The Arrangement (13 page)

I was surprised. I had never thought that Savile would be too high in the instep to be on pleasant terms with a Cit.

I said, “Mr. Watson has taken the Edgerton estate on the other side of Highgate, and I have just begun to give him lessons. I think he is going to be one of my
best
students.”

Mr. Watson gave me an engaging grin. “You’ve a kind heart, Mrs. Saunders. I appreciate it.”

“I take it that Mr. Watson is not staying in the house then?” Savile said in a voice that was only marginally less frosty than before.

I looked at him thoughtfully. “No,” I replied. “He drives over each afternoon for his lesson.”

Nicky said, “Edgerton is a bang-up place, my lord. It even has a maze! Mama got lost in it and Mr. Watson had to find her.”

“Indeed,” Savile said.

I hesitated, wondering what to say next. In the last few days, after his lesson Sam had come into the house for some refreshment before driving home, but Savile sounded so forbidding that it didn’t seem a good idea to try to throw the two together.

Sam saved me. “I had better be going, Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “The same time tomorrow?”

Sampson pulled at the rein I was holding, as if to remind me of his presence. Absently I reached up to rub his forehead.

“I think we will have to take a few days off, Mr. Watson,” I said apologetically. “I hope you don’t mind.”

He smiled easily. “I shall miss coming, but of course you must see to your own affairs, Mrs. Saunders. Just send me word when you are ready to begin again.”

I smiled back at him. I liked Sam Watson. Like Albert Cole, he was a self-made man, but unlike Albert, Sam had imagination. He understood that there was more to life than making money—something that I thought was probably very rare in a man who had literally worked his way out of the sewers of London.

Sam was in the process of remaking himself. He had learned to speak without his original, disfiguring accent; he had learned to drive and to dance; he had acquired a country house; now he was learning to ride.

There was a sense of adventure about him that reminded me very much of Tommy.

Now he quite calmly ducked through the paddock fence and straightened up so that he was standing next to Savile. Sam was not a tall man and he had to look quite far up to meet the earl’s eyes. “Good day, my lord,” he said calmly. “It was nice to meet you.”

Humor softened Savile’s mouth. “I am delighted to have met you also, Mr. Watson,” he said, with much more courtesy than he had shown thus far.

Sam walked off toward the carriage house, where his phaeton and groom awaited him.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Savile and said hotly, “I’ll have you know that Mr. Watson is one of my best clients. He is paying me a small fortune to teach him to ride. I’m not asking you to socialize with the man, but you could at least be polite!”

“I was polite,” Savile replied calmly.

I snorted.

Over the earl’s shoulder I saw John Grove approaching. “We’ve got the curricle and two horses, plus another horse to use to pony your mare to Epsom, Mrs. Saunders. Is there room for the three of them in your stable?”

“Yes,” I said. “I have an empty stall, and my ponies can spend the night in the paddock. You may put your horses in their stalls, Grove.”

As we walked around the corner of the stable, a fashionable phaeton came from the direction of the carriage house and headed toward the open gates. It was pulled by a neat pair of grays and was driven with smooth competence by Sam Watson.

“He drives very well,” the earl said dispassionately.

“He’s a remarkable man,” I said. “I was not flattering him when I said that he is an excellent student.”

“You know him socially as well?”

“Yes,” I said, and rubbed Sampson’s forehead again. “He has been a welcome addition to our small neighborhood.”

A small frown drew Savile’s dark gold eyebrows together in a look I took to be one of disapproval. I said haughtily,
“You
may be too exalted in rank to inhabit the same room as a Cit, my lord, but I can assure you that I am not.”

His mouth set in a grim-looking line. “I did not say that.”

“Well, that is how you looked.”

“What is a Cit, Mama?” Nicky asked.

“A Cit is someone who has made money in investment or banking in the City of London,” I answered promptly. “Some people look down on Cits because their parents were poor and landless and because their taste is usually uneducated. A situation which is
not
their fault.”

“Oh,” Nicky said doubtfully, not quite certain what I meant. He looked at the earl. “Mr. Watson is a good’un, really he is, my lord. He’s paying Mama a lot of money to teach him to ride. And he can hit a ball farther than anyone I’ve ever seen.” Nicky turned back to me. “Can’t he, Mama?”

“He certainly can, sweetheart,” I replied.

“He sounds like a perfect paragon,” the earl said smoothly.

I didn’t reply to that provocative remark and instead led the way into the house.

* * * *

Mrs. Macintosh was thrilled to see Savile again and Mr. Macintosh outdid himself with dinner. We started with a light vegetable soup, then progressed to wild ducks served with a shallot sauce. For dessert there was a trifle.

It was a very simple meal compared with the dinners served at Savile Castle, but for us it was lavish. Nicky’s eyes were enormous as he regarded the three different vegetables served with the ducks.

“Mr. Macintosh has outdone himself for you, my lord,” I said. There was no point in pretending otherwise; Savile had seen what our normal fare consisted of.

He put a morsel of duck in his mouth and closed his eyes. “Magnificent,” he intoned.

Nicky giggled, and even I had to smile.

“Do you know how tempted I am to lure the Macintoshes away from you?” Savile said. “It is only my sense of honor that keeps me from making them an offer.”

“It isn’t your honor at all,” I retorted. “It’s that you know they wouldn’t go.”

He turned to my son. “I think I have just been insulted, Nicky.”

Nicky laughed. “Mama knows you were making a joke, sir.” Then he added, with just the faintest undertone of worry in his voice, “You wouldn’t take the Macintoshes away from us.”

“You’re right,” Savile said, his face suddenly grave. “I wouldn’t.”

I changed the subject. “How are you planning to get us all to Epsom tomorrow? Did I hear Grove say something about ponying Maria?”

“Yes,” Savile replied. “I thought I would take you and Nicky in the curricle with me, and let Grove ride Domino and lead Maria. Domino is a nice, steady old campaigner and will be a calming influence on her.”

I said, “I think I had better ride Maria myself. One has much more control over her from the saddle than from the back of another horse.”

He looked at me. He took a sip of wine, then carefully replaced his glass in exactly the same spot as it had been before he picked it up.

“Do you think Maria will be unsafe on the road?” he inquired softly.

I gave him one of my best smiles. “Only if she is handled by a stranger.”

We continued to look at each other.

“She will be fine with me,” I said seriously, answering the worry that I saw in his eyes. “I ride her on the road all the time around here.”

“Country roads are not the same as a highway,” he pointed out.

“You have never seen me in the saddle, have you, my lord?” I asked.

“I have not had that pleasure.”

“If you had, you wouldn’t worry,” I returned.

A smile glimmered in his eyes. “Such modesty,” he said.

“Modesty has its place,” I agreed, “but sometimes truth is more useful.”

At that he laughed.

“Mama is a wonderful rider,” Nicky assured the earl.

“Very well then. It looks as if it will be just you and me in the curricle, Nicky.”

Nicky’s face glowed. “How long will the ride be, my lord?”

“About four hours, I should think—my stud is about twenty-five miles from Deepcote. If we leave in the morning we can be there well in time for me to show you around the farm. You can meet the gentleman who is to be the father of Maria’s baby”—Nicky laughed merrily at this sally—“and your mother can assure herself that Maria is going to be well cared for and happy.”

Maria would have to remain at Savile’s stud until she came into season so she could be bred to his stallion. I would go home without her the following day.

Nicky helped Mrs. Macintosh clear the dishes from the main course and then the trifle was brought out and set before me. After we had finished the dessert, I sent Nicky up to his room and Savile and I moved to the drawing room. Mrs. Macintosh had started a fire while we ate, but I was acutely conscious of how the room must look to a man who called Savile Castle home.

We took our places on either side of the fire and I picked up the poker to push an imaginary branch back into the grate. I said, without looking at him, “I am very grateful to you, my lord, for this chance to breed Maria.”

I knew my voice sounded a little stiff. It was not that I wasn’t grateful, it was just that it galled me that after I had made such a point of being able to support Nicky on my own, I was forced to accept Savile’s generosity this way.

“There is no need to be grateful, Mrs. Saunders,” he returned easily. “I know I will get my money from you in time.”

His reply soothed my pride, and I felt some of the stiffness drain out of my body. I said a little too fiercely, “I will repay you the moment I sell Maria’s foal.”

He didn’t answer, and when I looked at him he was regarding me with a grave expression.

I said quickly, “It was very kind of you to come for us yourself, my lord. Nicky is thrilled to have a chance to ride behind your famous chestnuts.”

He nodded and transferred his gaze to the fire.

A dreadful suspicion suddenly leaped into my mind.

Would Savile take the opportunity of being alone with Nicky to inform him about the legacy?

I stared at the earl’s clear-cut, classical profile and knew instantly that he would never resort to such underhanded tactics. I felt a stab of guilt for even thinking such a thing of him.

His gaze lifted from the fire and returned to me. He said, “I thought you told me that you taught children. This Watson fellow looks to be about my age. He most certainly is not a child.”

I was so surprised by the change of subject that I just stared at him.

“Well?” he said a little irritably.

“The bulk of my clients are children, but I occasionally teach adults as well. In fact, Mr. Watson is the second gentleman student I have had this spring.”

Savile gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “And did this other ‘gentleman’ also drive over by day, or did he stay in the house here?”

I was beginning to see where he was going, and I felt myself beginning to get angry. “He was from London, so he stayed in the house.”

“And how old was this ‘gentleman’?”

“He was about my age,” I said. “Not that this is any of your business.”

“Perhaps not, but I think I know more of the world than you do, Gail, and I tell you now that you are asking for trouble if you continue to have strange men staying in your house.”

I felt the blood rush into my cheeks. “These ‘strange men’ are here to learn how to ride a horse, my lord, not for any unsavory reason. I can assure you that nothing happens under this roof that is not entirely proper.”

“I am quite certain that
your
intentions are entirely proper,” he said grimly. “I am not quite so certain about the intentions of the men you might bring in.”

I stared at him incredulously. “Are you implying that one of my clients might attack me, my lord?”

“It has been known to happen,” he replied, “and you are virtually unprotected, Gail. The Macintoshes live downstairs, and Mr. Macintosh is totally lame. Nicky is a child.” He was looking more and more grim. “It is not a good idea to have strange men staying in this house with you,” he repeated.

I hated to admit it, but he was beginning to frighten me. Since Tommy’s death I had never had anyone but women and children to stay in the house.

“Nonsense,” I said bravely. “Mr. Curtis was a perfect gentleman the whole time he was here.”

This was true, but I remembered the way I had caught him looking at me sometimes, and I bit my lip.

“Isn’t there an inn in town where your male clients could stay?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing that would be suitable.”

“Well, think about what I have said.” He looked at me, his eyes very golden. “And consider any male over the age of seventeen dangerous.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and regarded him speculatively. “I am just wondering if I ought to send
you
to sleep in the stable,” I said.

He smiled, and I felt my breath begin to hurry in a way that was definitely frightening.

“Ah,” he said. “Every rule has an exception, and I am yours.”

But you are not mine, my lord,
I thought.
And you never will be.

Surely it could not be regret that I was feeling?

I stood up. “I will think about what you have said, Savile. In the meantime, I am going to make my usual evening check on the horses, and then I am going to bed.”

He stood up. “I’ll come to the stable with you.”

“That is not necessary, my lord,” I said. “I can assure you I shall be perfectly safe walking down to my stable. I do it every night.”

“I could use the air,” he said blandly.

Together we went to the front door, where I slipped an old hunting jacket of Tommy’s over my short-sleeved dress and picked up a lantern. Outside, the April night was dark and still. I looked up at the brilliant star-filled sky and said softly, “I wonder where your brother-in-law’s comet is.”

“Oh, it cannot be seen in our own skies,” Savile replied in a voice as quiet as mine had been. “It’s somewhere way out in space. Gervase found it with a telescope.”

Savile carried the lantern, and when the ponies in the paddock saw us coming they nickered and came to the gate. We entered the stable and Savile hung the lantern on a hook on the wall so that we could see. Sampson and Noah were already lying down and the rest of the horses were drowsing and looked at us with heavy eyes.