To Make a Match (A Scandal in London Novel) Page 8

  He glanced down at his damaged sleeve and grinned. “I appreciate your offer, but this was my fault. Having handled horses all my life, I am perhaps a bit overconfident and less careful than I ought to be.”

  Relieved, she moved on to the real reason she’d kept him. “No doubt my sister feels you’ve just fallen out of favor with me and I with you. We must do something to disabuse her of that idea.”

  He backed away. “I cannot kiss you, Victoria. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t—Cavendish would run me through.”

  “Well, of course not! That isn’t what I meant,” she hissed. The idea was surprisingly repugnant. “But there must be something else you can do,” she said, frustrated. The situation had gone far beyond any plan of hers. “I leave it to you to decide. Whatever it is, make it convincing. I shall follow your lead.”

  As they walked, she waited for him to say or do something. Anything. But he just trudged along at her side, silent and brooding. Her sister’s laughter drifted back on the breeze. She elbowed him as they made the turn to leave the gardens. “Do something!” she whispered.

  Just as they passed beneath the arbor entrance, Withy came to a sudden halt. Mystified, Victoria watched as he reached out and plucked a single scarlet bud from among the roses blooming along the lattice. Carefully, he stripped it of its thorns.

  She looked at him in astonishment as he slowly held it out to her. She’d thought he was going to put it in his buttonhole, not give it to her!

  “Take it,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.

  She shook her head a little, not wanting to comply. To do so would mean—

  “You must trust me,” he breathed, urging her with his eyes. When she did not move, he lifted the bud to her mouth and ran its tip along her jawline and bottom lip.

  Panic blossomed in her stomach. Dear Lord, please let them not be looking! After a moment’s hesitation, she reluctantly reached up and took the proffered flower. When she finally got up the courage to turn, she looked to see Amelia and Cavendish standing down the path staring at them. Amelia’s face was completely without color. Cavendish’s was inscrutable.

  She cringed, tucking the flower away out of sight. It would have been better if he had kissed her. A quick kiss on the cheek would have been bold, but forgivable. The gift of the crimson rose, however, had another implication altogether—a very bloody serious one!

  And she’d accepted the damned thing. Every servant who’d witnessed the exchange—and they were always watching—would be sure to pass along the juicy gossip. Why couldn’t he have picked a pink one? Or yellow? Any color but red?

  No one spoke as they entered the house. They returned to the salon, where the four made stilted, polite conversation.

  Victoria looked at Withington and marked the misery in his eyes as he glanced furtively at her sister. She looked to Cavendish, who seemed to be focused on Amelia to the exclusion of all else. Had they gone too far with the ruse? And Amelia—her knuckles were white, her lips pressed together in the familiar frown she knew so well.

  There would be absolute hell to pay after the gentlemen left.

  The tense atmosphere was suddenly shattered by Papa’s unexpected arrival. “Well now, my lovely daughters, may we expect these gentlemen to call again in the future? Or shall I send them on their merry way?” he asked cheerily.

  Eyes lowered and bodies shifted. All the air in the room seemed to suddenly disappear.

  At last Victoria spoke, proud to find that her voice was steady. “Of course, Papa. I should welcome another visit from Lord Withington.”

  “As would I from Lord Cavendish,” echoed Amelia immediately, her voice hard.

  Her father’s sharp gaze flicked between them, full of suspicion.

  Cavendish bowed. “Your Grace, I must compliment you. You’ve some fine horseflesh in your stables.”

  If it was an odd segue to make at such a tense moment, it did the trick, for Lord Richmond smiled. “I see my youngest has been showing off her beasties again.”

  “Indeed, she has,” answered Cavendish, smiling. “That Primero of hers is especially of interest. We’ve several Andalusians, and have been looking for new blood. Lady Victoria has agreed to consider breeding him to our stock.”

  “Has she now?” replied her father, surprised. “Well, you must rank high in her esteem, then. Victoria is most particular regarding her horses.”

  Cavendish chuckled. “Yes, well, it appears her horses are just as particular as their mistress. I’m afraid poor Withington lost a bit of his sleeve during the introductions.”

  Her father’s face darkened. “Victoria, how many times must I tell you that an unapproachable horse is not to be tolerated in my stables? He’s bitten at three grooms since you brought him here, and he’s even tried to nip me once or twice. It is not to be borne!”

  “Oh, Papa,” she soothed, “I doubt he would ever really bite you or anyone else. Those were just warnings—if he’d really wanted to, he would have had you.”

  He shook his finger at her. “I don’t care how much you like him, I’ll not have a vicious animal on my property!”

  Her spirits sank. “I’m sorry, Papa. I shall speak to him directly. It won’t happen again.”

  “You see what I mean, my lord?” said Amelia, turning to Withington with a laugh. “She truly believes she’s going to convince a horse to behave itself by giving it a stern scolding.” Her voice sank lower, low enough to keep Papa from hearing—but not her. “Thanks to the influence those Gypsies had on her as a child, she actually believes that she can speak to horses and bend them to her will. She cannot seem to separate fantasy from reality. Poor thing. I think her mind was addled by our mother’s death.”

  Victoria felt her cheeks grow hot as she glanced at Cavendish and saw his brows lower in disapproval.

  “Your sister is right, Victoria,” said Papa, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “Unlike you, she has enough sense to treat a horse as a beast rather than as a person. You see that monster of yours doesn’t try to take anyone’s fingers off again or I’ll have him sold for shoe leather.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she answered meekly, though her heart burned with horrified outrage. Shoe leather! She’d spirit Primero away in the night and join the Romani before allowing that to happen.

  Her father drew himself up. “Now, if you will all be kind enough to excuse me, there are matters which require my attention.”

  “I’m afraid I must also take my leave,” said Cavendish. Turning to Amelia, he bowed. “Until next we meet, my lady.”

  Taking his cue from Cavendish, Withington turned to Victoria as well. “I, too, must leave, my lady.”

  Victoria fumed as a smug smile crept across Amelia’s lips, and she knew her sister thought she’d succeeded in driving him away with her insinuation of mental infirmity. “So soon, my lord?” she asked wistfully.

  “I would remain and worship at your feet forever, were it permitted, but duty demands me elsewhere.” He flinched a little as Cavendish coughed. “However, I do hope it shan’t be too long before I see you again.”

  “I shall look forward to your next visit as well, my lord,” she said, offering him her hand. Out of desperation, she lifted it a bit as he kissed the back of it, so that he did so rather more firmly than was considered acceptable. She saw her sister’s lips tighten. Good! First the rose and now this. That should be enough to inspire Amelia to larceny—provided either gentleman ever returned.

  The moment their guests departed, Victoria went to her room and shut the door, throwing the bolt. When a soft knock sounded, she ignored it with no small amount of satisfaction. After a moment, the knocking ceased and she was left in peace to brood over the day’s events.

  Could things get any worse? Thanks to Withington, she now appeared a complete wanton, and her sister had just insinuated that she was unhinged. Would Cavendish ever come back?

  The air in the room was stuffy, and she felt as though everything were closing in on her. She had t
o get out. Right now. Besides, she needed to have a chat with Primero after his naughty behavior.

  Extricating herself from her gown, she changed into her riding clothes. Her shirt was getting rather tatty. She’d need a new one soon. The breeches still had a lot of wear in them, though, and her boots were decent, at least.

  One day, she would order a set of beautiful new riding clothes tailored to her specifications—including breeches—and be damned anyone who disapproved. Plucking out her hairpins, she plaited her inky tresses into a long, loose braid down her back, her nimble fingers working quickly.

  Without so much as a glance in the mirror, she took herself to the window. Checking first to be certain no one was about, she climbed over the sill and stepped out across the divide and onto a sturdy branch. Shimmying down the hand- and footholds she’d carved into the giant oak’s trunk as a child, she dropped to the ground and made for the stables.

  Slipping into Primero’s stall, Victoria hugged his great neck, taking comfort in his gentle strength. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. He butted her to show his concern, and she ran her palm down his mane in calming strokes to reassure him that all was well.

  But all was not well. Not at all.

  Primero nuzzled her shoulder until she rested her forehead against his brow. She gazed into his gentle brown eye. “You must stop nipping people, sweetheart,” she softly scolded.

  He replied with an obstinate chuff that brought a smile to her lips. She stroked his cheek with her thumb in a circular motion and blew gently into his nostrils. “I know you don’t much care for gentlemen after the way you were treated, but I’m afraid you must learn to put up with them. I’ll be married one day and have a husband, and little Charlie will one day grow up, too. You like him. He’s good to you, isn’t he? There, now,” she soothed. “You don’t want to run him off, do you?”

  He nickered, and she patted him, accepting the apology with a laugh. “Why don’t we go for that ride?”

  The huge horse rocked his head up and down as if he’d understood her perfectly. In spite of her sister’s disparaging comments this afternoon, Victoria was convinced that he had. What did Amelia know, anyway? She hated horses and made fun of the Romani, who’d taught her so much. Far more than anyone knew.

  Taking down her light saddle, she fitted it to Primero’s back. It was no more than a slip of padded leather compared to a proper one, but she was more comfortable with it and she knew he liked it better as well.

  Without bothering to lead him out first, she hooked a boot in the stirrup and expertly swung herself up. “Hah!” she cried, leaning against his neck.

  THE HORSE SHOT out of the stables with Victoria clinging to his back, and Julius swore as the great beast tore down the path, scattering great clods of earth behind him.

  She’d ridden right past without even seeing him.

  He had left his carriage and circled back on foot, hoping to find a way to speak with her in private. He’d witnessed her climb down the oak from afar and had followed her to the stables only to miss her, thanks to a gardener he’d had to hide from at the last moment.

  The last thing he needed was to be discovered chasing after the wrong Lennox sister.

  Still cursing under his breath, he made to borrow a horse. If he hurried, he might catch up. He was just saddling a mare when he realized he was not alone.

  “Damn!” he yelped, jumping back. The boy facing him was so filthy that he’d all but blended into the background.

  The urchin’s guarded brown eyes narrowed as his grubby hands tightened on the pitchfork they held. “An’ just ’oo might you be, makin’ off with ’er ladyship’s ’orse?”

  “I am Lord”—he thought better of it—“Withington, and I need to borrow this animal.”

  “You’re not borrowin’ nothin’,” drawled his young adversary as he shifted his thin little body to block the doorway in a brave and somewhat ridiculous attempt at valor. “’Ow am I to know you’re ’oo you say you are? Could be a thief dressed in fancy plunder.”

  “I am not a thief!” Julius replied, offended. “I am Lord Withington, a guest of your master, Lord Richmond. Now, I don’t have time for this, so just stand aside and I’ll be on my way.”

  The youngster did not budge, save to hoist his pitchfork a little higher.

  Julius sighed. “I was here earlier. I saw Lady Victoria ride out a moment ago before I was able to let her know I was still here. It is imperative that I speak with her. I only need the horse for a little while.”

  Nothing.

  Julius hesitated. There was one sure way to gain the cooperation of any servant. He dug around in his coat pocket and pulled out a shiny gold coin. The polished metal glinted cheerfully as he held it up.

  Amazement filled him as the boy laughed. “I ain’t for sale, m’lord,” said the lad, eyeing the money with open scorn. “Me lady ’as me loyalty, an you don’t got enough to buy it—I wouldn’t betray ’er, not if you was the king ’imself. Wot’s your ’urry to speak with ’er ladyship? Why not wait at the ’ouse, proper like?”

  Julius glared at his inquisitor. “Because I must speak with her privately, not that it is any of your business.”

  The smudged face broke into a sly grin. “Maybe not, but that there ’orse is me business. An’ you’re not Lord Withington. I saw ’im walkin’ with ’er ladyship this mornin’, ’an you look nothin’ like ’im.”

  Blast! He had no choice but to tell the truth now, lest the lad call to the house for help. “I am Lord Cavendish, and I apologize for the deception, but it is very important that I find your mistress.”

  The pitchfork wavered. “Cavendish? Mrs. Marjorie in the kitchen said summat about a Cavendish courtin’ Lady Amelia.”

  Thank the Lord! “Yes, and I am he. I must speak with Lady Victoria on a matter of urgency. If you can help me in any way, I’d be very grateful.”

  The lad shifted from foot to foot.

  “If I must find her on my own in order to appease your conscience, I shall,” said Julius. “I have no wish to cause you trouble. I ask only that you allow me to pass and that you remain silent. Lady Victoria and Primero were traveling south when I saw them leave.”

  At the mention of the horse’s name, the boy relaxed. “’Eaded for the downs, they are,” he said, tossing his pronged implement into the hay. “Take the woodland path beyond the field, an’ be sure to stay to the left where it forks. But like as not, you’ll never catch ’er.”

  “Good lad.”

  “Me name’s Charlie.”

  Reaching down, Julius pressed the coin into the boy’s palm. “Thank you, Charlie. This is not payment, you understand,” he said quickly, before the child could refuse it. “Merely a token of my gratitude. I’ll return the horse before nightfall.”

  Once mounted, he followed the well-worn track toward the wood. He slowed on passing beneath its eaves, lest his horse misstep in the gloom. Eventually, the path forked as he’d been told. He stayed to the left, hoping he hadn’t been fed a falsehood. When he at last ascended out of the valley, he was greeted by a sweeping vista of low, grass-covered hills.

  Victoria was nowhere in sight.

  He rode on for a while, hoping. At last, a ripple of familiar laughter was carried back to him on the wind. Cresting the next rise, he looked down and caught his breath.

  Primero streaked across the valley at what seemed an impossible speed for so large an animal, his powerful haunches bunching and lengthening as he ate up the terrain. Victoria rode astride on his great back, her hair whipping behind her like a long, black banner. She’d let him have his head, and he ran free of all restraint.

  Julius watched them approach one of the low stone walls that riddled the hills, and his heart stopped beating. Just as he was about to shout a warning, Primero sailed gracefully over the obstacle, clearing it by at least a foot and thundering down on the other side. A triumphant whoop of joy erupted from his rider as he slowed to a trot.

  The wind gusted, and Primero s
norted, lifting his proud head and turning toward the hilltop where Julius stood in awe. Even as Victoria spied him, her mount pawed the earth and neighed a challenge. She leaned down, taking a moment to calm him before urging him forward.

  As they climbed the slope toward him, Julius marked how she guided her mount purely by the pressure of her knees, flowing with the giant beast’s movements as if they were one creature. She held no reins, and her saddle was hardly more than a piece of leather.

  Like the Romani, she required neither bit nor bridle to control him. She was magnificent.

  When she stopped alongside him, he saw that her face was wet with tears. He dismounted, waiting as she swung her leg over and slid to the ground.

  “Victoria, I—” He took a deep breath and tried not to sound furious. He was unsuccessful. “Did you completely lose all sense today? I was practically on the verge of challenging my best friend to pistols at dawn over that bit with the rose. I knew to expect some sort of theatrical declaration, but not that.”

  Her smoky eyes chilled to winter rain, and her voice whipped out like a blade. “That was not my idea. After the disaster in the stables, I pressured him to act quickly to repair the damage. We did not have time to plan, and I had no way of predicting his actions. I guess when he saw the roses, he thought it the best way for him to truly convince Amelia of his intent without actually laying hands on me. I had no choice but to accept it. Had I refused, she would have known we were lying. He didn’t really mean anything by it. You should have seen him afterward. He was—”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “He told me. I stopped him after we left the grounds. I rather lost my temper, I’m afraid.”

  Her eyes widened. “You didn’t…”

  “No. But it was a near thing. You should have heard him trying to explain himself.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m honest enough to admit I’ve made a right muck of things. I should have just gone to your father and asked for you from the start.”

  “That would have been far a worse disaster.” Her eyes lit with mischief. “On the bright side, Amelia was completely livid.”