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‘It will take more than a pie to cure him. He needs a chance.’
‘I want the chestnut, Kit, and I am paying. Sometimes you just know deep within your gut that a horse is right.’ She glanced up at him. ‘A pie is better than nothing. And he will have made a sale.’
‘Shall we put the horse through its paces then? First things first, Harriet. The horse, and then we’ll see about the boy.’
Kit signalled to the boy, who brought the horse over. Kit ran his hands over the horse’s legs, examining every inch and talking to it softly. The way he moved over the horse reminded Hattie of how his hands touched her when they were making love, never unhurried or rough, but gentle and firm. The boy answered all his questions, becoming more animated as he realised that Kit actually cared about the horses.
‘She will do,’ he said finally.
Hattie let out her breath. ‘Thank you.’
Kit spoke quietly to the lad, who raced back to his master.
‘What did you tell him?’
‘That you were a lady and interested in buying the horse for a fair price, rather than haggling. I know you will pay the price, but for once, Hattie, let me do the speaking.’
A rather overbearing farmer approached with quick footsteps and a greedy eye, and the bargaining began. Hattie was pleased that Kit took control and extracted a far better price than she thought possible. His eyes shone and she could tell that he was enjoying the process, whereas she would have been tempted to pay the first price.
‘And now I will have the boy get us something to wet our whistles,’ the farmer said, rubbing his hands together. ‘You and your lady can surely spare the time to do that.’
‘I am not his lady,’ Hattie stiffly. ‘We are merely...’
‘Neighbours,’ Kit supplied.
The farmer nodded as if he understood.
‘Your boy?’ Hattie asked as the lad ran off.
‘The bastard son of my housemaid. His mam died when he were whelped and I have done my Christian duty by him.’
When the boy came back, he stumbled and spilled the tankard of ale. Hattie stifled a gasp as the man clouted him around the ear. Kit strode to the man and caught his wrist, preventing him from delivering the second blow.
‘I don’t think you want to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mrs Wilkinson has just purchased that horse, but I want the boy. He has a way of gentling horses. It can’t be taught, but it can be cultivated.’
The farmer frowned. ‘He is mine, but good for nothing. Eats too much. Rarely minds.’
‘Send him to Southview Lodge near Stagshaw. I will pay you twice the price of the horse.’ Kit ignored Hattie’s sudden indrawn breath. ‘Better still, I will take him now. I can use a boy like that in my stables. It is an honest trade.’
The man held out a dirty hand. ‘I ken a deal when I see it. John, you be a good lad to his lordship.’
Kit knelt down and looked the ragged boy square in the eyes. ‘If you work hard, and are honest, I will promise not to beat you and to ensure you are taught an honest trade.’
The boy beamed back at him. Kit felt as if the world had lit up. ‘Aye, that would be good, your lordship.’
‘Take the horse, then. You see her back to this
lady’s house and get her settled, but you will be in my stables.’
‘You will need the strap on him. He is a wilful lad.’
Kit turned towards the man and gave him an ice-cold stare. ‘I sincerely doubt it.’
‘You were magnificent, Kit,’ Hattie breathed as they walked back to the carriage with Mrs Hampstead trailing behind, holding the boy’s hand.
‘Most women of my acquaintance are impressed with jewels or new gowns. Trust you to be different. Luckily I considered this when I made the offer.’ Kit waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.
Hattie pressed her lips together. He was making light of what he’d done, dismissing it as nothing, just as he’d done about Waterloo. ‘Giving that boy a chance. Do you normally do things like that?’
‘Please don’t make me out to be a saint. It was a whim, nothing more.’ Kit pushed the brim of his hat down, shielding his eyes. ‘I’m currently a stable boy short. It is just that I took a chance. He might run off or not work out. Selfish of me more than anything.’
She glanced at him under her lashes. Whatever his motivations, Kit had done it and it wasn’t a whim or an impulse. He’d done it because of what had happened to him as a boy. It amazed her that she’d been so wrong about him when they first met. There was far more to him than superficial charm. ‘I trust your judgement.’
