A Reckless Promise (15 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
HERE
HAD
BEEN
the day Roscoe Thatcher had come strolling into John's infirmary with a shoeing nail stuck smack in the middle of his forehead. He'd walked out thirty minutes later, the nail extracted, and gone back to the blacksmith shop to finish shoeing the horse, apparently not realizing that, by rights, he should have been dead.

That had been a strange day.

But nothing had been as strange as watching Belinda Henderson inspect the black stallion.

After a luncheon passed comfortably enough thanks to Darby's polite inquiries about the Henderson Horse Farms, which had elicited lengthy and effusive descriptions of the land, the weather, the stables and the quality of the horseflesh from Miss Henderson, they'd adjourned to the stables for the all-important inspection.

Sadie no longer had any qualms over what was about to occur, if she'd harbored any in the first place, as Clarice's well-being had always been foremost in her mind.

There could be nothing more apparent than Miss Henderson's love of her home, and her horses. Whatever had Mrs. Henderson been thinking, to bring the girl to England, to marry her off to some impoverished peer, just so that she could boast of another Henderson accomplishment, adding a title in the family? Belinda would have wilted under the English sky, under the strictures of English Society, and would probably never be accepted, not when her entire conversation was horses, and more horses.

The stallion, already saddled, had been brought out even as Belinda had bounced on her toes, her eagerness apparent. She'd even clapped her gloved hands together when the black appeared, and no wonder. The stallion was beautiful. Sadie knew she'd never seen the like—that sleek body, the rather dish-shaped face, an air of delicacy belied by the smooth ripple of the muscles beneath the jet-black coat as a groom walked the horse in a full circle in front of its audience.

There was a look of intelligence in its soulful eyes, and Sadie told herself she wouldn't have been surprised if it took a bow, acknowledging its admirers.

“He's magnificent,” she'd said to Darby, who was watching, looking rather proud himself.

“Looks aren't everything, Sadie Grace. Now we get down to business. Watch.”

She'd done as he'd said, and that's when this strange day had proceeded to beat Roscoe and his shoeing nail all hollow.

Miss Belinda Henderson had stripped off her cloak, exchanged her white kid gloves with a pair of strange black leather gloves with the fingers incongruously cut off. She approached the stallion, walked completely around it, twice, and then began barking orders to the groom.

Walk him in a straight line. Now in a larger circle. All right, let's see what he can do.

The groom looked to Darby, who only nodded. The groom walked the stallion to a mounting post and hopped on its back. Everyone adjourned to the fence to watch as Darby unlatched the gate and stallion and rider entered the grassy meadow. Belinda shouted orders: “Walk him...trot...canter—spring him!”

“What's his name?” Sadie had asked, her heart pounding at the speed and grace suddenly on display.

“I doubt you mean the groom. Marrakesh.”

Sadie had heard the pride in Darby's voice, along with a whisper of wistfulness. She'd slipped her hand into his and squeezed his fingers. “Maybe she won't like him.”

“She'd be a fool not to. He's putting on quite the show for her, but the inspection is far from over.”

Never had there been such an understatement.

Once back in the stable yard, and without a comment as to the stallion's performance, Belinda ordered the groom to hold its head and asked for a second groom to stand at its flank as she moved in for what would be a much closer inspection.

Her hands-on hooves-to-tail examination was both extensive and, at times, rather
personal
. Sadie felt herself becoming impatient, both with the examination and Belinda's
ummp
s and
hmm
s, sounds impossible to interpret. Even Darby had begun to look
worried.

“She gives nothing away, does she?” she asked Darby.

“She doesn't even remember we're here,” he told her in a whisper. “I know Marrakesh is sound. I'm only hoping she knows what she's seeing. Good God, she isn't going to—stand back, Sadie.”

Sadie turned to see what had alarmed Darby, just in time to watch as Miss Belinda Henderson of the Fairfax County Virginia Hendersons slid one of her oddly gloved hands along the underside of Marrakesh's belly before disappearing between the stallion's hind legs.

“Ezekiel 23:20, Mama. He'll do,” Belinda said from the ground, where she had landed ignominiously on her rump when Marrakesh had reared in protest before slipping its lead and escaping to the meadow.

“She's quoting the Old Testament?” Sadie asked, shocked.

Darby shook his head, laughing. “Indeed. Crudely translated, my dear sister of a physician, Miss Henderson has just informed her mother that Marrakesh is indeed hung like a stallion.”

“You, boy, bring me a stick,” Belinda was saying then. “I want to poke about in this manure to be sure there are no worms. Can't be too careful.”

That's when Sadie had turned on her heels and stomped all the way back to the house, entering through the kitchens and immediately requesting hot water and soap so she could wash her hands, as if she had been a part of the
inspection
.

Mrs. Camford had found her there and invited her into the small private housekeeper's parlor, calling for tea and cakes. “You'll want to hide out here until they're gone,” she'd said with a wink. “I was watching from the upstairs window, even if I couldn't see much. Pitiful, that's what I say. Tell me everything, dear.”

“They've taken themselves off, Mrs. Camford,” a kitchen maid said an hour later, poking her head into the room, and Sadie had said, “Thank you, Camy,” and allowed herself to be escorted to the main drawing room, where she now sat, awaiting Darby. She hoped he wouldn't expect an apology for having deserted him, because one would not be forthcoming.

Yes, a strange day, a very strange day, and oddly, another friend made in the housekeeper. She'd also learned that His Lordship favored roasted potatoes above turnips with his joint of beef, was indifferent in preference when it came to other vegetables, but actively abhorred beets, as he never seemed to be able to eat them without ending the meal with small red stains dotting his neck cloth.

With the thought of the so-perfect viscount being outdone by a mere beet still in her mind, it was easy to smile as Darby entered the drawing room.

“Camford told me I'd find you here. I made your apologies to the ladies, who hadn't really cared either way, and they're gone. Marrakesh will be sent to the docks tomorrow, ready for his trip to Virginia, as I'd already made arrangements for passage there before gathering you up this morning. Clarice is safe, as I'd also prepared a bill of sale that reads more like a contract, with the caveat that the Hendersons owe me return of Marrakesh and all foals he may have sired, plus twenty thousand pounds sterling, if the terms are not met.”

“And Mrs. Henderson signed this document?”

“Dearest Belinda would have held a pistol to her head, I believe, if she'd dared to object to any of the terms. At any rate, when she does return to Virginia, Clarice will be greeted as no less than visiting royalty, or I don't know my Hendersons. And before you doubt me, you may not have seen them, but my man of business and a London solicitor witnessed the signatures. Lastly, and at the moment most importantly, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I bloody well need a drink,” he ended, walking over to a nearby table holding various crystal decanters and pouring himself a glass of wine.

He downed the contents in a few gulps before turning to smile at her, rakishly handsome in his breeze-tousled hair and dangerous eye patch. “What, no applause?”

“Only a question, I'm afraid. However did you accomplish so much in the space of not quite four and twenty hours?”

“Remarkable, aren't I? In truth, there are few problems a title and enough coins passed into the correct hands can't solve.”

She hoped he was right. She prayed he was right. John had depended on just that, as well.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway outside the drawing room, and remembering what she'd recently learned about servants and ears, Sadie got to her feet, her cloak in her hand, ready to slip it over her shoulders. “Could we possibly take a walk?”

Darby hastened to help her with her cloak. “I'd be honored to show you the grounds, and will promise our stroll will bypass the stables.”

“It's not that I don't like horses, you know. I've never ridden one, but I think they're beautiful. I just don't think I could come face-to-face with Marrakesh at the moment. He must be so embarrassed.”

Darby laughed. “I'm sure he appreciates your discretion.”

They passed through the entrance hall where they'd had their first, rather awkward encounter, and out onto the gravel drive.

“I should order the construction of a portico, correct?” he asked as they turned to their left and crossed onto a neatly bricked path.

“I was being rude.”

“You were being
wet
,” he corrected. “In fact, I've already consulted a London architect, and will soon have his drawn plans for a covering that will be compatible with the rest of the cottage. That's important, you know, or you will, once you see the hodgepodge of additions my forebears inflicted on Nailbourne Manor. In truth, I haven't visited there in years, but tradition demands we be married there, in the family chapel. It has gargoyles. The chapel, that is.”

“It sounds...lovely.”

“The exact opposite of lovely, and something else to speak with the architect about at some point, I suppose. Until now I haven't really thought about effecting any sort of remedy, preferring to simply ignore the ugliness, but Marley need not be subjected to gargoyles, and so much more. I don't believe you need worry about being without anything to fill your days, Sadie. Perhaps we should consider writing up a list?”

“Beginning with the gargoyles? I wouldn't wish to be part of dismantling anything important, but I believe the gargoyles can be excluded from any inventory of important, um, decorations.”

“And not just the gargoyles. There are a few dragons and imps with outrageously bulging eyes in the mix, as well, all eminently dispensable. In any event, I named them, the gargoyles, that is, which gave me something to do rather than just sit there on Sundays, rubbing at my cold bare knees for hours while the vicar droned on and on about sin and hellfire and my father nodded in fervent agreement. On second thought, perhaps we'll break with tradition, and marry here at the cottage.”

“Whatever you decide,” Sadie said nervously. Was he only making idle chatter so that she'd relax, or was he showing part of himself to her, to encourage a like exchange of confidences? She believed it was the latter, for this wasn't the first time, consciously or merely by his tone, that he'd hinted his had been far from a bucolic childhood.

There definitely were things no amount of money and prestige could buy.

They'd reached the gardens off to the side of the immense building and she spied out a sun-dappled stream and a pretty white, curtained gazebo near its banks.

“Our destination, I'll assume?”

“As good as any other, wouldn't you agree? Lovely surroundings, none but the birds to hear us or see us. Or have you changed your mind, and would rather continue our stroll? The gardens aren't at their best this late in the year, but we may find a few hardy roses for the plucking.”

“No, I've put this off too long as it is, and a promise is a promise. If Clarice's dilemma taught me nothing else, I've realized that delaying the inevitable, pretending nothing bad will ever happen, is a sure path to disaster.”

He held her hand as she raised her skirts and climbed the steps to the gazebo, immediately seeing not only a large, comfortable-looking chaise, but also a low table loaded with a silver tea set, cups and a tray of small cakes.

“You're not precisely lacking in confidence, are you, my lord Nailbourne,” she said, careful to take up her seat on one of the built-in, padded benches that lined the octagonal perimeter.

“Guilty as charged. Tea?”

“Thank you, no. Where should I begin?”

He sat down on the edge of the chaise, his elbows on his knees. “It's not my story to tell, Sadie Grace. Begin where you feel comfortable beginning.”

She smiled weakly. “Then I wouldn't begin at all, would I?”

“You've never been comfortable? In your entire life?”

She clamped her lips together and thought about his question for a few moments. Of course she'd been comfortable, happy, at some point in her life. Several points in her life. Hadn't she? If so, why did she suddenly realize she could count those individual moments on her fingers, not in years?

“A girl child is born to duty and obedience, Darby, at least a daughter born into the Hamilton family. Levity? Informality? No, neither John nor I were encouraged to cultivate either. There had to be something that kept us above our neighbors, even if our father's attempts to find teaching positions more suited to his opinion of his talents never came to fruition. We had standards to uphold, you understand. We were encouraged not to even speak with anyone above a nod in passing, for fear we'd corrupt our diction.”

“You had no friends? I'm sorry, I keep interrupting.”

“That's all right. No, we had no friends. Not outside of the house, or inside it, for that matter. Our mother never referred to our father other than as Mr. Hamilton, and neither did we. To be fair, we never lacked for anything, and our parents were only doing what they thought best for us.”