To Win the Lady (10 page)

‘Why?’

‘Because you
are the elder, and besides, once she is married it will be the end of any
interest in you. You will be put out to pasture. Is that not the term you
horse-lovers would use?’

Georgie laughed,
though she was far from amused. ‘Then I shall become fat and contented like an
old horse.’

‘No, you will
not. The stables will become run-down for want of business, the staff will have
to be stood off and the house will go to rack and ruin without a family to fill
it. You will not grow fat, for you will not have two grigs to rub together and
certainly you will not be content because you will be lonely, banging around in
that great barn of a place like a pea in a rattle. Is that what you want?’

The picture she
painted was certainly not an enticing one. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then consider
it carefully, my dear. You may think me hard and unfeeling, but someone has to
point out the pitfalls of what you are doing. For your sister’s sake, I beg you
not to turn Lord Barbour down out of hand.’

‘Very well, I
shall ride with him, but if I do not find him agreeable I beg leave not to
encourage him.’

She really was
not in a position to dictate terms, she realised. She did not consider herself
beautiful - striking perhaps but not beautiful - and she should have come out
eight years before. Eight years! Where had they all gone? She had been so
content at her father’s side, looking after the horses, learning the day-to-day
routine of a busy stables, breaking, exercising and grooming the horses,
watching Papa haggling over prices, putting a horse through its paces for a
potential buyer, sitting up all night with a sick animal. Oh, there had been a
great deal to do, especially when the army needed so many horses. The seasons
had followed one upon the other, each busier than the last, and her small
sister had grown into a lovely young lady without her even noticing the
transformation. She didn’t think Papa had noticed either. And then he had died
and everything had fallen on her shoulders.

Sometimes the
burden seemed too much to carry. Sometimes she wished desperately that she did
have a cousin or a brother to take charge. Sometimes she longed for a little
fun. But never, never would she abrogate her responsibilities. She might argue
with her aunt and resist pressure simply because it was pressure, like a young
colt testing its will against its trainer, but, like the colt, she would become
docile in the end.

She tried
telling herself that living with Lord Barbour would not be so bad. He was
interested in horses and kept an extensive stable; combining their interests
could be beneficial to them both. He had been married before and had a family
already and it was unlikely that he would make unnecessary physical demands on
her. None of her arguments carried any weight beside the overwhelming one that
she did not even like him.

If only someone
young and handsome would come along and sweep her off her feet, someone who
would carry on the stables in Sir Henry’s tradition, someone like Major
Baverstock. The thought, coming to her so suddenly, brought her up short. Why
had he come to her mind? Unless...

She must not
think along those lines, not for a single moment. Major Richard Baverstock was
not for her. He had made it abundantly clear that he did not like mannish women
and that was what she had become. Besides, Aunt Harriet had set her heart on
marrying him off to Felicity and it seemed to her that both parties were more
than agreeable. She followed her sister up the stairs to take off her outdoor
clothes and wished, with all her heart, that she had never come to London.

Richard had
ordered Heacham to take the phaeton back to the mews behind his father’s town
house in Portland Square and gone on foot to Bond Street where he proceeded to
work out his ill temper at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing establishment, though if
he had been asked he would have strongly denied that his irritability had
anything to do with Lord Barbour being at Holles Street. Mrs Bertram could
entertain whom she pleased; so, for that matter, could Miss Paget. But Barbour!
What was he up to?

When sparring
failed in its purpose, he took himself off to Watier’s where he polished off a
bottle of wine and sat down to play a hand of cards with Lord Hereward and a
couple of his cronies. But he could not concentrate on the game and when John
appeared soon after midnight he was glad enough to throw in his hand and repair
to the smoking-room.

‘Are you
playing deep?’ John demanded, looking at his friend’s dishevelled appearance.

‘No, just
dabbling. Nothing better to do.’

‘You don’t look
quite the thing, old fellow. Been given the right about by Miss Paget, have
you?’

‘Not at all,’
Richard said morosely, lighting a cigarillo. ‘It seems I have found favour.’

‘Then you’re a
lucky fellow, that’s all I can say.’

‘I only hope my
irascible parent may think the same.’

‘Why should he
not? Miss Paget is lovely, and well-bred, and though I ain’t so sure about the
dowry it don’t much signify, does it, you having plump pockets anyhow?’

‘I shan’t have
if my father leaves everything to my cousin William.’

‘He ain’t still
on that tack, is he? I thought you went home to set that to rights...’

‘Easier said
than done, old fellow. William is still toadying round him, bringing those
odious brats of his. They seem to take it for granted that they may have the
run of the place in expectation of it becoming theirs. Noise and sticky finger
marks everywhere and the dogs teased until I wonder they do not turn round and
bite. I am persuaded William positively encourages them to misbehave in order
to infuriate me.’

‘Don’t you like
children?’

‘How should I
know? Never had any.’ He paused and smiled. ‘With the right wife, I suppose I
might become the doting papa.’

John laughed.
‘I cannot see you as a family man.’

‘It seems my
father can. I am to find a wife as soon as maybe.’

‘What’s so hard
about that? You ain’t still thinking of Maria, are you?’

‘No, that’s all
over with, but damn me, John, I just do not like being pushed.’

John laughed.
‘No and nor don’t I. I’ve just spent the more boring hour of my life in the
company of Juliette Hereward and our respective mamas.’

‘Matchmaking,
are they?’

‘I wouldn’t
mind so much but the chit is hardly out of the schoolroom.’

‘There speaks
an old, old man,’ Richard said, with a laugh.

‘I’ll be
twenty-one in a few months. I may be young but I’ve had plenty of time to grow
up in the last three years, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I can’t deny
it. Battle certainly hardens a man.’

In his mind’s
eye Richard saw again the smoke and flames, the blood of men and horses
mingling on the baked earth; heard the guns, the clash of sabres and the cries
of the wounded. Every battle was the same, though he wondered if anyone ever
became truly hardened to it. But in time it had a numbing effect; you pretended
indifference, convinced yourself that you were invulnerable and sometimes it
worked. He had come through with only a slight shoulder wound which only
troubled him when the weather was damp or if he had to put undue strain on it.

But Maria, who
had no business near the fighting, had died. She had died because some clunch
of a trooper had told her that her lover had been wounded and she had hurried
to his aid, as so many of the wives and other camp followers had. Making his
way back to the hospital wagon on foot, he had seen her coming and shouted to
her to go back. She had heard his voice but, unsure of its direction, had
stopped to listen and the shell had landed right beside her. It had been his
fault; if he had not shouted, she would have kept moving. The day had been won
but he could find no joy in the victory. Now the war was over and he had to try
and forget.

‘Juliette
doesn’t seem to have matured by as much as a day.’ John’s voice invaded his
memories and brought him back with a jolt.

‘Protected as
she is, she has no reason to grow up too soon, has she?’ he said. ‘Have
patience, my friend.’

‘Thank God
there’s no hurry and I don’t have to offer for her before I come of age. And by
then who knows...?’ He laughed in an embarrassed way and got to his feet. ‘Do
not forget we have an engagement to go riding tomorrow at the ungodly hour of
ten o’clock, so I am away to my bed.’ He beckoned to a waiter who was passing
with a tray of glasses and bade him fetch a hackney, before turning back to
Richard. ‘Do you want a lift?’

Richard,
befuddled by the smoky atmosphere and the wine he had consumed, needed fresh
air to clear his head and said he preferred to walk. By the time he arrived
back in Portland Square dawn was just coming up over the chimney-pots and the
milkmaids were leading their charges out of the parks and taking them to the
kitchen doors of the big houses to dispense their milk. He was greeted at the
door by Heacham, still fully clothed.

‘Why are you
still up, man?’ he asked in surprise. Unlike many, he did not expect his
servant to wait up for him.

‘I thought you
would like to know the Viscount has arrived,’ the valet said, helping him off
with his coat.

‘My father?’

‘Yes, Major.’

‘Damn!’

Heacham thought
it tactful not to hear that remark. ‘Before his lordship went to bed, Major, he
bade me tell you he will take breakfast with you. I told him you would be up
and out by half-past nine but he did not seem to take exception to that. I
heard him order his man to wake him at half after eight.’

Richard had
barely set his head on the pillow - or so he thought - before Heacham was
shaking him into wakefulness again. He had pulled back the curtains and the sun
was streaming in at the window, hurting his eyes. ‘Time to rise, Major. I left
you as long as I dare.’

Richard grunted
and took the cup of coffee his servant held out to him, swallowed it scalding
hot and demanded another while he hauled himself out of bed, washed and dressed
in soft buckskin riding breeches and a linen shirt. He swallowed the second cup
of coffee before carefully tying his cravat. His third was consumed after he
had pulled on his tasselled riding boots and Heacham had helped him into a
jacket of Bath cloth with velvet facings. By the time he went down to the small
family dining-room he was feeling more himself. He was not in the least
surprised to find his father, in a quilted dressing-gown, already at breakfast.

‘Good morning,
sir,’ he said, pretending a brightness he did not feel. ‘Heacham told me you had
arrived. What brings you here?’

‘I can come to
my own house, can’t I?’ his lordship said irritably. His gout was more than
usually troublesome, probably because he had sat up waiting for his son the
night before and drunk too much claret. ‘You bolted without so much as a by
your leave. Dashed bad manners, don’t you know?’

‘I’m sorry,
Father. I thought we had said all there was to say...’

‘Well, we did
not. At any rate, I had not. Seems to me if I want to have a conversation with
you I must uproot myself from a comfortable home and chase after you. You know
I don’t like town above half; the fog gets into m’lungs.’

Richard forbore
to point out that it was the middle of summer and there was no fog. ‘I’m sorry
to have put you to that inconvenience, sir.’

‘The devil you
are! Where did you get to last night?’

‘Watier’s. If I
had known you were coming...’

‘Watier’s!
You’ll not find a bride there, my boy. I begin to wonder if you are making any
push at all. Good thing I did come, if you ask me...’

Richard’s heart
sank. ‘What’s the haste? You are in plump currant, aren’t you?’

‘If you mean by
that am I about to wind up my accounts, then the answer is not if I can help
it. Another reason I had for coming to town was to see my physician.’

‘Then you are
ill.’ Richard was beset by feelings of guilt. ‘I am sorry to hear that,
Father.’

‘You’ll be even
sorrier if I stick my spoon in the wall before I can change my will.’

‘Change it?’

His lordship
favoured his son with a wry grin. ‘When you ran off to war, I disowned you, made
a will in favour of William; thought you knew that...’

‘You threatened
it. I didn’t know you had done it.’

‘Don’t threaten
what I don’t mean to do,’ he asserted. `I was angry and too hasty, perhaps, but
I shan’t reverse it unless you come up to the mark.’

‘You must do as
you wish, of course,’ Richard said stiffly.

‘I wish to be
succeeded by my son and his sons, that’s what I wish. I have told William so.’

‘He must have
been very disappointed,’ Richard said pithily. No wonder William was so
constantly at Dullingham House!

‘No doubt, but
I would rather he were disappointed than I.’ His lordship’s voice softened and
he reached out a thin veined hand to touch Richard’s sleeve. ‘It’s up to you.’