Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02 (15 page)

He opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a deep breath. “I’ve gone about this badly. Please, come sit down and let me explain.”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. She had put marriage out of her mind years ago. But if William was serious about marrying her and acknowledging his son, it would lift Jamie from shame of bastardy forever. Didn’t she owe Jamie that?

He held out his hand. “Please, Josephine. Simply hear me out. Give me a chance to atone for the grievous wrong I have done to both you and Jamie.”

 • • • 

Sitting on her vanity stool an hour later, Josephine stared at her reflection in the mirror and wondered what kind of person she had become. Marriage to William would certainly protect her son and restore her reputation, but at what cost? And didn’t William realize that by dangling the lure of putting Jamie in line for the barony, he was anticipating the death of his son, Edward?
God.
How could she even contemplate such a thing?

Clapping a hand over her mouth before a wail of despair escaped her lips, she bent over her knees. Driven to mindless motion to counter the emotions churning inside, she began to rock, tears spilling in hot streaks down her face.

It was a hellish bargain. One based on the death of a child and her own desperation to provide a secure future for her son. And to sweeten the offer, William had even offered to pay off Father’s debts.

A laugh bubbled up her throat and broke free in a sob. All she had to do to save her father from bankruptcy and her son from a life of scorn and humiliation was to cast aside any hope of personal fulfillment, and enter into a loveless marriage with a man she despised and could neither trust nor respect.

Of course, she had to consider it. A high price to pay for a foolish, youthful mistake, but she would do it if there was no other alternative. It was her debt, not Jamie’s, and he deserved his chance at a better life. But how could she bear it?

Behind her, the door creaked open. Swiping the tears from her face, she straightened as Henny slipped in.

“I’m sorry to be so late, miss, but Shipley—Oh dear! What’s wrong?” Rushing over, she pulled a hanky from the vanity drawer, pressed it into Josephine’s shaking hand, then knelt beside the stool. “Whatever has happened, miss? Why are you crying? Is it because of Mr. Jessup?”

Josephine yanked the handkerchief from her face. “What about Mr. Jessup?”

“It’s wretchedly unfair, is what it is.” Rising to her feet, Henny began taking the pins out of Josephine’s hair. “Faith, and everyone below stairs is talking about it. Mr. Jessup is quite a favorite.”

Josephine ducked away from the Irish maid’s busy hands. “Henny! What happened to Mr. Jessup?”

Light green eyes blinked down at her in surprise. “Sure, and he’s been banished, Miss Josephine. Your father ordered him out of the house. It was quite a row, so it was. Rogers heard your father yelling, although Mr. Jessup never once raised his voice. He’s a steady one, our Mr. Jessup. Steady as a rock, he is.”

Banished?
The prospect of losing Rafe was intolerable. She knew he would leave her life at some point, but it was too soon. She still needed him. Just knowing he was nearby gave her strength, a happy reason to rise each day. “Banished where?”

“Why, to the stables, miss. Shipley has already sent his belongings down to that little room in the loft where that Indian stays. Mr. Jessup deserves better, I think, him being a gentleman and all, even though he’s not a sir. Mr. Hammersmith offered him his own quarters by the tack room, but Mr. Jessup said no. Gordon would have given up his bunk in the room he shares with the stable boys, but Mr. Jessup told him to keep his bed. Sure, and he’s a lovely man, he is.”

Josephine didn’t know whether to be outraged or relieved. At least Rafe remained on the premises. She would still be able to see him. Talk to him. She dabbed away the last of her tears and wondered what Rafe had done to cause Father to send him from the house. Was it something that involved William?

As Henny helped her out of her dress and into her nightclothes, Josephine played back through her mind those awkward moments in the yellow salon when Rafe had baited William. He knew how she felt about the baron. He’d seen her revulsion when William had touched her. And after those kisses in the stable, he must know what was in her heart.

What will he say when he hears of William’s proposal?

The thought brought new tears, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t dwell on that now. Or on what lay ahead. The future, no matter the planning, was never certain, and to survive it, she had to prepare for any contingency.

Resolved, she tied the sash on her robe and went to the bureau. From her jewelry case, she pulled out her remaining item of value—the garnet necklace Father had given her on her sixteenth birthday—the same day William had come into her life. How fitting that she should save them for last. She dropped the necklace into a velvet pouch, and handed it to her maid. “Henny, I need you to take these to the jeweler’s shop tomorrow. Tell Mr. Graves I don’t want copies made this time, but to sell the necklace outright. I don’t care what he offers, take it. Can you do that without anyone finding out?”

“Yes, miss. I know what to do. Same as before.” Slipping the pouch into her pocket, she gave a saucy grin. “Sure, and it’ll give me a chance to spend a bit of time with Gordon, so it will.”

After Henny left, Josephine retrieved a small box from the wardrobe and dumped the contents on the bed. Banknotes and coins spilled across the counterpane. All that remained of her jewelry. She ran her fingers through the plunder. This was her safety. Her chance for escape from the unbearable. Even a married woman deserved a nest egg of her own.

R
afe didn’t see Josephine the next day. Nor the day after that. Even Jamie stayed away from the stable, which was unusual. He missed having the boy shadow him all day, pestering him with endless questions. He missed them both.

He teased himself with the possibility that Cathcart had locked them in their rooms to prevent them from seeing him. But when there was a break in the rain on the third day, and he saw her and the weasel walking in the rose garden, he knew she was avoiding him by choice. Just as well. Like Cathcart said, he had little to offer them, and with the baron, she had a chance to make Jamie’s life a lot easier.

Still, it rankled, and put him in such a foul mood Thomas defected, too, heading off onto another of his scouting forays. Rafe hoped the Indian had enough sense to keep himself out of trouble.

Later that afternoon, Adderly left. Rafe stayed close, in case Josephine came to the stable. She didn’t. Nor did Jamie. When morning came and they still didn’t come, he knew they wouldn’t. Which told him the baron had made his offer, and Josephine had probably accepted it.

The thought of that disturbed him more than it should have, considering he had no hold on her. He told himself she had made the wise decision—she had her son to consider, as well as her own future. And with her father foolishly risking everything they had on a damaged horse, she had better prospects with the weasel than if she ended up on the street.

He knew all that. And he knew he had no right to expect her to do differently. He was well aware of the insurmountable differences between the two of them, and the advantages Adderly could give her that he couldn’t. But the realization that she was lost to him forever cut so deep he could hardly deal with it. It was a whole different kind of pain than he had ever suffered before.

Then he reminded himself that she was a woman. And he’d learned the hard way how fickle women could be. But horses weren’t. So he turned to them—the only creatures he fully trusted.

Over the next few days, Hammersmith weaned the foals and moved the mares Ash had bought in with the warmbloods bound for America. Rafe worked with them every day to get them accustomed to his handling. He took extra time with the three stallions—unpredictable creatures by nature and often difficult to control—to make sure they would be as manageable as possible during the long trip to Colorado. Knowing that even in separate pens, they would have to travel in close proximity to the mares, which could prove a problem if any of the mares came into season—and knowing the mares would be less fractious if they were in foal, he started the breeding program he and Ash had decided upon.

It was a risk, taking pregnant horses on such an arduous trip. But if they could ship them on a fast steamer, and give them a lengthy break before boarding the train for Colorado, they might not suffer too much stress. Assuming all the mares settled and survived the trip without aborting, the earl would be adding eight new crossbred foals to his herd next year.

Meanwhile, since he was no longer in charge of Pembroke’s training, Rafe worked with him through Stevens. Gordon took his instructions well and had a gentle way with horses, so the troubled animal adapted quickly to the change in handlers. But Rafe still gave him his rubdowns and muscle massages.

The rainy morning they took Pems to visit the brook was a difficult one. But with time and patience, the frightened horse finally trusted them enough to stand beside the rushing water without trying to bolt. After a while, even the shaking stopped and the stallion relaxed enough to drop his head and graze.

A small step, but still a step.

The next three days they took him to the brook every morning, then put him through puddle training in the round pen in the afternoons. Luckily, in this soggy place there were always plenty of puddles available. By the end of the week, the horse was able to stand hock-deep in still water without shaking.

“Think he’ll ever jump water again?” Gordon asked, washing mud off the horse’s legs after one of his afternoon sessions.

“Maybe.” Rafe leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the stall door and crossed his arms. “Given time. And if he has enough faith in his rider.”

“He barely accepts me,” Gordon said. “But with you, I bet he’d do it.” Rising, he dropped the rag into the bucket, then gave Pems a pat and rubbed behind his ears. “Do you think the master might change his mind about racing him?”

Rafe shrugged. “Not unless he finds another way to make quick money.” Like selling his daughter and grandson to a weasel.

“Cor, I wish someone would take the poor beast away from here.” Gordon shot Rafe a hopeful look.

“I’m not a horse thief.”

“You could buy him. I don’t have much, but I’d pitch in what I can.”

“The earl already offered and Cathcart said no. Besides,” Rafe added, smiling at the young man he was growing to like more every day, “isn’t there a pretty lady up at the house you could share those savings with?”

The Englishman blushed. “Miss Cathcart’s maid, Henny.” Picking up the bucket, he stepped into the aisleway.

Rafe secured the stall door behind him, then followed as Gordon carried the bucket out the back of the stable. “Haven’t seen her around lately.” In fact, other than the stable hands, Rafe hadn’t seen much of anyone. “How’s Jamie? I thought he’d be in a lather to see the horses we brought back. Usually, the boy is always underfoot, but he hasn’t been to the stable in over a week.” Since the baron came, in fact. A troubling thought arose. Surely Josephine hadn’t let him take the boy.

“He’s sick.”

Rafe frowned. “Bad?”

“Chest cold. Henny says his mother is a bit of a worrier and won’t let him go out until he stops coughing.” After emptying the bucket of dirty water into the pasture, the groom carried it to the pump to refill it.

“Any other news from up at the house?” Rafe tried to sound offhand.

Gordon’s grin told him it hadn’t worked. Fortunately, the groom had sense enough not to remark on it. “Henny says since Baron Highpockets left, Miss Josephine has been in quite a state. Fights with her father all day and cries herself to sleep at night. Scarcely leaves her room.”

Rafe felt that protective streak quiver along his back. “Maybe her father locks her in.”

Gordon shook his head. “Henny would have told me if he had.” Picking up the bucket of fresh water, he went back to Pembroke’s stall.

Rafe followed.

After setting the bucket in the corner, Gordon closed both doors and turned to Rafe with a look of concern. “But one thing is certain. Something’s amiss.” Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to add, “First, shopkeepers are complaining they’re not being paid. Then the master sells most of his horses. Henny says Miss Josephine is pawning her jewelry. And now, since the baron left, the whole house is in a bloody uproar.” He straightened and shook his head. “I hope we’re not all out looking for work before month’s end. It doesn’t bode well.”

Rafe looked out the double front doors at a line of heavy clouds coming in from the west. He felt it, too. Like that edginess before a sudden weather change. Or that prickly feeling on the back of his neck when he sensed something was off.

It was coming up a storm, for sure.

 • • • 

“Can I? Please, Mother? I’ve scarcely coughed all day. And I never got a chance to see the new horses Mr. Jessup brought back.”

“Are your lessons complete?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Josephine knew how hard it was for Jamie to stay inside this long, especially when the sun was out. “All right, but you’ll walk with me, rather than running down there at breakneck speed. I don’t want you becoming overheated. And if you start coughing, we return without argument. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then collect your coat and boots. I’ll meet you at the veranda door.”

A bright morning sun greeted them when they stepped outside a few minutes later. The air was so clear that distant hills usually shrouded in mist rose in purple silhouette against the crystal sky. After a week of rain, finally, a beautiful day. Possibly their last for a long while.

As they headed down the path to the stables, Josephine saw signs of the changing season all around them. Geese honking overhead—sheep and horses already growing thick coats—trees by the brook almost bare of leaves. Winter was on the way. “Watch your step,” she warned, seeing the rime of frost on the rocks along the path. “Here, hold my hand.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“No, but I am. I don’t want to slip.”

Pleased to help, he took her hand.

“We should have worn our gloves. Your fingers are like ice.”

He grinned up at her. “You girls truly are babies.”

“Yes, we are. Luckily, we have brave fellows like you to look out for us.”

And this morning, Josephine wasn’t feeling brave at all. After avoiding Rafe for so long, she was apprehensive about seeing him, afraid he would press her about what had happened with William. But until she made her decision, she didn’t want to discuss the baron’s proposal and Father’s insistence that she accept it. It was all so sordid and demeaning. Granted, after several days in William’s company, she no longer despised him as much as she once had. In truth, her heated resentment had cooled to bored indifference. He was tolerable, she supposed, but for a lifetime?

Would Rafe think less of her for even considering William’s offer?

She kicked a rock off the path and sighed. Of course he would. A man couldn’t kiss a woman the way he had and not have feelings for her.

She had feelings, too. Feelings that kept her tossing most of the night. Desire. Guilt. A terrible sadness she couldn’t seem to shake. But she also had responsibilities to Jamie, and even Father. Rafe would understand that.

If only.

How many times had she tortured herself with those two words? If only Father hadn’t thrown all his money away. If only William were a better man. If only Rafe hadn’t come into her life and shown her what love could be.

She faltered.
Love?

A few stolen kisses didn’t signify love. Just because she admired and respected Rafe—and yes, desired him—didn’t mean she was in love with him.

Did it?

“Can’t you walk any faster?”

Jarred out of her thoughts, she looked down into Jamie’s impatient face. “You’ll catch me if I fall?”

“I could roll you down. That would be faster. Look, there’s Mr. Jessup!” Jamie pointed at the man standing beside the gate into the back pasture. “I wonder if Mr. Redstone is with him.” And before she could stop him, he pulled out of her grasp and raced down the slope, shouting and waving.

Rafe waved back and continued to stand by the fence, watching. Even from this distance, she could feel the power of his gaze. Like a whisper in her ear. The brush of fingertips along her neck. A sigh against her lips.

Whimsical thoughts. As far-fetched as those in Mrs. Radcliff’s salacious novels. Yet they brightened her mood and brought happy anticipation where dread had been. Whether she was in love with Rafe or not, just seeing him brought a smile to her face. And until she had to tell him good-bye, she would enjoy what time with him she had. Lifting a hand, she waved and, with a lighter step, hurried down the slope.

 • • • 

Rafe watched them, his lips pressed against a smile. He tried to stay angry, but couldn’t. The sight of her and the boy coming toward him was so welcome his disappointment at being ignored faded away.

“Heard you were sick,” he said when Jamie ran up to the fence, panting. “Feeling better?”

“I wasn’t that sick. Mother treats me like a baby, but she’s the baby. She was afraid to walk down the path by herself.”

“Was she?” Rafe watched Josie move through the front stable doors and felt that knot of tension in his chest begin to loosen. “I wonder why.”

“She said she was afraid she’d slip on the path. But I don’t believe her.”

“I don’t, either.”

“You don’t, either, what?” she asked, squinting against the brightness as she moved out of the shaded interior. Sunlight swept her face, bringing out strands of red and gold in the soft brown wisps that framed her cheeks and making the blue in her right eye glisten like a shard of polished blue topaz.

Rafe winked at Jamie. “Man talk.”

“Ah.”

“Is Gordon grooming the new horses?” Jamie asked. “Can I brush them?”

Rafe nodded and, without thinking, reached out to ruffle the boy’s blond hair. “He’s fixing to feed them. I bet he could use your help.”

Jamie needed no other encouragement. Dashing back inside, he raced past the horses peering anxiously out the top doors of their stalls, the thud of their pawing hooves reminding Gordon to hurry with their breakfast.

Rafe smiled down at Josie. “It’s good to see you.”

Color bloomed on her cheeks. “I meant to come earlier, but—”

“I know,” he cut in. “Jamie’s been sick.” He didn’t need an explanation. He knew why she hadn’t come to see him; she didn’t want to talk about the weasel. Not wanting to, either, he changed the subject. “I was about to take Pembroke for his morning session at the brook. Come with me.”

“I thought you weren’t training Pembroke anymore.”

“I’m not training him. I’m just taking him for a walk.” He saw her glance after Jamie, and added, “Don’t worry. Stevens will keep an eye on him.”

She let out a deep breath, then smiled, all awkwardness forgotten. “I’ll tell them where we’re going while you get Pems.”

He watched her walk away, enjoying the way her long back put an extra swing in her hips and made her skirts sway with each step. The woman could move.

Smiling, he opened Pembroke’s stall door. The stallion was growing stronger and more confident every day, and as a precaution in case the stallion became unruly, and not wanting to endanger Josie, he snapped a stud chain onto the halter, crossed it over the noseband and out the left cheek ring, then attached it to the lead rope. Applying as little pressure as possible, he led the horse out of the stall.

In the aisleway, he stopped by Gordon. With an eye on Jamie and his mother by the front stable doors, he said in a low voice, “When you finish feeding, see if the boy wants to brush that gelding I brought from Edinburgh.”