The Muse (2 page)

Little Lamb who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life and bid thee feed,

By the stream and o’er the mead…

William Blake   ~ Songs of Innocence, 1789

Kent, 1812

IMOGENE
looked up and saw all she needed to know.  The November sun had just about conquered the clouds and that was good enough for her.  The air was cold but it didn’t matter because the opportunity to ride overruled.  This was her time to be liberated and she welcomed it.  Riding out was the only time she could really put everything aside.  Moments like this took her back in time…to before.

Rambling up to the top of the meadow, she looked down upon the dry creek below.  Her eyes caught the ball of white easily among the dark rocks, subconscious memory focusing in on what did not belong there.  Urging Terra down into the crevasse, she found the white spot to be a lamb, just hours old.  Without a thought, she dismounted and reached for the solitary creature.  Warm baby wool stirred under her hand, melting her heart in an instant.  She knew there would be no way she could leave it here to die.  This was an off-season lamb, unusual for late fall, but not unheard of.

She scanned the landscape slowly until she saw what she suspected.  The mother was dead, her body mostly obscured by vegetation a few yards distant.  Imogene could see that there was blood on the ground too.  It had seeped into the earth leaving a wide, dark spot.  The poor thing had likely died giving birth, a harsh reality of daily life for human and animal alike.

Taking up the bleating baby, she secured it in front of her saddle while Terra snorted in annoyance.  A large rock made do as a mounting block, and slowly they picked their way out of the rocky trench, back up to the firmer ground of the meadow.  Orienting herself toward the Kenilbrooke farm entrance, she figured the best plan was to relinquish the lamb to Mr. Jacks and inform him about the dead ewe.

Terra was having none of it though.  Tossing her head and stepping awkwardly, the beautiful bay was clearly having trouble bearing the weight.  Imogene leapt down for the second time and tried to discover what ailed her.  “Did you pick up a rock in that trench, my beauty?”  Soothing her with soft words and stroking, she investigated the favoured hoof as best she could but found nothing.  Unfortunately the lamb’s bleating only became more incessant.  “That is not helping a bit, is it, my darling?”  Terra eyed her patiently as if she understood every word.

Gathering up the lamb from the saddle, Imogene held it against her until it quieted.  Once Terra had calmed enough, she wrapped the reins around her hand and began to lead her slowly.  “I suppose we’ll just have to walk our way back.”

Terra nickered in seeming agreement.  The only thing Imogene could see to do was to lead Terra as gently as possible and seek help at Kenilbrooke Park.  She would never risk injuring her horse just for her own comfort anyway, and a walk would not kill her.  It might not be so pleasant with a lamb in her arms, though.  And that November sun might be a bit warmer than she originally thought, but she would survive.  This wasn’t so hard she thought, as she picked her way over rocks and scrub, and very uneven heath—just vigorous exercise is all.  The miles would pass quickly.

Keep telling yourself that, girl.

BROODING was what he did best, or so that was what his brother told him quite often.  Coming to Kent for their cousin’s wedding was the right thing to do.  Didn’t mean he wanted to be here, but then again, want and need were rarely in agreement.  At least he’d never known them to be.  So Kent it was for the moment.  Graham Everley, 9
th
Lord Rothvale, Baron, master of Gavandon, Member of Parliament, unrealized portrait painter, and most of all, miserable bastard, stared out the window of his friend’s house and thought about the past year. Returning to England brought back his numerous feelings of helplessness and regret.  Ireland was different.  Easier.  Slower.  He’d missed it from the day he had left.

“So, any plans for Town while you’re here?” Hargreave asked behind him from the couch.

“Yes, actually,” Graham answered, still looking out the window.  “Next week I’ll make my way down.  What is it, two hours by horseba—”   He lost his words.  His voice just vanished as the pain struck him deep and struck him hard.  It felt like an actual piercing into his flesh.  The harsh thumping that accompanied that pain told him his heart had gotten in on the battle as well.  All of it was in direct response to what his eyes were taking in.  “Hargreave?  There is the most extraordinary sight.  Just right here.”  He motioned for his friend to come.  “Who is—who is the young beauty carrying a new lamb and leading a lame mare down your path?”

Henry Hargreave joined him at the window and frowned as soon as he saw.  “Miss Byron-Cole appears to be needing some assistance.  I’ll go down and find out what’s happened.”  Graham followed right behind his friend.  Rude manners or not, he was getting a better look at her.

“Miss Byron-Cole, good morning.  I think you’ve had a bit of trouble, it looks like,” Hargreave announced as he approached.

“Mr. Hargreave.”  She looked flustered.  Hell, she looked like a goddess.  Graham couldn’t take his eyes off her.  And that voice of hers.  He’d only heard her speak Hargreave’s name but it was enough to tantalize his senses.  There was huskiness to the sound of her, a breath of sensuality, putting images into his head of naked skin and bodies entwined in beds. 
Her
naked body in
his
bed, more specifically.

He watched Miss Byron-Cole explain to Hargreave and chose to ignore he was staring like an idiot.  “I had thought to beg assistance from your manager.  Yes sir, it has been an eventful morning.  I came upon this lamb, newborn, and its dead mother in the dry creek of the upper meadow, and I could not abandon the baby.  I meant to deliver it to the estate and quickly found upon our return that my horse was coming up lame.  She appears to have an impediment, possibly a stone or some such, imbedded in the hoof of her right foreleg.  I fear we have had a slow, ponderous walk instead of a ride.”

Hargreave called for his estate manager and addressed her again. “Miss Byron-Cole, you must be exhausted from your trek carrying that lamb so far.  Will you take some refreshment and sit down?”

“You are too kind, but no thank you,” she declined, shaking her head.  “I dread my intrusion, as you are receiving visitors, and have no wish to call you away from your guests.”  Her eyes followed to where he stood on the steps.  Graham froze and took in the sight of her, compelled to look, unable to do anything but stare.  “My aunt will be missing me by now, I fear.  I am well past my time—they will be asking for me at home,” she said solemnly.

“Of course, but rest assured it is no intrusion.  I am quite sure you are providing a welcome diversion for my guests in any case.”  Hargreave turned slightly, directing his eyes to where Graham stood, still rooted to the steps and gawking like a half-wit.  Hargreave cocked an amused brow at Graham before turning back to address the lovely Miss Byron-Cole once more.

The lucky goddamn sod.

“At any rate, we are neighbours, and you have bravely risked yourself in returning my property to the estate.  I should be thanking you as I am now in your debt,” Hargreave prattled on as the estate manager walked onto the scene.  “Ah, here is Mr. Jacks.  He will take the lamb and see to your horse…um…what do you call her?”

“Terra.  Terra is her name, Mr. Hargreave.  Mr. Jacks knows.”

Graham thought Miss Byron-Cole looked like she wanted to bolt, and he was struck with the very irrational idea that he should demand she stay and take refreshment as Hargreave had suggested.  He was not finished staring yet.  And he wanted to hear her talking some more.  But all of those ‘wants’ were forced to wait while a groom transferred her saddle from her lame mount onto a regal dark horse bearing a white splash across his front, a perfect rendering of a crashing, ocean wave.

“Terra, meaning
firma
earth
? 
How appropriate.  You see, the horse on which you will return, is called Triton, god of the sea.  The earth and sea both represented as it were,” Hargreave joked, pointing to both horses.

Graham wanted to roll his eyes, but waited for her response instead.

“So they are, earth and sea indeed.”  She did not laugh at the joke. “Triton is known to me.  I daresay I can manage him.  He is a swift lad, but gentle.  Thank you, sir, for your kindness and for the loan of him.  My uncle can send a groom for Terra on the morrow, returning Triton at the same time.  Will that be acceptable?”

“Most assuredly, it is no trouble.”  Hargreave assisted her mount from the block while Graham had to keep his feet on the steps by force of will.  He wanted to assist her up from the block.  He wanted to put his hands on her waist and hold her—what in the bloody hell had infected his brain?  “Will you and your family be attending the ball this evening?” Hargreave asked her. 
Good bloody question.

“Yes, sir, an event most anticipated at Wilton Court.  I believe everyone is looking forward to it with great enthusiasm,” she answered politely, but looked to the side of the gravel path like it was her best friend.  She wanted to be gone.

“Are you to be counted among those who anticipate it?” 
Thank you, Hargreave!
Graham hoped she would say yes.  The ball tonight meant he could see her again.  Talk to her.  Dance with her.  Touch her.

“Yes, of course.”  Her reply gave away nothing.  Miss Byron-Cole was a reserved beauty.  “Again, my thanks, Mr. Hargreave, for your help today.  Please do give my best to Mrs. Hargreave, Miss Mina, and to Mr. Everley.  Good day, sir.”

Hearing his name come from her lips felt good, even though he realized she wasn’t referring to him when she’d said ‘Mr. Everley.’  Miss Byron-Cole had named his cousin, Julian Everley, prospective bridegroom and the very reason Graham was even back in England after more than a year and a half.  If his cousin was not about to marry, then he never would’ve left Donadea on his own accord.

Smiling stiffly, she dipped her head in farewell.  When she lifted her head, her eyes drifted over to his for just a moment and held.  Feeling suddenly like a schoolboy, Graham couldn’t keep back the grin.  But as soon as she caught his smile, she abruptly turned away. 
Damn.

“Miss Byron-Cole, until tonight then.”  Hargreave bowed before joining Graham on the steps.  Both watched her ride swiftly down the drive, Triton’s hooves kicking up bits of gravel as she was carried away and out of sight.  That black horse of Hargreave’s was magnificent.  In fact, the whole scene had been magnificent—horse and rider.

“You must tell me everything about her, Hargreave.”  Graham decided not to waste any time discovering whatever he might learn about Miss Byron-Cole.

His friend arched another brow at him but offered nothing.  At their return to the drawing room, all heads turned to meet them, eager for the gossipy news.

“Well?” Sophie inquired.

“Miss Byron-Cole sends her best regards to all of you.”  Hargreave quickly explained to the group what had occurred as he took up his wife’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

“She looked worn out, Henry.  You should have brought her in for a rest and refreshment,” Sophie admonished.