Second Season (13 page)

“I shall take care to depress his pretensions,”
Julian assured
her. “There is obviously more to horticulture than I realized. Oh,” as she paused in surprise at the saddled horses, “you will not object to ride one of my country hacks? I think we should not weary Moonshine before your return to town.”

“Of course not. What a beauty he is,” Sharlie stroked the soft brown nose and murmured approvingly. “What is his name?”

“Pacifico. He was used to be a hunter, but now he is too old for a full run. You’ll find him as placid as his name.”

With a final pat, Sharlie came back to set her foot in Julian’s hand and be tossed up to the saddle. The horse snorted and sidled, tossing his head while she gathered the reins and leaned to pat his neck. “Yes, you’re a fine fellow—indeed you are!”

She continued to be entirely natural as they ambled along the farm road. Nothing escaped her observation, she was unhesitant in asking questions and frank in her comments on Julian’s property. Miss Stanwood in London was a superb dancer, always becomingly robed arid correctly behaved. Miss Stanwood in the country was at home, and unafraid of anything. “Where had you that saddle, Duke? It seems a very unusual design.”

“It is a type much used in South America, by the stock men called gauchos. There is a considerable concentration on cattle and animal husbandry in general. The herds are very large, roaming over the plains for forage, and the gauchos accompany them for protection against predators.”

It was a subject to interest Sharlie; she had a dozen questions on the cattle strains, their specific superiorities and disadvantages, how large were the herds and how many men were needed. Since Julian was equally absorbed by the South American methods, he readily answered and explained—but when they had gained a small rise for a sight of his cattle, it occurred to him (with a faint shock) that once mounted on his hobby, he had been talking to Miss Stanwood as freely as to a man!

“There they are,” Julian gestured to the cows grazing in the farther field, “and those great black fellows are my ‘criollos’ from the Argentine,” he pointed to the right. “My herdsman has been crossing them systematically with every English breed, but it is too soon to tell which may produce the best beast.”

As he spoke, the two bulls suddenly raised their heads alertly, gazing to the end of the field that was hidden by a stand of trees. One of the bulls seemed uninterested and returned to nibbling grass. The other was more curious. He sauntered forward at leisure, until he could get a good look, and apparently what he saw was disturbing. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency the bull went from a pace to a trot, and with an exclamation the duke was cantering down the lane. Pacifico moved automatically to follow, and as Sharlie in her turn rounded the curve for a complete view, she was horrified.

Unaware of the field’s tenants beyond the rise, Emily was innocently picking hedge flowers along the inner side of the lane. Eustace was precariously poised on a fence rail, reaching for a spray of roses, and they were both an appreciable distance from the gate standing half-open.

“Good God!” Sharlie applied her crop vigorously. “Pacifico, you were a hunter, there must be some
go
left in you.”

There was, but not much. Useless to scream, her voice would never carry so far and too much agitation would only increase the danger. The bull was not yet at the gallop, he was principally curious and might still be calmed. Far ahead of her, Sharlie could see the duke thundering along on his black horse. Stablehands, alerted by the noise of the hooves, were running out to peer in bewilderment ... shrinking back as Pacifico approached, and surging out to follow when he’d passed. By now there were warning cries from the young people straggling along the lane. “Emily—the bull, the bull! Come out quickly!”

Several of the older boys vaulted into the field and tried to assist her in climbing over the fence, but in her terror, Emily was unable. Instead she tried to run for the gate and promptly tripped on the uneven ground. Eustace had leapt down from his rose-gathering, and was shouting indistinguishably to the would-be helpers, while he tore off his coat and ran forward, waving it in an effort to distract the animal ... but it was the Duke of Imbrie who held Sharlie’s eyes.

In one fluid spring, his horse was into the field and the coiled ropes that had looped from the foreign saddle were in his hand. They were suddenly elongated, whirling and flying through the air in a circle that settled over the bull’s head. It stayed the beast’s rush, but failed to halt him; he staggered, went to his knees and was up with a roar, to turn on the duke. Sobbing under her breath, Sharlie pounded down the lane until she reached the fence corner where Stepan was sitting, another coiled rope dangling from his fingers. “Oh, can’t you DO something?” she cried wildly. “He’ll be killed!”

“Not milor’,” the man said positively, without removing his eyes from the scene. “I have the rope if he needs, but you will see...”

Unconsciously, she’d brought Pacifico to a stand. Below, at the field gate, all was confusion; Sharlie scarcely saw Eustace lifting Emily into his arms and bearing her to the lane. Her eyes were only for the man on the black horse, turning and twisting, always moving the bull away. “See?
Magnifico,
yes?” Stepan murmured softly. “He tire the bull because the horse move faster. Many time I have see him do this, Mees. When is safe, he come out. You will see.”

“But if the bull should charge?”

“It do not catch the horse. That is Ajax, who is used ... He is from the Argentine, Mees. See how he enjoy to sport with bull? That Ajax is one fine horse, he take care of milor’ like myself. We know is no finer master in world.”

“I’m sure,” Sharlie said mechanically. She’d thought Eustace’s rescue of Emily in the park was excellent horsemanship; it was nothing compared to Imbrie. Reassured by Stepan’s confidence, her breathing steadied, her heart stopped pounding, and she could revel in the duke’s expertise. Time and again he pulled Ajax into rearing on a turn that avoided the bull’s horns, until at last the animal was on its side. Then, before it could struggle erect, he abandoned the rope and gracefully leaped the fence into the farther field.

“So. He does not need me.” Stepan slid from his seat on the fence and bowed to Sharlie with a flash of white teeth. “
Au revoir,
Ma’amselle.”

“
Au revoir, a tout a l’heure
,” she said absently, setting Pacifico forward and missing the gleam in the servant’s black eyes.

The duke’s guests were in turmoil. Alarmed by the shouts of the young people and the commotion of attempting to get Emily out of the field, the older people had hastened back to the house and came pouring over the sward exactly as Eustace was tenderly bearing Emily across the bridge. “Good God, what has happened? Oh, Lord—not dead, is she? Tom, make haste to the doctor.” The chorus of faint screams, shocked outcries, threatened swoons by Princess Esterhazy and the vicar’s wife, awakened Lady Inverclyde, who demanded, “Merciful heavens, what’s to do?” The pug sat up and barked vociferously, while Lady Stanwood thrust through the crowd with a ruthless maternal hand. “Eustace?” she asked fearfully.

“No, no, milady—all’s safe enough,” he reassured her. “ ’Tis only fright, not a swoon. Let me place her in this chair—if ye’d stand away, please? There, now—open your pretty eyes, macushla, the way your mama’ll know ye’re all right.” Obediently Emily’s lashes fluttered upward. “Ye’ll try for a smile to convince everyone,” he crooned coaxingly. Emily’s lips quivered, her eyes filled with tears, but she managed the smile—directly to Eustace. She then burst into strong sobs, and wailed, “Oh, mama ... mama...”

“Yes, my love.” Lady Stanwood dragged the vinaigrette from her reticule and directed it at Emily’s nose. “Compose yourself, darling. Shhhh, it’s all over.”

Lady Inverclyde shook herself erect and straightened her cap. “WHAT is over? Be
quiet,
Cupidon,” she cuffed the pug militantly. “Emily’s makin’ enough noise, you needn’t help her.”

The company had withdrawn into small groups, where the younger people were informing everyone of the circumstances which—since Emily was seen to be unharmed—were now productive of most enjoyable shudders. Eustace still knelt on one knee, alternately soothing her and rapidly explaining.

“Faith, no one told us of cattle, much less a bull! We’d been gathering flowers along the lane, and Emily saw some prizes beyond the rails, so we made bold to enter. We only saw the animal when the others called for us to leave. ’Twas too much for Emily to climb over the fence, she tried to reach the gate and tripped. By then, Imbrie was into the field on his horse, and engaging the beast while we lifted Emily and brought her out.”

Sharlie was in time to hear this, having abandoned Pacifico in the stableyard and run around the drive to the lawn. In her relief at finding her sister undamaged, she had her mouth open to deliver a scold, but simultaneously the duke strode over the stream bridge and came direct to Emily. His face showed his exertions in disarranged hair clinging damply to his forehead. He was breathing heavily, and his expression was anguished anxiety as he bent over her. “My dear Miss Emily, are you all right? Lady Stanwood, I would not have had this occur for the world! But what has been done for her comfort?” His grace possessed himself of Emily’s hand, softly stroking it and murmuring solicitously, “My poor girl! Gayle, desire Mrs. Witchett to give you a cordial and prepare tea as quickly as may be.”

Under such soothing ministrations, Emily’s sobs died away to a series of tiny gulps and she made a strong effort for composure. The duke produced a handkerchief and gently mopped her tears. “Ah, that’s better!” Emily gave him a watery smile and tried to sit up—then she sank back with a faint moan.

“My foot—oh, my foot!”

His grace hastily released her hand and knelt down. “Lady Stanwood, with your permission...” but when he’d exposed Emily’s thin kid half-boot, it was seen to be tight about her ankle. “This must be cut off at once. Stepan?”

“Yes, milor’?”

“A razor, please.” When the servant brought it, “I’m sorry, I know it will hurt badly, but try to be brave.” Emily gritted her teeth and clung to Sharlie’s hand with closed eyes from which tears trickled silently down her white cheeks. He was incredibly deft, the shoe was freed in a matter of seconds, or so it seemed, and Emily relaxed briefly. “I fancy it is merely a sprain,” his fingers probed delicately while Emily suppressed a groan. “Yes, there is no break, but it is badly swollen and should be bandaged. Lady Stanwood, shall I summon the doctor or will you trust to me? The stocking must be cut away.”

“Then cut it away,” Lady Inverclyde commanded testily, leaning forward to peer at the ankle. “This is no time for missishness. The girl’s in pain, and no knowing how long before the doctor can arrive. Give her the cordial for courage, strap it up, and she can have it looked at in London if need be—although Imbrie and that rascally man of his are as competent as Halford, Nelly.”

“Please do whatever you can, Duke,” Lady Stanwood agreed.

Sharlie was scarcely aware of Emily’s painful grip on her hand as she watched the duke swiftly slitting the rose-colored silk of Emily’s stocking, drawing away the foot section to reveal flesh already puffed and livid. She was only half-aware of Stepan, squatting beside his master with a basin of warm water, a sponge, a bottle of some evil-smelling dark fluid, a roll of lint—handing them in silent progression to the duke. Vaguely, it occurred to her that Imbrie had given no instructions; Stepan had instantly been at hand with what was needed, knew what to extend when the duke waggled his fingers, and already Emily was easier, sighing with relief.

At last Imbrie sat back and smiled at his patient. “How very brave you were. Now you shall sit quietly and drink the tea Mrs. Witchett is bringing, and we shall contrive a footrest for the carriage,” and if, to Lady Stanwood’s ears, the duke’s voice was that of an affectionate uncle, Sharlie had no fault to find. Almost, she could forgive Emily for her stupidity in opening a
closed
field gate—which anyone reared in the country must
know
indicated animals, whether or not they could be seen.

Emily had regained her color a little, and was beginning to smile and shyly utter thanks combined with abject apologies for thoughtlessness, “for I would not have overset the bull for anything. Sharlie will ring a peal over me for it and say I am well-served to have sprained my ankle.”

“No, no, I am sure she will not. She will be far too happy there is nothing worse than a fortnight’s discomfort for you,” he smiled into her eyes, patted her hand and moved aside for Stepan to set a footstool beneath the bandaged ankle. “Ah, here is the tea.” His grace stood up, adjusting his coat sleeves and said to Stepan in Greek, “Saddle Athena; I will ride to London with them.”

“No, no, I beg you will not disturb yourself, Duke. There is not the least need,” Sharlie protested absently. Occupied in settling her mother in a chair, she was unconscious of the startled flick of glances between the duke and his servant. Miss Stanwood comprehended
Greek?

“French, also,” Stepan remarked five minutes later, innocently staring into space as he helped the duke exchange sweaty shirt and coat for fresh clothing. “Do you still wish Athena, milor’?”

“Have her readied, we will see what Lady Stanwood desires.”
It was not on his agenda to ride up to London tonight, with a return tomorrow that would delay his plans for the day, but when Lady Stanwood firmly refused any escort, he was conscious of frustration. He did insist upon accompanying his guests as far as the turn into the London turnpike, but by then he’d realized there was no point to continue. With Brummell riding beside Miss Stanwood, the conversation was necessarily impersonal. Julian made his most graceful farewells to each carriage—ignoring the Beau’s bland assurance that he would protect Miss Stanwood with his life, “which is a very safe risk, for I have not lately learned of any lions or tigers in this vicinity.”