by Jenna Jaxon
“Oh, I would like that so much.” Though her smile was not as bright as before, still it transformed her face into beauty. “I love carriage rides almost as much as riding horseback.”
“Do you enjoy riding, Dora?” He’d not have guessed that any more than her fondness for dancing. Apparently, he understood her as little as her family.
“I do. I have my own mare, Gretchen. I try to ride every day in good weather, but am forbidden to go out unless the ground is bare and dry.”
“Why don’t we ride out tomorrow after breakfast if it’s still clear?” An excellent way to get his little bride-to-be alone, out from under the watchful eye of her family. “You can show me the estate and perhaps the village.”
“Father won’t allow me to go out with snow on the ground.” She shook her head sadly, trying to smile. Her hands twisted the napkin in her lap. “He thinks I cannot handle a horse if the ground is sloppy, even though I’ve ridden all my life.”
“Leave the permissions to me.” Tris shot a look down the table at her father, now talking amicably with his son. “As your betrothed I will demand you accompany me on pain of forfeiture of his best boots.”
Dora sputtered with laughter.
She deserved a husband who could draw out her good nature and love her. He seemed to be the former, but could only hope, eventually, to be the latter as well. Several times during dinner his thoughts had wandered back to Violet. What was she doing? What was she practicing? Was she dancing with Donningham or some other fortunate suitor? He feared such images would never leave him.
Shaking off the melancholy that threatened to drape itself around him, Tris turned to his hostess. “Are you fond of riding, Lady Downing?”
“No, indeed, Lord Trevor. Give me a carriage every time, I say.” She nodded so fiercely one of the combs securing her coiffure flew onto the table.
A footman leaped forward and retrieved it.
“Oh, how sad.” Feigning a dour countenance, Tris sent his future mother-in-law a woeful glance. “I was going to ask you to join Dora and me on our ride tomorrow morning. I thought it would be a nice adventure to explore the countryside and get to know one another before the wedding.”
“But the snow, Lord Trevor.” The viscountess’s eyes seemed to pop at him, like the frogs he used to gig as a boy.
Tris bit the inside of his mouth to stifle a laugh. “I assure you, my lady, I will take excellent care of your daughter.”
With pursed lips, which only enhanced the froggy look of her, Lady Downing straightened her shoulders, laid her napkin next to her plate and rose. “Come, Dora. We will retire to have tea and leave the gentlemen to their brandy.”
Dora rose obediently, but sent a merry smile at Tris before following her mother from the room.
Tris shook his head as Lord Downing poured a stingy dollop of brandy into a glass and handed it to him.
“Dora seems rather taken with you, Trevor.” His lordship sipped his own libation before returning to his seat at the head of the table. “I don’t think I’ve seen her so animated since…well, ever.”
“Not that you pay her much mind, Father.” Harper, who had downed his splash of spirits, rose and headed for the decanter. “Let me warn you, Trevor. She’s a pathetic little mouse. Father should have told you what you were in for before he accepted your offer for her.”
Surly pup. Tris gripped the fluted tumbler then tossed it off. He hadn’t believed Dora when she’d said her brother hated her, although he might have been mistaken to do so. Never would he have dreamed of dishonoring one of his sisters so, and certainly not in his father’s hearing. This Captain Hackum needed to be given his oatmeal. “Of course, I made her acquaintance before I offered for her, Harper. She suits me as she is, if it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, not my business at all.” Throwing his head back with a laugh, Harper plopped himself down. “I’ve just always found her to be a mopus. But if that’s to your taste, then have at her. Keep her out of my way and I won’t give a damn.”
“That will hardly be a problem, I think.” Tris eyed the wretch, malice in his heart. “After our wedding trip we’ll likely remove to London for the Season. I’ll take my seat next session but as soon as that’s through we’ll head to Yorkshire. A visit to the property at Bromley, and then we’ll settle in. You will likely not see your sister for some time.” Never again if he could help it.
“Have you given no thought, then, to old Leinster’s property?” Lord Downing’s voice cut the air crisply. His chair screeched on the stone floor as he pushed it back.
“I have not consulted Dora yet, but I suspect she will be glad to spread her wings a bit and see other parts of England save London and Devizes.” Tris forced himself to speak lightly. No need for a fight. After all, she’d be his wife. He could command her to go wherever he wished. But it would be a cold day in hell when he lived under Downing’s roof. “As Lady Trevor she will be much in demand in Society. I will insist she take full advantage of her new position.” And stay the hell out of her family’s clutches.
Knuckles white, Lord Downing slammed his glass down so hard the candelabra in the center of the table jumped. “You had best remember your position, Trevor. Dora’s a fragile girl who will not thrive far away from her home.”
“In that I do hope to prove you wrong, my lord.” Tris grinned into the red face. He grabbed the decanter and tipped the cognac in until it filled half the glass. “By the way, Dora and I will be riding around the estate tomorrow. A little tour to familiarize myself with the countryside. I’ll be able to discuss the issue of our residence with her then.”
Downing’s face went purple. His eyes protruded almost from their sockets and one large vein in his neck bulged. Sputtering incomprehensibly, he stalked out of the dining room, the loud clicking of his heels echoing down the corridor.
“Whew.” Harper whistled as he rose and snagged the brandy. “You’ve no fear of baiting the bear, have you, Trevor?”
“I won’t be held hostage by a tyrant no matter if I have married his daughter.” Tris gulped the remaining brandy, relishing the burn. He held his glass out. The evening would likely require more than one glass for him to survive.
“Well, you’ll make my life a damn sight easier. The pater will be so set on dealing with you he won’t come after me so often.” Harper poured a generous amount into Tris’s tumbler before filling his glass almost to the brim. “I wouldn’t take up for Dora too much. She’s always been a thorn in Father’s side. Too shy, too awkward, not nearly as pretty as my other sisters.”
Careful to keep his temper in check, Tris leaned back, sipping slowly. “You don’t like your sister much, do you, Harper?” he drawled, aching to chalk the man one in the face.
“She’s been my ruin since she was born.”
“Come again?”
“My grandmother’s money was meant to come to me. The old lady doted on me, even over my sisters. I would have inherited her estates in York and Brighton and a considerable fortune as well.” He took a swallow, dribbling the spirits down his chin, then grimaced and wiped his mouth with this sleeve. “Until the day the little darling was born. The moment my mother named her for the old lady she had no use for anyone else.”
“You’ve got the title and all your father’s property coming to you. Why would you need more?” Greedy Turk.
Harper rolled his eyes. “One does need money in the meantime to go on with. I wouldn’t have to be called on the carpet every time I spend a farthing. With that inheritance I could have bought a post-chaise for each day of the week.” He leered at Tris. “Or I could set up residence in the best punch house in London. There are several girls I wouldn’t mind patronizing on a regular basis.”
Tris sputtered, mid-sip. Christ, did the man go to Vestry’s? Could he know about Violet? He shot a glance at Harper, but he was busy emptying the decanter into his glass. Tris hadn’t ever seen him at the House of Pleasure, but that meant noth
ing. Hopefully he patronized Madame Bontemp’s establishment instead. She catered to more wanton tastes if rumor was correct. Best not make much of the comment. “You’ll survive without Dora’s inheritance, Harper. And you might have a thought for your wife’s recovery rather than patronizing brothels.”
“Huh. Wait until you’ve bedded Dora and then give me that advice.” Harper’s lip curled in an ugly sneer. “I wager you’ll be in London and in bed with a cat inside a month of your marriage.”
“I’d take that wager, but I won’t dishonor my wife with even the contemplation of it.” Enough was enough. Tris set his glass down and rose. “Good evening, sir.” He strode from the room, shaking with rage at the slight to Dora and with a greater fear that Harper might prove right.
Chapter 22
Crisp air crackled in Tris’s nose as he sat atop Rufus, Downing’s roan gelding, surveying the five inches of fresh snow that sparkled over the front lawn of Harper’s Grange next morning. A bracing morning for a ride. He hoped Dora lived up to her estimation of herself as a horsewoman. If not he’d feel like Jack Adams having gone on about how she’d be fine to ride out in the snow. Downing had grumbled, but finally acquiesced.
A slow crunch, crunch of hooves on the fresh snow carpet drew his attention to the corner of the manor. Dora rounded the side of the house on a gray mare who pranced and arched her neck, ears flicked forward.
She smiled and patted the gray’s withers. “There, there Gretchen. We’ll be away in no time.” Seeing Tris, she nodded to him. “Good morning, my lord.”
“It is always a good morning when I’m met with such a charming sight.” His gaze swept her form from top to toe, taking in the trim figure in pale blue wool riding habit, trimmed in dashing gold braid. A fashionable small black tricorn, also trimmed in gold and cocked at a jaunty angle, perched on her golden hair. Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, grew even redder. She ducked her head and adjusted her grip on the reins.
“You are too kind, my lord.” She surveyed him in turn, leaned toward him, her lips slightly parted, then hesitated and sat back in the saddle.
“Shall we view the estate first, then the village?” Tris hurried to fill the silence left by her unspoken comment. “We won’t want to stay overlong out in the cold.”
A shy smile and enthusiastic nod and he nudged his horse toward hers. They set out down the drive at a sedate walk. The countryside spread out around them, covered with a blanket of snow, reminded Tris of a particular sugary cake the family cook used to make. The clean expanse looked so pure he almost hated to mar it with their hoof prints.
“If you truly want to see the estate, we shall have to leave the road, my lord.” Dora’s voice sounded unusually loud in the cold air.
“By all means.” Was she actually taking the lead?
“This way.” With a practiced hand, Dora turned the mare to the left and struck out across the untouched lawn, urging her horse to a trot.
Tris gave her her head and followed, amazed at the change in his bride-to-be. Here with him she seemed more confident, more at ease.
They headed toward a stand of tall oaks on the perimeter of the parkland, passing a large pond, frozen solid. Particles of snow skittered across it in the brisk wind. Dora pulled her horse to a stop, waiting for him to catch up. “The pond is stocked in summer with all manner of fish—carp and pike mostly, I believe. Do you enjoy fishing, my lord?”
He had to chuckle. “Although I will eat it, I confess I have never attempted to actually catch one. Do you enjoy it, then?”
Shaking her head, she frowned at the frozen water. “I have never been allowed. At one time my father spoke of building a folly at one end.” Dora waved toward the near bank. “I would have liked that. Perhaps I might have been permitted to sit there and watch the fishing.” After she stared at the expanse of ice a moment longer, her brows puckered into a frown, then pulled her mount to the right. “Come, Gretchen.” A gentle tap of her heel started the mare for the woods, once more at a trot.
Tris hung back, enjoying the sight of his bride-to-be handling the high-spirited animal with ease. There was more to Miss Dora Harper than met the eye. He urged Rufus into a trot to catch her up.
Reaching the line of trees, she halted, waiting for him, not impatient. Simply waiting. As though she’d been schooled to wait on other people’s whims without complaint.
“This stand of oaks marks the boundary of the Grange on the north side of the property. The estate is some five hundred acres, so I doubt we can see it all today.” She smiled and tapped Gretchen’s flank, heading them into the trees. “I’ve always thought this a pretty wood. So leafy and green in spring and summer. And a blaze of color in autumn.” Her eyes sparkled and she motioned to the trees before her. “Even in winter they are beautiful. Black lace on white.”
“I agree,” Tris said, pulling alongside her. “Very pretty indeed.”
Startled, she jerked her head toward him, her body tensing as for a blow.
Why was she so skittish? Reassuringly, he smiled and patted her hand. “I am only sorry I shall take you away from it.”
Dora gazed down at his hand on hers. “I will not mind much, I think.”
“No? Your father seemed to think you would prefer to continue to live at home after we marry. Either at the Grange or on a neighboring estate.”
She stiffened, her lips thinning until they resembled a pink slash across her face. “He is mistaken, my lord.”
“Tris, please, Dora.” He gave her hand a little shake, then drew his away. Still, he needed to be quite sure. “You are certain you would not prefer to stay here? Your father has even made enquiries about an estate close by.”
“You may be assured, I will be most happy to remove to your estate, Tris.” A fleeting curl of her lips passed for a smile. “It is in Yorkshire I believe my father said.”
“My principle estate is, yes. I live in London most of the year, where I have a townhouse in Mayfair. After the wedding, I thought we might journey to Italy for some months.”
“To Italy?” Her voice rose almost to a squeak.
“It is a lovely country and I would like very much to show it to you. When we return we’ll journey to Yorkshire.” He took her gloved hand between both of his and placed a warm kiss on it. “Perhaps you will find it as lovely as this estate.”
A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face and she grasped his hand. “That sounds wonderful, Tris.”
Her horse stamped. Almost reluctantly, she let go Tris’s hand and clucked to Gretchen, patting the animal’s neck. “I cannot wait to see Yorkshire. Is the estate large?”
“Almost two thousand acres.”
“Goodness.” Gathering her reins, she stared off into the distance. “The temperature is dropping. Let us head to the village.”
“Should we perhaps return to the house?” He had an idea what her answer would be, still he’d ask.
“Oh, I believe we can pay a short visit,” she spoke quickly, slipping her reins through her fingers over and over. “If we’re in luck, Mrs. Pierce will have some warm bannocks in her shop. They are quite the best I’ve ever had.”
“I cannot wait to taste one.” Tris motioned for her to take the lead. “Would you like to hear more about my estate? You will be mistress there soon.”
Her blue eyes matched the sky. “I’d like that very much.”
Once they cleared the woods, Tris pulled the roan up beside her and they started at a brisk walk. “The estate is called Marshall Manor, on the border of Cumbria. A lovely prospect in summer, but the Dales are fierce in winter.” He eyed her and nodded. “I think you’ll love it.”
* * * *
Finishing Mrs. Pierce’s warm bannocks, which were every bit as good as Dora claimed, Tris marveled at all the people who seemed to know of their visit to the village. Before he’d taken a bite out of the delicious bread, slathered with fresh butter, half the populace seemed to have entered the baker’
s shop. They admired Mrs. Pierce’s new grandson, swaddled and in his mother’s arms, spoke to the head crofter, Mr. Craddock and two of his six daughters. Young Jimmy Vyne arrived to purchase bannocks and stayed to talk about the spring crops while Tris’s toes froze in his boots.
He finally urged Dora outdoors, and toward her mount, when she spied a black and white dog, bounding over the drifts.
“Jasper!” she called, backing away from her horse and kneeling to embrace the shaggy shepherd. “Where have you come from?” She peered around, then glanced at Tris, brows puckered. “He belongs to old Mr. Blake, but I don’t see him anywhere. I hope nothing is wrong.” Fending off Jasper’s enthusiastic advances, Dora continued searching for sight of his master.
“Does Mr. Blake live in the village?” Tris asked, grabbing the reins of both horses. He, too, scanned the fields and roadway for sight of the dog’s master.
“No, he lives at one of the outlying farms.” She rose, her brows set in a deep V. “I hope he’s not ill. Jasper’s usually right at his side.”
“Shall we ride out to his farm to check on him?” Tris took measure of the sun’s position. Much as he commended Dora’s concern about her tenants, the shadows of afternoon lay deep on the snow. He wouldn’t want to be caught far from the manor house after dark. “We may just have time before tea.”
“Yes, thank you.” Cheeks pink with the cold, she flashed him another brilliant smile that went straight to his heart. “It would put my mind at ease.” She loosed Jasper and Tris cupped his hands for her to mount.
The small foot, encased in shiny black leather, made him smile unaccountably. She would be a gracious and caring viscountess for his estates. Guilt assailed him for taking her away from the people she obviously loved and who loved her, still he’d be damned if he settled here. He had his own people to think of. Dora settled into place and Tris grabbed his horse, preparing to mount, when a loud call of “Halloo, Jasper,” rent the air.
