Sara Lindsey - [Weston 03]

by A Rogue for All Seasons

  He rolled them so she lay on top of him, a limp, sweaty blanket. He stroked his hands over her back and down to her derriere. “I thought we weren’t going to spend all day doing this,” he murmured. “Or did you object to confining ourselves to the bed? ” He chuckled. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I have a great deal more affection for this room than I had before, but the water for your bath should have been brought up by now; it would be a shame to let it get cold.”

  She scrambled off him, her horrified gaze fixed on the closet door. “Oh, heavens, do you think they heard?”

  He laughed. “If our servants don’t have selective hearing, they’ll quickly acquire it. I mean to make love with my beautiful wife whenever the opportunity presents itself.” He got to his feet and pressed kisses to her flushed cheeks, then took her lips once more. Her eyes were glazed and dreamy when he lifted his head.

  “Go to your bath, love, before I decide to test whether the tub is large enough for two.” He patted her bottom. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.” He gathered up his dressing gown and returned to his chamber, leaving her to Ellie’s care. He found a fresh basin of water at his dressing table, only lukewarm now, but as his blood still simmered, that mattered little. He washed again and shaved himself. He’d nearly finished dressing when Jasper made an appearance.

  Henry took one look at his valet and sighed. “Found a way to celebrate last night, did you?”

  “Oh, aye!” Jasper grinned cockily. “I could tell you tales such as you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I would have little trouble believing them, but if you’re hoping to romance my wife’s maid, this escapade had best be your last.”

  Chastened, Jasper nodded. “I saw Mr. Kingsley this morning. He wants to speak to you as soon as you’ve the time. He says there’s nothing wrong, but I have the sense it’s important.”

  Kingsley was Henry’s head groom, a gruff old man who’d been in charge of the stables at Weston Manor until Henry had stolen him and brought him to Ravensfield. If Kingsley needed to speak with him, that would be his first order of business. His stomach rumbled. Very well, it would be his second order of business.

  “I plan to eat breakfast with my wife,” Henry told his valet, “but tell Kingsley I’ll meet him in the stables afterward. Then, for God’s sake, go back to bed.” He glanced longingly at the rumpled sheets of his own. “One of us, at least, should spend the day there.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I hope you believe me when I tell you how pleased I am by this turn of events. After our meeting, you will not be surprised, I think, by what accompanies this note. Think of Penelope as my wedding present, free of any conditions or expectations. I only ask that you consider what I asked of you. I took the liberty of having my Zephyr cover Penelope, and she shows every indication of having conceived. By this time next year, you may be in possession of a future champion.

  —FROM THOMAS MERRIWETHER TO HIS SON-IN-LAW HENRY WESTON

  A SMALL CROWD MET DIANA when she came down to breakfast. She might have fled in the face of all the curious looks, but Henry met her on the stairs and took hold of her arm. She blushed as he introduced her to the butler, Timms, whom she’d seen briefly the day before. His wife, Mrs. Timms, was the housekeeper, and she was as tall and thin as her husband was short and fat. Diana thanked the woman for sending her husband over with the basket of food; though she knew how to plan a dinner party during any month of the year, she hadn’t the faintest notion how to execute any of the recipes in the cookery books.

  Mrs. Timms then presented the cook, Mrs. Polgrey, followed by the three footmen, the two housemaids, the kitchen maid, the laundry maid, and lastly the scullery maid. The housekeeper rattled off their names in such rapid succession that Diana knew she had no hope of remembering any of them save for the last. She and Tilly, the scullery maid, were off to an excellent start.

  The room cleared as Mrs. Timms dismissed everyone, and Diana looked around the hall. What she saw pleased her. The fluted columns and finely carved mahogany staircase were impressive without being ostentatious. The Gainsborough, Cuyp, and Teniers pictures hanging on the freshly painted walls had come from the Bedford sale, as had the ormolu chandelier. She glanced up toward the skylight and noted that the plasterwork needed repairs.

  “You’re thinking much too hard before breakfast,” Henry told her as he slid his arm around her waist. “Mrs. Timms will take you around the house after we eat. For now, content yourself with the morning room.”

  Over breakfast, Henry told her that, other than Jasper and Ellie, the house staff all came from local families. He entertained her with all of the village gossip he’d gathered over the past weeks. She nodded and laughed when he seemed to expect it, but inwardly she began to count the days since her last flux. She thought she had close to a fortnight before she needed to start taking the pennyroyal, but her courses weren’t always regular. If she and Henry continued as they had started, she couldn’t afford to miscalculate. She decided to drink a cup of the tea every day, and then, as Martine had instructed, a few cups a day in the week before her courses.

  “Di?”

  She blinked, realizing she’d been staring abstractedly at her empty plate.

  “This doesn’t bode well for the future,” Henry teased. “This is our first breakfast together, and I’m already boring you.”

  “I beg your pardon.” She smiled serenely at him. “I get distracted when I’m tired and, for some reason, I didn’t sleep much last night. Perhaps I might rest better in my own bed tonight.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve heard—” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “I’ve heard spiders often invade the beds of newly married women. You’d best sleep with me again.”

  “Spiders, you say?”

  He nodded. “Big, scary spiders. And newts. The newts here in Surrey are ugly, Di.”

  She raised her brows. “Are there pretty newts?”

  Henry shrugged. “Some are uglier than others.”

  “I believe I could manage the spiders; some mint and lavender beneath the mattress ought to send them running. Newts, though? I guess I had best sleep with you, just to be safe. As far as I’m concerned—” Her lips began to quiver, and she knew she couldn’t hold her laughter much longer. “As far as I’m concerned, no newts is good newts.”

  HENRY WAS STILL CHUCKLING AS he made his way to the stables. He entered the small office where he kept all the records and paperwork on the horses. He found Kingsley waiting there for him. The man had to be close to sixty, but he remained as imposing as always. Tall and strong enough to rein in the wildest stallions, the groom’s hair color was all that had changed, mellowing from coal black to dark silver.

  Accustomed to Kingsley’s brusque manner, Henry wasn’t surprised when the man simply nodded, picked up a letter off the desk, and held it out. Henry took it, broke the seal, and began to read. He grew more furious with every word. How had his father-in-law been so presumptuous as to send Penelope to Ravensfield?

  He was desperate, Henry thought, and desperate men acted like fools. If Diana hadn’t agreed to marry him that day in Isabella’s drawing room, he would have resorted to tactics far worse than bribery. As it happened, he actually agreed with something Merriwether had said to him at Tattersall’s. There were things Diana and her father needed to say to each other. She needed to face him as an adult, but that would keep until she felt ready. Henry wouldn’t pressure her.

  “I thought it best to keep the mare here,” Kingsley said, “not knowing what you’d wish me to do. The groom that brought her said she was breeding. Sending that little beauty all the way back to Suffolk would have exhausted her, besides which I can’t spare a groom to take her.”

  “You did right,” Henry assured him.

  “You mean to keep her, then? I don’t like to overstep, Master Henry, but you’d be a fool to let her go. She’ll produce champions, that one.�
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  “That does seem to be the popular consensus,” Henry muttered. “Granted, I wasn’t one for the books, but I do recall that bad things come of accepting gift horses. She’ll stay until she foals, for I don’t wish to risk her health, but I bloody well hate having my hand forced like this.”

  “She comes from your wife’s pa. Could be he means you to have the mare as her dowry,” Kingsley suggested.

  “I know what he means by this, Kingsley, and I can’t accept her. I’ll buy her from him, or he’ll take her back. I’d appreciate if you and the other grooms would keep quiet on the subject of Penelope’s background. We’ll call her, um, Penny for the time being. My wife and her father aren’t on good terms, and I don’t want to upset her with this.”

  “Of course, Master Henry.”

  “For God’s sake, call me Henry or, if you prefer, Weston. ‘Master Henry’ makes me feel like you’re about to saddle up my pony.”

  Kingsley snorted. “You would crush a pony. Come to the paddocks. Some of us have been busy while you were off getting yourself leg-shackled.”

  Henry shoved the letter into one of the desk drawers and wished he could deal so efficiently with his father-in-law. He followed Kingsley downstairs and out the back of the stables. Pride welled in him as he watched one of the grooms working a frisky colt on a longe line. Mares and fillies grazed in one of the larger paddocks, and he caught sight of Penelope’s—Penny’s—gleaming auburn coat.

  Past the paddocks, grooms put two stallions through their paces. He and Kingsley made their way out to watch the grooms’ progress. Henry had great hopes for the big bay. The stallion was coming along nicely; he might even be ready to race this year.

  He discussed the possibility with Kingsley as they made their way back to the stables. “I don’t want him to have a bad first race. He’ll take it to heart, and we’ll never get another good run out of him. We need to start by taking him to some of the smaller races. That way he’ll…”

  “That way he’ll what?”

  “What?” Henry asked. He grinned stupidly at Diana, who’d just come through the stables and was walking toward them, an equally stupid smile on her face. He lengthened his stride, leaving a grumbling Kingsley behind.

  “Henry, the stables are incredible!” Diana exclaimed as he reached her. “Is that my Tulip out there?” She threw her arms around him. “Oh, thank you! I thought she’d been sent back to The Hall.” She pulled back as Kingsley caught up to them, but Henry caught hold of her hand and refused to relinquish it.

  “Kingsley, allow me to introduce you to my wife. Diana, this is Kingsley, our head groom, who taught me to ride and knows the distaff line of every winner of the Oaks, the Derby, and the St. Leger.”

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kingsley. When I was young, my favorite bedtime story was that of the Godolphin Arabian and his faithful feline companion, Grimalkin, but if that failed to put me to sleep, my father resorted to reciting pedigrees.”

  Henry saw a flash of pain cross her face when she mentioned her father. Thomas Merriwether and his bribes could rot in hell. He wouldn’t allow the man to upset Diana.

  “Well, my love,” Henry said, “should sleeplessness ever plague you, I now know the cure.” He sidled closer and whispered against her ear, “Though I daresay I can think of more enjoyable ways to exhaust you.”

  Kingsley gave a choked cough, and Diana’s cheeks turned as pink as the flowers printed on her gown. In an effort to avoid looking at either man, Diana turned to gaze out at the horses. “Who is that gorgeous creature—the chestnut mare? Look at those lines! Did you get her recently?”

  “Ah… you must mean Penny. She is, in fact, our newest arrival.”

  Kingsley cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be about my work. A right pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weston.” Kingsley beamed approvingly at her. “I couldn’t want more for Master Henry—”

  Henry sighed, imagining a pony collapsing beneath a very, very overgrown boy.

  “—than a wife who knows the foundation sires and has a keen eye for horseflesh. If I were twenty years younger, I’d steal you away and marry you myself,” he declared, kissing the hand Henry wasn’t holding.

  Henry stared, bemused by this gallantry from a man who’d only ever displayed interest in females of the equine variety. “Stop flirting with my wife, Kingsley, or you’ll make me jealous,” he joked, but he found himself disturbed by the slight bit of truth in his words.

  “What a dear man,” Diana said as Kingsley left them. “He reminds me of the grooms at The Hall. I’d escape to the stables whenever I could. It was the only place at all familiar to me amongst all that perfection. I used to sneak books from the library and read in the hayloft. The grooms never told me to mind my manners or watch my clothes, and they always had a kind word for me.”

  “It’s rare for anyone to receive a kind word from Kingsley,” Henry informed her as he led her upstairs, “especially a woman. I’ve never seen him take to anyone as quickly. For that matter, this is the first time I’ve seen you take such a quick liking to someone.”

  Diana laughed. “You can’t possibly be jealous of an old man!”

  “Of course not.” Henry scowled.

  “You won’t—” she said suddenly, looking up at him anxiously. “You will never be jealous over me, will you? I promise you, there is no need.”

  He ushered her into the office. Midday light slanted through the window and poured over her fine features. He traced his index finger over the delicate arches of her eyebrows. “Di, I know you would never stray to another man’s bed. Of course, I never plan to let you out of mine long enough to give you the opportunity.”

  He expected her to laugh or, at the very least, blush. Instead, she worried at her lip, reddening the soft flesh. Hunger rose up in his gut. “I won’t get jealous, love,” he assured her. “Is there something else troubling you?”

  “It’s that mare, Penny.”

  Henry tensed. “What about her?”

  “She must have been terribly expensive,” she fretted.

  “Since my father purchased the stud, I can put all the money from the investors into the stables and the stock.” She didn’t look convinced. He sighed. “Will it set your mind at ease if I tell you that she cost me nearly nothing?”

  “How can that be?”

  “Just think of her as a wedding gift,” he advised as he locked the door. When he drew her up against him, she tilted her head back and parted her lips. Being an obliging sort of man, Henry kissed her soundly. And then he set out to prove that an office in the stables was no less worthy of consideration than a linen closet or a dressing room when it came to seducing Diana. He rather thought she agreed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I am not one for writing letters, but your mother says she will not come to bed until I have added something. She seems to believe I can offer you indispensible pieces of marital wisdom. I am no wiser than is the next man, but if this will please her, you and I will suffer through it. That is my best advice to you: Be good to each other. Make time every day with her to talk, listen, and laugh. Quarrels are inevitable, but only fight about things that truly matter. Right or wrong, you will have to apologize, so it is best to walk away before saying something you will regret. Try not to go to bed angry, but if you cannot, at least sleep in the same bed.

  —FROM THE VISCOUNT WESTON TO HIS SON HENRY

  MARRIED LIFE SUITED HENRY VERY well. He and Diana quickly settled into a satisfying routine. He woke in the morning when one of the maids brought in the hot water, which he let grow tepid as he set about rousing his wife. He’d fast learned Diana wasn’t an early riser by nature. Rather than have a grumpy wife, he took it upon himself to see she started each day with a silly smile on her face, which usually resulted in an equally foolish grin on his own.

  He smiled like a loon even when he wasn’t making love to his wife. He and Diana ate breakfast together and then he went off to the stables. He spen
t the remainder of the morning answering correspondence, settling accounts, and doing whatever it was that needed doing. He couldn’t say he enjoyed those tasks, not in the way he enjoyed working with the horses or making plans with Kingsley, but he took satisfaction in them.

  Or rather, he took satisfaction in knowing he tried his hardest every day to make the right decisions. He’d only ever been responsible for his own sorry hide, but now he had investors to please, staff dependent on him for their livelihoods, and a wife to provide for. He needed the stud to be successful for them; he wanted success for himself.

  He found he enjoyed taking on the responsibility of seeing to the estate’s well-being. He also enjoyed the responsibility of seeing to Diana’s well-being. He saw to it often. Henry had always been possessed of a happy disposition, but never in his life had he been as content as he was now.

  Another man, encountering such a plentitude of good fortune, might have been nervous that it couldn’t continue. The idea never crossed his mind. With only minor exceptions, his life had always gone smoothly. Naturally, he assumed his business pursuits and his marriage would prove similarly easy. Thus, his first marital spat came as a particularly unpleasant shock.

  They had been married for a little less than a month when, at the dinner table, he announced that he was going to London.

  “I received a letter today from one of my investors in London; he wants to meet with me. I would put it off, but there’s a sale at Tattersall’s I should attend. If it were one or the other, I wouldn’t go, but I may as well combine the two. I also have some business around Newmarket I’ve put off too long. It will only take me a week, ten days at most.”

  “When is the sale?” Diana asked. She cut a piece of fricasseed chicken into miniscule pieces and pushed her peas into a pile.

  Her plate remained mostly full, while he’d already helped himself to seconds. He told himself not to fuss over her. She’d been indisposed for the better part of the week with her courses. Courses—hell, more like curses. He’d wanted to send for the doctor, but Diana had vowed to bring the wrath of God down upon him. Some months the pain was worse than others, she’d told him, but this month wasn’t bad enough to allow a man other than her husband to examine her there.