by Julia Donner
Since her father stood nearby, wearing a noncommittal expression, and the foyer was dotted with servants, Harry bowed and she curtsied before accepting his hand. The flesh between her shoulder blades cringed as Harry escorted her out—the uncomfortable sensation caused by her father’s glare. Something about the interview with Harry had not been to his liking.
Harry stopped her on the steps and softly asked, “Given your condition, we could drive instead.”
She answered him with a slight shake of her head. “I inquired about the dangers the last time. There are two schools of thought. One is that a woman should do as little as possible when with child. The other opinion is to carry on with one’s life as if there is no change. That includes riding. Of course, our family physician strictly forbade me to fall off.”
Taking her arm, Harry asked, “Do you do that often?”
“Never have. It’s the one thing father admires about me. I’ve never been thrown. Never had a horse fall out from under me either.”
“And it’s doubtful that you will on sedate, park paths and riding the mare you have today.”
Two grooms waited at the curb. One held a proud, ebony-coated Friesian with a long mane that floated freely down over his shoulder and a vast length of knotted-up tail that ended a hair’s breath above the cobblestones. Beside the impressive gelding stood a white Arabian mare, glossy coated and neck prettily arched. Blue ribbons had been woven into her braided mane.
Harry escorted her to the mare. “This is Celeste.” Hearing her name, Celeste extended her nose to touch Harry’s sleeve.
“How did you know that I adore Arabs? She’s lovely and utterly besotted with you,” Olivia said, stepping up to the horse’s head. She leaned down to breathe on Celeste’s nose. The mare studied Olivia with liquid brown eyes and breathed back in reply.
Harry said, “Where did you learn that?”
“By watching horses. It’s how they greet each other.”
Brushing the backs of his gloved fingertips down Celeste’s face from forehead to nose tip, he said, “If you get on well today, she is yours.”
She glided her palm down Celeste’s slick neck. “I thank you, Harry, but it’s quite apparent that she will always be yours. I will have the great pleasure of riding her.”
“You leave one no choice but to agree with your wisdom. If I may?”
Olivia turned to Harry’s question. When he shook out a vivid blue kerchief, neither horse flinched at the sudden movement, which told her a great deal about Harry. Horses rarely stayed calm with sudden movement, and neither horse moved, proving how much they trusted him.
With a flick of his wrist, a few folds, and a swift tuck into the front of her jacket, Harry fashioned a startling, blue, flower-like arrangement to brighten her habit’s somber black.
Olivia studied his creation. “How extraordinary. You are like a magician.”
“I brought it so that you and Celeste would match. You look marvelous in black. It’s a pity there are so few occasions when you may wear it. She’s ready for you.”
He whispered a few words in French and Celeste placed her black-stained, front hooves forward, while keeping her back in place. This lowered her body closer to the ground for easier mounting. Before she realized what Harry planned to do, his hands went around her waist, and he hoisted her up on the saddle.
While she adjusted her skirts and knee around the horn, he politely turned his back to accept the reins from the groom. He held both horses until she was ready.
All she could think about was how wonderful it felt to have his hands on her again, how easily he lifted her up, and how gratified she felt, because now he could actually get his fingers around her. The slight mound on her lower abdomen had not yet thickened her waist.
She looked down into Harry’s gaze as he relinquished Celeste’s reins. Heat smoldered behind the façade. He had liked having his hands on her. The knowledge bolstered her courage for what was to come in the park. She knew how to put a brave face on what she would encounter there, but readily accepted any form of help.
No one knew that she carried Harry’s child, but she’d been the subject of gossip since moving to London. She doubted that Quentin would have spread any tales. It was more likely that stories about Handsome Harry had bled out of Lesser Beardsley about the curricle accident and the inappropriate circumstances of his recuperation.
After dismissing the grooms, Harry looked up at her. “Do you speak French? It’s all Celeste understands.”
“A little. Poorly executed.” Celeste stepped out of the stretch when Olivia leaned slightly back in the saddle seat. “We may not require it. I can tell she has excellent manners and I’m sure we’ll get on famously.”
He leaned closer to say, “I should warn you that it’s her first time with a lady’s saddle, but from what you’d said at Beechgate, I had the impression you were an accomplished rider.”
His chest pressed against her leg. His free hand grasped her left ankle in the pretense of making sure her foot was secure in the stirrup. His grip conveyed the strength of a possessive grasp that sent a tingle up her leg. Other than lifting her up in the saddle, they hadn’t touched in months. His meaning-filled gaze and the simple, silent suggestion inherent in his grip made her heart pound.
Celeste stamped a nervous foot and twitched her beribboned tail. “Harry, you’re making her nervous.”
A knowing smile curved his lips. He stepped back, and said over his shoulder, “No, it’s you who are making her nervous. She senses your excitement, which is all that I hoped. I’ve been praying that what we shared at Beechgate was not merely an interlude to relieve boredom on your part.”
As he mounted his horse, she felt her eyes widen into a stare of disbelief. How could he ever think what they shared would be perceived on her part as perfunctory or ordinary? Perhaps it had been so for him. He’d had countless affairs with beautiful, fascinating women. The notion that she wouldn’t find him irresistible left her boggled.
Before she could devise a response to his ridiculous remark, he said, “Once we get to the park, I’ll tell you what I discussed with your father. I waited, of course, until the contracts were signed, to speak my mind.”
Olivia jerked her attention away from Harry to the street. Oh, dear. He spoke his mind to Father? That gave her something to worry about as they rode to Hyde Park.
As they passed under the archway entrance and onto a broad path, she said, “It’s been so many years since I’ve ridden here.”
“Before marriage to Reverend St. Clair?” Harry asked.
“The fall of my coming out, which I heartily disliked.”
“Was that when Goodfall ingratiated himself with your family?”
She glanced at him. Harry rarely spoke sarcastically or in a harsh tone. He stated his likes and dislikes plainly, sometimes even joyfully, which made acrimony sound foreign when it came out of his mouth.
Veering away from an uncomfortable subject, she said, “I loved the escape of riding in the early morning, when there was rarely anyone on Rotten Row. With only a groom in attendance, I could pretend to be far away from the city. Here, sadly, there are no rolling pastures to gallop across, no barriers to leap over, but the fragrance of the moist earth and growing things helped carry me away in my imagination from the city’s smell and activity.”
Harry asked, “Where did spend your childhood?”
Olivia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She’d already marveled that he looked as brilliant on horseback as he did everywhere else. Did the man have no failings?
Smiling, she said, “On one or another of Grandfather’s estates. I didn’t see much of Mother and Father. Their work with church obligations kept them occupied. After I grew beyond the age of having a nurse, Mrs. Oliphant, a distant relative, was hired by Grandfather as governess. She later became companion and lived with me at Beechgate. She’s quite elderly, and I expect will wish to return to a more retiring environment.”
“Mor
e retiring? I can’t imagine Lesser Beardsley as a beehive of frivolity and social activity.”
Olivia softly laughed. “No. But I was not an easy child.”
Harry turned slightly in the saddle to playfully stare at her. “You intrigue me. You were naughty?”
“No. Merely headstrong, and on occasion, adventurous. There was some difficulty convincing me to come down from the trees. I would climb up one every time told to do something I didn’t wish to do.”
He flashed one of his heart-stopping smiles. “Such as finish your porridge?”
“Not at all. I love porridge. It was more on the order of completing my lessons, especially French and art. I have no female accomplishments.”
He darkly murmured, “You have other, much more interesting attributes.”
Cheeks tingling, she quickly said, “During my come-out, I rode here. Every morning, when allowed. Grandfather did not discourage me as long as I took a groom and female companion. Grandfather was a bruising rider when younger and understood my need to get on the back of a horse. I never much liked all that was entailed with coming out. I’m a country girl at heart. What did you and Father discuss?”
“Apologies for what I’m about to say about your family, but essentially, I took great pleasure in yanking the reins that have tied you to your father’s and grandfather’s parsimony. It bore me unmeasured satisfaction, since your father expected me to balk at the absence of dowry. They were quite clear in their expressions of astonishment that I planned to marry you without one.”
“No need to varnish the particulars. I lived with both men, and to be fair, you’ve been placed in a difficult position. Not all men would do the honorable thing.”
“Et tu, Olivia? You fostered doubts about me?”
“Certainly not,” she tartly replied to dispel the underlying hurt she heard in his playful tone. “I am entirely sensible of the fact that you have been cornered into wedlock for unexpected and obligatory reasons. I had no doubt that you would do what any gentleman should, which heightened the notion of imposing. Please tell me more of your interview with Father. The scene has stirred a curious fascination for the unsavory details.”
He paused, and she sensed that he had hopes for a continuation of the subject of her estimation of his character. His dark blond eyebrows frowned down at the dirt passing under the horses’ hooves.
“Harry, I hope Father didn’t insult you too dreadfully. He’s that way with many people, not only you.”
He nodded. Leather squeaked when he leaned down and lifted a knee to check the girth. When he didn’t reply, she said, “That gelding you’re riding likes to hold air.”
“Yes. Keeps himself puffed up for the longest time. It’s not loose. The groom must have tightened it up.”
“Harry? The interview?”
“Ah, yes. The interview.” He renewed his mask of mockery and mischief. “I admit to the enjoyment of obliterating all their suppositions about me and didn’t wait for the ink to dry. The instant the documents were signed, which legally makes us as good as married, you know, I spoke my mind. Your father had previously expressed his belief that I would be disappointed in your lack of financial expectations. He went so far as to hint that its lack would cause me to renege.”
He waved to a quartet of ladies in a passing landau with its top lowered. ”I then had the pleasure of handing over the settlement portion and told him and his Friday-faced retainer that I never had an interest in a dowry and outlined your expectations as soon as the religious ceremony is conducted. I wish you could have seen their expressions when I explained that after my will has been altered for the addition of the child and any future children, you are my sole beneficiary.”
Olivia halted Celeste and stared at Harry’s smug grin. Her mind and body kept responding to his remark about future children. Her mouth was already sagged open when he added, “You’ll have two thousand a year, plus, a house in Kent and one in Derbyshire. If you should grow tired or exasperated with me, you can relocate to the house of your liking.”
“Harry, two thousand?”
“We should keep moving.”
“Of course. Walk on, Celeste. I mean, promoner.” She shook her head, impatient with her shock-jumbled brain, and wished she’d paid more attention to her French lessons.
Fortunately, Celeste moved when Olivia leaned her weight slightly forward. “Harry, you’re going to have to tell me the commands she is familiar with.”
“And you have nothing to say about the settlements?”
“Father must have been dumbfounded. Why so much—to annoy him?”
Harry touched the rim of his hat to a passing couple, who were working mightily to hide their interest in her, as everyone who had passed had done. She didn’t care if Harry knew them or not and itched to hear her father’s reaction to Harry’s astounding generosity.
“Harry!” she ordered in a hiss.
He sent her a satisfied grin. “I can’t tell you how amusing the entire process was. I never told him the exact amount, naturally. I waited for him to find it in the contract. And when he did, he took great pleasure in pointing out that my transcriber had made a drastic mistake with the amount of zeros. He was so sure of himself, like a headmaster pointing out a flaw in one’s calculations. I pretended ignorance, of course. Then, aghast, I asked him to say it out loud, after which I protested that it couldn’t possibly be only a paltry twenty pounds a year. Your father replied that he felt that twenty would be most satisfactory. I had the extreme pleasure of picking up the document in question, peering at it with trepidation and suspicion through a quizzing glass lens. Then, I apologized again for the misunderstanding, and with a great show of relief, confirmed the two thousand amount. He didn’t know what to say, other than to convey his disbelief. Then I flourished the two deeds to the properties and told him that they were already in your name as sole owner, whether or not we married.”
“Oh, Harry!”
“You are set for life, Livie. All the horses and clothes you want. No more cooking, for I know you detest it. If you like, I could arrange for classes in medicine. Large donations to institutions have a tendency to topple the strongest barriers.”
Working to still the quivering of her lips, she looked over her opposite shoulder to casually brush a finger across her cheek, as if to remove a speck and not a tear.
Grim resolve smothered false frivolity when he vowed, “Yes, Olivia, you are free. Utterly and totally free of your family. Or of me, should you choose. Both houses are properties that provide income. Ah, look. Cass is heading this way.”
Her mind couldn’t accept that she was now a wealthy woman after so many years of having no money of her own, living under the dictates and strictures of those who provided her livelihood, while they chastised her failings. And she’d never aspired to study medicine, a desire she’d always considered impossibly beyond her reach.
She stopped her horse when Harry did and swallowed in order to gruffly ask, “Who?”
“Lady Ravenswold. She’s the ferocious rider bearing down on us on the bay. I hoped we might see her here. I thought it would be good for you to meet her before Lizzie’s dinner and soiree Wednesday evening.”
“Soiree? This Wednesday?”
“Yes, at my brother and sister-in-law’s. To introduce us as a couple. Shouldn’t be that large of an affair. Not a crush or anything. Mostly an opportunity for you to meet all of my friends. I have hopes you’ll sing. Lizzie adores music. She’s a marvelous pianist. Or perhaps you would prefer that I accompany you on the flute.”
Thumping hoof beats pulled Olivia’s stare from Harry’s twinkling glee to the rider tearing up the road at a hard gallop. Lady Ravenswold displayed no consideration for the bad manners of fast riding in the park. She did direct her horse away from others by lunging him off the road to cast up grass divots and leaping any obstacles, including benches and an empty punt lying on its side on the bank.
Olivia knew herself to be an excellent horsewoman, b
ut she would never compare herself to this woman, who drew the burnished red brute she rode to a skidding halt in front of Harry. The stud Lady Ravenswold rode eyed Harry’s fancy gelding and flattened his ears, while he impatiently chomped on his bit.
Ignoring the possibility of an altercation between the two males, Lady Ravenswold scolded, “Harry, you blackguard, you’ve missed two lessons!”
Touching his hat brim, Harry replied, “I’ve been otherwise engaged, old thing. If you can bring yourself to remember your manners, I would like to present Mrs. Olivia St Clair, my intended. Mrs. St. Clair, this bit of rudeness is Countess Ravenswold.”
Lady Ravenswold’s amber eyes widened, shifting from Harry’s proud smirk to Olivia’s level gaze. “Good grief. Intended? You’re telling me a Banbury!” She asked Olivia, “Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“By gad! Well then, how do you do, Mrs. St. Clair?” She returned her surprised stare to Harry. “Eliza said something about you being off your feed the last months, but marriage? Do she and Peregrine know about this?”
“Told her yesterday morning,” Harry replied with a cocky grin.
“Lud. Well then, it’s a fine pleasure to meet you, Mrs. St. Clair. You astound me.”
Olivia wished she could reply with a cool or clever remark, but she’d never had that facility and was taken aback by Lady Ravenswold’s celebrated magnificence. Her purported beauty was no exaggeration. The countess had a presence much like a force of nature, intimidating and wholly breathtaking. The stallion she so casually rode had a gleam in his eye, a killer tamed but never cowed, but the countess controlled the aggressive stud with unconcerned ease.
She wore a teal velvet riding costume, a striking contrast with her golden-red hair. A dashing red feather sprouted from the left side of the matching hunter’s cap, but the tan riding gloves showed considerable wear, bringing to mind the pair Olivia wore—supple, serviceable and worn to the point of perfect comfort.
