A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (21 page)

Finally, his mother relinquished her grip and patted Hugh on the chest. “You’re a good lad.”

He laughed. A surprised smile suffused her face. “Now, please don’t condemn the Albright girls,” she told him. “I’m the one to bear all guilt for your feelings against high-born women. They’re innocent.”

“Innocent.” Hugh shook his head and looked away. Nothing she said could tamp his suspicions about Ellie and her sisters. “We’ll see soon enough.”

“It’s impossible to reconcile the Hugh at High Tor with the drawing room Hugh who is as rotten as an old potato,” Ellie ranted back in the bedroom with Claire and Peggity. “How can I love a man so changeable?”

“I’ve never been subjected to such despicable sentiments in my life,” said Peggity, pacing like a wild thing. “The man is beyond redemption.”

“He was dreadful,” Claire agreed. “His mistrust is deeply ingrained.”

Slapping at dust on her dress as if it were tiny bits of Hugh, Ellie declared, “Who would I share eggs with at the breakfast table — the monster or the treasure?”

Peggity roamed the floorboards. “His disdain for the feelings of women with rank is inexcusable. He is petty, infantile, and utterly disagreeable.”

“Not utterly disagreeable,” Ellie interjected. “Just mostly disagreeable in the house.”

“Well I have no intention of slinking around the barn in trousers just to find out,” Peggity said. “We must find that necklace immediately and leave.”

A pang shot through Ellie. “Leave?”

Claire reached for her sister’s hand. “You can’t spend the rest of your life pretending to be a stable hand. It’s time to go.”

“And he’s a beast,” Peggity added.

“Yes, yes, he is.” Throat closed and heart knotted with confusion, Ellie nodded. “Tomorrow we find the pearls and depart.”

• • •

Hugh beat Ellie to the stable the next morning. As she flung back the door, she saw him standing outside Manifesto’s stall feeding the horse carrots. Rather than being alarmed, like a good horse, Manifesto nosed about for more. “What a traitor,” she admonished the stallion, trying to keep anxiousness from her tone. “One minute he won’t let a soul near him but me, and the next he’s accepting treats from strangers.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re strangers,” said Hugh, scratching under Manifesto’s mane, making the horse groan with pleasure. “He sounds a bit like you.”

“Humph,” said Ellie, pulling Manifesto’s bridle off the wall.

As she passed, Hugh whispered, “Wouldn’t you like to groan a bit in the wild morning sun?”

She pushed him away with more violence than she’d intended. “Has Valaire been saddled yet?” she snapped.

Hugh shifted back a bit, an amused smile curling his lips. “How about this morning, you tack up Valaire and I’ll saddle Manifesto?”

“Manifesto loves carrots, but it’s quite different putting a saddle and bridle on him.”

“We’ll never know if I don’t try though, will we?”

“I just feel this morning … ”

“I swear, Toby, sometimes I think you’re intentionally trying to keep this stallion to yourself. He’s a big boy, it’s time to let go.”

Ellie clenched her teeth and handed Hugh the bridle. The bit “accidently” hit his kneecap.

“So sorry,” she said. Fists balled by her sides, she left for the tack room to fetch the saddle. When she came back the heavy piece of leather slipped from her hands and landed on Hugh’s foot. “Oh dear, did I hurt you?”

“Not really,” he responded, holding the injured foot up and rubbing the toe. “I’m quite all right.”

“Oh what a relief.” She picked up the saddle and dropped it on his other foot.

“Ouch,” Hugh cried. “Are you angry with me?”

“What a fumble fingers I am this morning.” Ellie pressed her fingers to her lips. “Angry with you? Heavens no.”

Hugh’s eyes looked troubled for a moment, but they softened a second later.

Though Ellie tried to will Manifesto with her mind to bite his new groom, the horse stood still as Hugh tacked him up. Pulling the girth a notch tighter, he gave the horse a satisfied pat. “Look at that, he didn’t move a muscle.”

“He lies low around blackguards,” Ellie mumbled under her breath.

Oblivious, Hugh led the stallion to a paddock outside. “Do you think the old beast would mind if I climbed aboard?” he asked, slipping the stirrups down.

“Any self-respecting horse would buck you off in an instant,” she grunted.

Hugh laughed. “Let’s just see about that.” He vaulted into the saddle. Manifesto stood motionless for a second, then, like an explosion, the horse launched himself into the air, all four legs off the ground. The stallion spun, hind legs pumping, then sprang like a cat, reared, and sent Hugh tumbling to the ground.

“Are you all right?” cried Ellie, furious that she should feel a shred of concern for the rogue. She raced to his prone figure.

“Well, I’m a stupid man,” Hugh said. “I shouldn’t have surprised him like that.” Manifesto galloped to the far side of the paddock. The horse shook his mane, watching Hugh with alert suspicion.

“Why can’t you give him time to get used to you?” Ellie said, kneeling in the dirt by Hugh’s side. “La, give the horse patience.”

Hugh put his thumb under her chin, holding her face in an amiable grasp. “I could lie here and listen to you scold me forever.”

“Well you’d look pretty silly doing it,” she replied, jerking her face away. She scrambled to her feet and walked briskly across the paddock to collect Manifesto. “We need to start this training session, or we’ll lose the Haldon Gold Cup.”

Hugh struggled to his feet and brushed off his trousers. “You’re upset. What did I do?”

His bitter reaction the night before clamored in her brain. She whirled on him. “I don’t know you,” she said.

Without waiting for a response, she swung onto Manifesto’s back. Not bothering with the gate, she jumped the horse over the paddock fence, leaving Hugh in a cloud of dust.

• • •

Much to Ellie’s annoyance, at breakfast Lady Davenport announced that a dance teacher would arrive shortly to show them the steps to Beveridge’s maggot, the latest craze in London.

A frustrated groan leaked from her lips. Claire caught her eye. The sisters had planned to scour the house and fields until they found the Fitzcarry pearls. Peggity would search the interior of Cowick Hill, Claire the first mile of drive into the estate, and Ellie would cover as much of her ride home on Old Nell as possible.

Lady Davenport interrupted her thoughts. “Poor girl, there’s no call for groaning. We shall all be especially careful not to worsen the effects of your fall from the sidesaddle the other day. No manhandling, gentlemen.

“By the way, I’ve asked your parents to come to your aid. They should be here quite shortly.”

“My parents,” Ellie said. “Whatever for?”

Lady Davenport’s eyes flew open, the picture of shock. “Well, because of the terrible wound to your leg.”

“Perhaps I ought not to dance if it’s as bad as all that,” said Ellie, seizing on a plausible escape to free her to search for the necklace and then leave Cowick Hill before her parents arrived.

“Nonsense, my dear,” the older woman trilled. “The exercise will be good for you. Besides, we can’t have a wallflower with so many handsome men in need of a partner.”

Claire patted her lips with a napkin. “My parents shouldn’t be disturbed. Ellie’s wound is healing neatly. Let’s send a messenger to them at once and tell them the crisis has passed.”

To Ellie’s surprise, Lady Davenport appeared flustered, dropping her fork on the floor and bumping into the footman when he bent to fetch it.

A benign smile suffused Chase’s face during the ruckus. “I’m afraid this is all my fault,” he said. “Your father is an Egypt scholar, is he not?”

“Both my parents are,” Peggity replied.

“I have more than a passing interest in the gods of ancient Egypt, so, using your injury as an excuse, I urged Lady Davenport to send for your family. My design was to corner them for an in-depth discussion of the pyramids at Giza. Rather selfish of me, wasn’t it? You’re right, we must send a messenger to stop them.”

The table went silent. Ellie looked at her sisters. If their parents stepped over the Davenport threshold they would make her take the glasses off. Hugh would recognize her, and all her lies and deceptions would spill into the clear light of day. She clenched her napkin and scrambled for some excuse to put the meeting off.

Peggity caught her eye. When Ellie could think of nothing, Peggity spoke. “There’s nothing my parents would rather do than spend time in good company talking about pyramids.”

“Are you certain?” said Chase, his voice ringing with concern.

“They’ll be particularly pleased if you mention the Rosetta Stone,” Claire added.

Chase beamed as Ellie’s heart sank into her trim leather slippers. She forced what she hoped would pass for a smile onto her face. “Thank you for your concern for my health,” she told Lady Davenport.

For the rest of the meal, Ellie moved her food about her plate, trying to make it look as if she were eating. Sport sensed an opportunity and sat by her knee. She sneaked him forkfuls of breakfast.

Before the spaniel chewed the last bite of sausage, however, the dance master arrived. He posed in the door to the breakfast room, his white shirt glowing beneath a vest littered with embroidery. White breeches clung to his calves, and the lapels of his jacket were trimmed with black velvet. He pointed a beribboned slipper and pirouetted to the table.

Lady Davenport fluttered to her feet. “Monsieur Tatu! Look, my chickadees, it’s our esteemed balletomane, Monsieur Gaspar Tatu.”

Monsieur Tatu dropped to one knee and pressed her fingers to his lips. “My lady, my rapture.”

Giggling with delight, Lady Davenport tried a deep curtsey, clunking Monsieur Tatu on the head with a breast.

The balletomane rose looking flushed and smoothed his well-oiled Byronesque curls. The other guests stifled titters, but the scene increased Ellie’s irritability.

“Monsieur Tatu and I met in London during the season last year. “Monsieur, you were as dazzling then as you are now. Thank you for coming all this way to teach my country chickens a few steps to thrill the barnyard.”

“It is my honored pleasure, Madame.” Monsieur Tatu smiled, revealing yellow, spindly teeth.

“Shall we begin the dance?” he continued. “Where is your ballroom? Are the musicians ready?”

“Truss, are the musicians assembled?” Lady Davenport asked the butler.

“They have been warming up for the last half hour, Madame,” he replied.

The dance teacher bowed low and took Lady Davenport’s hand. He pointed his toe and led the guests in procession up the stairs to the ballroom.

• • •

Beaming at her son, Lady Davenport announced that his partner for the maggot would be Hester Pitt. A shocked look passed over Hugh’s face, his mouth opening so wide Ellie caught the expression despite her thick lenses.

“Lord Bigalow, I’m certain Miss Philapot would be honored to be your partner,” their hostess continued.

“And I hers,” Poultney said. A flush of terror pinked him to the hairline.

“Lord Monroe, would you mind taking Miss Claire as your partner?”

“It would be my delight and privilege,” Flavian responded.

“And you, Mr. Swift, could you be gentle with Miss Ellie during the dance lesson?”

“I will be the
soul
of consideration,” Algie said.

“Mind him,” Poultney stage whispered. “He means he’ll consider your s-o-l-e a part of the dance floor, which is hardly comforting.”

“If we’re going to play spelling games,” Algie snapped, “Miss Philapot should consider her s-o-u-l when cavorting on the dance floor with you.”

“You two are so funny,” Rosemarie giggled, shaking her pretty finger in Poultney’s face.

“Thank you, Miss Philapot,” he replied. “We are funny.”

Monsieur Tatu clapped his hands. “Enough, gentlemen! The musicians are waiting.”

“Captain Hart, would you like to lead Lady Peggity in the dance?” Lady Davenport asked, cold with dignity.

Chase fixed a winning smile on her. “My lady, I shall have to decline.” He bowed deeply. “Your radiance beckons me to your side. Lady Albright, can you make do with Mr. Pitt?”

“She would be happy to,” George Pitt said, pushing his glasses back up his nose and holding a hand out to Peggity. She accepted his partnership with a generous smile.

Monsieur Tatu lined them up facing each other. The musicians struck the first notes of the dance, and conversation died as they followed the instructor in the new steps.

Beveridge’s maggot was a simple variation on a typical maggot, so the company quickly mastered the moves. Soon they were flowing back and forth, turning, bowing, curtseying, and hopping in all the proper places.

“I forgot to ask how your leg is this morning,” Hugh said to Ellie as they met to bow and curtsey.

“Quite well, thank you, my lord,” she said, suppressing an urge to kick his shin as his rude behavior during the palm reading came to mind.

“Funny, you said you could ride. Perhaps your glasses made you misjudge your mount.”

“No, just unhappy circumstances,” she replied, then moved on to swing in the arms of Chase Hart.

“Is that fluster I see on your pretty face?” Chase asked.

“Perhaps a bit,” Ellie said.

“Will that boy never learn manners?”

“I’m sure he’ll master them eventually.”

“In the meanwhile, I’m always here.”

“In the meanwhile, so is Mr. Pitt,” she said, gratefully leaving Chase to meet George for the bow.

“If it’s not presumptuous of me,” George said, looking worried, “may I suggest you see my doctor? I think he could find you more suitable spectacles.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pitt, I’ll take his name after the dance.”

Then she passed on to Flavian Monroe, who told her she danced well, and left it at that. Ellie was so grateful she could have cried.

Back in Algie’s arms, all conversation died as he tried to trip Poultney. Ellie left him for Poultney, who in retaliation, tried to swing her body into Algie.

“Lord Bigalow, I will not be your cudgel,” she scolded.