Decision and Destiny (11 page)

George led two ponies through the stable door. They were gorgeous creatures, meticulously groomed for the occasion and perfectly matched to the twins’ dispositions. One was coal black, a proud animal, prancing wickedly against the bit in its mouth, its head held high. The other was powder white, docile, but no less handsome.

“They’re beautiful, girls,” Charmaine said, anticipating their next request.

“Johnny said he would take us riding if you gave your permission.”

“There’s no point in owning a pony if you cannot ride him, is there?”

“No!” Jeannette agreed. “And will you come along, too?”

“Me?” Charmaine asked in flustered surprise. “No, I’m afraid you’ll have to enjoy your ride without my company. I’ll just remain behind with Pierre and worry over your safety.”

“Oh, please come, Mademoiselle!” the girl implored. “It won’t be fun without you, and you promised to spend the day any way we wished.”

“And I will,” Charmaine reaffirmed, “as soon as you return. Now don’t look so glum. It is you who have received such fine animals, not I, therefore, you should enjoy them.”

“But Johnny purchased a horse for you, too!”

Charmaine paled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand…” But she understood all too well, and already her mind was racing for a suitable excuse to extricate herself from the promises she had made over the past two days.

John read the turmoil on her face. “Miss Ryan,” he called up to her, “I took into consideration your diligent supervision of the children and knew you would insist on joining us today.”

When George stepped out of the stable this time, he led a speckled horse over to the corral. The dappling gray was just as majestic as the ponies, its silver coat shimmering in the morning sun, its dark mane and tail rippling in the breeze.

Charmaine was dumbfounded. All that had passed between the two men at breakfast was suddenly clear: the raised brows, the riddle conversation, and the monetary transaction. “I cannot accept such a gift from you! It is quite inappropriate.”

“Do not think of it as a gift,” he replied. “Think of it as a tool, one required for your job. Then it becomes entirely appropriate.”

“What?”
she fumed.

“The twins will want to ride frequently, and I won’t always be around to accompany them. As you’ve often reminded me, the children are your responsibility, so you will need a horse if you are to go with them.”

“You must hurry, Mademoiselle Charmaine!” Yvette beckoned from below. “You can’t stand there all day. The horses will grow impatient!”

“And so will we!” Jeannette added.

“That’s right,” John concurred. “Change into something more comfortable, a dress you can afford to soil, and come down quickly.”

“I can’t!” Charmaine protested, angry at his matter-of-fact attitude, his confidence she would do his bidding. “I have to stay with Pierre.” She looked to her young charge, who had grown bored and was now running up and down the length of the balcony.

“Pierre is coming with us,” John asserted.

“Really? And where do you propose we put him?”

“He can ride with me. Now, we are wasting precious time. Find a suitable garment and get down here before dusk is upon us and the day is gone.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not going anywhere on that animal. I won’t be held responsible for him.”

“Her,” John corrected, “and I told you, the horse is yours.”

“I don’t believe you. No one in their right mind would purchase an expensive animal like that for a governess.”

“Whether you believe me or not, Miss Ryan, I have, and you
are
going to accompany us on this outing,” he persisted, matching stubbornness for stubbornness. “As the children’s governess, you are obliged to supervise them throughout the day. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, but—”

“But what?”

“I don’t know how to ride!” she blurted out, stung by the twins’ laughter and Yvette’s exclamation of: “I told you!”

John’s frown struck them mute. “We shall teach you,” he said, his manner thoughtful and persuasive. “The mare is gentle. So, no more excuses. We will wait at the stable. If you haven’t joined us in ten minutes, I shall come for you.” He grasped the girls’ shoulders and walked them back to the paddock.

Charmaine sighed. “Now what are we to do?” she asked Pierre as he scurried past her.

He stopped and looked up at her. “Go.”

She chuckled ruefully. “Then go, we shall.”

Millie Thornfield hesitated before knocking on Frederic’s antechamber door, drawing a deep breath and tightening her grip on the basket she carried when he bade her enter. He looked up from the periodical he was reading and beckoned her to come closer. “Well?”

“I have them, sir,” she whispered. “The prettiest two of the litter.”

“May I see?”

She set the basket down and uncovered it, revealing two kittens, one gray, the other orange. They immediately awoke, and as the marmalade feline yawned and stretched, the gray tabby pounced on her, igniting a fierce tussle. Millie giggled despite her surroundings. Then, remembering where she was, she reined in her sudden joy and looked back at the master of the house, surprised to find him smiling as well.

“Thank you, Millie. You had an excellent idea. My daughters should be pleased. Even Pierre will enjoy watching them play.”

Charmaine arrived at the stable with Pierre, clothed in a time-worn dress. Jeannette was ecstatic, exclaiming it was going to be a marvelous day. Charmaine shuddered, knowing John would return and the real disaster would begin. If only Paul were around; he would put a stop to such folly. But no, her fate rested in his brother’s hands.

The twins had named their ponies Spook and Angel, and were asking George about their gender when John appeared with Phantom. “Angel is female, and Spook is male,” George said. “I believe they will be serving more than one purpose.”

“And what is that?” Jeannette innocently asked.

Yvette clicked her tongue. “Now what do you think? Making foals like Phantom and Chastity did. Isn’t that so, Johnny?”

“Exactly.”

“And can we watch this time?” she inquired, eliciting an embarrassed frown from Charmaine. “I don’t understand what happens, and I’d like to find out.”

“You would, would you?” he queried, unfazed.

George, however, pulled at his collar, which bolstered Charmaine’s fear an explanation of conception and birth was at hand.

“It will have to wait, Yvette,” John said instead. “The day is wasting away. Fetch the picnic basket while I help Jeannie and Miss Ryan into their saddles.”

“Picnic basket?” Charmaine exclaimed.

“Now, my Charm, what would a picnic be without a picnic basket?”

“It wouldn’t be a picnic,” she supplied. “I don’t want to go on a picnic with you. One was quite enough, thank you. And I’ve forgotten my bonnet.”

“You’ll disappoint the children…on their special day.”

Trapped!
John and George’s clever interrogation at breakfast had uncovered her plans for the day. She had played right into John’s cunning hands. “I’ll not ride far from the house,” she stipulated.

“Not far at all,” he reassured, though she was certain he lied.

“What are you waiting for, Yvette?” he pressed. “Go and fetch the basket!”

She immediately jumped to do his bidding.

The nursery was unusually quiet, both bedchamber and playroom empty. “Set the basket on the floor, Millie,” Frederic directed. “I thought they’d be here for lessons.”

“Would you like me to go and find them, sir?” she offered.

Laughter wafting off the front lawns drew him to the French doors. “That won’t be necessary,” he muttered, hobbling out onto
the balcony. There he stood, inconspicuous in the shadow of the large oak, watching the drama unfold below.

John finished adjusting the girth strap on Jeannette’s pony. Once secured, he motioned to her. In the next instant, she was seated squarely on Angel’s back, laughing gaily. He raised her stirrups a hair higher, then stepped back. She knew what she was doing, for she nudged the animal, and it loped away.

John turned to Charmaine next, and a violent panic rose up inside her. There would be no escape now, and wide-eyed, she looked to George for reassurance. He smiled in return, stroking the mare’s speckled neck. “Don’t be alarmed, Charmaine. She’s quite complacent and easy to ride.” He led the horse to her side and relinquished the reins to John, taking charge of Pierre while the man worked the mare’s saddle straps.

“Are you ready?” John asked when he was finished.

Her mouth was so dry she was unable to reply. Though the animal was not as large as Phantom, it was imposing. “It’s so high,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the saddle that was level with her anxious gaze.

“Yes, it is,” he conceded, his regard assuasive when she faced him, “but it’s quite easy to mount.”

“I’ve never ridden before,” she pointed out again, trembling. “I have no idea how to get up there.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he reasoned devilishly.

She glared at him, finding no humor in her present predicament.

He ignored her disdainful air. “Don’t worry, my Charm, I’ll not allow your first ride to end in failure.”

She caught sight of George’s snigger. “I don’t intend to be patronized! If that is your game, then you may prey upon some other woman!”

“But Miss Ryan, you do me a great injustice,” he protested
mildly. “I am merely attempting to assist you in a new undertaking. Allow me to demonstrate.” He did so, offering step by step instructions as he swung up and into the saddle. “Easy enough,” he concluded. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, even though she knew her struggles were just beginning.

Then he was off the horse and standing beside her again. “Well?” he queried brightly, entertained by her apprehension, his audacity maddening.

“All right!” she snapped, tearing her eyes from his mocking face. Without hesitation, she took hold of the dark mane and the rim of the saddle. To her amazement, the horse did not move.

“Very good,” he observed, “but you need to place your foot in the stirrup.”

“I know that!” she shot back. But as she lifted her leg, her undergarments were exposed, and in her haste to veil them, she missed the iron. She tried again, releasing the mane to steady it, and still her contorted efforts proved futile. She burned in shame, aware the men were exchanging smirks behind her back.

“Miss Ryan,” John reproved, arresting yet another pathetic attempt. “I am past the age of lusting after your petticoats. If you worried less about your underskirts and more about getting into that saddle, you’d have already mounted!”

“Stop taunting me! If it weren’t for your rude jests, I’d be able to do this.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! Besides, it is not proper for me to ride a horse this way. No wonder I’m finding it difficult. A lady should ride sidesaddle!”

“There you are mistaken, Mademoiselle,” he contradicted with a laugh, amused by her numerous excuses to avoid the inevitable. “In Paris or London ladies ride sidesaddle, but here on Charmantes, women straddle their mounts…” His words trailed off as his
thoughts turned ribald, his eyes going to George. “You’re less likely to fall off that way. Besides, this
position
is quite
natural
, and worlds more
comfortable
, especially to the inexperienced horsewoman.”

George chuckled softly.

“I’ll take no assurances from you,” Charmaine rejoined.

“Do you doubt my riding experience?” he queried in pretended offense. “I’ve been proficient in the art for quite some time now, and some—those who’ve had the
pleasure
, that is—have congratulated me on my skill.”

She eyed him speculatively, unable to fathom George’s mirth. Obviously, the man was speaking in riddles, and only George understood what he really meant. Wishing only to place the entire ordeal behind her, she gestured to the stirrup. “It is far too high. Could you at least lower it for me?”

“Why, my Charm, I’m afraid that wouldn’t do at all.”

George roared with laughter and John joined in, all at her expense.

Miserable, she stepped away from the horse, reliving the incident with “Fang,” a thick lump lodged in her throat. She was about to flee when Yvette returned lugging a picnic basket, protesting her governess had yet to mount up.

“I’m sorry, Charmaine,” John apologized, taking in her forlorn face. It was clear how very innocent she was, and he suffered a pang of contrition. “We’re not laughing at you. The stirrups have to be high so you can pull yourself up and into the saddle.”

His vulgar mien was gone, leaving Charmaine confused.

“I offer my shoulder. Lean on me while you put your foot into the stirrup, and you’ll be atop the mare in no time.”

She couldn’t object; he was already crouching next to her. She rested her right arm tentatively across his back. Oddly secure, her foot found the iron.

“Grab the saddle and mane,” he directed. “That’s it. Now, pull up.”

She barely left the ground, her attention riveted on the warm hands that encompassed her waist.

“Try again,” he coaxed before she lost courage.

This time, she pushed off, and somewhere between earth and saddle, John’s strong arms propelled her upward. When she exhaled, she was astride the mare, looking down at him. Though she focused on his smiling face, her mind lingered on her waist where his hands had branded her.

In the next moment, a wave of paranoia seized her—her familiar surroundings turned perilous from the lofty perch, and she clutched the horse’s mane desperately, letting go only when John pulled the reins over the mare’s head and handed them to her. She hardly noticed his familiarity when he shortened the stirrups and took hold of each ankle to test the length. To her horror, he turned away, tending to his own mount.

Instantly, the horse shifted. “Where are you going?” she cried.

“One moment,” he assured her.

“You can’t leave me here! I’ve no idea how to control this animal!”

As if on cue, the mare ambled toward the grassy knoll where the ponies grazed. “She’s moving!”