by Joan Wolf
I was curious, but his marital status was not my business and I didn’t ask.
*
The stables were a revelation. There were three separate buildings: one for the carriage horses, one for the riding horses and one for the farm horses. The earl took me into the riding horse barn, where Alonzo was housed.
Stoddard must have been looking for us for he appeared almost immediately. “Shall I have the horses saddled, my lord?” he asked.
“Yes. Lady Isabel and I are going to visit Alonzo first.”
“How was he last night?” I asked the Head Groom. “Did he settle in?”
“He settled in like a champion, my lady. He stood quiet while we rubbed him down, and when we put him in his stall he ate every bit of his grain and hay. When I looked in on him at midnight he was stretched out on his side and snoring.” He shook his head. “I never seen a stallion that calm.”
“He’s an Andalusian. They are known for their excellent temperament.”
“Oh, that’s what he is. I never saw a horse like him. Our thoroughbred stallions don’t have that kind of muscle.”
The earl asked, “Is Alonzo still in his stall or have you put him outside?”
“I kept him in just in case Lady Isabel wanted to see him before you rode out, my lord.”
I beamed at Stoddard. “Thank you. I want to see him very much.”
“Follow me, my lady.”
The stable aisle was wide and immaculate. There was not a trace of hay or manure on the stone floor and the air smelled fresh and clean. Alonzo was at the end of the aisle, with an empty stall between him and the nearest horse. His stall had a double door with the bottom door closed and the top door latched open. I stepped close to the opening and said softly, “Bonjour, mon ami. You are behaving yourself I hear.”
He had been hunting in his straw bedding for loose hay but at the sound of my voice his head shot up. He nickered, crossed the stall to push his nose into my outstretched hand, and nickered again. I kept my back to the two men, scratching my horse’s face and behind his ears. There were tears in my eyes, and I didn’t want them to see.
Stop being such a baby, I scolded myself. Alonzo has traveled all his life. What made you think he would be unhappy in this beautiful stable?
The earl said, “Stoddard and I will wait for you in the stableyard, Isabel. Come when you’re ready.”
Still with my back to him, I nodded. When they were gone, I began to talk to Alonzo.
Chapter Eight
The mare the earl gave me to ride was a beauty. Her bay coat shone like mahogany in the sunlight, and the arch of her neck was perfect. Stoddard stood at her head as we waited for the earl to mount.
“She can be tricky, my lady,” he warned me. “But if you ride that stallion I reckon you can manage her.”
“We’ll be fine,” I said with a smile.
The earl moved his horse up beside me and we walked out of the stableyard together. I looked at the horse he had chosen and smiled. He was lovely. His gray coat had turned pure white—as Alonzo’s would when he grew old—but his ears were pricked, and he was prancing a little. He was clearly delighted to be going for a ride.
I said, “Did you choose to ride Silver Boy because he would be a settling influence on the mare?”
He laughed. “I see I’m caught out. Gypsy has a mind of her own. She’s thrown just about everyone who ever rode her. But she respects Silver Boy.”
“She’ll respect me too,” I said. Just as I finished my sentence a rabbit ran across our path. Gypsy took exception to this interloper and bucked. I pulled her head up, closed my legs around her and sent her forward. I felt her gathering for another buck and I closed my legs tighter. Her head came up in surprise and she scooted forward in a trot. I brought her back to a walk and waited for the earl to catch up.
“Thank you!” he said as Silver Boy came alongside of me. “I love this mare. She can jump over the moon if she wants to, but she’s not calm enough to hunt.”
“Is that what you want to do with her? Hunt?”
“It’s why I bought her. She’s big enough to carry me and she has enough bone to be a hunter. I just don’t fancy being bucked off in front of all my friends.”
“I’ve seen other horses like this. They’re too smart for their own good. If they see a chance to take advantage, they will. Gypsy would probably do well as a hunter. It would keep her mind occupied.”
The earl looked down at me in surprise. “Do you think she’s bored?”
“Certainly she’s bored. You English…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want to insult the man.
“What about the English?”
Well, he had asked me. “You don’t know how to ride,” I said bluntly.
We had been riding along a very pretty trail, which went through what the earl called the “Home Woods.” Alonzo would enjoy such a ride; he would find it relaxing. But if all he did was walk trot and canter through the woods every day, he’d be bored to death. Alonzo liked to think.
I shared this thought with the earl. “He likes to think?” he repeated.
“He does. Most horses don’t. They’re happy if they are taken care of, fed, exercised and given a chance to be with other horses. But the special horse—the horse like Alonzo and, I believe, this mare—they get bored. And when they’re bored they get up to all sorts of tricks—like throwing their riders.”
We were trotting side by side as we spoke, and now we came out of the woods into an open pasture. “Care for a gallop?” the earl said.
My answer was to send Gypsy forward. I had never before ridden a thoroughbred at the gallop and it was wonderful. Gypsy was young and healthy and bred to run. She told me through the reins how happy she was. I gathered her a little, so she was in better balance, and she gave to me. When we had reached the woods on the far side of the pasture we pulled up. I patted her neck and told her what a good girl she was. She was very pleased with herself.
The earl and Silver Boy arrived. Silver Boy was breathing normally, and I gave full credit to the earl for keeping his horses in good condition. Gypsy began to sidle around. She wanted to gallop again. I said, “She doesn’t know how to yield to the leg. I could teach her that if you like. Right now all she knows what to do when you put your leg on her is to go forward.”
He said, “If she’s going to be a hunter, isn’t that all she needs to know?”
I shook my head. “You need to have control of your horse’s hindquarters if you’re going to be safe.’”
“If you’d like to work with her, I would be most appreciative,” he said. “The hunting season starts in December and I really would like to hunt Gypsy.”
I had been worried about what I was going to find to do in this place and now I had something. I beamed at him and said, “I would love to.”
*
We galloped some more and then the earl led us to a lovely little clairiere—he called it a “glade.” It was a grassy open space on the river that ran through the earl’s property. By this time even Gypsy was willing to stop and graze for a while.
The earl and I sat comfortably on the new grass. The early sunlight filtered through the subtly greening branches of the trees and the earl picked up a stone that was near to him and threw it into the river making it skip.
And that single movement—the image of his arm arching to release the stone, of his eyes intently following the arc of the stone as it landed, his look of satisfaction when it skipped four times—the Earl of Camden became a real person to me. He might be an earl, he might be rich, he might wield enormous power, but he threw stones into the river just like every other boy or man I ever knew. I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
He had stretched out on the grass, leaning up on his elbow so he could face me. The sun slanting from the east shone on his hair and face. “I have a favor to ask of you Isabel,” he said.
I tilted my head in inquiry. “What favor?”
“I would like it
very much if you would stop calling me ‘my lord,’ and start calling me ‘Leo.’”
“Aunt Augusta calls you ‘Camden.’”
“Sometimes, when she is being very correct. My brother, my sister-in-law, my nephews and my cousin Roger all call me Leo. I should like you to join them.”
“I suppose I can do that,” I said carefully.
He smiled at me. He had to know the power of that smile. “Thank you, Isabel,” he said.
I said, “You’re welcome,” and didn’t smile back.
*
We left the horses off at the stable and returned to the house for breakfast. As we reached the room that Leo called the breakfast room, we saw Aunt Augusta coming slowly down the stairs. We waited for her, and when she reached the bottom she stared at me in horror. “What is that extraordinary outfit you are wearing?” she demanded.
“I am wearing my riding clothes,” I replied calmly. “Leo and I went for a ride before breakfast.”
Aunt Augusta said to Leo, “I have been thanking God she speaks English as we do, even if she does have an unfortunate French accent. Imagine if she had learned from some low-class person who lived in a place like Yorkshire.” She shuddered at the very thought.
Both Papa and I learned English from a young man who had helped with the circus horses one season. Jamie had told us he was the third son of a well-off family and his father had tried to push him into the church. He had wanted to go into the army, but his father wouldn’t buy him a commission. So he ran away and joined our circus. He remained with us over the winter, but Papa wouldn’t let him come on tour with us again. He said Jamie was too interested in me. I had liked him, and I missed the opportunity to practice my English.
Aunt Augusta followed up her statement about my English with further words about my person, “We must get this poor child some proper clothing immediately. She cannot meet people looking as she does now.”
I looked at her steadily and said, “My clothing is perfectly respectable. I don’t mind adding a few items to my wardrobe, but this is what I wear when I ride. I will never wear one of those voluminous skirts aristocratic women are swathed in when they ride sidesaddle.”
Aunt Augusta’s nose quivered. “Camden,” she said. “Will you please talk some sense into this chit?”
Leo replied in a voice that might sound pleasant but was unmistakably the voice of authority. “Isabel is a brilliant rider, Aunt Augusta. If these are the clothes she wishes to wear while she is in the saddle, then she will wear them. However, I do agree that she needs a new wardrobe. I was wondering if Aunt Jane might be persuaded to take her shopping. I believe Susan will be making her come-out this year. The girls might enjoy each other’s company.”
Aunt Augusta’s nostrils flared, and her nose quivered even more. “Very well, Camden,” she said stiffly. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is.” He treated her to his beguiling smile. “I know your sensibilities are outraged, Aunt, but anyone who sees Isabel ride will understand. Now, come along and let us have breakfast.”
The old lady melted. I suspected Leo usually got the result he wanted with that smile. I suspected that he knew it too.
“Very well,” Aunt Augusta replied. She turned to me, a stern look on her face, and said, “I am certain that Isabel will prefer to change before she joins us.”
She didn’t suggest that Leo change from his riding clothes, but I refrained from pointing that out and agreed with her. It made no sense to ruffle Aunt Augusta’s feathers any more than they already were. I had agreed to live here for six months and it would be idiotic to alienate the people I had to share the house with.
*
I changed into the rust-colored day dress our local seamstress had made. Elisabeth brushed out my hair, wound it into a bun on the nape of my neck, and I went downstairs to eat.
The breakfast room had added two more people, Leo’s brother Robert and his wife Margaret. Margaret saw me first and said, “Breakfast is on the side table, Isabel. Help yourself.”
I was expecting to see baguettes, croissants, brioche, perhaps even pain au chocolate. But there was food on the table. Real food, like ham, bacon, kidneys, smoked fish. The thought of eating meat for breakfast made my stomach turn. I put a boiled egg and 2 muffins on my plate and took a seat next to Margaret.
Robert was talking to Leo about a repair on the estate and Aunt Augusta was listening, so Margaret turned to me and said pleasantly, “I hear you and Leo went for a ride this morning, Isabel.”
I swallowed the piece of muffin in my mouth and replied, “Yes, we did. The property is beautiful.”
Margaret smiled faintly. “Camden Hall has over 7,000 acres, and 2,300 tenants farm the land. My husband manages the estate for his brother.”
I had taken another bite of muffin and had to chew it and swallow before I could speak again. Margaret turned her face back to the table and picked up her cup. Her profile was perfect. She was a very beautiful woman. I wondered why she had married the brother and not the earl.
Her family probably weren’t good enough, I thought cynically. We French are very pragmatic about such things. Rank counts even on the village level. The baker’s daughter could never marry the son of the local landowner. She wouldn’t have enough to offer her new family.
“I understand you have two sons,” I said when I had finished chewing.
She turned to me and smiled radiantly. She was really gorgeous. “Yes, we do. David is ten and Charles is eight. They will be coming home from Eton for the summer. I cannot wait to see them.”
“Is this Eton a school?”
She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch. “It is the finest school in England. Only boys from the very best families are accepted there. David is Leo’s heir, so of course he had to go to Eton. And Charles naturally followed his brother.”
“They do not live at home? But they are only ten and eight. Is that not difficile for them?”
“Oh, they are homesick at first, of course. But they soon adjust.”
“And you? Do you miss them?”
“Of course I do,” she retorted. “What kind of mother do you think I am?”
I drew back in my chair. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re a very good mother. I never meant to suggest otherwise.”
There was a short silence, then she gave me a repentant smile. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Isabel. It’s just that I miss them very much and it hurt that you thought I might feel otherwise.”
I returned her smile. “I understand. I am looking forward to meeting them.”
We both returned to our breakfasts.
Chapter Nine
My first weeks at Camden Hall were horrid. The family might have been speaking Russian for all the sense they made to me. I tried my best to hide my feelings and act like the polite, accommodating girl I had promised Papa I would be. But alone in my room at night I had such an ache of emptiness in my heart that I thought I might die of it. I hated this huge house. I hated the dreadful food. I hated Aunt Augusta for wanting to turn me into an English lady. The only thing that kept me in England was the thought of the money that would ensure Papa’s future. I couldn’t remember a time when we had not been together, and his absence was a constant ache in my heart.
On my first day at Camden, Aunt Augusta had taken me on a tour of the house. It took hours, and by the time she was finished my head was reeling with the names of all of the priceless paintings and sculptures and furniture I had seen. I liked what I had seen of the medieval part of the house, with its crooked layout and small rooms, far better than I liked the magnificence of the new part.
Leo asked me if I enjoyed Aunt Augusta’s tour and I had said what I thought: “It isn’t right that one man should own so much when so many people are going hungry.”
“I don’t own it, Isabel. I am only keeping it in trust for the next generation.”
“Of your family.”
“Yes. Of my family.”
“If you lived in Franc
e you would have had your head cut off.”
“I probably would have,” he agreed amiably. “Fortunately, however, I do not live in France. I live in England, and I can assure you that not a single man, woman or child who lives on my property is starving.”
I shrugged. “You asked for my opinion.”
“And now I have it,” he replied, and changed the subject. “I know you must be homesick. Is there anything I can do to make this transition easier for you?”
I had an immediate answer to this question. “I would very much like to have a room that can be for only me and Elisabeth. A little parlor will do. In the old side of the house preferably. Everywhere we go in the big house it seems we meet a family member. We have to stay in my bedroom if we want to talk or read.”
Two days after this discussion Leo showed me a lovely room in the medieval part of the house. The walls were painted pale yellow and it had a westerly view from its two windows so I could see the lake. It was also big enough to hold a sofa, several comfortable chairs, two bookcases, a desk and a table. The rug on the floor was old, but still thick enough to warm up the room. The fireplace was made of brick.
“It’s yours, Isabel,” Leo said. “For you and Elisabeth. I will make it clear to the family that they are not to disturb you unless they have been invited.”
It was really Aunt Augusta and Roger I needed to avoid. I rarely saw Robert or Margaret except at dinnertime. Robert had an office in the house but was often out on the property. I had no idea where Margaret hid herself during the day. Aunt Augusta, on the other hand, was omnipresent, and Roger always seemed to appear when I least expected him. I didn’t like Roger. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, and I didn’t like the way he called me “Circus Girl” when we were alone.
*
My first month at Camden went by and I was surprised to find myself too busy to think about my enforced exile. I rode with Leo in the morning, spent time with Elisabeth in my new sitting room, wrote long letters to Papa, did some reading, went back to the stable in the afternoon and worked with Leo on his seat and aids.
