T
he ten days Eleanor spent at Fairwood with Miles, his mother, Julia and his brother, Lord Edmund, were days of unprecedented joy. She still worried about her parents, but her life could not become only a death watch. Neither her mother nor her father would countenance such and demanded that she “get on with her life”. So she did.
Dreamer won her race handily as Eleanor screamed encouragement in a most unladylike manner, abetted by Jemmy, Bitters and Lord Edmund. Even Fedder was caught out in a genuine smile. After the race, sporting reporters from the London papers engulfed Bitters and Fedder. They shouted questions about Day Dreamer’s blood lines and workout times and the races she was entered in. In the race barn at Newmarket, and later at Fairwood, Jemmy floated high on his new-found fame as the groom to the filly that had captured the fascination of the racing public. Eleanor was certain Day Dreamer would join Cinsyr as a rising star in the racing world and shortly, all of London would know of Rutledge’s latest three-year-old prodigy.
Even Mr. Weldon unbent and welcomed the Rutledge contingent to Fairwood with well-justified pride. Everywhere her eye looked, the property and animals showed the results of conscientious care. Mr. Weldon may have been out of joint due to the loss of Day Dreamer, but he hadn’t shorted his master in his care of Miles’ property.
Julia lavished maternal affection on Eleanor, and Miles brother, Lord Edmund—who immediately insisted she call him Ned—charmed her by treating her from the start like the sister he’d never had. Eleanor considered Miles the most handsome man she’d ever set eyes upon, but had she not been so enamored of her husband, she would have awarded that title to Lord Edmund. Ned combined his devastating good looks with an engaging personality and an agile tongue—he could charm his way out of anything—and made her wonder at the wisdom of having left such a scamp on his own in London. While his intentions were usually good, trouble of some sort or another seemed to find Ned, even in a town such as Newmarket, hardly the center of vice. Ned redeemed himself in her eyes, though, for he worked magic with the young, fractious horses, and as that described every animal Eleanor had ever raced, he impressed her greatly.
“Has my brother seen you rigged out like that?” Ned flashed her a lascivious grin as they left the stable block one early dawn morning and headed toward the exercise green, mounted on two of Miles’ young race prospects.
“Brat,” Eleanor responded. “Of course, he’s seen me. I can’t very well gallop racehorses in a sidesaddle and skirts, can I?”
“You’re the first female I’ve known brave enough to back a half-trained, two-year-old stallion, much less ride him at a full-out gallop.”
As Ned replied, the youngster he rode demonstrated exactly why any person concerned with staying hale and hearty would avoid riding such an animal, for the young stallion reared skyward and as soon as its front feet hit the turf, bolted forward to flee some unseen provocation. When checked abruptly to a halt by Ned, the youngster proceeded to thrust its head between its front legs and engage in a display of leapfrogging and vaulting such as to pitch any normally-skilled rider into the clouds. Ned stuck like a burr and had the animal pulled to a quivering standstill with very little fuss and bother whereupon he immediately urged the animal forward into a trot with an audible kiss and a light pat on the neck as if naught had happened.
Eleanor’s own mount had tried to emulate his companion, but forewarned, she’d immediately shortened one rein dramatically and pulled his head around until he eyed her right boot, and thus forced the young horse to constrain his histrionics to snorting and crabbing sideways in a tight circle. Thus having discouraged any airs above the ground, Eleanor loosened her rein on the young stud and drew alongside Ned. The pair of young horses proceeded to trot down the carriage path displaying, for the moment, acceptable manners.
“As to being brave… I’ve lived on a horse’s back since the age of three, Ned,” Eleanor scolded humorously. “Very few of the horses my father mounted me on were suitable for children for I was light enough to ride the yearlings, and as a young girl, I regularly limped back to the stable yard on foot, bedecked with mud and grass—my mount having returned home without me and long since been put back in its stall. The ensuing disgrace motivated me to try harder to stay atop the beasts.” She looked at Ned as they bobbed down the lane and smiled. “I wouldn’t say brave as much as accustomed to willful behavior. Where did you come by your exceptional seat?”
“Miles and our father, the old Duke, had acquired some young race prospects not yet trained to saddle. Miles was off at Oxford, and our head groom didn’t have the time to spend with them—nor the interest, frankly. I was at loose ends, betwixt and between—not a man and yet not a boy—with far too much time on my hands. One thing led to another, and I discovered I enjoyed working with the young horses. Miles took note.” Ned shrugged.
“There is great satisfaction in bringing a young animal into its full potential, and from what I’ve observed, the horses like you.”
“Yes. I have a way with horses and women,” Ned declared with unrepentant laughter. “Both adore me.”
Eleanor snorted and rolled her eyes and they rode in companionable silence for a short while.
“He worries for you, you know.” She cast a quick glance at Ned.
“Miles? Why, what has he said to you?” he asked sharply.
“He has said nothing to me other than you are an immense help. It is more the care I see on his face when you aren’t aware he is watching you.”
“Elle, tell him not to worry about me. He might listen to you. Nothing I say seems to matter.” The clack of shod hooves filled the silence that followed Ned’s clipped words. “Come on… race you to the gatehouse.”
She won. Ned’s mount, deciding he had behaved long enough, leaped and farted and generally behaved so poorly that Ned had to pull up or risk being unseated and she thundered by with a cackle of glee.
At the end of their visit, she and Ned were well on the way to being fast friends.
And Miles, her intoxicating husband … he filled her nights with physical pleasures that never failed to astonish her—though she stayed true to her vow never again to drink Spanish red. He filled her days with walks through the Fairwood pastures and barns examining promising young bloodstock all the while deep in discussion about their shared excitement at Day Dreamer’s excellent prospects for winning the Epsom Derby.
On her knees at prayer on the evenings he didn’t distract her with more earthy pursuits, she implored the Almighty to show her the way to win Miles’ heart.
On the morning of the day they would return to Rutledge, Eleanor sat at breakfast alone with the Dowager Duchess of Chelsony, as the gentlemen had rushed off earlier in response to a summons from Mr. Weldon—a summons that had Miles and Ned frowning and looking troubled.
“I think, perhaps, I did not lie to Mr. Ludlow when I told him you and my son were a love match.” The Dowager Duchess smiled at Eleanor and lavished butter on a warm scone. “You seem happier in your marriage than when I spoke with you last.”
“Is it so very obvious?” Eleanor played her spoon through her congealing oatmeal.
“Oui. You have the appearance of a woman well-loved.”
Eleanor raised her eyes to hold the gaze of Miles’ mother, unable to conceal her feelings of baffled enchantment. “I wonder that my skin can contain such joy without bursting like an overstuffed Christmas goose.”
“So Miles treats you well in the bedchamber? Pleasures you?” the Dowager Duchess inquired brightly. “Conjugal relations that gratify both parties create faithful spouses and a harmonious marriage, and it is universally acknowledged by the most educated physicians that a woman brought to her own supreme ecstasy is more likely to conceive. From the rumors that circulated, my son seems to have earned a reputation as a proficient cocksman.” Julia raised an elegant shoulder. “But you never know how much to believe of such gossip.” While ostensibly arranging the knife she’d used to butter the scone on h
er bread plate, she cast an upward glance at Eleanor through her lashes. “Is it true?”
In the midst of swallowing a sip of tea, Eleanor gulped it down hastily and pressed her napkin to her mouth. Her wide-eyed gaze found Julia’s laughing eyes brimming with mischief, and slowly, feeling extraordinarily audacious, she made a slight movement of her head up and down. Behind her napkin, her tiny smile grew into a self-conscious grin. She dropped her hand into her lap, and she and the Dowager Duchess began to giggle like adolescent girls instead of the mature women they were.
“Bien. I will prepare a nursery for my future grandchildren.”
I should like to give Miles a child. Eleanor became pensive. “But, Your Grace, I have him for only a short time. Just until the entailment is probated. Our agreement was a year at most, and then he returns to you and Fairwood.” She slumped in her chair and picked at the stitching of her napkin’s hem. “I love him. He grows more dear to me by the day.” She smiled faintly. “It is as you said. Miles is irresistible. I find I want a marriage real in every way, not the cold arrangement spelled out in the contract we signed, but how do I make him desire me enough to remain at Rutledge? If I tell him I am in love with him, Miles will stay by my side out of a sense of duty and the abundant kindness inherent to his nature—for I have never met another soul on this earth as compassionate and giving as my husband. He would stay, and I would never know truly what was in his heart. You must promise not to tell him of my feelings.” She gazed at Julia in raw appeal until she saw the older woman’s reluctant agreement. “I want to win his love, but I lack the faintest clue as to how to go about it. I had thought to entice him with the magnificence of Rutledge…” She shook her head slowly and returned to unraveling her napkin. “…but Miles is not at all mercenary. Besides, no matter how grand the buildings or how expansive the lands, mere bricks and tilled fields cannot compensate for the love of family that enfolds him here at Fairwood.” Eleanor cast another despairing glance toward the Dowager Duchess. “How do I win him?”
Bemused empathy shone from Julia’s eyes as she broke off a piece of buttered scone and slathered it liberally with gooseberry jam. “My dearest girl, you already have,” she murmured and then popped the morsel into her mouth halting further speech.
Eleanor wished she was privy to the insight the Dowager Duchess possessed that made her so certain, but in a contradictory departure from her normal confidence, she lacked the boldness to ask. Instead, Eleanor cast Julia a doubtful glance and ate a spoon of cold oatmeal.
Miles rose from where he and Ned had squatted to examine the black charring on some timbers that supported a section of the roof in the hay barn. Several of the grooms and farm laborers, begrimed and soot-covered, stood in a wide semi-circle around scorched floorboards and an overturned lantern that Miles was certain had been used to start the fire. The smell of burnt wood and hay hung heavy in the air. He faced Mr. Weldon. “I believe only the surface of the timbers have been burnt. We won’t have to replace them. We are very lucky that one of the lads caught this fire early enough that we could put it out quickly.”
“Yes, my lord, we certainly are, and then there is this.” Weldon handed him a piece of paper with a grim expression. “It was tacked to the harness room door.”
Did you think we wouldn’t find you? £20,000 now. You have a lovely mother. Pity if harm befell her or this property over such a petty sum. Be at Epsom for the Derby.
Reading over Miles’ shoulder, Ned turned the air blue with his curses.
Miles appreciated the sentiment, but unfortunately, he could not succumb to anger. He had to remain rational and take the steps necessary to protect his family, his property and the four-footed inhabitants of Fairwood. “Mr. Weldon, how many men would we need to keep watch around the clock on the property? The manor house, the barns, and pastures?” Miles waited patiently as the man stood and considered.
“I should think eight armed men would be sufficient, Lord Miles. Two for the main house and grounds and six to patrol the pastures. They would work in shifts of twelve hours on, twelve off.”
Miles frowned. “We have little staff we can spare, so I suppose you will need to find some able-bodied men from Newmarket.”
Again, Weldon thought for several long moments before he answered. “Well…I can shift three of the stable lads I would trust to keep their wits about them and not shoot one of the horses by mistake. He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to find five more. These days there are always men who have mustered out and are looking for work.”
Miles rubbed his forehead and tried to think where he’d find the money to hire five more staff for an indefinite period of time. He took a deep breath. He’d work the Fairwood accounts again and find the money somewhere. “I loathe that I cannot remain, but I am obligated to see my wife back to Rutledge. From there we will be going almost immediately to London and then on to Epsom Downs for Dreamer’s run in the Derby. So…I am putting a great deal of trust in you, Mr. Weldon. Hire the men you need. Pay them something fair. Above all, see that my family and my property come to no harm.”
Mr. Weldon nodded. “I’ll keep them safe, my lord. You can count on it.”
“I am.” He gave his farm manager a tight smile and turned to his brother. “Ned, I am going to trust you to keep a level head about you. Ned?” His brother had looked away when he’d addressed him and stood with his hands on his hips staring out the open door. Miles reached out and gripped his brother’s shoulder. “Ned…I am counting on you to help protect Mother.”
His brother wilted out from under his hand and turned to regard him with a bleak expression. “Whatever you need, Miles.”
He clapped his brother on the shoulder and smiled. “Right then…I’ll see you in Epsom in a fortnight. It was our plan regardless of the new threat. Under the circumstances, I don’t think it wise that you come alone. Bring a couple of Fairwood men with you.” Miles paused. “And Ned…stay with them?”
“Yes.” His brother closed his eyes and gave a pained chuff. “Bugger all,” he whispered in an undertone. “This is my fault. I’ve caused you nothing but expense and worry. I’m so damnably sorry.”
Miles raised his eyebrows and responded mildly, “Yes, I expect you are. We will muddle through this, Edmund. Chin up, and take care of the Dowager Duchess.” Not for the first time, Miles wondered if he had done his younger brother any favors by standing between Ned and the worst of the repercussions of Ned’s imprudent behavior. He could not have acted any differently, however, and still slept peacefully at night. He offered his brother a crooked grin. “In my study, in my desk, second drawer on the right, you will find a very fine pair of Wogdon & Barton coaching pistols. Keep them loaded and close to hand.”
“Wogdon & Barton?” Ned gave a long whistle. “Those must have cost you dearly.”
“Oh, I didn’t purchase them. I could never have afforded such precision pieces. They were a parting gift from a grateful lady, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that detail to Lady Miles should the subject ever come up.”
Ned rolled his eyes. “Of course. I’m not a complete nodcock.”
“Speaking of my wife, I must find my lovely bride and get started for Rutledge or we shall run out of daylight and that road is the very devil at night.” Memories assaulted him, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I have reason to know. Mr. Weldon, please send word I want the team put to.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“We left Fairwood as if the devil was on our heels and you’ve been lost in thought ever since. From your grim features, those thoughts are not uplifting.” Eleanor voiced her concern over the noise of the swaying traveling chariot as four superbly matched grays drew the ultra-light vehicle homeward to Rutledge at a smart trot interspersed with periods of cantering. They slowed to a walk occasionally to allow the team to blow and catch their air but picked up the rapid pace again as soon as deemed practical. At this rate, they were bound to far outstrip Sally and Mr. Hopwood who, along
with the luggage, rode behind them at a more sedate pace in the drag, but Miles’ instructions to the postillion riders had dictated their ground-covering pace, and she would not countermand him.
Miles turned his head from his sightless stare out the glass and regarded Eleanor with faint surprise as if he’d just realized another person sat beside him.
“What is troubling you? May I know?”
His stern features eased, and his mouth tipped in a faint smile, but he said nothing, rather, he appeared to be considering her request. She’d just about given up hope that he would share with her whatever plagued him when he relaxed back into the squabs with an audible sigh.
“Ned got himself into something of a bother in London some time ago, and I’m afraid it has followed him to Fairwood.” Beginning with Ned’s arrival in London prior to their wedding, Miles proceeded to explain the circumstances that led up to his and Ned’s hasty departure from the breakfast table that morning.
“Good heavens, Miles! Someone set fire to the hay barn and threatened your mother? We must turn around immediately and return to Fairwood. Her Grace and Ned must be convinced to stay with us at Rutledge.”
“It is immensely kind of you, but to what end? The villains who are trying to extort money from Ned will simply follow him there. These people have proven to be entirely without conscience and willing to sink to the vilest of behaviors.” He shook his head. “No. I will not allow those at Rutledge to be imperiled because of my brother’s folly.”
Eleanor frowned at him, more upset than angry. “If it is a matter of money, I am happy to pay these people.”
“No!” Miles snarled, and taken aback, she straightened in her seat. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he said softly, though his tone was no less stern, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to raise my voice to you. I know you mean well.” He returned his gaze to the passing scenery and spoke to the glass. “You cannot pay people like this sort. Once you do, there will be no end to it. They will suck you dry. Ned satisfied his legitimate debt. Nothing more is owed. They simply see what they think is easy money.” He shook his head. “They will find we are anything but.”
A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Page 21
