Robin, clear eyed, freshly shaven, and looking altogether youthful and dashing, circled back to the yard to wait for Mary and Tristan to complete another jump. She made quick but steady work of it, using her body to relax into a trot after hoofs met earth. Patting Tristan’s neck, she steered him around to the yard with a tilt of her pelvis.
“Well done today,” Robin said when she arrived. He dismounted, handing over the horse to a waiting groom.
“Thank you. I believe those words are deserved. Now that I’m off to entertain the family, what are your plans?”
With the help of a groom, she dismounted and peeled off the riding gloves, her palms sweaty despite the cold temperature.
“Roland and I are going to work the other two over the bar and show five of the grooms the moves. He’s handpicked the grooms himself, the hardest workers, he says. Going to leave about two o’clock, mind. Me uncle wants me there in case anyone calls. Think he’s hopin’ I’ll fancy a girl and settle down. Sell my commission.”
Mary began walking to the stable entrance, Robin at her side. “Tell me on the morrow if anyone steals your heart. I’m keen on you staying in Durham.”
He leaned back with exaggerated shock. She laughed.
“Who else will be our head trainer?” she asked. “We’ll need one, you know. If all is to work out how I’ve planned, that is. Let’s talk more on that later, shall we?”
Shaking hands as equals, Mary left Robin to his work.
Not once had he shown up looking dazed. Not once had she smelled alcohol or suspected he had sampled the laudanum before arriving to Sidwell Hall. The change in him was shocking and obvious. While his accent could not be helped, he was otherwise a changed man. Oft she wondered if this was the Robin the Army had known. By ruled measure, he had earned her respect this week.
Just as she reached the servant’s entrance, not wanting to traipse through the foyer in disarray or smelling of horse with all the family at home, she heard boots crunching gravel behind her. She turned to find Robin jogging to her.
She tilted her head to one side.
“Milady,” he said, stopping mere feet away. “I don’t mean to presume or take liberties, but I’ve been meanin’ to say and I’ve not. So here goes. The colonel’s not yet well?”
Mary pursed her lips. She had not seen Duncan since their argument five days ago. The few times she had tried to go in, the butler or one of the footmen said he did not wish to be seen. As much as she wanted to barge in, what was there to say?
“I do not believe so, no,” she said with hesitancy.
“I thought not. Tell me if I overstep, milady. ‘Tis not me intention. I don’t presume to know your husband well, but I do know soldiers, and I know meself. A man like the colonel needs a mission, some purpose. You can’t let him be idle. The mind wanders.”
“Thank you, Robin. I’ll keep that in mind.” She nodded and made to turn back to the doorway.
“Check for laudanum, will you? A man like him needs to keep occupied or he becomes a man like me.”
Looking back to him over her shoulder, she said, “You’re a strong man, Robin, and I couldn’t do this without you. Remember that.”
Propped against the headboard of the four-poster bed, Duncan stared at his legs beneath the covers. It had been a long five days. Each day, he regained more feeling and more range of motion, though his head still pounded. He could not yet feel past his pelvis, but he could stand and walk a short way before dizziness overtook him and the pain in his right leg ached him back to prone.
His family was here. Not the whole family, but his parents, Quinn, and Quinn’s family. Mary had sent for them; damn her. They had bustled into the room the day before yesterday, disturbing his peace. Part of him was happy to see them. The part that saw their presence as a reminder of his failure was not happy. And now, both families were together, dining each night, entertaining each other throughout the day, all the children having a grand time. Such a grand time everyone was having, they did not need him around.
Not only could he not protect and provide for his wife and son, but it would seem they did not want him for those purposes. McLarren had brought the news of Lady Starrett wanting to hire a full-time head trainer. Damn the man, but he had already worked the budget to make it happen! Oh, but that was not the worst of the horror. His wife had disobeyed his orders and taken the training of the horses into her own hands. Although he could not see the progress for himself, the steward raved about the success he had heard from the staff, including from Roland the stablemaster.
Duncan was extraneous. They did not need him.
In the darkness of each night, his mind wandered. With his inability to pleasure her in this state, and possibly never if he did not regain further feeling, would she stray? Had she already strayed? With all this time spent in the stable block, could she be tempted by a real man? Duncan ground his teeth at the memory of hearing her laughter coming from the stablemaster’s private rooms. The laugh and the sight of the door haunted his dreams.
Two days before her family planned to leave for the charity concert on Twelfth Night, Mary put her foot down. She banished the footman who stood guard at the lord’s chamber and saw herself into the room, much to Duncan’s astonishment and Bernard’s delight.
Their son was perched on the bed, pretending to read a story to Duncan, the words he spoke in lyrical narration a far cry from the words on the page. She had only a moment to take in the scene before Bernard spotted her. He tossed the book aside, narrowly missing Duncan’s right leg, and clambered off the bed.
“Mummy!” he said, arms raised wide.
“Hello, darling,” Mary said, scooping him into her arms.
“I readed to Papa.”
“Yes, I see that. How thoughtful of you.” She brushed hair from his forehead to ready for a well-placed kiss.
“Down,” he commanded. “I wanter go play.”
As soon as feet touched rug, he was out the door with a heavy-handed door close. Just as quickly as he left, he circled back.
“You readed to me tonight?” he asked, his head poking through the doorway.
“Of course. Have everyone gathered so they can enjoy the story, as well,” she said.
He nodded then closed the door again with another near slam. She winced.
And now to face the grouch. She turned into the room to pin him with a glare.
Duncan’s arms were crossed, his expression fierce. “My son doesn’t appear to need me either.”
Mary wrinkled her nose. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He grunted but said no more.
She pulled a chair next to his bed, feeling his eyes follow her as she moved. There was no rush. She took her time. In exaggerated and slow movements, she made herself comfortable in the chair, arranging her dress just so, tucking a curl behind her ear, taking a deep breath.
Once settled, she took him in, expecting to find him unbathed and scruffy after five days of recovering. To her surprise, his cheeks were bare, and he smelled of soap. As she studied him, he slid his left foot until he could prop an elbow on his knee. His right leg remained stretched. So, it would seem he was not bedridden. For how long had he regained mobility? Why had he not joined the family?
“Have you come to stare at me, or is there something you wish to say?” he asked. “My head is throbbing, so please, don’t take long.”
Scowling, she said, “You’ve not seen me in five days, and that’s what you have to say to me?”
He shrugged. Irritating man.
“I’ve come,” she said, “to ascertain your health and put an end to whatever your foolishness is.”
Duncan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headboard. “What do you wish to know? I can walk, but it makes me dizzy. My right leg is blotchy purple from where Bucephalus fell. My back is no less bruised. I can’t fe
el below my pelvis. I’m humiliated by what happened. And most importantly, I’m not worthy enough to dine with your family. All my efforts to prove myself have been for naught. I’ve made a proper fool of myself instead. And now, for what do you need me? You can run the program yourself, raise Bernard yourself, do everything without me.”
Of all the reactions he probably did not expect, it was for Mary to laugh. She could not help herself. It was a pretty enough speech full of woebegone sentiment and genuine pain and heartache. And yet she laughed. It began as a giggle, her hand covering her mouth to hide the mirth, but then it evolved to something far heartier. Before long, she was clutching her side from a cramp.
When she recovered herself, the laugh lingering on her lips, she was none too surprised to find him staring at her as though she had gone mad.
“I’m happy to amuse you, I’m sure,” he said.
“I do apologize. I don’t know what came over me. Relief that you can walk, perhaps.”
He grunted.
“No, I believe that it was your comments of proving yourself that tickled my laughter. What are you trying to prove, Duncan?”
Flicking his fingers with his thumb, he stared at the book Bernard left on the bed. “Everything I’ve done has been to prove myself worthy of your hand. I won’t have people look at me and think you married below your station. I want them to look at me and think I’m accomplished and strong, someone who has earned the right to eat at the table with a duke’s family. All my efforts, and I humiliated myself in front of everyone, including your mother.”
“Oh, Duncan.” She laughed again, but this time only a soft chuckle. “There is so much more to you than whatever it is you’re trying to prove. You write me poetry for crying in a saddle blanket. I’ve saved every note you’ve ever written to me. I don’t think such lines were written to prove anything. Those came from the heart. That’s what makes you worthy of my hand, nothing more. You, just as yourself, with your wit and charm, are worthy. There’s nothing you need to prove. Training all the warhorses in the world would not change how I feel about you or how my family feels. You’re my hero and have been since I first met you. What did you have to offer then? Nothing except yourself.”
His elbow resting on his knee, he covered his face with his hand.
Reaching out, she clasped his free hand, gripping it when he tried to pull away. She held tight, pressing her palm to his palm and lacing their fingers.
“We’re a team, you and I,” she said. “My dream is to be with you, no matter what that looks like, be it with you in a wheeled chair, on a horse, or in a bed as you make love to me with another penned verse.”
“But you don’t need me. For what would you need me? You can do it all yourself. I don’t want to be a burden, not as broken as I am.”
“I need you, not because I need you to do something for me, but because I need you. I’ll say it as many times as I need to for you to understand. The dream I had of breeding horses, which has evolved to training them, as well, was a vision I had for us to do together. It’s not something I need, rather something I see us doing in tandem. I never even envisioned us doing the work rather overseeing it, hiring the staff together, spending time with the horses, an hour or so every day, simply being together. A way for us to spend time together doing what we enjoy.”
Letting his hand fall from his face, he looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Has it truly taken a concussion and a bruised body for me to hear you?”
“I’m afraid so.” She nodded.
“What do we do?”
Squeezing his hand, she said, “We get you out of this bed for starters. You must join your family for dinner before they leave, and yes, I do mean my family, also, when I say your family. After, I can bring Bernard here for story time. Just because I can read to him doesn’t mean he wants to do it without you. He needs you as much as I do. Tonight, I want to sleep with my husband if he’s not too bruised to have me beside him. And finally, let’s see, ah yes, the horse program. Think on it, will you? You’re meant to be a leader, not a laborer. Leading instructors is a grand mission for you to undertake. Lead, Colonel Starrett.”
He cast her a soft smile. “Yes, my lady, as you wish. I say this next part not with unkindness, but because my head is hurting so much that my eyesight is blurring. Would you mind terribly if you left me to close my eyes? Not leave me, but you know what I mean.”
“Of course.” Removing from the chair, she kissed his forehead, ran a hand down his cheek, and left him to rest.
Quill scratched paper. This was not a poem. He had already finished the poem. This was a letter to Colonel Archer. Through the throbbing of his head, he worked, too excited about his idea not to capture it now.
Maneuvers and discipline. Dressage and tactic. These are nothing in the thick of battle. Soldiers must be disciplined, must know maneuvers on the field, must apply the training directly. Too many officers think themselves skilled cavalry because they are skilled at the hunt. How often have we berated this mentality? The difficulty is maneuvering in large bodies as a single unit, riding and fighting in tight formation, something they are not prepared to do. Both horse and soldier must learn one-handed and no hand equitation. Soldiers must be practiced in tight formation while wielding weaponry. What is a well-trained warhorse beneath an arrogant foxhunter inexperienced in warfare?
He tickled his chin with the quill feather, lost in thought as to how to describe his vision. The migraine did not help. His plan was not to convince Archer but to tease him into wanting to discuss the plan in London. This letter would whet Archer’s appetite and give Duncan more time to plan. He hoped to more fully develop a cavalry training academy that would allow him to lead but not spend hours in a training yard. Should future injury occur, his leadership would not be affected.
Rewetting the quill, he continued, his letter almost complete, which was a relief since he was nearly out of paper, at three sheets as it was.
The Starrett & Starrett Cavalry Program will include a training academy, allowing recruits to train alongside horses. There’s no greater bond. Instructors, namely pensioners, will guide soldiers in breaking in their assigned horse using the Starrett principles of warhorse training. Training manuals, lesson plans, and field maneuvers will be prepared and delivered into your hands in London at time of demonstration. In addition, I propose the warhorses graduated from the program be registered to serve as reserves. After successful completion of each campaign, they will be returned to the program for continued training until needed. One caveat: should an officer bond with said horse and wish to retain for personal uses, he may with minimal fee.
Finishing the letter with a brief itinerary of what he would demonstrate in London, he signed it, sanded it, folded it, and sealed it. Done. Now for a more formidable task.
This task was six years overdue. Every attempt he had made to impress the Dowager Duchess of Annick had ended with injury. That could not be mere coincidence. Too afraid of her to face her, he had circumvented a discussion by doing everything else he could to earn honor and prestige and be a worthy suitor and husband for her daughter. Not much good it had done him.
His definition of what it meant to be a husband and father had been warped by the efforts. All this time, his family needed him for himself, not because he could labor or fight, or prove perfection or sexual prowess. They simply needed him. Had he realized this as a young man, would it have made a difference? Would he have gone to war or courted Mary in more traditional ways? There was no way to know. He did know he may have underestimated her had he gone a more traditional route. The sixteen-year-old version of Mary was a vast reach from the one-and-twenty version of herself. She was stronger than he in uncountable ways.
If she could find the courage to train warhorses, could he not find bravery within himself? He could not avoid a confrontation with his mother-in-law forever. He had this one chance, for they would leave
in the morning.
Hand on the cane Mr. Sherman had secured for him, Duncan pushed to his feet. His right leg throbbed. His bruises smarted. His head ached. There was not a step that did not cause him to wince. With each wince, he was reminded of two things. Feeling was fast returning to both legs, all the way to his knees, for which he was grateful and would not take for granted. And he would never again try to prove himself worthy, for he alone was worthy.
Chapter 27
Even as he took the stairs to the parlor one step at a time, one cane-thump at a time, he loathed that Her Grace might think him weak to need a cane. With a gentle reprimand and subsequent reminder to himself, he thought, I am worthy.
The thought dissolved on his tongue as soon as he opened the parlor door. The dowager duchess was already there, seated and waiting. Her expression, carved of marble, was menacing.
“You call me here, and yet you keep me waiting. Not an impressive impression,” she said.
As he limped into the room, the mantel clock chimed his punctuality.
He did not take a seat. She did not invite him to sit. Her Grace sat straight-backed, tall and intimidating even from a chair. One look at her churned his stomach and quelled his confidence. Between an army of Frenchmen and Her Grace, he would take his chances with the Frenchmen.
The one humanizing factor was her cane. It posed in her hands, one hand on top of the other, gripping the gold handle. It might have been another intimidating factor, a weapon in the hands of a tyrant, but it humanized her in his estimation. He looked down at his own cane as he favored his right leg. Surely her cane was no more an ornament than his. She was not old enough to need a crutch. Had she, too, been injured?
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