Tessa's Touch (17 page)

Tessa hoped the dimness of the coach hid the
effort it cost her to smile. "I am gratified, my lord, that you should say
so."

He reached across to place his hand on hers,
heedless of Sir George at her side. "I have reason to thank you as well,
Miss Seaton."

She glanced up in surprise. He must mean her
silence about the night they'd spent together.

"Aye, you added greatly to the enjoyment
of the evening," Mr. Turpin said. "As did you, Sir George. I hope you
will both visit again— particularly while Lady Killerby is in residence."

They all chuckled at that, and Tessa forced
herself to do so as well, trying desperately to ignore the fresh pain Lord
Anthony's gratitude gave her.

A few moments later they reached Wheatstone,
and the gentlemen soon had Sir George safely returned to his study.

"There, see what a bit of practice has
done for our efficiency?" Lord Anthony exclaimed. "Anytime you wish
to go out, Sir George, don't hesitate to call upon us. We'll be happy to
oblige, eh, Thor?"

Mr. Turpin agreed, then they took their leave.
As before, Tessa walked down to the front door with them, though the presence
of Mr. Turpin precluded any sort of private conversation with Anthony. She
realized that was probably just as well.

"We look forward to seeing you at
tomorrow's meet, Miss Seaton," he said, smiling down into her eyes, his
expression reflecting none of the turmoil she'd been feeling all evening.

"I hope Cinnamon and I will acquit
ourselves well," she replied, her voice sounding stiff to her own ears. If
only she could ask him . . . But ask him what? Whether he'd meant what he said
about being a confirmed bachelor? Foolishness!

He sent her a searching look, but she turned
away before he might possibly decipher her expression. "Thank you, my
lord, and you, Mr. Turpin, for your help in getting my father to and from Ivy
Lodge. It meant more to him than you can imagine —and to me, as well."

Again they expressed their willingness to be of
service at any time in the future, and then they took their leave. Tessa
returned to her father, putting on a determinedly cheerful expression as she
entered his study.

"What a pleasant evening that was,"
she said. "I had no idea that you'd known Lord Killerby's mother in your
youth, Papa."

Sir George's grin was almost boyish. "I
confess, I hadn't made the connection before seeing her tonight. Stewart, her
late husband, was still plain Mr. Verge when he married her all those years
ago."

Griffith entered then, so Tessa retreated, glad
to hear the happiness in her father's voice as he regaled his manservant with
stories of his first outing in six years. Despite her earlier misgivings, the
visit had clearly been good for him. She would do nothing to oppose future
excursions —though Uncle Mercer might.

That thought reminded her that she had yet to
talk with her father about replacing Harold as horse trainer. It was as well
she had that problem to distract her, for she had a difficult time sleeping,
her emotions were in such a jumble. When she finally did fall asleep, it was to
dream of Anthony —first tender, as he'd been that night in the cottage, then
pushing her away with a laugh. It was a relief when Sally woke her at daybreak.

* *
*

"Papa, I've been meaning to talk with you
about Harold," she said without preamble as soon as she joined her father
in his study before leaving for the Quorn. He had risen early as well, to see
her off. "I'm not entirely certain that horse-training is the best career
for him."

Sir George blinked, clearly startled. "But
Mercer says he is doing quite well. Look at the fabulous sum he got for that
new horse, Nimbus, last week. Surely Harold's training had something to do with
that?"

Tessa bit her lip, uncertain how much of the
truth to disclose. Memory of Harold's cruelty to that new chestnut yesterday
spurred her on, however. "Actually, Papa, I believe I had more influence
on Nimbus than Harold did. In fact, he frequently needs my help with the more .
. . difficult horses."

"Indeed?" Sir George frowned. "I
knew you were riding more than you used, to train for the hunt, but you know I
don't care to have you spending too much time at the stables, Tessa. It's not
proper. You heard what Lady Killerby said last night."

She didn't care to be reminded of that. "I
know, Papa, but truly, I don't mind. I like spending time with the horses, as
I've always told you, and I'm careful that no one outside our family and
servants ever sees me there. To be honest, I rather doubt Harold would be able
to do his job there without my help."

"Are you suggesting I hire another
trainer? Mercer would never allow me to turn him off."

"No, not turn him off, of course, but I
thought that perhaps we could find some other job on the estate that he could
do, something better suited to his, ah, temperament. Meanwhile, I would be more
than happy to take over the bulk of his training duties, with the help of the
stable hands."

But Sir George shook his head. "That won't
do at all, Tessa. Why, you are just beginning to go out socially, dining at the
Hilltops' and at Ivy Lodge. There will be hunt balls later, as well. You won't
have time to train all of our horses as well."

"But Harold—"

"Harold what?" Harold and his father
walked into the study, Harold's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Sir George turned to them with a smile.
"Tessa feels that horse training may not be the best utilization of
Harold's talents," he said, surprising her with his diplomacy. "We
were simply discussing other options."

Harold turned an angry glance on Tessa.
"Criticizing my training again, were you? I told you—" He broke off
when his father laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Miss Seaton has a tender heart,"
Uncle Mercer said. "It is small wonder her feminine sensitivity recoils
from some of the methods necessary to get the most out of the horses. Perhaps
it would be better if she not watch Harold at his work quite so often, much as
she seems to enjoy spending time with him—and the horses, of course."

Tessa gaped at his implication, even as her
father nodded his agreement. She, enjoy spending time with Harold? Not bloody
likely.

"I quite concur, Mercer," Sir George
was saying. "She was suggesting the opposite, that she spend more time at
the stables.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Uncle
Mercer said, "but under the circumstances—"

Her father blinked, then frowned slightly,
shooting a glance Tessa's way. "Yes, yes, it is quite out of the question—
particularly given what you have just said."

Tessa noticed with irritation that Harold was
smirking. "Very well," she said, trying to keep the frustration from
her voice. "I'll not work with the horses at all, then." So much for
taming Vulcan for them.

Though Harold's smirk disappeared at this
threat, her uncle actually smiled. "That might be best. Except for those
horses you will be riding for sale, of course. I myself can oversee your time
spent familiarizing yourself with them. After all, a reputation is a fragile
thing —don't you agree, Sir George?"

"I'm certain I can leave such matters
entirely in your hands, Mercer," her father said quickly. "There,
Tessa, all is well."

She couldn't bring herself to speak. It was
clear that if he chose, Uncle Mercer could convince her father to forbid her
riding at all— something she didn't wish to provoke him to.

Tessa found herself unable to eat much
breakfast, so upset was she by the conversation just past. Harold kept smirking
at her, making her want to slap him. Meanwhile, Uncle Mercer discussed estate
business with her father, though most of what he said Tessa knew to be false.

More and more, she found herself regretting her
original decision six years ago to keep the truth about the estate from her
father. If he discovered it now, as much as things had deteriorated over the
years, the shock might well kill him— which left her trapped in her own web of
lies.

Surely, there must be some way to extricate
herself without shattering her father's pride or destroying his health?

"Come, Tessa, we must go if we are to be
in at the start of today's meet," her uncle said, breaking into her
thoughts.

"Give Lady Killerby my regards," said
Sir George as she rose. "I'll look forward to hearing everything upon your
return."

Tessa nodded mechanically and followed Uncle
Mercer from the room. Harold followed them downstairs and out the front door.

"What game are you playing at, Cousin?"
he demanded as soon as they were out of the house. "I told you Sir George
would never turn me off, didn't I?"

She glared at him. "I only asked him to
consider a position better suited to you than that of trainer. Anyone else—
anyone who could see you at work, that is— would have turned you off long
ago."

His face darkened and he took a step toward
her, but as before, Uncle Mercer intervened. "There was no harm done,
Harold," he said to his son. Then, to Tessa, "I'd advise you not to
try anything of the sort again, missie. Unless you want your father to learn
the true state of his finances —not to mention the truth about your own
behavior?"

She was sorely tempted to tell him to do his
worst, but the thought of her father's weak heart stopped her. "I felt
obliged to do something, for the sake of the horses," she said, forcing an
apology she didn't feel into her tone. "I never intended to harm Harold in
any way."

"If you don't want the horses out of your
reach for good, you'd be wise to leave such concerns to me," her uncle
told her. "Now, we'd best be on our way."

Harold made a point of boosting her into
Cinnamon's sidesaddle. Though his touch made Tessa cringe, she was careful not
to show it, for Harold could be trusted to make the most of any weakness she
revealed. Touching her heels to Cinnamon's flanks, she left him behind, wishing
it could be forever. After tonight, Cinnamon, at least, would never have to
face Harold again. Tessa took what comfort she could from that thought.

Upon reaching the meet at Quorndon Hall,
however, she saw Lord Anthony in conversation with Lady Killerby and at once
all traces of comfort fled.

* *
*

CHAPTER 12

"If you'll excuse me, my lady?"
Anthony couldn't help being amused at Lady Killerby's wicked assessments of
each sportsman as he arrived at the meet, but the moment he saw Tessa he felt
an intense need to be at her side.

Lady Killerby followed his gaze. "Ah,
that's where the wind sets, does it? I suspected as much last night. Run along
then, lad—but be cautious. Your father would scarcely approve, you know."
She waved him away from the side of her pink and green phaeton with her orange
parasol.

Anthony merely tipped his hat to her,
determined not to give her any more ammunition for gossip or advice. In vain
did he remind himself that she was right. His father
wouldn't
approve. But the more time he spent with Tessa
—and the more time he spent away from her—the more he felt that he would never
be happy without her.

"I began to fear you wouldn't make it
today, Miss Seaton," he said, riding up to her and executing a bow from
the saddle, sweeping his tophat before him with a flourish.

"We were a bit late starting," she
replied with a glance at her uncle, on the same brown gelding he'd ridden before.

Mercer Emery nodded. "No chance we'd miss
today —not after missing the Cottesmore meet on Saturday. Feel free to tell
your friends that this mare will be up for sale tonight."

Mention of the Cottesmore brought the reason
for Tessa's missing it vividly to Anthony's mind —and his body. That Tessa
avoided his eye made him hope that her memory was similarly —and as pleasantly
—engaged. She did not look precisely happy, however. He made a guess at the
reason.

"I know you're not as eager to sell, Miss
Seaton, but I trust you won't let that hamper your riding today." He
leaned down as he spoke, trying to get a better glimpse of her face.

"She won't," her uncle said curtly.
"Business is business. She knows that as well as I."

Tessa nodded, though Anthony thought he
detected a small sigh before she spoke. "Yes, I know it well. We'll have a
fine last run, won't we, Cinnamon?" She stroked the mare's neck with a
small, gloved hand. The motion did something profound to Anthony's nether
regions and he found himself quite envying the horse.

The signal was given to start for the covert,
so with a nod—and another unsuccessful attempt to catch Tessa's eye— Anthony
turned Cinder and headed over to where the Odd Sock was assembled.

"Something wrong?" Rush asked as he
reached them.

"What? No, not at all." He quickly
schooled his expression to one of anticipation for the hunt. "Mr. Emery
bade me spread the word that Miss Seaton's mare will be sold tonight. I'm half
minded to buy her myself."

"The mare, you mean?" Stormy teased
him.

Anthony, however, was not amused. "Don't
let Lady Killerby hear you implying such things," he admonished his
friend. "Nor anyone else, for that matter."

"A joke, Anthony, just a joke,"
Stormy protested with a chuckle, putting up a hand as if to ward off a blow.
"Come, the field is leaving us behind."

True to her word, Tessa rode her mare extremely
well. Though Anthony knew it would drive up the price to his detriment, he
couldn't help feeling proud of her. At the third check, Anthony managed to get
her a bit apart from the others long enough to tell her so.

"You and Cinnamon are putting us all to
shame," he said cheerfully. "Well done."

She gave him the first smile he'd seen on her
face that day. "Thank you. Really, though, neither of us would be happy
doing less than our best, whatever the inducement."

He nodded his understanding. "I see that
now—and how that would be true no matter what horse you rode." His intent
was to let her know he no longer blamed her for Nimbus, but she frowned at his
words.

"I . . . I suppose," she said.

Drawing closer, he lowered his voice so that
none of those milling nearby could hear him. "I presume there is still no
reason to believe our, ah, evening together has been discovered?"

She shook her head. "You need not worry, my
lord. Your reputation seems quite safe."

Startled, he laughed. "
My
reputation? That's scarcely what I was
worrying about. I should not care to see you made uncomfortable on my account,
however."

"That's very kind of you—" she began,
but was interrupted by a cheery "Halloo."

Turning, they saw Lady Killerby wheeling toward
them, her burly coachman expertly guiding her low phaeton over the rough field.
"I see they did not exaggerate about you, Miss Seaton," she called as
she drew near. "Indeed, you are the best rider out here today, bar none.
Sorry if that offends your male pride, Lord Anthony." She winked at him
playfully.

"Not at all, my lady," he replied
with a mock bow. "Indeed, I must agree with you."

She regarded him narrowly for a moment before
turning back to Tessa. "Your mother rode much as you do, my dear, but I
suppose you've been told that before. You, like she, are a credit to our
sex."

"Thank you, my lady." Tessa seemed
vaguely uncomfortable with the praise, though Anthony couldn't think why.

"Good of the farmers to place their gates
for my convenience," Lady Killerby continued. "That way I'm never too
far behind the action. Also good of the fox to lose himself periodically so
that I can catch up, eh, Henry?" she said to her coachman.

"Aye, m'lady," he agreed blandly,
though Anthony noticed a faint twitch of his lips. "There, the hounds have
found 'im again. We'd best be off." He flicked the pair of bays into a
trot and Lady Killerby waved a teal-gloved hand.

"I'll see you at the next check," she
called.

"It would appear she did not only come to
Leicestershire to care for her son," Tessa commented as she and Anthony
urged their horses in the same direction. "I'd no idea before today that
someone could follow the hunt thus."

"It's not common, but I've seen it done
before —though some courses will not allow it, naturally. Perhaps your father
would enjoy doing the same sometimes?"

The look she gave him was fraught with alarm,
though she quickly concealed it. "Perhaps," was all she said, before
setting her mare into a canter to again take the lead in the chase.

* *
*

It was with definite regret that Tessa saw the
hunt end, even though the fox escaped the hounds, which would normally have
been a source of relief to her. Riding back to Quorndon Hall, she tried to eke
every bit of enjoyment possible from her last moments on Cinnamon's back, but
doubts and worries kept getting in the way.

"Perhaps she'll sell to someone you know,
so that you'll still be able to visit her," Anthony suggested kindly,
riding up next to her.

She tried to force a smile. "Perhaps. In
any case, I'm sure I'll become just as attached to another horse soon."
She did not believe it, however. She had formed a special bond with Cinnamon,
and that was something rare, even for her. Especially for her.

"What horse do you plan to ride
next?"

"You mean, what horse does my uncle intend
me to ride?" she asked, only realizing when he frowned that she should not
have spoken so clearly. Why was it that she could not seem to guard her tongue
around this man?

"Probably the gelding my uncle bought last
week," she said before he could comment. "Though he won't be ready
for sale for some weeks. He does need experience in the hunt, however."

She tried not to think about Vulcan, afraid
Anthony would somehow divine her thoughts —or that she'd end up telling him
everything. He'd forgiven her for the business with Nimbus, but Vulcan was far
worse. The very fact that he was in her father's stables was damning to her
mind, for no reputable dealer would ever have purchased such an animal.

Glancing ahead, she saw Lady Killerby in her
phaeton, waiting for the returning field. She'd been forced to stop an hour or
so ago, when they'd leaped a ditch with no convenient way around.

"So, Miss Seaton, were you first in at the
kill?" she demanded as they drew close.

Tessa shook her head. "There was no kill
today, my lady. But I confess that if there had been, I'd not have been there
to watch it. I fear I'm too squeamish to be a truly competitive fox hunter."

"That's hardly a failing in a lady,"
said Lord Rushford, riding in from their left just then. "It's the riding
that's the thing, in any event. Which reminds me, Anthony, did you hear?
Harleston is talking of organizing a steeplechase."

Lady Killerby actually clapped her hands.
"Lovely! I adore a steeplechase. We have one or two per season in
Nottinghamshire, and I make it a point never to miss watching them. What is the
purse to be?"

"It will depend on the number of entrants,
I presume," Anthony said.

"Aye, and the wagering —which is like to
be brisk," Lord Rushford agreed. "I'll be surprised if the winner
walks away with less than ten thousand pounds."

Tessa's attention was caught, along with her
breath. Ten thousand pounds? Such a sum would pay for every repair needed at
Wheatstone, with a substantial amount left over.

"How many gentlemen are likely to
enter?" she asked with studied casualness, ignoring the look Anthony gave
her.

Lord Rushford shrugged. "I'd guess twenty
at the least, though it will depend on the weather and the course, which hasn't
been decided yet."

When they got back to Quorndon Hall, she would
ask Uncle Mercer to discover the details. If there were any way she could
compete, she would do so, for with ten thousand pounds she'd never have need to
ride a questionable horse for sale again. Surely even her uncle would see the
wisdom in that?

She was still mulling the possibilities with
growing excitement when Sir Charles Storm joined the group around Lady
Killerby's phaeton. "Miss Seaton, I've had a thought," he said.
"Well, it was someone else's thought, but I'm not averse to stealing a
good idea."

"I fear I don't understand," she
said, though when he beckoned her to move a bit apart from the others, she
followed —as did Anthony, she noticed.

"No, no, of course not. Never seem able to
come right to the point, do I?" He shook his head, grinning. "Thing
is, I overheard a couple of men talking, saying they meant to approach you
about riding their mounts in upcoming meets so that they might sell them for
more— rather as Mr. Mercer had you do today, with this mare."

"Don't be absurd," said Anthony
before she could respond. "Tessa —Miss Seaton —isn't for hire."

Sir Charles looked shocked. "Of course
not. Never meant to imply she was. I was thinking more along the lines of a
favor— though of course I'd be willing to share a percentage of the profits, if
I get a good price for this fellow." He tapped his gelding between the
ears.

"Still," Anthony began, but Tessa
reached out to touch his arm.

"It's all right, my lord, I'm not
offended."

Suddenly, it seemed that all manner of
opportunities to raise revenue were coming her way. Opportunities that wouldn't
compromise her ethics— though they might compromise her reputation. But so long
as her father never got wind of it . . .

She turned to Sir Charles with a smile.
"In fact," she said, "I'm quite flattered by your request. I
promise to give it some consideration, and to discuss it with my uncle."

Lord Anthony seemed less pleased than she at
this development, though she couldn't think why. To her, it seemed an admirable
answer to her problems, for she could not be assured of winning a steeplechase,
even if she were allowed to enter.

* *
*

When the members of the Quorn met for dinner
that evening, Anthony discovered that Stormy was only one among many who were
eager to convince Tessa to ride for them. Her performance that day—and the
price her mare was likely to fetch as a result —was second only to the proposed
steeplechase among the topics discussed over the meal.

"I hear Wheatstone isn't what it used to
be," said Sir Brian Olney in response to another comment. "Seems as
though the Seatons might be amenable to a bit of extra blunt, if that's
true."

Tom Billingsley nodded vigorously. "That's
what I'm hoping. Mean to offer her a fair sum to ride my Striker. Hoped to sell
him this season anyway, and there's no question he'll fetch more with such a
rider to show him."

"But is he broken to sidesaddle?" Sir
Brian asked. "Ah, thought as much," he crowed when the crestfallen
Billingsley shook his head. "Conqueror is —m'sister insisted on riding him
last summer. Guess that gives me the advantage, eh?"

Anthony felt obliged to speak up. "You all
speak of this as a certainty, but I rather doubt Sir George will be sanguine
about his daughter riding other men's horses for money. I'd advise against
counting your chickens —or pounds —just yet."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Stormy agreed
from across the table. "But that doesn't mean we can't talk about it—and
plan our own strategies." His smile showed that he clearly thought his
talk with Tessa that afternoon gave him an edge.