Tessa's Touch (2 page)

"Me?" she echoed in amazement.
"In the hunt, do you mean? Papa will never allow it." Sir George
Seaton had very definite views on what constituted proper behavior for his
daughter, and riding to hunt—or too much riding at all, for that matter —was
not a part of it.

"Leave that to my father," Harold
said with a smirk. "Your mother used to ride in the hunt, you know, and Sir
George with her. He never objected to that."

Tessa shook her head. "That was different.
If Papa could ride with me, perhaps—" But her father hadn't been able to
sit a horse for six years, not since the hunting accident that had permanently
crippled him.

"Father will be riding with you,"
Harold said. "He'll have to be there anyway, to negotiate the sale
afterward."

Harold's father, Mercer Emery, brother to
Tessa's late mother, had taken over management of Wheatstone shortly after Sir
George's accident. Tessa had been sixteen at the time, and in no position to
object, particularly as her father had remained bedridden for several months.

When Sir George recovered enough to take an
interest in the estate again, Uncle Mercer confided to Tessa that Sir George's
heart had been affected by his accident, making any sort of upset or exertion
dangerous for him. He also informed Tessa that Wheatstone's finances were in
far worse shape than her father had known, and that discovering the truth might
be enough of a shock to kill him.

Tessa often regretted the decision she'd made
then to help her uncle conceal the true state of Wheatstone from her father.
The estate had continued to deteriorate over the years, until now they were
living month to month, forced to buy and resell horses to supplement the meager
rents from their tenants. It seemed clear that her uncle was no better an
estate manager than his son was a horse trainer, but after six years, there was
little she could do about it.

"Even if we can convince Papa to let me
ride, Nimbus isn't trained for the hunt," she argued now. "His
manners around other horses are atrocious."

Harold's mouth twisted for a moment with
something that might have been bitterness, but then he smiled and put a hand on
Tessa's arm. "He's gentle enough under you, just as they all are."

What he said was true enough, for Tessa had a
special way with horses, just as her mother had. A gift, from their Irish
forbears, her mother had once told her. It was a gift Harold, unfortunately,
did not possess, for all he fancied himself a horse trainer.

Nor did his father possess it. That had been
painfully clear last year when Uncle Mercer had ridden in the hunt. The horses
had performed creditably only because Tessa had calmed them immediately before
the runs. She didn't doubt that they would perform far better with her actually
riding them. Still, did she dare agree?

"Uncle Mercer got Nimbus for a song
because he was barely broken," she said, stepping away from Harold's
touch. "Even if we invest another year in his training, he'll make a tidy
profit when sold. There are drawbacks to selling too early. Remember Zephyr,
that skittish chestnut we sold to Mr. Ballard a few weeks ago? Apparently he's
already sold him to someone else."

She paused, remembering how handsome that
someone else had been— easily the handsomest man she'd ever seen.

"What's that to us?" her cousin said.
"We made a nice bit off that sale, enough to fix that leaning chimney
you've been fretting about. Oh, that reminds me— Father mentioned today that
the west wing roof is beginning to leak."

Tessa stifled an unladylike curse. Roof repairs
would not only be expensive, they'd be as difficult to hide from her father as
the chimney repairs would be. There was no denying the estate needed money, however
she might dislike the means of getting it.

"If we get a reputation for selling
half-broken horses, it could harm future sales," she felt obliged to point
out.

"All the more reason to sell as many
horses as quickly as we can," Harold retorted. "We've enough beasts
to unload this season to lay some money by against the future."

When she still hesitated, Harold added,
"I'm thinking you'd rather I not let anything slip to Sir George about
these evening rides —and what you wear for them." He nodded significantly
at her breeches. "No knowing what it might do to that bad heart of
his."

"But it was you who— Never mind."
Tessa turned away before her temper got the better of her, handing Cinnamon's
reins to a too-interested stable lad. "I must get back to the house."

Her cousin had suggested that she do some
riding astride so that the horses wouldn't be solely used to a sidesaddle. It
would be just like him to use it against her, however, with no regard for what
it might do to her father's health.

Without another glance at her cousin, she
strode toward the back of the manor house. Entering by the kitchens, she could
reach her own chamber without her father seeing her, for he could not negotiate
the stairs in his chair. It was how she always escaped his notice, but tonight
she felt guiltier about it, for some reason.

Perhaps it was because of her encounter with
that gentleman leading Zephyr, she mused as she nodded to the kitchen staff,
who were well used to seeing her arrive in breeches just before dinnertime. It had
been foolish of her to come to his aid dressed like this, but when she had
recognized Zephyr, she had felt an obligation, both to the man and the horse.

Hurrying up the back stairs, she shook her head
fiercely. Obligation or no, it had been stupid. Should the gentleman find out
who she was, and word somehow get back to Papa, it would upset him far worse
than anything Harold might say.

Sir George set great store on Tessa being
accepted by the surrounding gentry in a way her mother, the daughter of his own
father's horse trainer, had never been. Tessa cared little for the opinions of
their neighbors, but as it was so important to Papa, she tried to at least
pretend, for his sake. If the Leicestershire gentry whispered about "odd
Miss Seaton," her father would never know—any more than he would know
about the leaking roof of Wheatstone's west wing. Tessa would make certain of
that.

What would he say if he knew that her lifelong
dream was to take over management of the stables, where she could use her gift
to train and breed the horses with which she felt such a deep connection? Not
that she could ever suggest such a thing to her father, of course. Though
undeniably proud of her skill as a rider, he discouraged her from even visiting
the stables, preferring that her mounts be brought to the door.

To spend more time with her beloved horses and
to give them a break from Harold's "training," she was forced to
deceive her father. Her cousin, no doubt aware that her work with the horses
mitigated his own ineptitude, was willing to keep her secret, with the help of
his father.

She'd convinced herself that any sale was a
good thing, not only for the money, but to remove another horse from Harold's
cruel and clumsy methods. Now, though, she couldn't help questioning the wisdom
of selling horses before they were ready. But what alternative was there?

With a sigh, she signaled Sally, her maid, to
help her out of her male attire and into a demure blue gown suitable for dinner
with her father.

* *
*

"Were you able to find out anything more
from Ballard?" Rush asked Anthony as they and a couple of others cantered
along the road leading to Sir George Seaton's estate the next afternoon.

"Not as much as I'd hoped," Anthony
confessed. "He seemed disinclined to talk about the circumstances of his
buying the horse. Only said that the chestnut 'showed well,' and he'd been
mistaken about its temperament. I couldn't tell whether there'd been deliberate
deception or if he's simply a wretched judge of horseflesh." He had also
discovered that the horse's name was indeed Zephyr, but saw no point in
mentioning that.

"I can't imagine how anything short of
deception could have made that horse show well," said Stormy from behind
him. "He's a nervous wreck, ruined by bad training or treatment, at a
guess."

The others agreed, for they had all paid a
visit to the stable this morning. The calming influence of the mysterious
breech-clad beauty had not lasted the night, unfortunately.

"There's Porrington, too, don't
forget," added Thor.

"At any rate, we'll know more soon,"
Rush said. "Here's Wheatstone now."

The four men slowed to a trot as they reached
the long sweep of gravel leading to a fair-sized manor house that looked to
have been built in Elizabethan times. The house stood on a small rise,
surrounded by wide lawns, still green, and dotted with occasional trees. Beyond
the house they could glimpse paddocks and buildings that must be Seaton's
stables.

"Fellow appears to be doing well
enough," Thor commented as they headed up the drive.

As they drew closer, however, Anthony wasn't so
sure. One chimney leaned slightly, and the roof of the ivy-covered western wing
sagged noticeably. The main, central block of the house appeared solid enough,
however, and as they drew up to the front steps, a groom appeared from around a
corner and a butler opened the oak and wrought iron front door.

"What might your business be,
gentlemen?" the retainer asked with an admirable blend of haughtiness and
respect.

As they'd agreed earlier, only Anthony
dismounted and stepped forward. "I am Lord Anthony Northrup, come to speak
to Sir George Seaton," he said. "I may be interested in purchasing a
horse from him."

"And we'll just nip down and take a look
at the stables," Rush added, he and the others turning their horses' heads
in that direction.

The butler looked alarmed. "Gentlemen,
please! If you'll just—" But Anthony's friends had already kicked their
mounts to a trot and a moment later disappeared around the corner of the house.

Anthony turned to the distressed butler with a
smile. "Don't worry, my good fellow. They know their way around a stable
and won't alarm the horses. And now, if you'll announce me to your
master?"

He still appeared upset, lending weight to
Anthony's suspicions about the stables. "I'm sorry, my lord, but Sir
George is rarely at home to visitors. His man of business, Mr. Emery, handles
all transactions."

"Nevertheless, I should like to speak with
Sir George himself, if that is at all possible." Why should the baronet
leave such matters to his steward? That was rather unusual. In any event, if
this Mr. Emery was selling inferior horseflesh, Sir George needed to be made
aware of it.

Something in his tone apparently convinced the
butler that further argument was pointless. "Very well, my lord. If you
will step inside, I shall discover whether Sir George is able to receive you
today."

He left Anthony to wait in the parqueted entry
hall, where he amused himself by examining his surroundings. These presented a
curious mixture of shabbiness and elegance, as though taste outstripped the
money necessary to fully implement it. Faded draperies were artistically looped
above the long side windows which illuminated two lovely Grecian urns in
shallow alcoves. Closer inspection revealed that one of those urns had been
cracked and carefully repaired.

Before Anthony could form a hypothesis to
account for these anomalies, he heard quick footsteps coming down the
staircase. He turned.

"I appreciate you seeing me on such short
notice," he began, then stopped abruptly. Instead of the country squire
he'd expected, he found himself facing a vision of loveliness with
shoulder-length curls the color of honey and a trim figure shown off to
advantage in a pale yellow day dress.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but my father is
unable to receive visitors," she said as she reached the ground floor.
"I have sent for Mr. Emery so that you may discuss your business with
him."

He blinked. This was none other than the young
woman in breeches who had come to his rescue the night before, for all she
looked quite different properly clad in a gown. The sudden shock in her brown
eyes showed that she had recognized him at the same moment, though she quickly
tried to conceal it.

This had suddenly become a most interesting
visit.

* *
*

CHAPTER 2

"I hear voices. Is someone here?"
came a voice from upstairs.

With an obvious effort, the young lady pulled
her gaze away from Anthony's and moved toward the door. "It's just someone
here on business, Papa," she called back. "You need not trouble
yourself about it."

"Nonsense. I've nothing better to do just
now. Show him up," came her father's reply.

She bit her lip, clearly hesitant, then turned
back to Anthony. "Follow me. But pray, say nothing about—"

He responded with a half smile that made her
eyes widen. "I have no idea to what you refer, Miss . . . Seaton?"

With a curt nod, she turned her back on him and
preceded him up the stairs and into a cluttered study. Papers and books were
piled on tables and the floor, though a wide path had been left from the door
to the window, and along the low bookshelves lining the room.

"Papa, this is Lord Anthony
Northrup," said Miss Seaton. "He has expressed an interest in
purchasing a horse from us." She shot Anthony one last warning glance
before stepping back.

"Thank you for seeing me, Sir
George," Anthony greeted the gentleman seated in an armchair on the far
side of the room. "With the hunt to begin in only a few days, I fear I
gambled on my reception rather than make an appointment, as I should have
done." He stepped forward as he spoke, his hand extended.

"You will forgive me, I know, for not
rising," his host said mildly, with a glance downward.

Following the glance, Anthony saw with a start
that the armchair had large wheels attached, with smaller wheels fitted to
those, within reach of the chair's occupant. Though he had never before seen
one, Anthony had heard descriptions of the Merlin's chair, a new invention that
allowed invalids to propel themselves rather than depending upon a servant to
push them.

It appeared Sir George Seaton was unable to
walk or stand.

Swallowing, Anthony strove to conceal this
second surprise in the space of five minutes with a smile. "Of course,
sir. If I may?" He gestured toward a nearby chair.

"Please. You wished to ask about horses I
have for sale?" Sir George prompted when Anthony did not immediately
pursue his ostensible reason for visiting.

Before he could respond, however, Miss Seaton
stepped forward. "Pray do not tire yourself, Papa. Mr. Emery will be here
shortly, and you can safely leave such business dealings to him."

She then turned to Anthony. "I should warn
you that your friends who rode down to the stables are probably being sent to
the rightabout even as we speak. Our trainer doesn't care for strangers
watching him work. He can be quite testy about it."

Anthony raised a brow. "Surely that's
rather— unusual?"

"He does an excellent job," said Sir
George, "so we're willing to humor his quirks. He prefers to show the
horses in the field rather than the paddock —says it gives buyers a better idea
of their capabilities. Now, what did you have in mind? A hunter or a covert
hack?" His eyes, rather listless when Anthony had first entered,
brightened as he spoke.

Miss Seaton retreated, though with obvious
reluctance.

"A hunter. I already have an excellent
hack. I have a fine hunter, as well, but thought that I might attend more meets
if I had another, so that I could alternate them." That was the
justification he'd given Ballard for buying that nervous chestnut, to avoid
wounding the young man's pride.

Sir George nodded. "A wise plan. I've seen
too many horses ridden to ruin in the hunt."

"You—" Anthony stopped himself before
he could ask the obvious question, but Sir George seemed to sense it anyway.

"Yes, I used to ride the hunt every season
—was as mad for it as any of you young bloods, I assure you. In fact, that's
what put me in this chair. It's not a safe sport, you know." There was
more resignation than bitterness in his tone.

Anthony was impressed by his apparent lack of
resentment. "Yes, I know. But many would say that the risk only adds to
the thrill." He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but his host
did not take offense.

"I thought the same once. Still do, I
suppose. Believe me, I'd be riding the hunt still, if I could. But I forget my
manners. Will you have some refreshment?"

"I, er, thank you, sir." Apparently,
he was not going to be given the opportunity to see the stables. He hoped his
friends had managed a look before the trainer could intervene.

Sir George tugged the bell-pull by the
fireplace, hung low enough for him to reach from his chair, and a moment later
a maidservant appeared, bearing a tea tray.

"You will pour out for us, will you not,
my dear?" Sir George prompted as the maid set down the tray.

Tessa moved forward obediently, wishing she
could think of a way to send this Lord Anthony on his way without upsetting her
father. What was he really doing here? Had he come looking for her? But how,
when she had never given him her name?

"Have you discussed any particular horses
with him?" her father asked her then.

"Not yet," she said, striving for a
normal tone when her every sense was focused on their visitor. Grasping at the
one subject that gave her confidence, she asked him, "What qualities are
you looking for in a hunter, Lord Anthony? Speed? Endurance? Or beauty?"

One of his eyebrows rose and she instantly
regretted that last word. She had been thinking that Lord Anthony was the
epitome of male beauty—a fine animal, in the physical sense —and it had just
popped out.

"I hope I'm not so superficial as to buy a
horse for mere beauty, Miss Seaton, though I'll admit it's a nice bonus in an
otherwise exceptional . . . creature."

She felt her cheeks warming, but she refused to
drop her gaze. "Speed and endurance, then?"

"I've always been partial to endurance
over speed," he replied with a smile she could only call intimate.
"It makes for more satisfaction in the long run, wouldn't you say?"

Innocent she might be, but it was clear he was
talking about more than horses. Confused, she averted her eyes so that they
could not reveal her unsettled feelings at this turn in the conversation.

"I suppose that might be true, for a long
day's hunting," she said primly. "There is a certain cachet in being
among the first in the field, however, is there not?"

There was a hint of laughter in his voice as he
replied, "Oh, I always contrive to be among the first in any field, I
assure you, Miss Seaton."

Shocked by such shameless flirting in front of
her father, she retreated to business. "We have hunters with excellent
stamina as well as speed. All are at least three-quarters bred, but with good
depth behind the knees, which makes for excellent jumpers."

"Now, now, my dear," her father interrupted.
"You know I don't care to have you discussing such things in company.
We'll leave that sort of talk to Mercer, shall we?"

"Of course, Papa." She well knew that
Sir George sought to shield her from any taint of trade, but Lord Anthony's
impudent double entendres had clouded her wits. Harold had said Uncle Mercer
was hoping to sell Nimbus after the first hunt, she mused. It might be amusing
to see the handsome, polished Lord Anthony attempt to handle him.

But no. If he had already purchased Zephyr from
Mr. Ballard, she couldn't wish two difficult horses on the same man, even one
who unsettled her as much as Lord Anthony did.

A commotion in the hall interrupted her
musings, and a moment later old Griffith announced Lord Rushford, Sir Charles
Storm, and Mr. Turpin, handsome, fashionable gentlemen, all— though Lord
Anthony was easily the most handsome of the lot. They were accompanied by a
visibly irritated Harold Emery, Mercer Emery entering just behind them.

Tessa's concern about Lord Anthony's motives
quickly gave way to concern for her father. So much excitement could not be
good for his heart. "Gentlemen, please—" she began as greetings were
exchanged, but Cousin Harold interrupted her.

"These gentlemen have expressed an
interest in your horses," Harold said to Sir George. "I could wish,
sir, that you had warned me before sending them down to the stables. Such
disruption is not good for the animals."

Lord Anthony spoke before Sir George could
answer. "It's my fault, I'm afraid. I sent them down when I came inside.
I'd no idea it would upset you, of course."

Harold's smile was more a grimace. "I'm
not the least upset, my lord. It's simply not how we do things here, that is
all."

"Then I must apologize," Lord Anthony
replied, one brow raised. He seemed to be taking Harold's measure. Tessa wasn't
sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Turning back to Sir George, he continued,
"In truth, I did have another reason for my visit, sir. A friend of mine
recently purchased one of your hunters and has had some difficulties."

A light broke upon Tessa and she suddenly felt
stupid for not seeing it sooner. Of course! Mr. Ballard must have told him
where he had bought Zephyr. Lord Anthony's visit had nothing to do with her at
all. She trusted he would honor his vague promise that he would say nothing of
their meeting last night.

"Difficulties?" Her father glanced at
Uncle Mercer. "Mr. Emery handles all sales for me, and his son, my
trainer, is the one most familiar with the horses."

Uncle Mercer stepped forward, though he looked
wary. "What animal did your friend buy, and when? Perhaps I can clear up
any misunderstanding."

"It was a remarkably skittish chestnut,
sold some weeks ago to a young man—a very young man—by the name of Ballard. He
found himself unable to handle the beast, so I took it off his hands, as he was
willing to give me rather a bargain price."

Folding his arms across his chest, Harold
jutted out his chin. "I can't imagine what your young friend did to ruin a
perfectly good horse in such a short time. There was nothing wrong with his
temperament when we sold him, as Mr. Ballard himself surely must have told
you."

Lord Anthony's eyes narrowed as they swiveled
back to Harold. "Yes, he told me the horse showed well. But then, an
animal will often respond favorably to a familiar . . . touch."

He glanced at Tessa and her throat tightened
with alarm. Surely, he was not going to—

"A properly trained hunter cannot be
dependent upon that for good behavior, however, or he will be useless in the
field," he continued, turning back to Uncle Mercer, and then to her
father, seeking their agreement.

"Are you implying that my training isn't
all it should be, my lord?" her cousin demanded.

"Now, now, Harold," Sir George said
soothingly. "He said no such thing." Then, to Lord Anthony, "I
will stand behind any horse we've sold, my lord. If you feel your friend was
somehow misled, then of course we will buy the animal back."

Tessa bit her lip. They couldn't afford to do
that, but her father didn't know it. Before she could give way to panic, Lord
Anthony responded, allaying her fears.

"That won't be necessary. My groom
believes that in time the horse can be made useful and as I said, I got him at
a good price. But I thank you, Sir George," Lord Anthony said with a bow.
"Now, we will impose upon you no longer. I'll be in touch about a hunter
for myself."

Tessa relaxed. He was leaving, and had neither
demanded money nor said anything about last night. But then he turned to her.

"It was an honor to meet you, Miss Seaton.
Perhaps our paths may cross again sometime. You seem quite . . . knowledgeable
about horses."

She dipped a curtsey, as much to hide her face
as for propriety's sake. "Thank you, my lord. The honor was mine."

The moment the four gentlemen had gone, Uncle
Mercer said, "Sir George, may Miss Seaton accompany Harold and myself to
the stables? There is something we would like to show her."

Her father frowned, then nodded. "I
suppose so, as long as she doesn't stay long. But wait until those young men
are out of sight. It won't do to have any of them see her down there. It might
not be perceived as quite proper, you know."

Then, turning to Tessa, "Well, this was
quite a morning, my dear. So many eligible young men under our roof, even if
they did not precisely come to call upon you."

"I don't believe any of them knew of my
existence before today, Papa," she replied, smiling in spite of herself.

"Ah, but they do now. You never would
allow me to send you to London for your Season, but now, perhaps, you'll get
your chance after all. I've never felt it right that a lovely girl like you
should spend her life shut away in the country with her invalid father, you
know."

Tessa dropped a kiss on his forehead. "I
know, Papa, but I've felt it no sacrifice, I promise you. The whirl of Society
has never appealed to me in the least." That was quite true, aside from
the fact that they had no money to pay for such a thing. "I'm happy here
with you, and with the horses."