Tessa's Touch (7 page)

Tessa, however, wasn't sure of that at all. By
now, her calming influence over Nimbus had likely worn off. She only prayed
that he wouldn't revert entirely to the unmanageable beast he'd been when
they'd first bought him. Surely the time she'd spent with him the past few days
would have
some
lingering
effect?

"I hope you don't mind, Sir George, but I
used some of the money to buy a covert hack that I thought could be increased
in value with proper training," Uncle Mercer said then. "Harold
already has it in hand."

Tessa's father nodded. "That was wise. We
don't wish to deplete our stock by selling faster than we can acquire, after
all. At least Nimbus wasn't of our bloodlines, so we're still fine there. How
are the mares in foal doing?"

Uncle Mercer promised to send Cousin Harold up
to the house later to give Sir George a full report on all of the horses. Tessa
supposed it was a good sign that Papa was showing so much interest, after
leaving everything in Uncle Mercer's hands for so long, but she hoped he
wouldn't tire himself. She also couldn't help fearing it might lead to him
discovering too much about their financial straits. As for last night's sale .
. .

"Who purchased Nimbus?" she asked,
interrupting her uncle's self-serving monologue on how well he'd managed the
auction.

"I was getting to that," he said.
"Lord Killerby was the high bidder —a friend of those young men who
visited the house last week," he added to Sir George.

Tessa's heart sank. After seeing Lord
Killerby's performance in yesterday's hunt, she had no illusions that he'd be
able to handle Nimbus. Surely, though, he'd have his own trainer work with the
horse before attempting to hunt with him.

"Oh, that reminds me," her father
said then. "I sent a message round inviting those young men to dinner
after the Mountsorrel meet on Thursday. They seemed gentlemanly enough, and I
realized last night how much I've missed hearing about the hunt."

"What?" Tessa stared at her father.
"Papa, you know you haven't the energy for entertaining. Think of the time
away from your studies, your memoirs—"

Uncle Mercer nodded. "She's right, sir. As
well, I must say I'm not certain you should encourage such intimacy, after the
way those gentlemen questioned Harold's training —and the honor of this
family."

"Balderdash," Sir George exclaimed
with surprising spirit. "They quite understandably wished to discover more
about a horse one of them had just bought. No doubt the man you sold him to was
unable to give them as much information as they wanted."

"But Papa—" Tessa began.

"It's done," he said. "Who knows?
I may find I am able to entertain after all, which will open up all manner of
possibilities —for you as well as for me, my dear."

She could think of nothing to say that wouldn't
provoke futher argument, but she remained convinced that this was a most unwise
idea. Perhaps when Papa found himself exhausted by the end of Thursday's
dinner, he would realize that she was right.

* *
*

"Are you willing yet to admit I was right
about that hunter you bought?" Anthony asked Lord Killerby as they
prepared to leave for the Mountsorrel meet.

Killer laughed. "Not a bit of it. Carter
is making good progress with him already. Why, he didn't bite at all yesterday,
and only kicked one other horse. I've no doubt I'll be riding him in the hunt
by the end of next week."

The others chuckled, but Anthony only shook his
head. The gelding had begun by biting Killer's groom, and had been trouble ever
since. No other horse could be brought near him, nor was it safe for the grooms
or anyone else to do more than feed him. True, Killer's groom, Carter, had
managed to get a lead on him and longe him around the paddock yesterday without
injury, but it had been touch and go.

Anthony glanced toward Nimbus's stall as they
passed it, but the horse was quiet at the moment. He and his friends all
mounted their hacks and headed off at a trot toward the meet, their grooms
following with their hunters. Killer, of course, would still be riding his
usual hunter, Firebolt.

"I'd recommend you stay well away from
Nimbus until Carter pronounces him safe," Anthony finally said, in as
neutral a tone as possible, so as not to ruffle his friend's pride.

Thor nodded. "Anthony's right. Remember,
I'm willing to take a stab at his training myself. I might even buy him off you
if he learns some manners."

"There's no need of that." Killer's
chin jutted out pugnaciously —a comical sight, but his friends managed not to
laugh. "I'll manage him well enough, you'll see. You'll all see."

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Anthony
intercepted him with a quick shake of his head and the bigger man subsided with
a nod acknowledging that Anthony was right. Killer had a decided stubborn
streak, not to mention more pride than stature. More argument might prompt him
to do something foolish in an attempt to prove himself to his friends.

"What think you of that invitation we
received to Sir George Seaton's for tonight?" Stormy asked then, mainly to
change the subject, Anthony suspected. "Frightfully decent of the old
chap, I have to say."

"I'm surprised his daughter allowed
it," Rush said. "Did you notice how protective she was of her father
when we were there last week?"

Anthony had thought the same thing, but only
said, "I'd say Sir George is capable of making his own decisions. He
seemed to quite enjoy our talk of the hunt when we were there before. Surely he
must miss it, as avid a sportsman as he was before his injury."

The others nodded and rode on for a while in
silence, subdued by the thought of how it would feel never to be able to hunt
—or even ride— again. Anthony, however, was wondering just how Miss Seaton
figured into this invitation. Had she been behind it, or had it been sent over
her protests —or even without her knowledge? Perhaps he'd be able to tell, once
he saw her.

She hadn't been far from his thoughts since
Monday's meet, even though he had not seen her since. He'd rather hoped she
might appear at the Belvoir Hunt yesterday, but she had not. He hoped she was
not still sore from Monday . . .

They caught up with another knot of sportsmen
on their way to the Mountsorrel and he dragged his thoughts back to the
present. What was the matter with him? He had no business mooning over Miss
Seaton like some lovesick schoolboy. If anything, he should be angry at her for
the role she'd played in encouraging Killer to part with such an exorbitant sum
for that unmanageable hunter, Nimbus. He would say so, too, when next he saw
her— tonight at her father's house, if not before.

"Ah, perhaps now we'll see what that roan
mare is really capable of," Stormy exclaimed.

Anthony followed his glance and there she was,
arriving at the meet just as he and his friends did, from the opposite side of
the field. As before, she was accompanied by her uncle, and, as Anthony had
predicted on Monday, she was mounted on the very mare Emery had ridden that
day. Emery himself was riding a rangy brown gelding.

Though his every instinct urged him to ride
over to her at once, Anthony resisted, determined to first bring under control
the sudden acceleration of his heart and the inexplicable lift of his spirits.
That she should have such an effect on him, and from such a distance, struck
him as distinctly dangerous.

His hesitation, however, allowed several other
gentlemen —including Stormy —to approach her first, and in a moment she was
surrounded. Clearly, he was not the only one attracted by her unusual blend of
spirit, competence and beauty. Abruptly irritated, though at what he could not
precisely say, Anthony kicked Cinder in her direction.

"—delighted to have you ride with us
again," young William Jennison was saying as he approached. "I can't
describe the pleasure you gave me on Monday, with your superb
performance." There was a chorus of agreement from several others.

Miss Seaton blushed and lowered her eyes in
obvious confusion. "I, ah, thank you, gentlemen," she murmured.

"Aye," Stormy agreed. "I must
say, I'm looking forward to seeing you put this mare through her paces. I quite
admire her lines, as I said on Monday." That last comment was directed at
Mr. Emery, who was looking rather pleased with himself, Anthony thought.

"I also am delighted that you are joining
us again, Miss Seaton," he said, rather more loudly than he'd intended.

Her startled glance met his and her color
deepened further. "Lord Anthony! I didn't —that is— thank you, my
lord." With a barely perceptible shifting of her weight, she moved her
mare forward, through the opening the others hastily created. Her uncle
followed, now looking less pleased.

"I'd like to speak with you— with both of
you," Anthony said before they could pass him, as they clearly intended to
do.

"About what?" Emery asked with a
certain belligerance.

Anthony coolly looked him up and down before
answering. "About the horse you sold to my friend Monday night. It appears
his temperament is not quite what we were all led to believe." His glance
slid to Miss Seaton, who looked away.

"That auction was conducted fair and
square." Emery was as defensive as his son had been last week about the
chestnut, Zephyr. "Are you suggesting otherwise, my lord?"

"No, really, Anthony," Stormy began,
but Anthony silenced him with a glance. Stormy frowned, then shrugged and took
himself off.

"I've no quibble with the auction
itself," Anthony replied once he had gone, refusing to rise to Emery's
baiting. "But I can't help feeling the horse was, ah, misrepresented
beforehand." Miss Seaton still refused to meet his gaze, rather to his
frustration.

"We did nothing illegal," Emery was
quick to point out. "It's up to those interested in purchasing to do their
own research and draw their own conclusions, after all."

Anthony raised a brow. "I implied no
illegality. Ethics and the law are not always in accord, however." Then,
turning deliberately to the silent girl, "I will be interested to see how
that mare performs under you today, Miss Seaton."

Now she did meet his glance. "I've no
doubt Cinnamon will do well, as she has a wonderful disposition —no matter who
is riding her." There was a certain defiance about the angle of her chin.

"Indeed. I would not presume to doubt your
word, of course."

"Would you not?" she retorted.
"It sounds very much to me as though that is exactly what you are doing.
How, pray, can you claim that we misrepresented Nimbus on Monday, simply
because I rode him well? Surely, you are not suggesting that any gentleman who
calls himself a sportsman cannot handle a horse as well as a lady on her very
first hunt?"

Anthony frowned, for that is exactly what he'd
meant to suggest, though put into words it did sound rather absurd. "My
apologies, Miss Seaton," he said shortly, then turned his horse and headed
back to the rest of the Odd Sock Club.

Tessa stared after him, frowning —and seething.
How dare he accuse her of deliberately deceiving everyone on Monday? She had
simply ridden her best and left the rest to chance —and Uncle Mercer. And that
money had already gone toward the absolutely necessary repairs on the west wing
roof. Clearly, anyone who could afford to pay twelve hundred pounds for a horse
had never faced such a choice.

It was all rationalization, though, and she
knew it. "I warned you, didn't I?" she said to Uncle Mercer as her
temper cooled, to be replaced by a degree of shame.

He shrugged. "Lord Killerby looks happy
enough," he said, gesturing toward the little man. "I notice he
hasn't said anything about being disappointed with his purchase."

Tessa tried to console herself with that, but
she still felt uncomfortable —and guilty —both for her part in what really
could be called a deception, and for reacting so angrily when Lord Anthony had
called her on it.

With an effort, she thrust all such concerns
from her mind, for she had a different job to do today. She had no qualms
whatsoever about Cinnamon's temperament, so felt perfectly justified in making
sure she appeared to best advantage and therefore sold for the highest possible
price.

Termites had been discovered in the
chimneypiece of the ground floor drawing room, and she feared more such
unpleasant discoveries would follow as repairs progressed. And three fields
needed draining before frost set in, or there would be no planting them next
spring. She'd already discussed their entire stud with Uncle Mercer —and,
reluctantly, with her father —with an eye to selling a few more horses this
season to help make ends meet.

As Papa had pointed out, they could not afford
to deplete their bloodlines, but she knew of no other way to raise the
necessary funds for estate repairs and maintenance. She wished there was some
way to hire a better estate manager than Uncle Mercer, but she refused to worry
her father by bringing up such a difficult and potentially upsetting subject.

The signal to head out for the first covert
came as a distinct relief from her troubling thoughts. Unfortunately, Cinnamon
was so easy to manage that handling her gave Tessa no distraction from her
worries. Surely, though, the fences and ditches would do so, once the hunt
began in earnest.