His Impassioned Proposal (The Bridgethorpe Brides) (6 page)

And she and Stephen had been such good friends. That had to be the most important thing to consider. She wanted a husband who was also her friend. She couldn’t bear the thought of spending her days hiding in fear of the man she married.

Chapter Six

Stephen allowed himself a week to get initial repairs firmly underway before leaving for London to see his father’s solicitor. He took an indirect, winding route that led him to Newcastle, first. He spent the night there at Knightwick’s estate, Fernleigh Stables, where Sir Bedivere was stabled.

Seeing his horse, and his horse’s reaction to Stephen’s return, was the first time he felt like himself again. Bedivere demanded no apologies for being gone so long, and had no hesitation in greeting for fear of upsetting Stephen over the loss of his parents. Bedivere raced across the paddock toward him and slowed just in time, tossing his head and nuzzling his owner’s coat sleeve.

Scratching his horse on the blaze beneath his forelock, Stephen said, “It’s good to see you, too, old boy. I have missed you.”

Going in search of a groom, Stephen inhaled the familiar scent of fresh straw and horse sweat. Such an oddly comforting fragrance. It rang of normalcy and peacefulness. Seeing a groom, he asked to have his horse saddled, and told the lad to inform the steward he was taking Bedivere home.

The ride to London passed more quickly than he would have imagined, once he was astride his familiar mount. Since he had no lodgings of his own in Town, Stephen had arranged to stay at Knightwick’s rooms in Eaton Place. He rode first to Bridgethorpe House in Montagu Square, so he could stable Bedivere in the mews there.

London was busier than he expected to find it in late October. With Parliament not yet in session, and the Upper Ten Thousand off at their winter lodgings, the streets should have been empty, he’d assumed. Or nearly so. He knew logically that was not the case, but the number of people strolling Park Lane near Hyde Park gave him an excuse to grumble, so he could pretend he was not in physical and spiritual pain.

And he was becoming quite adept at pretending.

Eaton Place was quieter, its row of white townhouses standing like troops awaiting inspection. The uniformity of design, from the porticos to the six-paned windows, appealed to him. If he were to have rooms in London, this would be the type of place he’d enjoy living in. Knightwick’s rooms were neat and orderly, as expected. Very conducive to the work Stephen needed to accomplish. Aside from the business of his father’s estate, he needed to replace his wardrobe, the thought of which made him shudder. But first he sent off a note to the solicitor to request an appointment.

Mr. Needham’s quick response said he’d been expecting the call and would be pleased to receive him at eleven o’clock the next morning. Stephen spent the remainder of the afternoon in Jermyn Street, allowing himself to be measured and fitted and dressed from the skin out. The garments David had loaned him were finely made, but years of camp food and endless days of battle had left Stephen quite lean. Observing the fit of new tan breeches, white waistcoat and dark green cutaway coat, he was surprised to see his reflection wasn’t that of a horrid monster, even when he faced the glass head on. His facial scars were still ruddy, but his complexion was closer to normal, not the stark white of a man near death.

“The eye patch will make you the dandy of the ball,” the white-haired tailor said, peering though his spectacles. “The young ladies love their soldiers, in uniform and out.”

Turning to face the man, Stephen asked, “Do I still reek of the battlefield? How do you know I wasn’t injured in an accident?”

“It is in your stature. Men of quality are all taught to stand straight and tall, but none does it so well as the man who has served his king.”

Stephen refrained from checking his stance in the mirror, instead giving the tailor instructions on where to send the purchases.

Before returning to his rooms, he paid a visit to Hatchard’s Bookshop. His father’s library hadn’t been damaged in the fire, but Stephen couldn’t resist the chance to indulge himself in a few books. He hadn’t read for pleasure in many years.

He hadn’t done anything for pleasure, now that he thought on it, in longer than he cared to think.

With one last stop for meat pies and tea from a vendor on the street, he made his way back to Eaton Place, where he curled up with one of his new books, polished off the pies and fell asleep in the parlor chair.

Waking early, as was his habit, Stephen strolled through Hyde Park with the nannies and dog-walkers, enjoying the occasional bark and childish giggle. A stray thought had him wondering if any of his school chums laid claim to one or two of the tots. At twenty-four, he assumed most of his contemporaries had not yet submitted to the parson’s mousetrap, but one never knew. Over the coming winter he’d write to some old friends and plan visits in the springtime.
 

The solicitor, Mr. Needham, ushered Stephen into a private office immediately upon his arrival, and motioned for him to sit. After the expected pleasantries, Needham got down to business. “As you probably are aware, your father’s will left everything to you, since your mother passed with him.”

“I’ve some questions regarding his holdings. One of my father’s friends mentioned something about mills, and Father having sold off some of the land.”

“That is correct. Mrs. Lumley’s cousin, Mr. Carr, offered your father an investment opportunity four years ago. Mr. Carr had a small woolen mill in Bingley, in West Yorkshire and needed capital to increase the size and expand his production. That initial investment paid off well enough the two men built another mill in Sowerby. Your father has doubled his living these past two years.”

Stephen took all this in. The farm had supported his family in reasonable comfort, since they were not extravagant people. With the income doubled, he could take Jane to London each year, if she wished, to enjoy the season. He couldn’t afford rooms in Eaton Place, but somewhere slightly further out. They could enjoy the theatre, and might gain invitations to some of the assemblies.

He would not be wealthy enough to compensate for his lack of title in the minds of many in Town, but surely Jane would be content with the number of invitations they received.

Mr. Needham cleared his throat and Stephen realized he’d been woolgathering. “If you’ve estimated what repairs will run on your cottage, I can have a bank draft drawn up for you to include your quarterly funds. Your father had no outstanding debts that I am aware of, and no one has contacted us for settlement.”

“Thank you,” Stephen said. He went on to explain the current plan for repairs, and Needham wrote out the bank draft.

“I’ve listed the two mills in which you share ownership, and the address of your uncle in Yorkshire. He has been notified of the transfer in ownership to your name, so there is no need for you to contact him as far as the legalities are concerned.”

“Thank you. I’ve received a letter of condolence from him but wanted to learn exactly what the arrangement was before writing him.” Stephen rose and took the offered papers, which he pocketed.

“Again, let me extend my condolences. We will miss working for your father, and look forward to meeting your needs in the future.”

Stephen took his leave and returned to the street, where he stood searching the shops in both directions. He was unused to not having his day mapped out, a battle plan to set his company of men to. With his business done, he was free to return to Larkspur Cottage, but had no desire to rush off. Yet he had no idea what more to do in London.

Without making a conscious decision, Stephen began to walk back the way he came. The streets were busier now with chaperoned pairs of young ladies strolling wherever young ladies went, and gentlemen showing their appreciation of the fairer sex. He tried not to stare at the sights of the city, not wanting to appear the country bumpkin, but he hadn’t been to London since he was a small child. He would have to make arrangements to use Knightwick’s rooms again during the Season, so he might escort Jane in a thorough exploration.

Or perhaps he’d have his solicitor enquire into rooms for let. It would seem he could afford his own residence.

As he neared Hyde Park, a familiar voice called out. “Stephen!”

David trotted up on one of his bay thoroughbreds, stopping near where Stephen waited. “Excellent timing. I was on my way to Tattersalls. Have you finished your business? You shall join me.”

Nothing sounded more tempting than a visit to the horse auctions, now that he thought about it. “I’d love to. Are you buying or selling?”

“I might buy a mare if there is one that interests me, but I’ve come to look at the curricles.” David appeared as eager as Stephen could recall seeing him.

“You’re in need of a gig, are you? Perhaps to offer some fair young miss a ride?” Stephen teased.

David laughed. “Don’t expect to find me escorting any young ladies about. I’ll wait for Knightwick to succumb to those shackles before I consider it. No, I have a matched pair I want to try my hand at racing, but Knightwick won’t let me use Bridgethorpe’s gig.”

“Well, we did cause a fair bit of damage to the coach and phaeton that one time.”

“That was eight years ago. I have a much finer hand with the ribbons these days. Ah, well, I suppose this is as good a use for my winnings as any. They’re auctioning off Clemmeyer’s Stud today, so we’ll see a great selection of conveyances and horseflesh. We’d better hurry.”

The auction house was packed, but then Stephen had heard it usually was. Anyone with any interest in horses and racing was generally in attendance. One could gain inside knowledge that might help when betting during the racing season, or simply see what animals one’s own horses might compete against in the near future.

As David had mentioned, there were a number of coaches for sale of varying sort, including several phaetons and curricles. When his cousin pointed at two very similar gigs, Stephen followed him over to inspect them.

“You should bid on this other one, Stephen. We can train our teams together.”

Stephen shook his head. “My father’s coach will get me where I need to go.”

“But think of how pleased Jane would be to be seen in Hyde Park beside you.”

“I don’t have the proper pair of horses to pull one of these. Jane would be quite put out when she is bounced out of the gig due to a mismatched team.”

David laughed. “If they don’t have a matched pair up for sale, we can probably find something at Fernleigh to match one you buy here. There are several horses in the stables that would do well in the harness.”

“You are determined to have a training partner, I see.”

Sobering, David faced him and spoke softly, to keep their conversation between them. “You need something to do with your life. Once you’ve repaired Larkspur, what then? Jane will need little convincing to marry you. And one can spend only so much time working on filling your nursery—”

“Someone should have told your father that.”

David clapped him on the back, then pushed him toward the auction hall. “And yet he still had time to produce one of the top racing stallions in the country.”

Both men grew quiet upon the reference to Zephyr. How could a horse vanish completely?

Once the auction was finished, Stephen asked about the horse as they left the auction house, the proud new owners of two curricles and a pair of carriage horses for Stephen. “Your father never recovered from losing his top stud, did he?”

David shrugged. “For the first year after Zephyr disappeared, he put all his efforts toward finding the horse. But we could see it was taking a toll on him. The weight of his sorrow has crushed him. You saw him when you came to Bridgethorpe Manor.”

“I did. I thought most of his haggard appearance was due to my father’s death.”

“He was already worn down when that news arrived. I fear he will lie down one day and never get up. He is present at dinner with us and spoons some food into his mouth, but doesn’t join in the conversation. He rarely sits in Parliament. Now that Hannah will be coming out, I’d hoped he would revive somewhat, as she was always his favorite.”

 
“He used to tell me you all were his favorites. And I was his favorite nephew.”

A sad smile broke across David’s features. “He did used to say that, didn’t he? Any time he had one of us alone, he’d whisper that we were his favorite. Knightwick and I ended up in fisticuffs over it one summer.”

Stephen squinted up into the sunlight for a moment. “I imagine that was one benefit of being a singleton. I always knew my father favored me best.”

Chapter Seven

Jane perched stiffly beside Hannah in delicately upholstered chairs in the ornate sitting room at Carrington Abbey, silently stitching away a perfectly dull afternoon. Lady Carrington and her three daughters, all wearing pale pink dresses with too many ruffles, filled the settee and a side chair, while Lady Bridgethorpe and Lady Marwick read on the chaise. When Jane poked herself with her needle yet again, she sighed and stuck her finger in her mouth.