride him as hard as I dare, then the two I bought in Newmarket, followed by four from Dullingham House. The grooms there will see that they are in place. That will bring me to the Barley Mow near Baldock. Then if you can have yours ready for the middle stages that covers them all.’
‘Do you still want Warrior?’ she asked.
He looked up with a smile and their glances met and held for a long second, then he smiled. ‘He would make all the difference.’
‘Then you may have him. Where do you want him stationed?’
‘The Barley Mow will be ideal. If one of your men could bring him there for midnight?’
‘He will be there.’ She indicated his empty cup. ‘More tea?’
‘No, thank you. I must get myself to London if I am to be there in good time to rest Pegasus before the start.’ He rose to go and she accompanied him to the door.
‘Did you see Felicity when you were in town?’ she asked as soon as they were out of earshot of Fanny.
‘No; I called on Lady Hereward but the young ladies were out on a boat trip up the river and were not expected back until late. I could not wait.’
‘So she still does not know what happened?’
‘Not from my lips.’
‘Oh, Richard, how could you not make a greater push to see her? If Lord Barbour has already started to spread his lies, she will have heard all about it from others and it is not the way I wished her to learn of it.’
He felt constrained to defend himself, though her use of his given name cheered him. ‘Dammit, I hung about for hours and all to no purpose. Why didn’t you write and tell her yourself, if you were so worried about it?’
‘Writing is not the same as saying something face to face, is it? Besides, I have not had a minute to myself to compose such a difficult letter.’
‘Difficult?’ he queried, a half-smile playing about his lips. ‘Yes, I suppose it would be.’
‘You will go and see her the minute you arrive in town, won’t you? I fear what Lord Barbour will do.’
‘He is far too busy making his own arrangements to win the race to have time for spreading rumours,’ he said, hoping to reassure her, though he was not so sure himself; his lordship had a knack of getting others to do his dirty work for him. ‘And in any case he will want to do it when it has maximum impact and that is not now, when everyone is talking about the race and wondering if in two days’ time they are going to be very rich or plucked clean.’ That much was probably true. ‘But if it pleases you I will go and see her as soon as I arrive.’
‘Thank you.’
She stood on the front steps and watched him go down and mount Pegasus, whom Tom had brought to the door for him. Then he was gone again with no more than a, `Good-day to you, Miss Paget.’
She went back indoors and returned to her now cold tea. There was to be no more intimacy with him and that was as it should be. Their relationship was a business one and looked at like that the next few days would be the turning point as far as the stables were concerned. They would stand or fall with Major Baverstock and the irony of it was not lost on her. She suddenly felt so weary that she knew she could not go on without a rest. ‘I’m going to lie down for half an hour,’ she told Fanny. Perhaps when she had rested she would be able to view the prospect of Richard as a brother-in-law with more equanimity.
Richard himself, riding at a leisurely pace towards London in order not to overtire Pegasus, could not think of her as a sister and never would. He made up his mind to see Felicity as she had asked, as he had tried to do before he had gone to York, but only to throw himself on her mercy. He might not have offered for her formally, but everyone expected it and it would be difficult to back out of the interview without humiliating her. He could not refuse to marry her; his only hope was that she would reject him. She did not want to marry him, he was fairly sure of that, but was she strong enough to defy her aunt and disappoint her sister? And even if she did, would he be able to win Georgie? He did not think so.
All Miss Paget thought about was her horses and keeping the stables running, an impossible task for a woman and the state she was in proved it. Looking at her today, he could hardly believe she was the same delightfully feminine woman who had danced the night away in London and galloped in the park; she had looked exhausted, careless of her clothes and hair. He had longed to take the strain from her, to tell her he would undertake everything and she was not to worry, but he knew her well enough to realise that that would only have served to infuriate her. She would have taken it as a direct criticism of her ability to manage; she had to be allowed to realise her limitations for herself.
He smiled wryly as he walked Pegasus into the inn yard of the Swan at Stevenage; she had not reached her limit yet; there was more strength in her, more pluck than in many a man, and he loved her all the more for it. But at the end, what then? How could he help her? Marrying her seemed to be the obvious answer, but if she thought for a single minute that it was pity for her situation or a desire to control Sir Henry’s stables which prompted him to ask she would turn him down flat. And neither was true. He wanted her for what she was, the woman he loved, the woman he could not be happy without. His love for Maria had faded into the mists of the past; he could not go on living in the past.
He smiled, imagining a future full of bright happiness, surrounded by a loving family, wife, sister, father and children. Yes, Georgie’s children would be tall and beautiful. But it was only a dream. Felicity might not turn him down, however he phrased his proposal, and that mischievous baronet might do untold damage.
And there was that race. If he won, then Rowan Park would be given as much credit as he could manage, but, if he lost, the reputation of the stables, which had been on a down slope ever since Sir Henry died, would slide even further down to extinction. It was no longer a race between two men over a single horse, it was life and death to Georgie and his own hopes for the future. He rode into London next morning with two things foremost in his mind: to see Miss Felicity Paget and to win the race to York. He would look no further than that.
He had not been back at Baverstock House above half an hour when John Melford called on him.
‘Good to see you back, old fellow,’ he said on being shown into the library where Richard was sitting at his desk poring over a well-used map with a glass of Madeira at his elbow. ‘Been watching out for you.’
‘Come in. Sit down and have a glass of wine. I was just going over the route for the last time.’
John poured himself a glass of Madeira and sat in a chair, though he seemed somewhat on edge. ‘You’ve been over it?’
‘Every step. Timing is all-important.’
‘And, of course, Rowan Park is not on the way at all.’
Richard gave no indication of surprise or puzzlement, other than a slight lifting of one eyebrow. ‘Not precisely on the route, no, but it is only a dozen or so miles off it. Why do you ask?’
‘Thought you might have called there.’
‘I did. You must know Miss Paget is looking after some of my horses and lending me others.’ He paused and looked hard at his friend. ‘Why are you quizzing me in this fashion?’
‘Didn’t know I was.’
‘Yes, you are. Out with it.’
‘There is talk...’ He stopped, knowing Richard’s temper could sometimes be volcanic. ‘Talk that you have spent time there...’
‘I just said I did, didn’t I? If you are insinuating any impropriety, then I shall have to ask you to leave.’ His voice was dangerously calm.
‘Stow it, Richard, I was just warning you to expect squalls, that’s all.’
‘From Miss Felicity Paget, I suppose.’
‘No, I should hope it ain’t yet reached her ears. And she wouldn’t judge you anyhow; she’s far too sensible. But I shouldn’t like to think you were doing the dirty on her. If you were, friend or no, I should be constrained to call you out for it.’ He looked so thunderous, Richard laughed.
‘I am trembling in my boots, John.’
‘It is no laughing matter.’
‘Oh, I agree whole-heartedly. But who can possibly be spreading these malicious rumours, I wonder? Could it be a certain aristocratic gentleman who has more than a little to gain if I lose this race?’ He tapped the map in front of him. ‘Let’s concentrate on that, shall we?’
‘Very well. What can I do to help?’
‘Go to York, be in at the finish. I’d appreciate a friend to greet me when I arrive. Take the Baverstock coach post-chaise, so we can return in comfort; somehow I don’t think I shall want to ride back. You’ll have to leave tonight if you’re to be there on time.’ John’s hesitation was only momentary but it was enough for Richard to raise his eyebrow once again. ‘Does that not suit?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Delighted, my dear fellow. I’ll take my leave. Have to cancel an engagement.’ He threw the remains of his wine down his throat, set the glass down and stood up, all in one movement. ‘See you in York for breakfast the day after tomorrow.’
