Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband CampaignThe Preacher's Bride ClaimThe Soldier's SecretsWyoming Promises

by Regina Scott

  “Take him,” John said to the groom, who accepted the reins with an ill-concealed grimace. The black kept an eye on Amelia as they passed. The roan shifted her body across the entrance to the stall.

  Interesting. Was she shielding Amelia or trying to show off for the stallion?

  “Good girl,” he heard Amelia murmur. One gloved hand came up, and she stroked Firenza’s back.

  “What are you doing here, Amelia?” John asked.

  Her hand hesitated, but she peered over Firenza with her usual pleasant smile. Did nothing ever anger her, or was she simply too well brought up to show it? He knew he routinely missed the nuances of human behavior. Look at how he’d misinterpreted Caro’s response to his suit. Now he couldn’t be sure what was going on in that pretty, platinum-haired head.

  “I wanted to see how my girl was doing,” she told him with a smile to the roan. “Mr. Jones says she is ready for a ride.”

  “Mr. Jones was commenting on the state of her shoes,” John replied. “That doesn’t mean you can ride her.”

  Amelia continued to smile at the horse. “Why ever not?” she cooed. “Firenza and I have become good friends.”

  The roan turned her head to look at John as if to disavow all knowledge.

  “She’s kicked Danning and two grooms,” John told Amelia. “Bitten three others who weren’t quick enough to avoid her. When she runs, she’s easily the fastest horse in the stables, besides Magnum. You couldn’t handle her.”

  Her gaze turned to him at last. “You made that judgment on remarkably little evidence, my lord.”

  He inclined his head. “Forgive me, but I’ve seen the nags you ride.”

  “Belle is no nag!” Her voice was rising, and Firenza shifted in the stall. John supposed Amelia must still be smarting over the fact that her father had refused to send her dainty white mare north with her. “And even if she was less impressive than a Hascot horse,” she continued, “you must remember that I did not choose my mounts. My father did.”

  He could not argue that her father knew more about horses than she did. Lord Wesworth was an avid collector of fine horse flesh. But that was his problem. He saw horses as nothing more than another item to be acquired. And after the way he had treated Amelia, John was fairly certain he hadn’t taken great pains to find his daughter a fiery mount.

  “I know your father chose your horses,” John told her. “And I have nothing against your Belle. But Firenza is a different animal.”

  “Then she will be a challenge.” She removed her hand from the horse’s back and came around in front. Firenza nipped at the veil as it passed, but Amelia did not appear to notice. She approached him, blue eyes solemn, and laid her hand on his arm.

  “Please, John,” she murmured. “Let me try.”

  It was one of the few times she had used his given name, and he was surprised to hear how sweetly it sat on her lips. Her face was turned up to his, her look imploring. Even her touch spoke of how much she wanted to ride that horse.

  He knew those feelings. They blossomed every time he saw a colt mature. It was an honor and a thrill to be the first one to ride his horses, to teach them to carry the most precious cargo of their lives, another human being. To sit upon their backs and soar.

  “Very well,” he said.

  Her hand fell off his arm as her eyes widened in obvious surprise. “Oh, John, thank you.”

  She looked as if she was about to throw her arms around him to express her thanks. John turned hurriedly away. “Let me try her first. Just to be certain she’s ready.” He beckoned to a groom, who brought up a leather saddle.

  “Very kind of you,” Amelia said, “but, no.”

  The groom hesitated, glancing between the two of them. John hesitated, as well. “I will keep my promise, Amelia. You may ride her, under certain conditions.”

  She tapped her finger to her lips. “You did not mention conditions, my lord.” She turned to the groom. “I’ll require a sidesaddle, if you please. If mine has not been brought down to the stables, ask Turner where it was stored.”

  He glanced at John, then back at her. “It’s here, your ladyship. I’ll bring it right over.” He scampered off.

  “Amelia,” John started, but now she put her finger to his lips to seal them.

  “No, John,” she said, gaze on his, touch soft. “This is important to me, and I cannot help thinking it is important to our marriage. If you cannot trust me with your horses, any horse, you cannot trust me at all.”

  He wanted to argue, but he feared she was right. Already Magnum’s animosity was making him wonder about her. Perhaps she saw the truth of it in his eyes, for she pulled back her hand as the groom hurried up with her saddle.

  Amelia stepped aside so the groom could place the sidesaddle on the mare’s back. Firenza shoved him up against the wall of the stall, head whipping back.

  “No!” Amelia ordered, marching forward.

  John stiffened. Amelia kept her gaze on Firenza. He didn’t dare make a sound for fear of breaking her concentration.

  “Come now, my girl,” she told the roan, “behave yourself. What will the gentlemen think of a lady with no manners?”

  The mare shifted away from the wall, and the groom escaped with a grateful gasp of breath.

  Amelia moved in front of Firenza and stroked her nose. “That’s my fine girl. Now we’re going for a walk, then we’ll cinch you all up so we can ride. You want to get out of this stable, don’t you?”

  As if she suddenly remembered that John and the groom were watching, she glanced his way. “I think they like when we talk to them,” she said, and he could hear the defiance in her tone.

  “I know they do,” he said.

  Her smile brightened the stable. Taking hold of the headstall herself, she led the mare out of the box.

  Everyone stopped. The grooms stood with hands on pitchforks or harness, Mr. Jones lowered a horse’s leg so he could focus. Even the other animals turned in their stalls to watch.

  Head high, Amelia floated down the aisle, Firenza walking beside her, groom and John trailing her like the train of a ball gown. The sunlight set her curls to gleaming.

  Fletcher came running from the house as John followed her into the paddock.

  “Is it true?” he called to John. “You’re going to let her ride Firenza?”

  John could only snap a nod. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Amelia. Every movement spoke of confidence, determination. She directed the groom to lay on the saddle, but she held the headstall to prevent Firenza from nipping at him and praised the roan when the mare allowed the leather on her back. But when he started to tighten things in place, Amelia stopped him.

  “Hold her, if you will,” she said. “I think I should learn how to do this myself. My lord? Would you teach me?”

  John’s feet felt rooted to the ground. “You want to learn how to saddle a horse?”

  She smiled at him. “I do. Shouldn’t every horseman or woman know how to do so?”

  “Yes.” His own convictions thrust him forward. “Yes, they should. Allow me, my lady.”

  He came to stand behind her and pointed around her at the saddle. “You want the saddle to sit near the highest point of the horse.”

  “And Peters has done a very fine job of that,” Amelia said with a nod to the groom, who grinned.

  “These pieces of leather hanging down are the girths,” John continued, stemming the wish that her look was directed at him. “One forward, one back. Buckle the right one first, making sure the strap is snug but not tight.”

  Her supple fingers worked the brass buckle into place. She glanced back at him. “Like that?”

  Her face was inches from his. He could have dived into the expansive blue of her eyes and forgotten himself entirely. He took a step back. “Just like that. Now the other.”

  She turned to accomplish the task, but still he found it hard to breathe. “It won’t buckle,” she complained.

  John peered around her. “We’ll nee
d to oil that when you return. For now, allow me.” He reached around her.

  Her body was enclosed in his arms, and the scent of orange blossoms brushed him even as a tremor ran through her. His hands were shaking enough that buckling was difficult. It didn’t help that Firenza kept shifting away from him. She knew John’s emotions even if Amelia wasn’t yet certain.

  At last the prong slipped into place, and John checked the girth straps. “Well done,” he pronounced. He pulled back, then bent to cup his hands. “Your ride awaits, my lady.”

  Amelia put her foot into his grip. He helped her into the saddle, then stepped back to watch. If the mare so much as turned its head toward her, John was prepared to act.

  Firenza stood perfectly still as Amelia arranged the skirts of her riding habit. Reins in one hand, crop in the other, she directed the mare around the paddock. Firenza walked slowly, carefully, as if well aware of the woman she carried on her back. John took a deep breath. Amelia shot him a grin.

  John hadn’t even returned her smile before the mare broke into a gallop, leaped the gate and took off across the fields with Amelia on her back.

  Chapter Ten

  “Fetch Magnum!” John roared, racing to the edge of the paddock. Already Amelia and the roan were disappearing into the field. Why hadn’t he heeded his misgivings? Amelia was inexperienced; she couldn’t handle a fiery-tempered horse. Now she was on a runaway, and it was all his fault.

  The groom returned in a rush, Magnum trotting beside him. John leaped into the saddle even as another groom ran to release the gate. The black reached top speed the moment he cleared the opening.

  Across the fields they flew. Some of the other horses attempted to pace them and soon fell behind. Contessa tried to follow but couldn’t keep up. John urged the black faster.

  He knew the danger of an unruly horse and had tried to break Firenza’s bad habits without bruising her wonderful spirit. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t refused Amelia. He’d seen her confidence building with each task she accomplished. He wanted her to succeed.

  But he wanted more to keep her safe.

  He spotted the mare heading for the grade toward the Rotherford mine and pushed Magnum after her. The slope forced the roan to slow, and the black easily closed the distance.

  “Amelia!” John called as they drew abreast.

  She had been intent on directing Firenza. Now she flung him a smile. “Oh, hello, my lord,” she called. “So glad you could join us. Isn’t she magnificent?”

  He was so surprised he actually reined Magnum in.

  Firenza climbed to the top of the slope, paused on the crest and stood, head high, mane blowing back to brush her rider like flames. Yet it wasn’t the roan but his wife that held John captive. Amelia sat, poised, calm, in complete control. Her back was straight in her plum riding habit, her gloved hands graceful on the reins. The smile she cast him was all pleasure and pride, and he felt similar emotions rising up inside him.

  He rode to join her, and they walked along the ridge, side by side.

  Amelia patted the roan’s shoulder. “That’s what she needed, a good run and a little sunshine.” She took a big breath of the fresh summer air. “Lovely.”

  She was lovely. Her cheeks were pink from the rushing air; her eyes sparkled from the exhilarating ride. Yet every movement was collected.

  “She’s yours,” John said. “You earned her trust.”

  The pink deepened. “And she earned mine. She won’t disappoint me or hurt me. Not ever.”

  Neither would he. She might not know that yet, but it was becoming increasingly clear to John. Lady Amelia would challenge every belief he held, about his horses, about his future and about his stance on love.

  *

  Amelia wanted to burst into song. She would never forget the way the concern on John’s face had melted into admiration. He was beginning to see that she could stand beside him, helpmate, partner. Now she just had to encourage him to see her as the mother of his children.

  What she had not expected was to see him as the father of hers.

  They had ridden into the stable yard when John urged Magnum forward. A moment later, he was out of the saddle and striding to the paddock, where Peters, one of the younger grooms, was attempting to bridle a two-year-old, a liver chestnut named Diamond in the Rough, with black ears, mane and tail. Seeing his master approaching, the groom dropped the tack, and the horse capered away to the opposite side of the fenced area.

  Other grooms came for Firenza and Magnum, and Amelia stepped down on a mounting block as her husband entered the paddock.

  “You hit his teeth,” John said, gruff voice stating a fact rather than an accusation.

  Peters flushed nonetheless. “Aye, my lord. Diamond isn’t used to the bridle yet.”

  “And not likely to become accustomed unless you help him.” John nodded to him to retrieve the tack, then clucked to the young stallion. Diamond raised his head, ears flicking.

  Amelia ventured closer to the paddock as Peters moved back toward the fence.

  “What is he doing?” she murmured to the groom.

  Diamond was trotting about, weaving this way and that. John paced him, smile on his face, as if they were dancing. Then he stood still, hand raised, and the chestnut walked up to him.

  “Teaching him, your ladyship,” Peters murmured back. “There’s none with a lighter touch than the master.”

  John positioned himself to Diamond’s left, one hand on the halter around the horse’s nose. He rested his other hand just behind the alert black ears. John stroked the spot, murmuring, as if he was whispering instructions. Diamond lowered his head.

  “Good lad,” John praised him, patting the two-year-old’s lean neck.

  As Amelia watched, he went through the cycle twice more. How patient he was, gentle in touch, yet firm in his expectations. She could see by the way Diamond stood—muscles relaxed, tail still—that the chestnut was willing to be led by him. His faith was unquestioning.

  Oh, Father, to have such faith!

  “Peters,” John called, and the groom hurried forward with the bridle. Diamond started, but a word from John calmed him again.

  “See how his head is down,” John told the groom. “It puts his mouth at the proper angle. Then if you slide in the bit—” he suited word to action “—it’s easier to avoid the teeth, and he’s less likely to balk.” He stepped back to let the groom fasten the tack into place. The look in his dark eyes was kind, tender; the lines of his face soft. That was how a father would gaze at his children, with pride and love. That was how she’d wanted her father to look at her.

  And as for how a husband should look at his wife, she could only wish for such sweet devotion.

  Her face warmed, and she had to turn away.

  But she could not forget the scene as the day went by. It intruded on her thoughts when she set up her embroidery frame in the withdrawing room along with new fabric for a seat cushion of crimson roses. It colored her view of him as they sat with Dr. Fletcher over dinner, making her appreciate the intent way he always listened. And that night, when she said her prayers, asking for health and prosperity for her parents, the king and prince and the nation, she found another thought slipping in.

  Father, help me to be worthy of such love.

  She was still considering the next move in her campaign to win her husband’s heart the next day when Turner came to find her. Amelia had been reviewing Mr. Hennessy’s inventory of the linen when the maid approached.

  “Begging your pardon, your ladyship, Mr. Hennessy,” she said with a bare dip of her knees below a gown in the jade-green color Amelia had chosen for her staff. “But a carriage just pulled up at the door from Bellweather Hall.”

  Mr. Hennessy snapped to attention, stretching the shoulders of his black coat and his own jade-colored waistcoat. “Check that the withdrawing room is ready to receive guests, Turner,” he ordered. “Tell Morton to let down the steps for them on your way. I’ll greet her Grace at the door
.” He turned to Amelia. “How much time will you need to prepare yourself, your ladyship?”

  She understood the flurry. Bellweather Hall, which stood at the entrance to the dale, was the ancestral home of the Duke of Bellington. A carriage from there must be transporting a member of his family, and by the sound of it, Mr. Hennessy was certain it was the duchess. The ranking member of the local aristocracy and one of the highest ladies in the empire, she would be a power to court.

  “Give me five minutes,” Amelia told her butler. “Discover her preferences for refreshments, and tell Mr. Shanter to have them ready.”

  “Right away, your ladyship.”

  She had put on a blue-striped morning gown earlier; it ought to be suitable for callers, even one as exalted as the Duchess of Bellington. Amelia took only enough time to make sure her hair was sleeked back in the bun at the nape of her neck and draped a cashmere shawl of sunflower yellow about her shoulders. Then she went to meet her guest.

  Instead of merely the duchess, however, she found two women waiting for her in the withdrawing room. One reminded her of her mother—sturdy, silver-haired, with double chins pressing against the white ruff at her throat and ample curves filling her gray lustring gown. That must be the duchess.

  Her companion, however, was more slender. She had a pinched nose and sallow skin made worse by the saffron-colored embroidered muslin dress she wore.

  “Your Grace,” Amelia said, coming forward and dropping her best curtsy, “we are honored to have you with us.”

  Lady Bellington waved a plump beringed hand as if to grant Amelia the right to sit in her own home. “As the senior lady in the district, I see it as my duty to welcome the new brides.” She hitched her own shawl closer as Amelia sat on a spindle-legged chair nearby. “Of course, neither Rotherford nor Danning waited upon my visit before taking their wives elsewhere. This is my daughter, Lady Prudence.”

  Lady Prudence sniffed, and it took Amelia a moment to realize it wasn’t in distaste. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice coming out high and cracked. “Please, forgive me. I always seem to develop a corpulent inflammation of the sinusoidal membrane when we return home.”