Also By Isabella Thorne
The Georgette Quinby Series
The Mad Heiress ~ 4-in-1 Collection
The Mad Heiress Meets the Duke
The Mad Heiress and the Search for a Spy
The Mad Heiress Visits Vauxhall
The Mad Heiress and the Rose Room Rout
The Mad Heiress' Cousin and the Hunt
The Duke's Wicked Wager Series
Promise Me ~ 4-in-1 Collection
Promise Me a Handful of Horses
Promise Me Daring
Promise Me This Dance
Promise Me Your Heart
Mischief, Mayhem and Murder: A Marquis of Evermont Regency Romance
Other Books by Isabella Thorne
Mistletoe and Masquerade ~ 2-in-1 Collection
Just One Christmas Kiss
New Year’s Masquerade
Valentine’s Duel
Colonial Cressida and the Secret Duke
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Regency Romance: Promise Me ~ The Duke’s Wicked Wager Series
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Promise Me a Handful of Horses Copyright © 2016 by Isabella Thorne
Promise Me Daring Copyright © 2016 by Isabella Thorne
Promise Me This Dance Copyright © 2016 by Isabella Thorne
Promise Me Your Heart Copyright © 2016 by Isabella Thorne
Published by: Mikita Associates
Cover Art by Veronica Martinez
2016 Mikita Associates Print Edition
Published in the United States of America.
www.isabellathorne.com
Promise Me a Handful of Horses:
Regency Romance
1
Evelyn did not mean to eavesdrop—well maybe she did. It was hard not to. The door was cracked open and the voices inside were too loud to ignore. One of the voices belonged to her brother. If he had a quieter way of speaking, she would have never heard the conversation. In the hallway, she crept closer and pressed her ear against the doorframe, holding the somewhat frayed ruffled hem of her mauve dress back so it would not be seen.
“She will not like this plan, Frederic.” That was the Duke of Pemberton’s voice. He was her brother’s friend, acquired during their mutual pursuit of mischief.
“And yet, she will have no choice in the matter,” Evelyn’s brother, the Marquis of Evermont, said. “It is her duty to marry, and she will do it.”
“Have you no kindness for your sister, Fredrick? She is an odd one, true, but does not seem to be a shrew or a nag. It would not be a bother to find her a husband she could grow to love. She does have a certain…grit.”
There was a long pause, filled only by the just-audible inhales and exhales of cigar smoke. She could smell the earthy plumes of it wafting into the hall.
“It is marriage in a hurry or ruin for our family name, George.”
“And this has naught to do with your latest flame, dear Adele? That pretty little actress is costing you a fortune to keep.”
Frederic snorted a laugh. The clink of crystal was followed by the sound of liquid pouring, and Evelyn could imagine the amber drink flowing from the decanter into their glasses.
“But Adele is worth every penny, my dear friend, for when I have done something to please her she will do her damnedest to please me.” Frederic’s smug smile was evident from his tone. “Isn’t that the entire purpose of the gentler sex?”
Evelyn’s cheeks burned at the rude talk and she spun away from the door. Servants edged out of her way, pressing back against the wallpaper to let her pass in a flurry of lace and ruffles. The house was not as staffed as it had been only a year ago, when her father still lived. They had been forced to let go some of the maids and footmen, but they managed. It was quieter without them, and without her father’s booming laughter.
Her lip trembled as she stepped out of the house and made her way to the stable. It was some distance from the house, an immense, quadrangular structure that had at its prime housed sixty horses. Only a handful remained, but they were the twenty finest horses Evermont had ever boasted. Still, it was a sad state of affairs, and the beautiful white-stone complex seemed wasted for want of activity.
One of the grooms worked Valiant in the corral, putting the blood-bay through his paces. The stud was retired from his racing days but his elegant body still rippled with muscle beneath the dappled coat, and he sired the finest foals in all of Norfolk. She paused a moment to watch the stallion kick up the sand beneath his hooves. His steel shoes caught the sunlight. Her father had purchased Valiant when she was only a child but she could still remember the day the stallion had come home, all fire, calming only under her father’s touch. He had been a master horseman, and a wonderful father. She missed him so. She brushed back the tears, determined not to cry again.
“A fine day for a ride, Lady Evermont,” said the stable master, Stanton, coming up beside her where she stood at the rail. “Shall I have Bellona saddled for you?”
Evelyn was tempted by the offer, smiling at the thought of the beautiful gray filly, but she was not dressed in her riding habit and that would require going back into the house with her brother.
“No, thank you, Stanton.”
He reminded Evelyn of her father, though whether it was the similarity in their appearance or only that the two men had spent most of their days together and thus adopted similar mannerisms, she could not be certain. Regardless, his presence soothed her as her father’s had.
“An inspection of the mares in foal, then?” he asked, gesturing toward the barn. At her nod, Stanton led the way out of the dusty yard and into the coolness of the stone building.
The empty stalls dampened her spirits. They were swept clean, but Evelyn could picture every horse that should be there—horses that were already sold although their presence still filled her heart. Not ghosts, quite, but something like them filled the space now, as her father’s memory did the house, a presence felt, but never seen. She could close her eyes and picture them, so many born right here at Evermont.
Modeste, a chestnut mare with an obscenely bulging belly, nickered at their approach. She was a placid, sweet-tempered thing, even in foal. Evelyn offered her palm to the mare and she pressed her white blazed nose there, snuffling for treats. Evelyn smiled at the feel of her velvet nose on her hand.
“Expectin’ the birth this week now,” Stanton said, reaching up to scratch the mare’s neck. “An old pro, she is, should be no trouble at all.”
“Let us hope for a colt. We cannot expect Valiant to live forever, though if any horse shall manage, it will be him.” Evelyn patted Modeste in farewell and checked in on the other two pregnant mares.
They were not so far along as Modeste, but in the next few months they would have three new additions to the barn, if all went well. Two would need to b
e sold just after weaning, and potential buyers had already made offers. It pained Evelyn to part with any of Valiant’s get. His line belonged at Evermont, but those were the ways of the past. She fingered the amethyst bracelet at her wrist, nodding as she half-listened to Stanton as he talked about the mares. A mark of her mourning, the bracelet felt as heavy as the burden of grief.
She had lost not only her father, but her betrothed as well. It had been a dark year at Evermont. Her fiancé had been killed in battle, a noble death for an officer, but one that had left her in shock. Their love had been a quiet one, of friendship rather than passion. He was eight years her senior, but he had been a kind, gentle man and she held him still in the greatest affection. Evelyn’s father had made the match, selecting for her a husband with a love for horses and an open mind, a man who would not temper Evelyn’s spirited ways. She had lost them both within a month of each other. What else could fate throw at her?
“Lady Evermont?” Stanton was eyeing Evelyn with concern.
“Your pardon, Stanton, my mind was elsewhere. May I see the ledgers?” She had already looked at them ad nauseam. They did not change. There was nowhere else to save a farthing. If only her brother was not so loose with his cash.
The stable master’s office was tidy and austere. A simple desk stood in the middle of the room and a window looked out over the pasture, where a few horses were grazing on the yellowed grass. Stanton offered her a chair, and pulled a thick stack of papers from a drawer in his desk. Despite its innocuous look, the ledger was an evil thing, listing out the shortcomings of Evermont’s accounts in neat black figures. Evelyn schooled her features into a neutral expression as she went over the numbers with Stanton, but her emotions were a storm just beneath the placid surface.
Her brother sat somewhere in the manor, wasting his time discussing frivolous affairs over expensive brandy and expensive cigars, while the horses were meted out rations like soldiers on a long march. He planned to have her betrothed while she was still in mourning for her fiancée and father, only so his insatiable lust for tawdry women would not need to be tempered by restraint. Her blood boiled at the thought. At the bottom of it all was the Duke of Pemberton, a rake if she had ever known one. The ruin of Evermont lay at his feet, dragging her brother after him with his expensive ways.
“I cannot see any way around it. We shall have to sell another coach. Let the coachman select one, he will know best which one will fetch the highest sum. If it happens to be Frederic’s favorite, well, that would be a shame.” Her mouth was in a tight line.
“Of course, Lady Evermont.” Stanton said. “I will see to it this afternoon.”
Evelyn closed the ledger book and pushed the chair back from the desk. She stood at the window and watched the horses for a moment, marveling at their grace as they took off in a sudden burst of speed, kicking up their hind legs and squealing.
“They are like children with their joy, are they not?”
“Very much so.” Stanton had come to stand beside her, one age-spot speckled hand resting on the sill.
“And my foul brother will ruin it all for something as fleeting as smoke,” Evelyn spat out. “He has no sense.”
It was a bold statement to make to a servant, but Stanton had become more than that to Evelyn since her father’s death. Still, the stoic man took a moment to reply.
“If I may speak frankly, my lady?” He waited for her nod before continuing. “I believe your father’s passing affected you both in different manners. Lord Evermont has found his own method of coping, as you have found yours.”
He gestured to the barn surrounding them. It was true. She had always shared her father’s interest in horses and had tagged along at his hip since she could walk, but it was not until he was gone that she had thrown herself into the world of it, taking charge as she had every right to.
“My grief does not tear the very house down around us.” Evelyn squared her shoulders. “But I do not believe the blame is Frederic’s alone, no, the Duke has been the impetus for it all. He has dragged my brother down to the depths of depravity, and only one of them has the means of crawling back out. He just does not see what he is doing to my brother—to us.”
“Perhaps that is true, Lady Evermont.” If Stanton agreed with her, it was only his expression that told her so, for the man would not speak ill of one of the Peerage, despite his familiarity with Evelyn. “You are the only good thing your brother has, and it must be a heavy burden to bear.”
“He does not treat me as if I am anything of worth. Just today he spoke of marrying me off!”
“Surely not, with you still in mourning?”
Evelyn threw her hands in the air. “My point, Stanton. He has lost all sense of propriety.”
“If there is anything I may do for you, my Lady, you only need ask,” Stanton said. “I do not know what aid I may be, but—“
She shook her head. She had already asked too much of him, saddling him with her emotions as if he did not have matters to attend to, as short-staffed as she had left him. She lifted her head a bit, gaining control of her broiling emotions.
“Thank you, Stanton, but you have already eased some of my worries just by listening.” Evelyn smiled at him, hoping it hid the tremor in her cheeks as she fought to keep the tears from betraying her. “I will leave you now, as I am sure you have a busy day ahead of you.”
He bowed as she swept by him, and she wished for just a moment that he was her father, and he could wrap her in a hug so tight there was no room for her misery. But he was not, and she was alone on the walk back to the house, where nothing waited her but a fight with her brother. She could not avoid it for a moment longer. She cursed the impediment of her skirts as she made her way up the stairs, where the footman opened the door for her. If she were a man she would have engaged in fisticuffs with him to settle the matter, but she was not. She was a woman and she had little recourse. She hoped she could talk some sense into her obstinate brother.
“Where is Lord Evermont? I would speak with him with some urgency,” she announced.
~.~
2
The butler, Mr. Pratt, appeared at Evelyn’s side a moment later to escort her to Frederic. He was a discerning man; perhaps he had sensed the tension building in the air at Evermont and wished to keep the other servants from having a fight to gossip about. Her brother was alone in his study. The only sign of the Duke’s presence was the empty glass and Frederic’s apparent state of inebriation. It was probably best to wait to talk to him for he was belligerent when in his cups, but Evelyn could not put it off. Mr. Pratt left her at the doorway after she refused his offer for a tray of tea. She did not wish to give the appearance of this being a polite visit between siblings.
“Frederic.”
He looked up from his book with red, unfocused eyes.
“Evelyn, my darling sister. Have you come to scold me again?”
She put her hands on her hips, just beneath the stiff boning of her stays. He was the older of them, but he had never acted it. In their youth, they had been close and had played together, but he had put Evelyn aside the moment he had turned old enough to shave. Though she had felt the loss keenly, she had found friends of her own and the distance between them had only grown into a comfortable sort of detachment. She had not thought of it before, but with her father dead, she was entirely dependent upon his whim. It was a frightening thought. Well, nonetheless, she was the stronger of the siblings. She knew this, although he was younger by almost two years. She would manage this mess.
“Your odor offends, brother. Does your actress find the fetor of stale cigars appealing? But then, I imagine it smells as sweet as perfume, when compared to the stench of the hovel she lives in. She smells nothing but your money. How surprised she will be when she finds you have none.”
Evelyn had not meant to begin with barbs, but it was too late to take them back. Her brother rose, face clouded with rage. He advanced on her and she could smell the brandy on him.
> “Adele is twice the woman you could ever hope to be, Evelyn. She has poise, grace, and of course, beauty.”
This was not quite fair. Evelyn had been complimented on her looks any number of times. If her black hair and pale complexion were not currently in vogue, well, they did not make her ugly.
“I do not care a whit about her, beyond the unseemly sum you have spent in the wooing of her.”
“Our accounts are my affair. As my sister, you have no part in them but for the dowry I choose to assign you. I choose!” he shouted.
He pressed her back until she hit the bookshelf.
“Frederic?”
The Duke of Pemberton stood in the doorway. Evelyn jumped. She had not seen him there, but now she did see him just over Frederic’s shoulder, looking rumpled. He was always rumpled. His jaw was set in an angry line as he took in the scene. She used the moment of distraction to slip out beneath her brother’s arm.
“Your Grace,” Evelyn said, with a curtsy of respect. She really didn’t like what her brother became around him, but he was a member of the peerage. He deserved her respect, if not her affection.
“Lady Evermont.” The Duke inclined his head in gracious irony. “Lovely as ever, like a vision from beyond the grave.”
Evelyn scowled. He had made pointed jokes about the paleness of her skin since the day they had met. The novelty had yet to wear off, it seemed.
“She was just about to leave,” Frederic said.
“My brother is confused. I have only just arrived.” Evelyn took the leather armchair in the corner for herself, sinking into it before her legs could succumb to the adrenaline that coursed in them from her brother’s behavior. If the Duke had not entered, would Frederic have struck her?
Regency Romance: Promise Me (4-in-1 Book Boxed Set): The Duke’s Wicked Wager Collection (The Duke’s Wicked Wager Sweet and Wholesome Regency Romance Series) Page 1
