The windowed lounge she could identify easily, as it looked out to the courtyard with a perfect view of not only the dark timber loose boxes, but also the washing area and exercise grounds. She turned circles, impressed with all she saw. It was not difficult to tell where the carriage and cart horses were stalled versus the previous owner’s thoroughbreds, all of which had gone to auction after his death. The lesser horses were on the opposite end with the carriage, out of view of the lounge, with single, open stalls. The stalls were roomy as far as stalls went, but nothing to the loose boxes.
Alternating columns partitioned the boxes, one horse per box. Athena would have one to herself, of course. Mary did not doubt Caesar was tucked into a sizable stallion box.
“It houses upwards of eighty horses,” Duncan said.
“Good Lord. Does it really?”
“I’ve already spoken to McLarren about making the needed alterations for foaling. This is designed to display thoroughbreds, not for breeding. We spoke to the stablemaster this morning, a fine fellow who helped design this very stable block. He believes the space can easily be altered for breeding, especially with so many loose boxes already in place. Had this been mostly stalls, he says it would have been a greater undertaking.”
“What else is my dowry good for? Use it.”
Duncan ran a gloved hand through his hair. “I’ll take care of your needs, Mary. Let me worry about this.”
She turned to argue but after seeing the hard set of his jaw decided against it.
“Come. I’ve more to show you.” His hand returned to the small of her back to lead her to the loose boxes.
“More? There can’t be much more to delight me than this. I can only take so much excitement in one day, you know.”
He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I beg to differ. You can take a great deal more excitement in a single day. Believe me when I say I aim to delight you.”
Mary felt the pulse of desire and knew her neck was reddening.
In quick strides, they reached the first loose box. Duncan opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter. Expecting to see Athena, she stopped short to find a dappled grey stallion. It was neither Caesar, who was solid white, nor the horse her father-in-law rode. So startled was she, she almost failed to notice the flowers. When she saw them, her hand covered her mouth in surprise.
Yellow flowers were woven into the horse’s mane, alternating with long braids tied by tiny blue ribbons. The horse looked at her and nodded.
“Oh my. Aren’t you handsome,” she exclaimed as she approached to stroke the stallion’s neck.
She looked him over, sparing a questioning glance to Duncan.
“Meet Galileo. He’ll be turning four in February, just before breeding season begins,” Duncan said. “We have a sense of his size now, and though he might grow yet this year, I’d wager this is what we can expect of his foals. Any sired by him would make fine warhorses, don’t you think?” When she opened her mouth to speak, he stepped out of the box, ushering her with a hand. “There’s more.”
With whispered words to the stallion, Mary followed Duncan to the next three loose boxes, a two-year-old mare in each, all with braids and woven flowers.
Duncan leaned his shoulder against the columned partition. “It’ll take time to breed horses for cavalry. The horses will need to be about five before they can start their career, but training should begin earlier than that. It’ll take nearly two years to fully train them for war, eighteen months if in a pinch. Given this is a long-term investment, I thought we had better start right away.”
She struggled to wrap her mind around the news. “These are for me?”
He grinned devilishly. “I hope it’s a good wedding present. I’ve not overstepped, have I?”
Running her hands over the mare, she shook her head, speechless. Her dream was coming true before her eyes.
“Are you hoping to train them?” she asked.
His startled look surprised her in turn. “Train them?”
“Isn’t that what you’re thinking? I breed them, and you train them? You must have remarked a dozen times in letters about the lack of training of both horses and soldiers. And you just said yourself, training should begin early. That’s what you had in mind, yes? You’ll train them as Army cavalry horses.”
“Truth be told, Mary, I hadn’t factored myself into the equation at all.” He was frowning, his arms crossed. “I’ll have to think on it. And for that matter, I’ll have to send a few letters to see if our services would even be of interest to the Army.”
“Will Caesar not be sired?”
“I believe he’s looking forward to it.” Duncan’s frown turned to a smirk. “But I wanted you to have horses of your own for breeding. Your own stallion with your own mares. If you’d like, I’ll have McLarren bring you the paperwork and research he’s conducted, and you can work with him to arrange for more mares or whatever your heart desires. The stablemaster, as I mentioned, is excited about the prospects of your plans. He and McLarren have been plotting since I arranged for your wedding presents.”
“I’d like to meet with the stablemaster myself.”
Duncan raised his brows. “Would you?”
“Yes, I would.” She lifted her chin and pulled back her shoulders, prepared for his argument.
He shrugged. “We’ll make it happen, then. I took the liberty to choose the breed. I hope you don’t mind.”
Exhaling in relief that he had not tried to control the situation by demanding to be the decision maker and messenger to the steward and stablemaster, she stepped out of the loose box.
“Why Andalusians?” she asked.
“The Army favors Arabian stallions, and I hope to prove Andalusian geldings and mares would better serve for cavalry. If you’re going to breed warhorses, why not make a statement? Arabians are beautiful but too high spirited and stubborn for the battlefield. With good training, yes, they can make fine cavalry horses, and they are a joy to ride—I’ve always wanted one, if you must know—but they’re too hotblooded for war.”
“But if you’re training them, would it make such a difference?”
Duncan nodded, leading her across the courtyard to the lounge. “Andalusians, like Caesar, make perfect warhorses. Docile and gentle but brave. Adaptable, quick to learn. Though Caesar’s a stallion, I hope to convince the Army to change over to geldings and mares. There’s nothing more awkward than a stallion getting a whiff of a mare and deciding love is more important than battle, not to mention a stallion’s typical temperament.”
This was all so fascinating. How was it that she had not researched this on her own? It had been on a whim she thought of breeding warhorses, but from there she had not given it much thought. The letter she had sent to Mr. Edmund Tattersall had been her attempt to research. What a daft cow she was to have expected a man to tell her the answers, which had been the very reason she had avoided going to Drake. Somehow writing a letter was her way of doing this on her own.
Listening to Duncan explain horse breeds for war made it clear how little she knew about cavalry horses or breeding and how much she should already have learned from research. She resolved to take matters into her own hands, starting with a conversation with the stablemaster.
And speaking of taking things into her own hands, as soon as she entered the lounge and the door shut behind her, she found her hands ungloved and wrapped around Duncan’s waist.
“Kiss me,” she ordered.
He complied like a good husband, pulling her against him in a tight embrace, his hands cupping her bottom.
There was something erotic about tangled tongues and pressed bodies while standing in a stable block. Though the lounge was enclosed, Mary found the lingering aromas of the stable strangely arousing, especially when combined with the memory of her fantasy during their first time. As he rubbed his hardening lust against her sex, she wond
ered if he would be game for a romp in the lounge.
Feeling daring, she said, “Sit.”
He chuckled, kissing a trail down her neck. “I hadn’t realized I married such a commanding woman.”
Taking her hand in his, he walked them to one of the chairs and sat. Before he could realize what she was about and protest, she hiked up her dress and straddled him.
Brows knit, he said, “As much as I like where this is going, I think we should continue it in the lord’s bedchamber.”
Ignoring him, she moved his hands back to her buttocks and roamed hungry lips over his neck and jaw.
“Mary, we’re in the stables, lounge or no lounge. I’ve not told anyone to make themselves scarce, and as such, a groom could walk in at any moment. There’s not even a fire in the hearth for Jupiter’s sake.”
His was the voice of reason, despite the hitch in his breathing and the peak of his words as she unbuttoned his fall flap.
“Mary, please,” he said, his tone pleading, though she could not tell if he pleaded for her to stop or continue.
With inexpert hands, she fumbled to sort out what went where.
Hissing a breath, defeated by his own lust, Duncan swatted her hands away to guide himself to her entrance. She gasped when she felt him poised. As much as she knew it would feel uncomfortably filling, she wanted that glorious friction and release, and more importantly, she wanted the intimacy with him, to feel loved again. Her hands on his shoulders, she let him direct her hips.
He slipped inside of her in a slow thrust, pulling her down over him. Mary moaned. Their bodies met with a soft suckle. She held herself against him, accustoming her body to the feel of him. When he made to withdraw, she clenched around him, tensing, an unintentional action that had him stutter a moan. Intrigued, she did it again, intentionally. He closed his eyes, his hands gripping her hips, and sank back into her.
Curious, she lifted and lowered herself. Duncan made some sort of a guttural groan while her body responded with a throbbing shudder. Relishing in her newfound skill, she began a gentle ride. She found sitting astride was far more comfortable, and dare she say more enjoyable since she controlled the movement.
The ride was short but satisfying, Mary collapsing against Duncan in a trembling bundle of loose limbs and panted breath. She did not want to dismount. She wanted to sit astride her stallion for the remainder of the afternoon.
Duncan had other ideas. He lifted her off him so he could adjust his clothing and she hers.
“If that’s how you show gratitude, I’ll give you a wedding gift every day of the year,” he said with a shaky laugh. “That said, the sooner we’re out of eye and ear shot of grooms, I’ll be happier. Lucky this time, but let’s not risk that again, eh?”
Mary gave a noncommittal batting of eyelashes as she continued to smooth out the new wrinkles in her dress. Oh dear. It was a good thing she still wore her coat, which would hide the creases until she could change.
Duncan frowned. She returned his frown. When the corners of his mouth twitched, Mary started giggling, and soon they were both in peals of laughter. A groom entered the courtyard and paused to stare at the lounge windows, confused by the sound of laughter. This sent them into another wave of laughter until tears pooled in their eyes.
Yes, she was going to enjoy married life.
Duncan was thoroughly enjoying married life.
Granted, it had only been five days since the wedding, but a glorious five days it had been. While they had not coupled in every room of the hall—largely due to the fact his family was in residence for another two days—they had discovered unique and potentially compromising locations, such as a guest room, the butler’s pantry, a dressing room, the study, and an empty loose box in the stables. He did not at all like the randomness or riskiness of their joining, but who was he to complain? If his wife felt amorous, he was a lucky man indeed. One day, hopefully sooner rather than later, she would curb her appetites to the bedchamber. His heart may give out at an early age if she kept up such habits as pulling him into darkened rooms.
Each time he made to say something, he reminded himself not only of how long they had to wait to marry, but that for a disturbing length of time he had feared they would never be together physically. He took nothing for granted when it came to his ability to walk or feel.
One thing was for certain. She had accustomed herself to him. Or so he assumed. He had felt guilty after their first time, for he knew his girth had been uncomfortable, likely painful for her. With as many times this week as she had pulled him into a dark corner, she was, decidedly, enjoying the experience rather than being discomfited. He was relieved she found pleasure every time. In fact, he prided himself that she did.
How could a man not enjoy marital bliss under such circumstances? He wore a smile to break his fast. He wore a smile to ride about the park with his father and brother. He wore a smile to take tea with the family. He wore a smile to dine in the evening. And he definitely wore a smile to bed.
Mary’s expression was no less blissful. The poems he left for her every day helped. When he had an early meeting with the steward, he left one on his pillow for her to find when she awoke. Before heading to the nursery for reading time with Bernard, he left a poem in her dressing room. On the day he met with the tenant farmers, he left one tacked to Athena’s door for her to find before her ride. He had already written enough poems to last him the remainder of the month, one per day.
The grandest scheme of the week that he could credit for her smile was his plan to build a small conservatory on the terrace of the morning room. He wanted Mary to have a freshly cut rose every day. With a conservatory, they would be able to grow roses year-round. After a quick talk with the head gardener, it was on the books to complete in early spring.
However good of an idea, this resulted in a meeting with McLarren wherein Duncan suffered a light scolding, for the conservatory was a stretch on the estate budget on top of the alterations to the stables. They could do it, but it would be stretching the account thinner than what the steward liked. Trusting the man’s expertise, Duncan agreed to a monthly budget.
There was always the dowry. Yes, the dowry would set them up for life, but he was determined to do everything from the estate’s funds and his own. If he could not take care of his wife by his own means, what sort of man was he?
He only hoped the horse breeding could generate enough income to pay for itself. A stud farm was something the estate could not afford to sustain on its own, but with an Army sponsorship, it would pay for itself and turn a tidy profit. He was even toying with the idea of studding more than warhorses. It was a pity the thoroughbreds had been auctioned, for they would have made ready horses for private breeding and sale.
He plotted and schemed all morning over the horse breeding potential. That was, after all, his forte: he organized; he planned; he led. Charles had been wrong when he said there was no place for Duncan except the battlefield. This was his new calling. He would train and breed horses alongside his wife.
That afternoon, following a ride with his father and brother, he took the stairs two at a time. With the men resting and the women shopping in the village, he would have at least an hour to spend with Bernard and his nieces in the nursery, assuming they were not down for a nap.
To his surprise, Miranda was in the nursery, Olivia on her lap.
Bernard spotted him before Miranda, tossing aside the miniature horse he had been playing with to run to his papa. Duncan lifted him into his arms.
“We’re playing castle,” said the boy.
Duncan eyed his two nieces playing with their dolls behind a make-shift wall of blocks and pillows. “How exactly does one play castle?”
Bernard giggled. “I’m a knight.”
“Ah, yes, I see. You lay siege to the castle walls with your trusty steed? What happens to the dolls and your cousins after you tear
down the wall?”
Wriggling out of Duncan’s arms, Bernard ran back to his horse. “They’re damesols. I have to rescuted them.”
Duncan nodded, his expression serious. “Rescuing damsels in distress is a serious business. I believe we have the right man for the job.”
Bernard had already turned back to his game. A glance to the “damesols” proved they might not want his chivalry, for the dolls were having a tea party behind the castle wall.
He took a seat next to Miranda who was reading to a sleeping Olivia.
“Have the nannies turned in their notices so soon?” he asked.
“I talked them into a brief rest. Though, if I know either of them, I’m willing to bet Eloise is decorating her new room and Sarah is packing for our return home.”
“Sounds accurate. I thought you, Mama, and Mary were shopping in the village for the day?” Duncan had recommended the outing over dinner knowing how much Mary loved to shop.
Closing the book and shifting the drooling girl to her other knee, Miranda said, “We were. For all of an hour. Georgina and Mary are in the morning room, ensconced in the important business of choosing flowers for a hothouse. Your mother is determined to recreate her own here at the hall. Mary is going along with everything, as she insists she doesn’t know a rhododendron from a holly. I’m not sure if she’s serious or placating your mother.”
Duncan chuckled.
Looking about the room, he realized it needed a woman’s touch. The steward had done his best on somewhat short notice. Eloise would have ideas for what the nursery needed. He would invite her to a meeting with McLarren soon so they could do justice to the nursery, not only for Bernard’s sake, but for any future wee ones. Dare he hope, before long, Bernard could have a sibling. After all his worries of never being able to have natural children with Mary, he was of a sudden eager for that very thing.
Miranda interrupted his woolgathering. “Worried she’ll turn the house into a giant conservatory full of plants?”
It took him a moment to trace his thoughts back to their conversation. “If she so wishes, we will live among the foliage as jungle natives. Today went well? You like her? Why was shopping limited to an hour? I expected not to see the three of you until this evening or late afternoon at the earliest.”
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