“Given how muddy the roads are, we shouldn’t try all her paces today, but I thought we might ride down to the main road and back so you could get a feel for her.”
Teresa accepted the reins from the groom and looked up, nodding. A quick twitch and they were off, moving down the road. The knot of anxiety in his belly had eased at her clear joy in Artemis; now it slowly dissolved as the manor disappeared around a curve in the road. For a moment, he was simply Martin, stripped of all the responsibilities that came with the estate.
As the road rose up out of the valley, the mud lessened and Teresa twitched her reins again, encouraging Artemis to break into a bouncy trot. Mindful of the road, she didn’t try for a canter, although he knew she must be aching to do so. For someone of her skill, the slower paces of Hestia must have been immensely frustrating but she hadn’t complained. Artemis was an entirely different animal. He didn’t try to keep up with her, merely watching as she moved in unison with her mount. Although Ares was restless from the enforced idleness, word from the stable was that the weather should hold clear for a few days now and Martin would rather wait to take him out for a hard ride once the ground had had a chance to dry out.
She stopped and waited for him at the crossroads, turning to wave back at him as he let Ares indulge in a short trot to catch up. Finally, he pulled up next to Teresa and came to a halt. “So, what do you think?”
“She’s wonderful!” Smiling wide, Teresa leaned forward to run her fingers through Artemis’s mane before patting her neck. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen and she moves like water, so fluid and smooth. It’s such a difference from Hestia, although I hate to say anything bad about her because she’s such a sweet-tempered mount, but this felt like flying!”
“I’m pleased. She’s yours.”
Teresa’s eyes widened as they flew to his face. “What?”
“You’re far too good a rider to stay satisfied with Hestia and I didn’t expect you to. It merely took some time to narrow down the candidates before deciding that Artemis was the best fit for you.” In reality, the delay hadn’t been deciding which horse would suit her best — he’d had no doubt that the pair would fit together well — but in convincing Isaac that the value of the advertisement for the quality of the stables was worth the loss of her sale price. That Teresa rode so well hadn’t hurt, as it had been easy to argue that having the Countess of Carlington so well mounted during the Season would increase interest.
He suspected what had ultimately tipped the scales was the realization that this would keep the bloodline in the stable for the foreseeable future. The possibilities for future offspring and the prestige they could bring were a lure he made use of in the lengthy conversations on the point. Looking at Teresa, he knew it had all been worth it.
She radiated joy, her face glowing with pleasure. For the first time, there was no shadow in her eyes, no old grief lingering in the corners. Something inside him twisted to see her so happy and he realized with a start that he had been half-holding his breath in anticipation of her reaction. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d given someone a gift. His grandfather had discouraged the practice even before he’d left for Eton. In their last year at school, he’d convinced James and Edward to make a pact eschewing gift-giving in favor of pooling their funds to purchase a young racehorse — a risky decision that had paid off big when the stallion went on to win several large purses for them. That same stallion was even now enjoying a well-earned retirement in his stables, siring several foals each year. Ares was one of them.
And now he sat next to Teresa on the road, feeling the warmth of her smile and trying to figure out why the fact that she liked the gift made him feel like he had accomplished something exceptional, instead of merely selecting a new horse for his wife.
All for someone you might not have even married if it weren’t for the inheritance clause. The voice in the back of his head sounded suspiciously like his grandfather’s. He tried his best to ignore it.
“I don’t know what to say besides thank you, Martin. She’s absolutely wonderful.” Teresa ran her fingers through the mare’s mane again, watching the fall of silver catch the light. “She reminds me just a little bit of the horse my parents gave me when I turned sixteen. I was only supposed to ride her when my father or one of the grooms could go with me until he was satisfied that I’d be able to handle her. I wanted to be mad about that, but I realized he was complimenting my ability to handle a horse by giving me a challenge.”
Martin did a quick mental calculation and realized that would have been shortly before the accident that claimed her parents’ lives. “What happened to it?”
The joy dimmed slightly and he caught the reappearance of the shadow in her eyes. A mixture of old grief and pain, he realized, the same as it had been when he’d gone up to ask her to join him for a ride. The grief was familiar, had been there every time she’d talked about her parents, but the pain was new. Fresh.
“My aunt and uncle insisted they had no room for it in the city and sold it. They said the funds were necessary for my debut and that they couldn’t afford to keep a horse in the city anyway.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “Of course, who knows if any of that was true in the long run.”
That anger hadn’t been there before when she’d spoken of her aunt and uncle. Ambivalence, hurt, frustration, but not outright anger. He recalled the letter she had stuffed under the papers on her desk.
“What’s wrong, Teresa?” He held up a hand to forestall the protest he knew would come. “I can tell something is wrong. Give me that much credit at least.”
Teresa hesitated and Martin leaned forward, covering one of her hands with his.
“You asked me to trust you and I’ve been trying. Can’t you do me the same favor in return?”
Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, biting her lip. As she seemed to be actively considering his question, he didn’t press her but merely continued to hold his hand on hers as she pondered her response. Finally she sighed, looking down at their hands and then glancing up to meet his eyes.
“I received a letter in the post this afternoon, from my aunt. Right before you came up to ask me for a ride, actually. She wrote to tell me that because of the expenses I caused this Season, particularly my wedding, she and my uncle will be forced to publish my parents’ manuscript — anonymously, of course, because the shame of having a bluestocking in the family would be too much.”
He waited as she took a deep breath to steady herself, clearly not done yet. “That manuscript represents over thirteen years of work by my parents. They intended to publish it together when it was done, under their own names. It was nearly complete when they died. It wasn’t included in the list of bequests but I didn’t think the new Baron would object if I took it for sentimental reasons. I looked but I couldn’t find it when my aunt and uncle arrived to take me to London. I assumed my parents must have had it with them and it was lost in the carriage accident.”
Martin’s hand tightened on the reins he held and he had to consciously relax it before Ares responded. “But it wasn’t lost, apparently.”
Teresa shook her head. “My aunt and uncle must have taken it when they arrived at the estate, but they never told me they had it. I know my aunt never approved of my mother’s ‘bluestocking tendencies’ as she called them and would have been mortified if my parents had published it like they planned to. I wasn’t supposed to mention that they had been working on it at all when out in Society.” She raised her chin, her voice defiant. “But I’m not ashamed of them. I see no reason why I should be. My parents were proud of their work and I’m proud of them.”
“You should be.” As far as he was concerned, any members of Society who attempted to do something more than live a life of idle pleasure and squeeze more money out of their tenants in order to fund another mistress or ballgown was worth their weight in gold and should be celebrated accor
dingly. If his father epitomized everything that was wrong with the ton, then her parents represented what the ton should be.
Society saw it differently, he knew. From what Teresa had said, her parents had withdrawn from city life and the circle of the glittering elite. He wondered if that had been by choice or a side effect of the pressure the ton could exert when they disapproved. The ton tended to disapprove of people who made them uncomfortable — and very little made them more uncomfortable than being confronted by someone unwilling to fit into the mold Society dictated.
Rather like how they had treated Teresa, now that he thought about it. He filed that thought away for further consideration later and focused back on the discussion at hand. “Would you rather your aunt and uncle didn’t publish it?”
“It’s not that.” Teresa shook her head. “My parents wanted to publish it. Their names should be on it, but it would be simple enough to drop a few words here and there and soon enough people would know that it was theirs. I don’t even care about the proceeds from the sale. I just want my parents’ manuscript back. That was their life’s work. Their passion. My mother even let me do one or two of the simpler sketches because I wanted to help. It broke my heart to think I’d lost that connection to my parents and now I find out that my aunt and uncle kept my parents’ legacy from me.”
Her voice shook with suppressed rage and pain and Martin squeezed her hand, not sure what to say even as he struggled to get his own temper under control. He’d only met with the Beresfords a few times before the wedding and none of those meetings had left him with a favorable impression. During the negotiation of the marriage settlements, Philip had seemed more interested in the financial aspect and Martin didn’t get the sense that it was out of care for his niece.
Hell, the man had hinted that she was practically penniless, her intended dowry having been insufficient to see her through three years of being out in Society. Despite that, he’d insisted that they deduct the cost of the wedding breakfast out of what little remained. As Martin had compromised Teresa, he’d acquiesced, thinking the poor man was merely trying to save face. Now he wondered how much of that had been prompted by simple greed — and what had happened to the majority of her dowry in the first place. He made a mental note to ask a few questions the next time he was in town — discreetly, of course.
“We could get it back.” The words slipped out before he’d really considered what he was saying.
Teresa shook her head. “That’s what my aunt wants. That’s why she wrote to tell me about this in the first place, in the hopes that I’ll come up with some money to cover the expense of my wedding. She won’t actually give it back, because as long as I’d be willing to pay something for it, it’s far more valuable to her than what any publisher would offer.”
“She’s trying to extort money from you.” It was a statement, not a question. Even by the standards of the ton, that was sinking rather low.
“She won’t get any.” Teresa angrily wiped away a tear. “I’d rather give up any chance of ever getting my parents’ manuscript back than take away from what you’re doing here for the tenants. It’s far more important to make sure the Mullens have a new roof this year than for my aunt to get another three dresses she’ll wear once, if at all.”
Martin sat back, surprised by the vehemence of her tone. Far too many people faced with that kind of choice would have turned their back on others, making the selfish decision. That was what his father had done. Teresa, on the other hand, refused to compromise her beliefs, even when it required sacrifice. That deserved his respect, especially when it was on behalf of the people he was responsible for.
“Let me take care of it, Teresa.” He caught her gaze and held it, wishing he could take the pain away and bring back her earlier joy. “Taking care of you is important too.”
She swallowed hard and he could see her forcing back the tears that were clearly threatening to spill over. “I don’t know how anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been on my own since my parents died.”
Given everything she had said, he could believe that. Her aunt and uncle had done the bare minimum Society demanded of them — food, clothes, an introduction to Society befitting her status as a lady — and while he might have been satisfied with that, he’d grown up that way. Teresa hadn’t and she deserved better.
He reached out and gently brushed a thumb along her cheek. “Just trust me.”
She looked up and for a moment, he thought she was about to say something. Then Ares snorted, breaking the silence, and he pulled his hand back, feeling self-conscious and awkward. He tried to cover it by reaching down and patting his mount on the neck as Teresa offered a smile. “I suppose I’ll have to bring him a few treats before he’ll forgive me for how long we’ve kept them standing.”
Martin was startled into a laugh. “He’ll forgive you if we set a good pace back to the house, I think.” He motioned to the road ahead of them. “Shall we?”
She nodded and he squeezed his knees, signaling to Ares that it was time to move again. Ares was no more resigned to the trot now than he had been on the way out and it took most of Martin’s attention to keep him from breaking into the canter he wanted. Still, he risked a quick glance behind to see that Teresa was keeping pace, handling Artemis with ease — no easy feat.
His stomach gave an odd flutter and he pulled his attention back to the road in front of him, trying not to think about what he’d seen in Teresa’s eyes that moment before Ares had moved. I need her to trust me, he reminded himself. If this is what she needs to prove she can trust me, it’s not too much to ask.
The temptation of the last few weeks would have been a trial for a saint — and he was no saint. That’s all it was. Something had to change soon or he would go mad.
Chapter 25
Teresa closed the door behind the footman as he left. Martin had asked to see the note from her aunt and so she’d sent it down to the library for him. It wasn’t like she needed to read it again in order to remember what it said.
Collapsing on the sofa, she found herself simply staring out the window, struggling to process the events of the afternoon. Between the hurt and anger at the letter to the surprise of Artemis and her pleasure in the ride, she felt wrung out and that was before she added in the shock of Martin’s offer to help.
No, not just an offer to help. He’d pushed her to share what was bothering her before asking her to trust him to deal with it. It had been years since anyone had cared enough to push. She was hard-pressed not to picture him as a knight in shining armor right now, riding in to save the day. If she wasn’t careful, she might find herself more in love with him than she already was.
I am in love with him. Oh.
It felt nothing like the dreams she’d cherished over the years, of being swept off her feet by a gentleman and wooed with flowers and pretty words. No butterflies in her stomach every time their eyes met, no breathless anticipation of their next encounter. Instead it was a quiet certainty, a knowing that this was right. Maybe that was why she’d missed it. She’d stopped looking for love and only tried to build a partnership with the man she’d married, for better or for worse.
Now here she was, in love with her husband, a man convinced that love had no place in a marriage. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
Unsurprisingly, Martin had excused himself immediately when they’d returned to the house. Short as the ride had been, it was still time out of his day. Neither her father nor her uncle would have batted an eye at it, but neither of them had put nearly the work into their estates that Martin did.
Her parents’ estate had been modest in comparison, if well-kept. Her father had spent some time every week with his man of business and kept up to date with what was going on in the lives of the tenants on the estate, but it had hardly consumed his every waking moment. There had been plenty of time to work on the manuscript with her mother and spend time with her.
Her uncle had spent e
ven less time on estate business, maybe one afternoon a month, if that. He’d closet himself with the correspondence from his man of business at the estate. If it couldn’t be handled via the post, the man of business came to him. Her aunt wasn’t the only member of the family who despised leaving the city, which was why Teresa didn’t for a moment believe the nonsense she’d written about going to Brighton for the summer.
Martin, on the other hand, met with his man of business at least twice a day and frequently rode out to discuss issues or improvements with the local tenants. Mrs. Watts told her that once things had settled down a little more, he was likely to take a few longer trips to visit the more isolated holdings. He kept up a steady stream of correspondence. Even his evening reading tended to focus on topics related to the estate, from farming techniques to livestock to finance. Teresa wasn’t sure when he had last taken time for himself.
Despite that, he hadn’t hesitated to volunteer to take on her aunt and uncle over her parents’ manuscript. He’d been angry on her behalf. He wanted to do something about it. And he would, she knew. Martin did what he said he would do instead of playing the word games so common in the ton. Her father would have praised him as a man of integrity.
Martin’s words from their discussion on the terrace that fateful evening suddenly echoed in her head. “When I marry, my wife will have my fidelity, I assure you.” She’d forgotten he’d said that, in the chaos that followed — not that she would have believed him, then. She had thought him like most other gentlemen of the ton, saying one thing but doing another.
She knew better now. Quiet though they might have been, the words were intense and weighty, a promise he’d made to himself long ago. Even if she hadn’t known what his father had done, she would have believed him on this. And now I’m his wife.
Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1) Page 22
