Lyon's Gate

by Catherine Coulter

  “What you said, Jason—no, I’m not even going to think of snow all the way to gentlemen’s noses and why—no, I’m not.” Then she laughed. “Oh dear, I can picture Henry lovingly laying that blanket over Dodger’s back, and kissing him. What about Delilah?”

  “When I looked in on Delilah before breakfast, she was eating. Henry said he’d allow her to eat as much as she wanted today. She was frustrated, he said, and eating helped her—all females actually—get through the dry spells.”

  “Henry said she was eating because Dodger wasn’t interested in mating with her?”

  “Oh yes. He also told me that was why ladies who didn’t have good men or were in what one might call a desert of, want, tended to be on the plump side.”

  “I have never been in any sort of desert of want—indeed, I have no notion of what you’re talking about. Nor do I have a good man, if such a thing is possible—and I’m not plump.”

  “You’re young and ignorant, so you don’t count. Angela’s plump.”

  “Not much, and her husband’s been dead for years—that is—no, this is absurd. You’re making it all up.”

  “Not a bit of it. As for Piccola, according to James Wyndham, she’s pregnant—she’s rubbing her belly against the stall door, a sure sign. Not that I ever observed a mare rubbing her belly, mind you. Have you?”

  “No, never even once. What does Jessie say?”

  “She said she always rubbed her stomach on doors when she was newly pregnant. James used to say it was ever so delightful to watch, but it wasn’t really good for anything except more play, that is—never mind that.”

  Hallie punched him in the arm. “You’re making all this up, I know you are.” She looked down at her flat stomach. “Imagine rubbing your belly on something when—” She realized what she’d said and turned red to her hairline.

  “You doubtless will be rubbing in the not-too-distant future.”

  She stared up at him, said not a single word, looked at his mouth. She blinked. “Ah, I didn’t see you when you came in.”

  “I went right to my bedchamber.”

  “So you got soaked going to the stables this morning?”

  He shrugged, took a step back from her. “Of course. But only one of us needed to get his bones soggy, and I did draw Angela’s shortest knitting needle. If anyone croaks of an inflammation of the lung, it will be I. You’re safe.”

  “Well, you’re all dry now, and your wit is overflowing. You had more fun than I did, sitting around here in a blasted gown and ever-so-dainty green satin slippers.”

  “Dainty? Do you really think so, Miss Carrick? I believe your feet are nearly the size of mine.”

  She threw her empty teacup at him, grinned as he snagged it out of the air not an inch from his left ear. “You have very fast reflexes. What will we do today?”

  “We will improve upon our bookkeeping. I’ve spoken at length with James and his steward, McCuddy. We will incorporate some of their practices, change others that fit our operation better. Come along, I’ll show you.”

  They worked, heads together, until late afternoon when Angela knocked on the estate room door. She heard some arguing, laughter, solid silence, and she frowned as she knocked. She didn’t open the door until she heard Jason call, “Enter.”

  “Children,” she said to them, quite on purpose. They were sitting too close together, but on the other hand, neither of them looked the least bit guilty or embarrassed, a huge relief.

  “Yes, Cousin Angela?”

  “Now, my boy, you may call me simply Angela. I’m here to fetch you both so you may beautify yourselves for dinner. I believe Petrie was moaning over the state of your clothes, Jason. Martha told him to get a grip on himself, his whining didn’t set a good example for the staff. And what, she said, would our new housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, have to say about it?”

  Hallie said, “What did Petrie say to that?”

  “I didn’t hear, but I’ll wager his mouth closed and his shoulders straightened right out. You’ve met Mrs. Gray. She’d straighten the shoulders on God.”

  For a moment, Jason frowned down at his tapping pen. He looked toward the far wall, its big window now sporting lovely new pale golden draperies. He heard the rain slapping in windy gusts against the clean glass panes.

  He rose quickly, smiled at Angela, and said, “It’s nearly five o’clock. I had no idea. We have accomplished nearly everything we set out to accomplish. Thank you for fetching us, Angela. I won’t be here for dinner this evening. Hallie, let’s put away our new record books. We’ve worked hard enough.”

  Hallie sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest. “That is the truth. You are very good at mathematics, Jason, excellent indeed. I’ve always done much better with musical notes.”

  “Your entries are much neater than Jason’s, dear,” Angela said. “You could also set your entries to a jaunty tune if you wished. Jason couldn’t.”

  Hallie laughed. “I had my knuckles rapped by my governess if every line and curl wasn’t perfect. However, I’ll get the hang of all of it. Jason, where are you going tonight? To Northcliffe Hall?”

  “No,” he said, not looking at her. “I’ve an appointment in—Well, that’s not important. I will see you ladies in the morning.”

  “But look, Jason, it’s still raining hard.”

  He nodded and left the estate room.

  “How very odd,” Hallie said to Angela. “He suddenly seemed very distracted. I wonder why. I also wonder who would agree to an appointment on this perfectly dreadful evening, and where it is.”

  “You could follow him, I suppose,” Angela said.

  “Hmm,” Hallie said. “I could, but this time I don’t think I will. With my luck, he’d see me—”

  “—and toss you in a ditch to drown.”

  “I was thinking something else, but no matter. I’m starving, Angela. What did Cook prepare for dinner?”

  “Lovely baked sole, I believe, and some fresh green beans. It’s a pity Jason won’t be here. I do believe Cook excels when he is present.”

  “He toadies up to her.”

  “No,” Angela said. “He’s polite and he smiles at her. That’s all it takes. She told me that looking at him made her recipes take wing.”

  Hallie said slowly, nodding, “I heard that every cook in Baltimore wanted to feed him; it was a competition of sorts to gain his attention. Absolutely ridiculous. They did the same thing for my father. Genny always said she couldn’t believe he never became fat as a stoat. He doesn’t gain flesh, you know. I hope I am like him.”

  “You are his female image. Ah, two such glorious men, that’s the truth.”

  Hallie grunted.

  Angela said, “It’s better I don’t speak to Cook. Maybe she won’t find out Jason’s not here, and we’ll enjoy the fruits of his bonny self. Also, I must tell you that Petrie was telling Martha that her English is not what a lady maid’s should be, and thus she should keep her mouth shut until it improves.”

  Hallie laughed. “Did Martha smack him?”

  “It was close, but she said smartly that she could only continue to improve if she practiced all the time, and why wasn’t he smart enough to figure his way to that conclusion? And if he was going to continue as an old trout-tooth, she might forget her lessons on purpose. Then she flounced off with Petrie huffing and puffing behind her, without a word to say. Poor Petrie, a misogynist all these years—though he isn’t old at all, is he?”

  “No, Petrie isn’t old at all, just a trout-tooth, Martha’s right about that.” As she walked upstairs to her bedchamber to change—and why should she bother anyway?—she wondered yet again where Jason had taken his bonny self. It must have been dreadfully important for him to go out in this weather. Maybe she would ask Petrie. She excelled in subtlety. He didn’t stand a chance.

  She saw her prey just before she went into the dining room, coming out of the drawing room, humming, oblivious of his looming surrender. “Petrie,” she said, all smooth
and guileless, “I wished to ask Mr. Sherbrooke about a matter of importance. Do you know when he will return home?”

  The hum died in Petrie’s mouth, his face turned to stone. Chin going up just a bit, he said, “He did not confide in me, Miss Carrick.”

  But he knew, damn him. Petrie wouldn’t let Jason out of the house if he didn’t know where Jason was going and with whom he was meeting. What was he hiding? How to pry it out of him?

  “It concerns the Dauntry mare coming tomorrow, an urgent matter we must discuss as soon as possible. Surely he said something.”

  “My master spoke only of the bloody rain, Miss Carrick. Ah, he did mention he might ask you to shine his boots for him tomorrow.”

  “Surely you didn’t agree with that, did you, Petrie? A female shining your master’s boots?”

  Petrie said slowly, “I have never before considered anise seed. We will see. Oh yes, Mrs. Gray sent a message saying she wouldn’t be with us tomorrow. It seems her brother has a broken leg and she must tend to him. She believes the first of next week will be all right for both her and her brother.”

  Hallie realized she was stumped. What else could she ask? Better to quit the field with some dignity. “Ah, well, no matter. Thank you, Petrie.”

  “Of course, Miss Carrick. I am at your service, naturally, at any time at all.”

  His slyness smacked her in the back of the head. She would never give him the exact measure of anise seed. “You gave me no service at all,” she said over her shoulder as she marched, with not much dignity, into the dining room.

  Cook burned the sole, mashed the fresh green beans, and placed lovely warm rolls on the table with doughy centers. The promised blancmange for dessert never appeared, probably a good thing. Angela remarked that she heard Cook singing a funeral dirge, and who knew funeral dirges for heaven’s sake? Who had told her of Jason’s defection? Hallie decided she should have tried a little toadying. Maybe it would have worked as well as male beauty and Jason’s smile.

  Or maybe not.

  CHAPTER 21

  The following morning was sunny and warm. No one would guess it had rained hard enough to fill the rain barrel unless they slipped in an occasional three-foot mud puddle.

  It had taken Hallie and three stable lads to hold Delilah still and keep her calm while Henry and Jason controlled Dodger, who was snorting, wild-eyed, nostrils flaring. He was so well-rested and excited, saliva was dripping from his mouth, but he didn’t hurt the mare, which was a relief.

  After Dodger had performed his duty with Delilah, Hallie wondered how Delilah could have enjoyed herself at all. It was a messy business, sometimes dangerous. The thing was, Henry told Hallie, that Delilah was no longer interested in her food. Dodger was something, wasn’t he, he’d rescued Delilah from a desert of want. Hallie had no answer for that.

  Everyone was exhausted and tired and sweaty when it was over. The men hadn’t even seemed to notice she wasn’t one of them there toward the end of the business what with sweat running down her brow.

  As Hallie wiped Delilah’s sleek neck, she said, “You’re a brave girl, Delilah, a stoic princess faced with a toad, not a prince. Yes, you were able to bear that clod of a horse with that disgusting spit hanging out of his mouth.” She was reaching for a damp sponge when she saw Jason standing in the stall doorway, arms crossed over his chest, an elegant eyebrow arched over wicked eyes, grinning at her.

  Her chin went up, her voice defensive even as she willed it not to be. “Well, it’s the truth. Dodger wasn’t at all, er, graceful and considerate, as he was to Piccola.”

  “As I recall, Piccola nearly slept through it.”

  “Well, Delilah wanted to kill Dodger. She was quivering, her eyes were rolling, and she looked really mad. The more upset she became the more of a brute Dodger was.”

  “Some men are as well,” Jason said, realized what had come out of his mouth, and bit his tongue. What was the matter with him?

  That made her frown at him. She started brushing Delilah too vigorously and was nearly bitten. She jumped aside even as she said with a lovely sneer in his ever-so-lovely smiling face, “Well now, haven’t you been in a deliriously happy frame of mind since the moment Petrie dragged you out of bed this morning? Very late, wasn’t it? I do believe that Angela and I had long finished eating. If it wasn’t for your damned face, you would have gone hungry.”

  “Well, I didn’t since our cook is excellent and ever so flexible. She served me fresh nutty buns, scrambled eggs and, I do believe, bacon crisped just as I like it. We are very lucky to have her.”

  “Go ahead, trade on your wretched looks. It means nothing.”

  “Careful, Hallie, you’re not exactly a knotty stick, you know. Hypocrisy isn’t attractive. Also, what do you mean by that? I don’t trade on anything, much less my damned face, it’s absurd.”

  “None of that is to the point.”

  “And the point being?”

  “Look at that grin on your sorry face—all vacuous and silly, like you’re so pleased with yourself. What sort of meeting did you go to? Who made you so happy? No, I see, you drank a lot, didn’t you? Gambled away our profits?”

  “Perhaps a bit of brandy. I couldn’t gamble because we don’t have any profits yet.” He scratched his belly and leaned against the stall wall. “Delilah will try for another bite if you don’t stop rubbing her so hard. Use the sponge on her. I’m not about to say anything more about that.”

  “What do you mean about men being clods?”

  He seamed his lips, shook his head. She could pull out his fingernails, but he wasn’t doing any explaining, particularly since he’d never meant to say it in the first place to a young lady who was as unbroken as a newly born filly. “Sex,” came out of his mouth, followed by, “It’s a fine art. Some men are too selfish or simply uninformed, well, never mind. Curse me again for opening my mouth. When you’re through with Delilah, Henry said Angela wanted us to know that Cook has outdone herself for lunch, though I have no idea why she would do that since every meal she’s prepared for us has been quite excellent.”

  Hallie stared at him, swallowed, managed to get herself together and say, “She cooks for you.”

  “What does that mean? No, don’t even think something so utterly ridiculous. She’s always cooked for the three of us.”

  “Never mind. You’re quite conceited enough. Go away. I’m starving. What is she preparing?”

  Jason looked blank. “I don’t know, I never asked. Normally she usually stands there, saying nothing at all, when I speak to her.”

  Hallie snorted.

  The shaved ham was lovely, sliced as thin as Cook’s at Northcliffe Hall, and so Jason told her after luncheon, only Mrs. Millsom didn’t thank him, simply continued silent, staring at him. He thanked her once more, and left the kitchen, shaking his head. The woman might be dim-witted, but she was magic with the cook pans.

  Angela was taken aback when Petrie, voice rich and formal, announced a gentleman was here to see Miss Hallie.

  She said, “This is odd. It can’t be any friends or relatives or they’d know she was likely at the stables. Hmm. Show this gentleman in, Petrie.”

  A very handsome man indeed, Angela thought as the gentleman in question walked with a gentleman’s saunter into the drawing room. He paused a moment, stared all about before focusing his attention on the only occupant, namely Angela.

  He sketched her an elegant bow. “Ma’am, I’m Lord Renfrew. I’m a special friend of Miss Carrick’s.”

  Angela, who didn’t know a thing about Lord Renfrew’s nefarious marital schemes for Hallie, rose, her smile welcoming, and stretched her hand out to him.

  Lord Renfrew took her hand, raised it to his lips. Ah, a very graceful gesture, Angela thought, feeling her heart trip for a moment. He must have met Hallie during her season. What a very lovely man indeed. Why had Hallie never mentioned him?

  “Won’t you sit down, my lord? Hallie is riding, I believe.”

  Lord Renfrew
eased his elegant self into a high-backed chair with lovely patterned brocade cushions. “I have been out of town, ma’am, and thus didn’t hear until I returned to London a short time ago that Miss Carrick had moved here to run a stud farm with a gentleman she met not two months ago. I cannot imagine her doing such a thing. Miss Carrick is a lady. Since you say she is riding, that rather puts a period to that ridiculous rumor, doesn’t it? A lady rides, after all.”

  “Well, yes, of course a lady rides. Actually, though, my lord, there is much more than riding involved. Are you familiar with the Sherbrooke family?”

  Lord Renfrew nodded, laid a graceful hand on the chair arm. “Certainly everyone in society knows the Sherbrookes, ma’am. However, this son, Jason Sherbrooke . . . I understand he’s not been in England for many years.”

  “He’s home now. He’s here, to be more specific. He and Hallie are partners. I am her chaperone.”

  “Chaperone? What is this? I don’t understand. This makes no sense.”

  Angela said, “The reason they’re here together is because they both wanted Lyon’s Gate. Neither would sell out to the other. It’s a bit more complicated than that, naturally, but that’s the essence of it.” She paused a moment, then added, “Anyone in London could have told you that.”

  “As I said, I did not believe it.” He looked around the drawing room. “This is a charming room, and the grounds and paddocks look prosperous, but still, why would Miss Carrick wish to own this particular property? It is not as grand as she is used to. You know she lived at Ravensworth Abbey for many years. Surely she wouldn’t be content coming so far down—” At that moment, Petrie, knowing the gentleman’s worth, wheeled in a fine old tea cart donated by Lady Lydia. Petrie’s entrance was a good thing, and Lord Renfrew realized it. He’d been unmeasured in his criticism of this undistinguished property that smelled of stables. He bowed his head and said nothing more.

  What is all this about? Angela wondered as she gave him a cup of tea with three sugars, and two small cakes. She said, as she sipped her own tea, “During the mornings, Hallie and Jason are always working at the stables or exercising the horses.”