Anita Mills (7 page)

“Deuced queer time for a visit,” he murmured curiously, rousing Harriet from her solitary reverie. “Was your father expecting company?”

“Hmmm? Oh …” She leaned forward, straining to see in the dark, and then her heart raced as she recognized Richard Standen’s crest. “Oh, ’tis Sherborne come to visit us!”

Her voice betrayed her eagerness to see him again, prompting Mr. Thornton to remark dampeningly, “So I see now. Well, I Have never favored the Corinthian set and cannot understand those who do. Dandies,” he pronounced severely, “are naught but fools who waste their substance on frivolity and sports.”

“Somehow your opinion does not surprise me, sir,” she answered with a tartness that made him frown. But she didn’t care. Richard Standen was at Rowe’s Hill, and her heart raced at the thought that she would see him again. Her spirits, so lately cast down, rose immeasurably. And then she recalled that he was to visit Emma March also.

“Richard! Did you bring him—your racehorse, I mean?” Harriet demanded eagerly of her step-cousin, even before Edwin Thornton could assist her out of her evening cloak.

The viscount, who’d been disputing the timing of his arrival with her father, turned to greet her. And her eagerness restored the humor he’d lost but minutes before.

“Harry! Of course I brought him! ’Tis Opening Day Tuesday at Newmarket, and I’d not miss that for the world—not to mention that I mean to register the colt for the overnights.” Then his eyes took in the new cloak as Thornton possessively slipped it from her shoulders, traveling to the new gown beneath. His eyebrow rose in surprise at Hannah’s unusual generosity, but his voice was light as he teased, “So ’tis true, after all, Coz—I am to wish you happy?”

Before she could answer, Edwin nodded, speaking for her. “That we are betrothed? Of course ’tis true. You may wish
me
happy, sir!”

The dark brow rose a trifle higher as the blue eyes took in Edwin Thornton’s face now. “If you are indeed to wed Harry, I should expect you to be happy,” Richard murmured. “ ’Tis but that the betrothal surprises me.”

As his gaze turned back to her, Harriet colored uncomfortably. “Well, ’tis not… that is to say, ’tis not to be soon.”

“Nonsense. Summer will come before you know it, my dear,” Edwin asserted, giving her arm yet another proprietary squeeze.

She pulled away from his embrace quickly, stepping back a pace, something that Richard noted. “Could I see him tonight, do you think? I mean, we could take a lantern, and—”

“A horse? My dear, I must protest! The night air is scarce healthful, and besides, dash it, you have the headache!” Edwin reminded her.

“Actually, the night air has revived me.” Her eyes met Richard’s. “Please—I should like to see your horse.”

Sir John looked at his daughter as though she’d taken leave of her senses. “You cannot be serious, missy—’tis raining! Thornton’s got the right of it—can’t have you getting sick with a wedding to plan. No, no! Look at the animal in the morning, I say! Light’s better then anyway.”

For the briefest moment rebellion flared in those dark eyes and then faded. Richard’s sympathy went out to her, but he’d no wish to make her lot any more difficult. “I’d be happy to show him to you in the morning, Harry.”

“I believe her given name is Harriet, sir,” Edwin reminded him pompously. “As she is soon to be a married lady, I do not think it proper to call her by other than her given name, my lord.”

Richard’s jaw tightened perceptibly at the other man’s tone. “Harry and I have been friends as well as relations for a long time, Mr. Thornton,” he replied coldly. “However, the decision is hers—do you mislike being called Harry, Coz?” he asked, turning again to her.

“I should not wish you to call me anything else,” she answered promptly, the sparkle returning to her dark eyes. “Indeed, I should be disappointed were you to suddenly decide to become formal with me.”

“Then Harry you shall always be to me.”

“I say-”

“Er …” Sir John, not wanting to allow anything to overset his prospective son-in-law, sought to divert the conversation to a safer topic. “So, you have bought your racehorse after all, Richard. I suppose ’tis not to be wondered at, is it? But ’tis no concern of mine now, I suppose.”

“None.”

“Well, you cannot say you will not receive every penny Henry left you, sirrah, and more, if the truth be admitted, for I’ve discharged his trust faithfully. What you do with your fortune now rests on your own head.”

“Yes.”

“Papa—”

“Oh, yes. Not at all the thing to speak of business in the hall, is it? Yes, well, go on to bed with you, missy,” he dismissed her. “And would you gentlemen care for a glass of brandy?”

Edwin, recalling that Miss Rowe was indisposed, decided he’d best drive home before the roads got worse from the rain. Richard declined civilly, offering the fatigue of his journey as an excuse. And with none to drink with him, Sir John was left to retire himself.

Edwin’s carriage had scarce left the drive and Sir John had but closed the door to his bedchamber before Harriet heard the rain pelt her window with intensifying force. Gathering her wrapper closer, she laid aside the book she’d taken to bed with her and rose to secure the window before it leaked. But as she reached to hook the lower panel, she heard the sound again. To her surprise, pebbles scattered across the pane and fell against the house. Looking down, she could see that the rain had actually tapered off into a steady drizzle. A lantern bobbed faintly near the bushes.

“What the … ?” Gingerly opening the window again, she leaned out for a better look just as another handful of pebbles struck the sill before her.

“Psst! Harry! Over here!”

To her utter amazement, her step-cousin was standing in the wet bushes. “Richard!” she hissed back. “Get out of there—someone will hear you and wonder at it!”

“Do you want to see Two Harry or not?”

“Now?”

“Come on down!”

“Harriet, are you still up?” Hannah called through the door.

“No! That is, I was just retiring, Mama,” she answered hastily, withdrawing from the window. “I thought I heard a noise, but ’twas branches against the panes.”

“Well, I thought I heard it also, but I daresay you are right.”

Apparently the explanation satisfied her stepmama, for she could hear Hannah’s slippers pad back down the hall to the opposite end of the house. After holding her breath until she heard the door shut, Harriet leaned out the window again.

“You cannot be serious!”

He held the lantern up and she could see his face. He was grinning boyishly despite the rain that trickled from his black hair. “Come on,” he mouthed at her. “You were not always so timid.”

It was as though the years rolled away and she was but a little girl again. The cool, damp air floated in, bringing with it the exhilaration, the rush of pulse that once had come from daring the forbidden. She hesitated but momentarily.

“I am in my wrapper. ’Twill take time to—”

He shook his head and motioned to her again. “You are better covered in that than half the females I’ve seen at balls, I swear. Come on!”

With that, she backed away from the window and, clasping the soft woolen garment closer over her nightrail, carefully eased the door open. The hallway was dark and deserted, so dark it gave her second thoughts. She must have stood there several minutes trying to screw up her courage, and then she heard the soft tread of someone creeping up the stairs. She shrank back, drawing in her breath sharply.

“Shhhh—’tis only me,” Richard whispered. “I was afraid you’d fallen.”

“I couldn’t see.”

“I left the lantern at the bottom—you have but to get to the landing to see it.” To demonstrate, he grasped her hand and edged down the darkened steps before her. At the foot, he stopped to retrieve his shoes, slipping them on over his wet stockings.

“You’ll be carried off with an inflammation of the lungs,” she warned him in a low undervoice.

He shook his head. “As I recall, we were the healthiest of both our families, Harry.” His shoes on, he again took her hand, pulling her toward the back of the darkened house, while he held the flickering lantern to light the way.

There was something quite exciting, something she’d almost forgotten, about conspiracy. And the feel of his strong warm fingers over hers sent a thrill through her. It was as though she did not even fear to be discovered so long as he was with her. But that was how it had always been; she’d seldom hesitated to get into scrapes back when they were children.

The ground was spongy and wet, and the greening grass soaked the hem of her wrapper and nightrail, but she didn’t care. She held on and tried to match his longer stride as they walked to her papa’s stable. And she was acutely conscious of his masculinity, for he was so unlike Edwin Thornton in every way. For the briefest moment she allowed her fingers to tighten in his.

He stopped to release the bar to the stable door, and the hinges creaked as the door swung outward. “Hold the lantern for a moment, will you?” he whispered as he banged the door shut behind them. “I hope ’twas thought ’twas the wind,” he added ruefully, taking the lantern back. “He’s in the last stall, for I did not wish him to be made skittish by the others. Tomorrow I am taking him to Squire March’s, where he can be stabled alone.”

The smell of wet hay and oiled tack and damp horsehair assailed her nostrils. And it was a comforting smell that she’d almost forgotten after Hannah had forbidden her to ride anymore, saying that it was an ungenteel pastime for a lady. And no amount of tears had budged her, nor had the argument that ’twas now fashionable in London to be seen riding in Hyde Park in the mornings. What Hannah decided was law, Harriet recalled bitterly.

“There he is!” he breathed triumphantly, holding the lantern up to illuminate quite the shiniest, sleekest chestnut she’d ever seen. The horse sidestepped around within the narrow confines of the stall, affording her an even better view.

“He … he’s magnificent, Richard—magnificent!” Without thinking, she reached over the half-door to touch the white spot on the hard bony ridge between the deep brown eyes. The horse’s head went back, and then came down again, this time right next to her arm, and she could see ’twas a snowy blaze extended all the way to his nostrils. Her gaze moved eagerly over his sleek, muscular body to the white stockings of his forelegs. He was in truth a magnificent animal.

“He … he’s perfect, Richard. He’s very large for a two-year-old, isn’t he?”

“Almost sixteen hands, and as strong as he looks. Wait until you see him run, Harry—he’s the fastest I’ve ever seen, I swear to you. He—”

At that moment she looked up at him, her own dark eyes shining, mirroring his enthusiasm completely. “Oh, I should like it—I should like it above all things!”

The light from the lantern shone on her hair where it streamed, rippling like unbraided silk around her face and over the shoulders of her wrapper. It was a soft, shimmering halo made more gold than brown by the flickering flame. And her upturned face glowed, livened by the light that played across it and by the orange-gold reflection in her eyes. And then the moment was over. She looked away suddenly, the eagerness gone from her voice as she sighed. “But I know ’tis impossible to even think such a thing.”

She had been positively pretty then, but as the animation left her, the prettiness faded. And he felt for her keenly, sensing the emptiness of her life. “Nothing is impossible, Harry,” he told her softly. “You cannot know how—”

“I’d not listen to this.” He reached a fingertip to still her lips even as Plimly had done when she was a child. “You can.” His eyes gleamed and he nodded as hers widened. “Yes, you can, Harry. You know, just now you were as I remember you—you were the little girl who was wont to follow me without regard to Aunt Hannah or anyone. Do you remember that girl, Harry?”

Tears welled, threatening her composure, and her lower lip trembled as she bit back the urge to cry. His arm slid around her, drawing her closer.

“Harry, don’t let anyone rob you of that little girl—not Hannah, not anyone. Not even Thornton.”

She wanted to melt against the soft superfine of his coat, to bury her head against his shoulder, but she dared not. She still had his friendship, but if she ever truly unburdened herself, she risked losing even that. Resolutely she stepped back, sniffing.

“You must think me the veriest watering pot, but—”

“I think you half-owner to Two Harry, my dear, and as such, you should see him run.”

“Hannah would not allow it, and Papa—”

“They’ll never know of it.” He lifted up her chin with his knuckle. “Uncle John is not a sporting man, is he? Have you ever known him to go to the races? For a full fifty years and more he’s lived not ten miles from Newmarket, and has he attended even once?”

“Never,” she admitted.

“If you can concoct a reason to be gone from the house, I intend to see that you are there, Harry. We’ll swathe you in veils like a mourning Saracen if we have to, but you are going to see Two Harry run.”

“No one is like to recognize me—I have not gone about much.” In spite of the impossibility of what he was suggesting, she found herself smiling tremulously. “Indeed, I can think of none of Papa’s friends who would even be there—unless ’tis Squire March.”

“We’ll keep you within my carriage. Even if your presence occasions comment, none will know your identity,” he promised. “ ’Twill be said you are my mysterious lady.”

“Oh, do you think I could?” Hope rose and then was dashed. “But I have not the least excuse. Hannah does not allow me to go anywhere unattended, and as she does not go anywhere, we both stay at home.”

“Visit someone—tell her you are paying a call on someone she mislikes. That should not be so difficult, should it? I cannot imagine that she likes everyone.”

“No … no, of course not. Indeed, for all that she has positively thrown me at Edwin’s head, she cannot abide Mrs. Thornton—says she is an encroaching fool even.” And as she said it, she brightened. “Indeed, it could not be thought the least strange that I should wish to visit my future mama-in-law, could it?”

“Not in the least.”

“And Hannah would not wish to go, I am certain of it.”

“I have never known Aunt Hannah to do anything she does not wish to,” he agreed readily. “Then ’tis settled—you are going to Newmarket, Harry.”

“But what if she makes me take my maid? Mary would tell, and we should both be in the basket.”

“If you would go, you have but to leave that to me. There is something to be said for being Sherborne, after all—Hannah Rowe takes pride in the connection.”

“If you would do this for me, I should be grateful to you until my last breath. Oh, Richard! I will not believe it until I am there!”

Two Harry, seemingly bemused by the excitement in her voice, stretched his neck, nudging her. And for answer, she leaned closer, nuzzling his long nose with her cheek. She had a racehorse, and she was going to see him run.

“I think he likes you, Harry,” Richard teased.