Learning to Waltz (15 page)

Surprised, she replied, “Why, yes. But I seldom—it has been—oh, a year and more since…”

“Then let me suggest this. My sister and I will return to the Manor while Julian has something to eat—and yes, his medicines too.” He gave Julian a stern look. “We shall come back here in, say, an hour? And I will bring a horse for you as well, Deborah, so that you may supervise him yourself and make sure of his safety.”

It was not safety Deborah was concerned about, it was obligation and an intimacy that had become painful. But she had been outmaneuvered. Again. She spread her hands in a gesture of acquiescence and smiled rather tightly as she expressed her gratitude for their kindness. Evan helped his sister into her saddle, and then swung himself onto Lookout. Deborah watched them go, hugging herself for warmth and fortification. Then she hurried inside to see to Julian’s needs and change into her old riding habit.

Deborah always found stables welcoming, and Lord Latimer’s was no exception. It was warm and redolent of the expected things—horses and manure, hay and leather. Fresh straw covered the floors, brass work gleamed, and sunlight shining through the high windows filled the space with amber light.

One could almost imagine them a family. Mr. Haverfield carried Julian, who was full of wonder and delight. A number of stalls were empty, but many curious, long faces remained to peer out at them over the walls, which rose chest-high and showed teeth marks from generations of horses. The animals’ coats gleamed from the curry brush. Little whickerings and stampings greeted them as they zigzagged slowly down the corridors, stopping to admire each beast and perhaps stroke a sleek neck or pat a velvety nose.

The grooms were friendly and undemanding like the horses, though Evan’s man, Grady, regarded Deborah with an unblinking expression she could not interpret. All were happy to answer questions as they went about their chores, talking about each horse as a companion, a character. They supplied the visitors with carrots, making sure Julian knew how to hold his hand flat so he wouldn’t get nipped. His favorite was Imp, a shaggy pony whose sole purpose in life was to keep the grooms on their toes, as they told it.

Deborah, inevitably, liked Evan’s lovely grays the best—and Miss Latimer’s pretty sorrel mare he had brought for Deborah’s ride to the Manor. The countess, to Deborah’s relief, had not returned to the cottage with Evan.

A commotion out in the yard heralded an end to her brief idyll. Air currents set the dust motes dancing in the golden stable as grooms ran to take charge of the arriving horses and riders. Deborah closed her eyes for a moment and put herself back on guard.

The beautiful woman she’d seen at church entered the stable, following her groom and her horse and talking over her shoulder to a mustachioed man in the uniform of an army officer. Miss Latimer was with them as well, her face as stony as Deborah’s own.

The Beauty showed quite theatrical surprise at seeing Evan there in the stable. She came right up to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Why, Mr. Haverfield! Where is the countess, whose company you so desired this morning? Ah, but I see you have found a diminutive substitute. This must be the little boy you wrested from eternal rest.”

Julian, who had been gazing at her, hid his face. Deborah knew he didn’t understand her words, but it seemed her insincerity was obvious even to him. She made another feigned start. “Oh!
Et la mère, la cherie
. How domestic.”

Amanda stepped forward to welcome Deborah. “It has been far too long since we saw you here at the Manor. How wonderful to see your son up and about. Have you been inspecting all the horses, Master Moore?” Julian nodded vehemently. “I’m glad you like them. Did you ride here with Mr. Haverfield?” He nodded again.

She turned again to Deborah. “We are famished. You must join us for tea and something to eat, Mrs. Moore. Very informal, just as you see us in all our dirt.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t possibly…  I must get Julian home.” Deborah looked to Evan for assistance, but it was not forthcoming. Instead, he smiled at her and performed the introductions no one wanted.

Captain Westwood returned a bow to Deborah’s curtsy, his eyes lingering on her chest before returning to her face. “Now that’s a pretty thing”—a ludicrous thing to say to the beautiful woman standing beside him. Lady Blythe gave him a smoldering glance and accorded Deborah a slight tilt of the head. It could not be called a nod.

“There, now everything’s tidy,” said Amanda. “Perhaps Julian would like to have a sandwich here in the stable.” She called to one of the grooms, “Jeremy, would you mind taking charge of Master Moore for a bit? I will ask Cook to send out a sandwich, and some cakes for all of you.”

Jeremy agreed readily, and certainly Julian had no objection. Deborah was left without a word to say except “thank you,” uttered in a bit of a daze. How did these people bully their way so easily past her defenses?
I should have stayed at home.

She might have enjoyed the company of Evan and Miss Latimer, but she had grave doubts about the rest of them. The dashing captain had a disturbing light in his eye and a smirk at the corner of his mouth, as though he went through life finding things to ridicule.

And she was hardly likely to enjoy any occasion where she must compare herself to the elegant Lady Blythe. Even in her riding habit, fresh from the hunt, that damsel looked as though she had just stepped out of the pages of
La Belle Assemblée
—teal velvet cut in a military style, embellished with fur, and topped by a matching shako set at a rakish angle.

Deborah’s own habit dated from the early days of her marriage when Hartley had first taught her to ride. It was made by her own hand, of poor-quality wool that was originally burgundy but had discolored to a shade very like dried blood. It had no embellishment at all.

There were just two men to offset the six women in the breakfast parlor, and a number of empty chairs sat against the wall. Lady Witney was cordial enough, condescending to take the seat on Deborah’s right. Lady Blythe’s sister made an appearance, though for all she ate, Deborah wondered why—nor did she contribute more than a few quiet words to the conversation.

And Miss Latimer’s aunt, appallingly large, hardly raised her eyes from her plate and said nothing at all except to ask for the fruit compote. Captain Westwood was seated across the table but was largely occupied by his food and by Lady Blythe; Evan was on Deborah’s left.

They talked of holiday observances, the following evening’s ball, the weather—which promised to hold good for that event—and the quality of the ham. Miss Latimer and Lady Witney, aided by Evan, showed their good manners by changing topics when some member of the party had been silent too long—though no one made any attempt to involve Miss Chiggerford. Deborah felt similarly invisible and was quite happy to have it so.

Then Miss Latimer asked after Julian’s health and his interest in horses. Lady Blythe converted this into a review of the morning’s hunting.

“You ride, though you do not hunt, Mrs.—uh, Moore?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

“You should try out my hunter. He’s a fine hack as well.”

Captain Westwood snorted, and Lady Honora troubled herself to comment that Mrs. Moore would do better to stay with Miss Latimer’s mare.

“Nonsense,” cried Lady Blythe. “His name is Lump, for God’s sake.”

“An appropriate enough name, I grant you,” her sister conceded, “until someone tries to ride him.”

“Oh, I’d wager Mrs. Moore can ride the male of any species quite handily.” This was uttered in dulcet tones, but with a pointed look at Evan.

Captain Westwood chuckled. Miss Latimer stared aghast at Lady Blythe and then turned toward Deborah in distress. Honora uttered “Blythe!” in a shocked undertone, while Lady Witney looked as though she’d like to take the troublemaker by the ear and drag her upstairs for a well-deserved beating. Miss Chiggerford stopped chewing and looked at Lady Blythe. And Evan actually started to his feet, though Deborah could not imagine what he thought he could do about it.

Deborah grew hot and then shivered. “I am quite happy with the mare, thank you. She has excellent manners.” Her voice sounded harsh in her ears. Her eyes held Beauty’s unblinkingly. Hidden in her lap, her hands shook.

“Oh ho, she has claws,” murmured Captain Westwood in a stage whisper. Deborah flashed a furious glance his way and then looked down at her plate. It could have been writhing with leeches; she would not have noticed.

The meal was hastily adjourned. Leaving the room with his hand at her back, Evan quietly murmured, “Bravo, Deborah; well done.” Lady Honora hurried out behind them and rested her small white hand on Deborah’s arm, delivering a brief, graceful apology for her sister’s behavior. Lady Witney smiled and patted her hand in passing, and Miss Latimer insisted on walking to the stables with them, apologizing for Lady Blythe and praising Deborah with alternating breaths.

Deborah found all this attention more profoundly embarrassing than the original insult had been, and by the time Miss Latimer left them, she was almost in tears.

“Mama—”

“Not now, Julian.”

Evan rested a hand on the boy’s head. “Did you see her face, Deborah? I thought—”

She rounded on him. “Enough!” she cried. “The whole affair was despicable. Let’s forget it, please.” She could not remember when she’d been so angry.

“Mama—”

“
Not now
, Julian!” She was trembling, perspiring, and very aware of the grooms looking on curiously as they saddled the horses. Finally they were all mounted and on their way down the drive.

As they turned out through the Manor gates, Julian looked anxiously up into Evan’s face. “Mr. Haffield?” It was little more than a whisper.

Evan responded in a similar tone. Deborah did not hear what he said—she was concentrating on the mare fidgeting under her nervous hands.

Then Julian started talking, hesitantly at first, but gaining in enthusiasm as he went on. He described each horse, and each groom, and all the tasks he had helped with, and how Jeremy had put him on Imp’s back and led him down the wide corridors in the stable. Evan seemed to be listening and reacting with an occasional comment or question as if nothing had happened. As if chiding her for an unreasonable reaction and for taking her anger out on Julian.

She kicked the horse and cantered out of earshot.

When they rode into the yard behind her after their brief ride, Julian was laughing. She was still mounted—did they intentionally design sidesaddles to make them impossible to get out of without help from a man? She
could
do it, probably, but not safely, and certainly not gracefully.

Evan swung easily out of his own saddle and lifted her down. Then he took both sets of reins and started toward the shed.

Deborah spoke up sharply. “I’m sorry, Mr. Haverfield. I cannot entertain you. Julian needs his nap. Thank you for taking us.”

Evan looked a little hurt; maybe later she would care. He gave her a quick bow. “I’m sorry it caused you such anguish.” He climbed back into the saddle and lifted his hat in farewell. “With all the company, I’m afraid my time is not my own. But if I can’t visit before then, I’ll look forward to seeing you at the ball on Tuesday.”

She turned away toward the cottage.

“Deborah…” He beckoned her closer as she looked over her shoulder. “It’s not the child’s fault.” He said it softly so Julian would not hear.

“Don’t tell me how to be a mother,” she snapped back at him. The need to keep her voice down stoked her rage, and she stormed in through the kitchen door, sweeping the boy ahead of her.

Evan frowned at the closed door for a moment and then rode out of the yard leading Amanda’s mare. Barely twenty minutes after he’d left it, he returned to Latimer’s stable, no doubt looking as irritable as he felt.

Grady took the reins from him. “What was all that about, then?”

“It’s not your business, is it.”

Grady quirked an eyebrow.

He never talked to Grady that way. He never talked to anyone that way.

Evan sighed. “The truth is, I hardly know.
Thought and passion all confused
.”

Grady lifted the flap to uncinch Lookout’s saddle.

“No, leave it,” Evan said, suddenly decisive. “I’m going out again.”

Grady gave him a leg up. “It’s coming on to rain.”

Evan flapped a hand in dismissal and headed back down the drive. He couldn’t go back to the house yet, he didn’t even want to risk running into anyone else on the estate. He was furious with Blythe, but it was Deborah who had him tied in knots. He was determined to bridge the distance she insisted on maintaining, but she made it damned difficult.