“Think of the flowers,” James said. “She’ll have more color cascading out of the flower beds than you can imagine.”
Jason rubbed his own hands together. “I hope there’s a retainer here to show us about.”
“Probably not. I’ll wager the front door isn’t even locked. We’ll show ourselves around.”
The house was indeed moldering on its foundation. Jason doubted it had been touched after Squire Hoverton’s wife had died trying to birth her sixth child somewhere around the first part of the century. Such a pity that only Thomas had survived. The house was filled with shadows and smelled of damp. Tattered draperies hung askew over long dirty or broken windows.
“The floors look solid,” James said.
“Let’s see how bad it is upstairs,” Jason said. “Then we can visit the stables.”
It was bad, more dank gloom and dirt.
“Lots of white paint should take care of things, Jason, don’t you think?”
“Oh aye, at least a half a dozen cans of white paint. Let’s get out of here, James, it’s depressing.”
James buffeted him on the shoulder. “The price has just gone down a good bit.”
There were four different paddocks, each fenced with solid oak planks, some needing repair, all needing paint. But the size of the paddocks was perfect and the holding paddock gave directly into the huge main stable. There were a total of three stables, all desperately in need of paint as well, but until two years ago, they’d been prime, and Jason could see that all of them were quite modern. The empty tack room was nicely proportioned, with a goodly sized area set aside for a head groom to work close to the horses. There were half a dozen small rooms for the stable lads.
“It reminds me of James Wyndham’s main stable,” Jason said.
There were twenty stalls, ten to a side, in the big main light-filled stable, a wide aisle between them. Beautifully built. Moldy hay and equipment parts were strewn on the floor. Jason stood there, right in the middle, sucking in great gulps of air.
“If I close my eyes I can see the horses’ heads bobbing over the stall doors, hear them neighing when they know oats are coming. Plenty of breeding and birthing stalls. It’s perfect.” Jason jumped up and clicked his heels together.
At that moment both Bad Boy and Dodger let out loud whinnies.
“What’s this?” James said and strode to the stable’s double-door entrance.
A large raw-boned chestnut stallion was pawing the ground, looking at Bad Boy and Dodger, head thrown back, nostrils flared, ready to take on both of them.
A girl’s voice called out, “Who are you and what the devil are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 5
James and Jason Sherbrooke stared from the huge bay stallion, who looked like he chewed nails for breakfast, to the girl astride him, dressed in trousers, a dusty leather vest, full-sleeved white shirt, and an old hat pulled down over her head.
“Blessed hell,” James said. “It’s Corrie five years ago, down to the fat braid hanging down her back.”
Jason said slowly, never looking away from her face, “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“Of course you know me, you dolt.”
Jason’s eyebrow arched a good inch.
She pulled off the cap. Tendrils of golden hair had pulled free of the braid and hung in lazy curls down the sides of her face.
“You do look familiar,” he said again. “Oh yes, whoever you are, forgive my ill manners, this is my brother, James Sherbrooke, Lord Hammersmith.”
“My lord.” Hallie stuffed her hat back down on her head, but didn’t give him her name. “I had heard you were twins, identical in every way. But that isn’t true. Let me say, my lord, that you most certainly appear the more acceptable twin. You don’t really look like this other one at all. Did you know that he would strut down the streets in Baltimore, knowing that every female between the ages of eight and ninety-two would stop and stare at him, dropping fans, parasols, umbrellas, even in the rain, to get his attention?”
James, enjoying this unusual girl who was making his twin feel like a fool said easily, “Ma’am, a pleasure. No, I didn’t know this about my twin. To the best of my memory I haven’t ever seen him strut. I shall ask him for a demonstration.”
Hallie said, “Ladies would lurk in doorways, waiting for him to pass by. They’d throw a handkerchief or a reticule or their little sister in his path to gain his attention. You haven’t seen him strut? No wonder, since he ran away from home five years ago, you haven’t had the opportunity to witness the strut in all its glory. Conceited oaf.”
When Jason didn’t respond to this face-smacking, she went on, “I understand you’re going to be thirty years old next year. Thus it takes your brain longer to function properly. Or is it that your eyesight is already faulty?”
Jason was more amused than not. He was used to insults after living with Jessie Wyndham for five years, so he didn’t leap on her. He knew he should recognize her, but he simply didn’t. Obviously this was an insult of major proportions to her, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shook his head, still looking at her horse, who appeared quite ready to take a bite out of Bad Boy’s flank. “You’d best pull that beast back before my Dodger breaks his neck.”
“Ha, I’d like to see that.” Still, she forced Charlemagne back, one unwilling step at a time. It took skill to make the horse obey. Jason gave her silent credit for it. Who the devil was she? That golden hair of hers was spectacular, certainly he should remember a girl with hair that color.
“I do admire Dodger though. He’s a fine racer. Did you ever manage to beat Jessie Wyndham riding him?”
So she’d seen him race, had she? Even though she sounded British, she’d obviously lived in Baltimore.
“No horse stood a chance against Dodger. As for Jessie, that’s another matter. If you were more familiar with Baltimore horse racing, you’d know Dodger was the best, most of the time.”
Her mouth was opening when James said, “You’re an American? But you sound like a Brit. Why?”
“I am English actually. My family lives here half the year and the other half in Baltimore. However, four years ago my parents sent me back here to live year round to get me polished up.”
“When will the polishing begin?” Jason said, looking at her from head to toe.
“I’ve heard it said that cleverness is in the eye of the beholder, and I must say that I’m not seeing much of anything.”
“Then how could you see me strut if your eyesight is so bad?”
She tossed her head and nearly lost her hat. “Another pathetic attempt at a clever remark. I live with my uncle and aunt at Ravensworth Abbey. They provide a marvelous home for me when my parents aren’t here.”
James said, “Burke and Arielle Drummond, the earl and countess of Ravensworth? You’re their niece?”
“Yes. My mother was the countess’s sister. She died when I was born.”
Jason said, “I’m sorry about that.”
“But what are you doing here?” James said. “Here, as on the Hoverton property?”
The chin went up, as if she expected sarcasm, argument, a fight even. Jason couldn’t wait to see what would come out of her mouth. She said, “I will be twenty-one in December. I am an adult. I love horses.”
Jason said slowly, “I remember you now. It was a long time ago, just after I’d arrived in Baltimore. You were that skinny little girl who was forever hanging around the racetracks. There was someone always trying to find you. Jessie brought you home a couple of times, but you stayed with the children. Then I didn’t see you anymore. Ah, yes, I remember Jessie saying that you’d come to England to live. You’re Hallie Carrick. I came home on one of your father’s steamships, The Bold Venture. Yes, I remember. Your father went to America some fifteen years ago to buy a shipyard and ended up marrying the owner’s daughter.”
“Yes, that’s what happened. I was in Baltimore three years ago, but I believe you and James Wyndham
were in New York, buying horses.”
She had an astounding memory for his brother’s whereabouts, James thought, staring at her. Why?
“Allow me to correct you. My father and Genny—my stepmother—run the Carrick Shipping Line together now. I believe Genny built The Bold Venture.”
James arched an eyebrow at that. “Really? That is very impressive. Very well, then, Miss Carrick, what are you doing here? By here, I mean Lyon’s Gate.”
“That’s easy to answer. I intend to buy Lyon’s Gate. You are very nearly on my property. What are you two doing here?”
Jason came to instant attention. He stood appalled, disbelieving, staring at this absurd girl who had the golden hair of a princess and had suddenly become the enemy. “What do you mean, you intend to buy Lyon’s Gate?”
She shot a look at James, who was standing with his back against the stable door, arms crossed over his chest. “Is your brother hard of hearing?”
“No,” James said. “He is merely astounded. You’re a girl. You shouldn’t even be here alone, much less garbed in clothes many stable lads would despise.”
“That has nothing to do with anything, and you know it. Unlike my stepmother and father, I have no interest in either shipbuilding or running ships across the Atlantic or down to the Caribbean.” She turned to Jason. “If you had paid any attention at all to that skinny little girl—to me—you would have realized that I was more horse-mad than you are, Jason Sherbrooke. Of course, even five years ago, you were a grown man with every woman in Baltimore after you. What was I but a fifteen-year-old skinny rope of a girl who paid you no attention at all?”
Suddenly she grinned, showing lovely white teeth and a smile so beautiful it should have made the sun burst through the overhanging clouds. “Yes, I was shy, and thinner than a windowpane. Tell me, did Lucinda Frothingale, who’s never been any of those things in her entire life, ever get you into her bed? Did Horace try to bite you?”
“Do you mind telling me what you know of Lucinda Frothingale?”
“I get letters from my siblings and my parents. Genny occasionally tells me which ladies manage to snag you, if but for a little while, since you’re fickle. Well? Did Lucinda finally manage to get a hook in your mouth?” She tossed him another impudent grin, and with that grin, he suddenly saw her father’s face. He waved away her words. It was hard to tell if she had his astounding male beauty, but pull a gown over her head, scrub her face, and he would wager she’d be a stunner, a lady to stop the male population of London in its collective tracks.
She said, a wealth of disappointment in her voice, “I suppose you won’t speak of Lucinda. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly, even though—”
“It’s best you don’t finish that thought, Miss Carrick. I believe I can see your father in you now.”
“Glory be,” she said and rolled her eyes. “But you might as well be honest, Mr. Sherbrooke. My father is the most beautiful man ever born, to my mind more beautiful than you two. As for myself, I gave it up years ago.”
James said, fascinated, “Gave what up?”
“Thinking I would ever have even a dollop of the beauty he has.”
Jason said, “I suppose you could take off that ridiculous hat again, then we could see.”
She didn’t say a word, but her horse snorted.
Fact was, Jason thought, she could have looked like an old crone and it wouldn’t have mattered. He said, “I’m buying Lyon’s Gate, Miss Carrick, not you. It seems to me you’d be better off buying something closer to home. Where is your father’s estate?”
“Carrick Grange is in Northumberland. It isn’t particularly good horse country.”
“Fine, then buy something close to Ravensworth. How about some property in America, near Baltimore? You could race Jessie Wyndham.”
“No, it’s Lyon’s Gate for me. Get used to the idea, Mr. Sherbrooke. It’s mine.”
James felt his brother stiffen beside him, and since he knew Jason as well as he knew himself, and he knew bloodshed was close, he said before Jason could leap on her, “Do you have step-siblings, Miss Carrick?”
She nodded and shoved her old hat so low on her head, she nearly covered her eyes. “Yes, I have three stepbrothers and one stepsister, the youngest. We’re a large family, as the dolt here could tell you if he ever applied his brain to anything other than getting women into bed, and racing horses.”
Jason looked ready to leap, James thought, followed by throwing her into the dead flower bed. He said rather loudly, “Then there are step-siblings who will carry on the Carrick shipping tradition?”
“You are certainly nosy, my lord.”
“He’s trying to keep me from pulling you off that brute’s back and throwing you in that horse trough, Miss Carrick.”
“It’s empty.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You just try it, Jason Sherbrooke. Charlemagne would pound his hooves into your belly.”
James cleared his throat. “I believe you were going to tell me about your step-siblings, Miss Carrick.”
“Very well. Go ahead and protect him. He probably needs it. He is on the puny side, isn’t he?” Since both men looked at her like she was a moron, which maybe she was in this particular instance, Hallie gave it up. “Very well, my father and mother are building very few sailing vessels now. It’s all steamships, and that is a very different thing indeed. Can you imagine, it takes only two weeks to voyage from Baltimore to Portsmouth on a steamship? It was closer to six weeks when I was a little girl.”
“Progress is everywhere,” James said to his twin. “There are gaslights in most all the public buildings in London now.”
“London is behind. Gaslights are simply everywhere in Baltimore, my father tells me,” Hallie said. Since all she got for that remark was a raised eyebrow from James, she continued. “If you must know, my lord, I have one stepbrother, Dev, only thirteen, but I know he will be a very accomplished shipbuilder by the time he’s twenty. My oldest stepbrother, Carson, will run the company one day, and my youngest stepbrother, Eric, is only ten but still, he’s sailing mad. My sister, Louisa, wants to write novels. However, she’s only nine years old, a bit early to know if her stories will improve.”
Jason said. “I know your step-siblings. They are friends with the Wyndham children. Whenever I was close by, Louisa would spin a tale for me. She always told me she wanted me to be the hero of all her novels, and that there would be at least one hundred since she planned to write until she croaks over her quill at the turn of the century. She’ll have me perform deeds of derring-do and rescue ladies from villains, starting with her, she hopes, when she grows up.”
Hallie rolled her yes. “Louisa doesn’t know any villains. The thought of my father letting a villain get near her is about as likely as a week passing in England without rain.”
“A novelist, Louisa has given me to understand, can spin villains out of red yarn if she wishes to.”
She looked him up and down. “I must write Louisa about losing her perspective over a pretty face, wide shoulders, and a flat belly.”
CHAPTER 6
“I thought I was a dolt.”
Not even a second passed before she said, “That’s true enough, but Louisa is small for her age and simply doesn’t recognize it as yet.”
Jason laughed at that quick, clean shot, and smiled, thinking of Jessie Wyndham.
Hallie felt a glow in her own belly at that laugh and smile. “I’m the only one in the family who prefers four-legged transportation to rudders and wood. I sailed all my life until I came to live year-round in England. Let me tell you, I’ve run my uncle’s stables for two years now. It’s time I went out on my own, that’s what my uncle finally told me since I was tired of waltzing with chinless young men and lecherous old men who wanted to stare down my gown.”
Jason said, “Ha. Did you get your uncle drunk?”
“There was no need to. I had his sons tell him it was time. I’m not stupid. I got them on my side two year
s ago.”
“I should have known. Given that they’re young and impressionable, they were easy targets.” Jason turned to his brother. “This is the typical behavior of an American female, James. Yes, yes, I know you’re English, but you were raised in America for much of the time, and that’s what counts.”
“That’s not true. I spent my first five years traveling the world with my father.”
Jason ignored her. “James, American girls plot and scheme and simper and wheedle, all with equal facility. They are a scary lot, particularly those with a modicum of intellect and a pocket full of groats. In Miss Carrick’s case, evidently her father has allowed her to dip deep into his pockets. Did I forget to mention spoiled? Another American female trait. Hopefully she isn’t instructing our English girls on how to—” He stalled, Judith’s face so clear in his brain that he wanted to pound his head with a rock to get her out.
“Trust me, Mr. Sherbrooke, your English girls don’t need any assistance from me. The way they can freeze you in place with only a raised eyebrow—” She shuddered. “They are very much in control, your English girls.”
James, who had seen the sudden pallor on his twin’s face, wanted to tell him not to think about the girl who’d betrayed him, who’d betrayed all of them, but he knew he couldn’t. He said, all bland and easy, “So all the gentlemen in London bored you, Miss Carrick?”
“Yes, they bored me senseless, my lord. I told my uncle that I had no intention of marrying, no intention of returning to America or moving in permanently into Carrick Grange, and that announcement helped spur him toward agreement to my buying my own property. Naturally he hied himself off to his study to write my father, but my father won’t interfere.”
Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123) Page 99
