AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I was not such a babe as to believe that they did not know about Father’s estate - though perhaps not its full extent - nor was I so stupid as not to realise that their fortunes were at low ebb. Everything here was less than perfect, and even the so-called celebration dinner last night had been lacking. I would have to have been a blind idiot not to realise that they had decided my fortune would be most welcome here.
My answer was more to the attitude of the family than it was to Stanhope; I sprung Saracen forward at a gallop and put him at the fence, which he cleared easily. He was most obviously not pleased that our ride was over, for once in the yard itself he caracoled and danced; the astonished - or perhaps fearful - cries of the assembled crowd did not please him.
Stanhope had been right; not only Sir Mordecai and Aunt Lucinda were there, but so were Mr. Broadbank, Patience Barwick, and even Percival Mountjoy, who judging from the early hour and his rumpled clothes must have spent the night. Worse, he wore a disgusting grin. The horrified expressions of everyone else were almost identical. All of them looked as if they had hastily dressed in whatever came to hand; Patience’s garment resembled a dressing gown more than any dress I had ever seen.
With a lack of understanding unfathomable in a man who prided himself on his horseflesh Mountjoy dashed at Saracen, his hands flailing as he grabbed for the reins, an action to which my steed most sensibly took great exception, rearing to a great height and pawing the air as if boxing an invisible foe.
“Stay back!” I snapped, not caring that I spoke in tones which would be unacceptable to use to the lowliest servant, let alone a member of one’s family, but I didn’t care. My entire attention was on bringing Saracen under control, an exercise which stretched my skills to the utmost. Not that I would have let anyone see the gravity of my battle with the horse - it was a most disconcerting sensation to be so uncomfortably close to losing control of any mount. I persevered, though, and after a few moments of Saracen’s prancing finally succeeded in calming him down enough that he allowed the aged stableman to creep forward and cautiously take the reins.
Smiling with unconcealed admiration, Stanhope was waiting for the moment and stepped forward, arms raised to help me dismount, neatly cutting Mountjoy out of offering the same service. While it was a delicate attention, I found it annoying.
The wretch had refused to help me mount, so why should I allow him to help me down, a strikingly easier operation?
“Excellent handling, Miss Wentworth,” he said.
“A disgraceful display,” said Aunt Lucinda with a terrible expression.
Sir Mordecai was dark and angry, looking more like one of the more vengeful Norse storm gods than a grandfather.
“What were you thinking of?” he growled. “Come down at once!”
His very tone made me want to snatch back the reins and ride off again just for spite, but I really could not fault either one of them. My behaviour had been outrageous, though in my rebellious heart I knew I would have done nothing differently. Even Eleanor Hardcastle, the most hoydenish girl in Charleston - tolerated by society only because of her father’s vast fortune and influence - would have been astonished at my performance.
If he had taught me anything, Father had taught me to take responsibility for my actions. He had also shown me that, whatever one did, one should stand sure and strong. I nodded graciously at my assembled relations and dismounted without Stanhope’s proffered aid. The unavoidable flash of my exposed legs made normally serene Patience gasp and nearly caused Aunt Lucinda to swoon. Had not her brother been conveniently to hand to support her she might have tumbled down into the muddy stableyard, though I doubt she would have allowed such an inelegant and messy result to transpire. Aunt Lucinda most definitely gave the impression that she had made convenient swoons a fine art.
“What do you think you were doing, miss!” roared Sir Mordecai. Doubtless he thought himself powerful and imposing - and in a way he was - but beneath his rage I was aware of a hollow sense of bluster. “And what, sir, do you mean by encouraging this child to such a dangerous act!”
Stanhope was behind me and even though I could not see him I would have wagered he was enjoying this as much as a play.
“Encouraging? Hardly. Being unable to stop Miss Wentworth, I merely wished to see that nothing untoward happened to her, but her sublime skill proved my presence unnecessary.”
He was not smiling, but the tone of his voice barely concealed his amusement.
Apparently, no one was pleased that I was skilled - sublimely skilled, no less - for immediately they all began talking at me; only Patience was silent, watching me with careful eyes.
“Silence!” Sir Mordecai roared. He might be aged and his body beginning to show the decay of encroaching infirmities, but in spite of all he still possessed power. Suddenly there was nothing to hear other than the soft whisper of the breeze in the trees, the gentle whuffling of the horses and the soft impact of their hooves on the dirt as the aged stablehand walked them in a cooling circle. “You will explain yourself, miss!”
“Did not Aunt Lucinda say that riding was the best way to see the estate?”
“Do not lay your scandalous behaviour at my door!” snapped that worthy lady in tones so strong they belied her seemingly fragile hold on consciousness. “A lady riding astride! Pray God no one ever finds out!”
“At home I am accustomed to riding in the morning,” I continued imperiously. “As riding was mentioned last evening, I thought such a privilege would be extended to guests.”
“You are in England now,” Sir Mordecai went on, his angry volume unabated, “and you will not disgrace your name nor your home by such hoydenish behaviour! A slip of a girl riding a beast like Saracen... Stanhope, you should take that animal with you today!”
The thought struck terror into my heart. I wanted Saracen, wanted him badly, but even more wanted to make my position known.
“I thought the sale was not yet concluded,” I said sweetly, shaking out the sadly crumpled skirts of my habit, “which makes me very happy, as I wish to purchase Saracen myself.” A gasp ran through my relatives like a spring wind. “And,” I went on, sounding more like my business-like father than either one of us could have suspected, “I realise that Mr. Stanhope has offered to purchase Saracen, but as I really want to own him, I will give you one hundred pounds over any offer he makes.”
There were no words to describe the reactions of my family. Stanhope, though, was a paragon of gracious simplicity. He smiled, gave me a short bow, and said graciously, “I can think of nothing more felicitous than Saracen staying in your family. Sir Mordecai, I withdraw my offer.”
Sir Mordecai’s colour began to rise as he rumbled something indistinguishable, but Aunt Lucinda knew no such restraint.
“My dear Clarissa! What madness is this? That beast is most definitely not a lady’s mount!”
“I wouldn’t want him if he were,” I replied bluntly, all too aware of how my lower limbs ached. “He is a marvellous ride. It has been far too long since I have had such a challenging horse. As for what I intend to do with him, I shall take him home with me. My father and I had - have - a small stable, which I intend to continue. Saracen will improve our breeding stock immensely.”
“Don’t be silly, you are home,” Sir Mordecai stated with unequivocal authority. “Now go back to the house this instant. I will discuss your unseemly behaviour with you at breakfast.” Turning on his heel, he stalked back towards the house, obviously certain that his orders would be obeyed without question or delay, followed by the rest of the family - save Mountjoy, who hovered just at the edge of the acceptable social distance from me like a hungry scavenger - as if they all had been attached with strings.
