Tessa's Touch Read online

  Her cousin had suggested that she do some riding astride so that the horses wouldn't be solely used to a sidesaddle. It would be just like him to use it against her, however, with no regard for what it might do to her father's health.

  Without another glance at her cousin, she strode toward the back of the manor house. Entering by the kitchens, she could reach her own chamber without her father seeing her, for he could not negotiate the stairs in his chair. It was how she always escaped his notice, but tonight she felt guiltier about it, for some reason.

  Perhaps it was because of her encounter with that gentleman leading Zephyr, she mused as she nodded to the kitchen staff, who were well used to seeing her arrive in breeches just before dinnertime. It had been foolish of her to come to his aid dressed like this, but when she had recognized Zephyr, she had felt an obligation, both to the man and the horse.

  Hurrying up the back stairs, she shook her head fiercely. Obligation or no, it had been stupid. Should the gentleman find out who she was, and word somehow get back to Papa, it would upset him far worse than anything Harold might say.

  Sir George set great store on Tessa being accepted by the surrounding gentry in a way her mother, the daughter of his own father's horse trainer, had never been. Tessa cared little for the opinions of their neighbors, but as it was so important to Papa, she tried to at least pretend, for his sake. If the Leicestershire gentry whispered about "odd Miss Seaton," her father would never know—any more than he would know about the leaking roof of Wheatstone's west wing. Tessa would make certain of that.

  What would he say if he knew that her lifelong dream was to take over management of the stables, where she could use her gift to train and breed the horses with which she felt such a deep connection? Not that she could ever suggest such a thing to her father, of course. Though undeniably proud of her skill as a rider, he discouraged her from even visiting the stables, preferring that her mounts be brought to the door.

  To spend more time with her beloved horses and to give them a break from Harold's "training," she was forced to deceive her father. Her cousin, no doubt aware that her work with the horses mitigated his own ineptitude, was willing to keep her secret, with the help of his father.

  She'd convinced herself that any sale was a good thing, not only for the money, but to remove another horse from Harold's cruel and clumsy methods. Now, though, she couldn't help questioning the wisdom of selling horses before they were ready. But what alternative was there?

  With a sigh, she signaled Sally, her maid, to help her out of her male attire and into a demure blue gown suitable for dinner with her father.

  * * *

  "Were you able to find out anything more from Ballard?" Rush asked Anthony as they and a couple of others cantered along the road leading to Sir George Seaton's estate the next afternoon.

  "Not as much as I'd hoped," Anthony confessed. "He seemed disinclined to talk about the circumstances of his buying the horse. Only said that the chestnut 'showed well,' and he'd been mistaken about its temperament. I couldn't tell whether there'd been deliberate deception or if he's simply a wretched judge of horseflesh." He had also discovered that the horse's name was indeed Zephyr, but saw no point in mentioning that.

  "I can't imagine how anything short of deception could have made that horse show well," said Stormy from behind him. "He's a nervous wreck, ruined by bad training or treatment, at a guess."

  The others agreed, for they had all paid a visit to the stable this morning. The calming influence of the mysterious breech-clad beauty had not lasted the night, unfortunately.

  "There's Porrington, too, don't forget," added Thor.

  "At any rate, we'll know more soon," Rush said. "Here's Wheatstone now."

  The four men slowed to a trot as they reached the long sweep of gravel leading to a fair-sized manor house that looked to have been built in Elizabethan times. The house stood on a small rise, surrounded by wide lawns, still green, and dotted with occasional trees. Beyond the house they could glimpse paddocks and buildings that must be Seaton's stables.

  "Fellow appears to be doing well enough," Thor commented as they headed up the drive.

  As they drew closer, however, Anthony wasn't so sure. One chimney leaned slightly, and the roof of the ivy-covered western wing sagged noticeably. The main, central block of the house appeared solid enough, however, and as they drew up to the front steps, a groom appeared from around a corner and a butler opened the oak and wrought iron front door.

  "What might your business be, gentlemen?" the retainer asked with an admirable blend of haughtiness and respect.

  As they'd agreed earlier, only Anthony dismounted and stepped forward. "I am Lord Anthony Northrup, come to speak to Sir George Seaton," he said. "I may be interested in purchasing a horse from him."

  "And we'll just nip down and take a look at the stables," Rush added, he and the others turning their horses' heads in that direction.

  The butler looked alarmed. "Gentlemen, please! If you'll just—" But Anthony's friends had already kicked their mounts to a trot and a moment later disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Anthony turned to the distressed butler with a smile. "Don't worry, my good fellow. They know their way around a stable and won't alarm the horses. And now, if you'll announce me to your master?"

  He still appeared upset, lending weight to Anthony's suspicions about the stables. "I'm sorry, my lord, but Sir George is rarely at home to visitors. His man of business, Mr. Emery, handles all transactions."

  "Nevertheless, I should like to speak with Sir George himself, if that is at all possible." Why should the baronet leave such matters to his steward? That was rather unusual. In any event, if this Mr. Emery was selling inferior horseflesh, Sir George needed to be made aware of it.

  Something in his tone apparently convinced the butler that further argument was pointless. "Very well, my lord. If you will step inside, I shall discover whether Sir George is able to receive you today."

  He left Anthony to wait in the parqueted entry hall, where he amused himself by examining his surroundings. These presented a curious mixture of shabbiness and elegance, as though taste outstripped the money necessary to fully implement it. Faded draperies were artistically looped above the long side windows which illuminated two lovely Grecian urns in shallow alcoves. Closer inspection revealed that one of those urns had been cracked and carefully repaired.

  Before Anthony could form a hypothesis to account for these anomalies, he heard quick footsteps coming down the staircase. He turned.

  "I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice," he began, then stopped abruptly. Instead of the country squire he'd expected, he found himself facing a vision of loveliness with shoulder-length curls the color of honey and a trim figure shown off to advantage in a pale yellow day dress.

  "I'm sorry, my lord, but my father is unable to receive visitors," she said as she reached the ground floor. "I have sent for Mr. Emery so that you may discuss your business with him."

  He blinked. This was none other than the young woman in breeches who had come to his rescue the night before, for all she looked quite different properly clad in a gown. The sudden shock in her brown eyes showed that she had recognized him at the same moment, though she quickly tried to conceal it.

  This had suddenly become a most interesting visit.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 2

  "I hear voices. Is someone here?" came a voice from upstairs.

  With an obvious effort, the young lady pulled her gaze away from Anthony's and moved toward the door. "It's just someone here on business, Papa," she called back. "You need not trouble yourself about it."

  "Nonsense. I've nothing better to do just now. Show him up," came her father's reply.

  She bit her lip, clearly hesitant, then turned back to Anthony. "Follow me. But pray, say nothing about—"

  He responded with a half smile that made her eyes widen. "I have no idea to what you refer, Miss . . . Seaton?"

/>   With a curt nod, she turned her back on him and preceded him up the stairs and into a cluttered study. Papers and books were piled on tables and the floor, though a wide path had been left from the door to the window, and along the low bookshelves lining the room.

  "Papa, this is Lord Anthony Northrup," said Miss Seaton. "He has expressed an interest in purchasing a horse from us." She shot Anthony one last warning glance before stepping back.

  "Thank you for seeing me, Sir George," Anthony greeted the gentleman seated in an armchair on the far side of the room. "With the hunt to begin in only a few days, I fear I gambled on my reception rather than make an appointment, as I should have done." He stepped forward as he spoke, his hand extended.

  "You will forgive me, I know, for not rising," his host said mildly, with a glance downward.

  Following the glance, Anthony saw with a start that the armchair had large wheels attached, with smaller wheels fitted to those, within reach of the chair's occupant. Though he had never before seen one, Anthony had heard descriptions of the Merlin's chair, a new invention that allowed invalids to propel themselves rather than depending upon a servant to push them.

  It appeared Sir George Seaton was unable to walk or stand.

  Swallowing, Anthony strove to conceal this second surprise in the space of five minutes with a smile. "Of course, sir. If I may?" He gestured toward a nearby chair.

  "Please. You wished to ask about horses I have for sale?" Sir George prompted when Anthony did not immediately pursue his ostensible reason for visiting.

  Before he could respond, however, Miss Seaton stepped forward. "Pray do not tire yourself, Papa. Mr. Emery will be here shortly, and you can safely leave such business dealings to him."

  She then turned to Anthony. "I should warn you that your friends who rode down to the stables are probably being sent to the rightabout even as we speak. Our trainer doesn't care for strangers watching him work. He can be quite testy about it."

  Anthony raised a brow. "Surely that's rather— unusual?"

  "He does an excellent job," said Sir George, "so we're willing to humor his quirks. He prefers to show the horses in the field rather than the paddock —says it gives buyers a better idea of their capabilities. Now, what did you have in mind? A hunter or a covert hack?" His eyes, rather listless when Anthony had first entered, brightened as he spoke.

  Miss Seaton retreated, though with obvious reluctance.

  "A hunter. I already have an excellent hack. I have a fine hunter, as well, but thought that I might attend more meets if I had another, so that I could alternate them." That was the justification he'd given Ballard for buying that nervous chestnut, to avoid wounding the young man's pride.

  Sir George nodded. "A wise plan. I've seen too many horses ridden to ruin in the hunt."

  "You—" Anthony stopped himself before he could ask the obvious question, but Sir George seemed to sense it anyway.

  "Yes, I used to ride the hunt every season —was as mad for it as any of you young bloods, I assure you. In fact, that's what put me in this chair. It's not a safe sport, you know." There was more resignation than bitterness in his tone.

  Anthony was impressed by his apparent lack of resentment. "Yes, I know. But many would say that the risk only adds to the thrill." He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but his host did not take offense.

  "I thought the same once. Still do, I suppose. Believe me, I'd be riding the hunt still, if I could. But I forget my manners. Will you have some refreshment?"

  "I, er, thank you, sir." Apparently, he was not going to be given the opportunity to see the stables. He hoped his friends had managed a look before the trainer could intervene.

  Sir George tugged the bell-pull by the fireplace, hung low enough for him to reach from his chair, and a moment later a maidservant appeared, bearing a tea tray.

  "You will pour out for us, will you not, my dear?" Sir George prompted as the maid set down the tray.

  Tessa moved forward obediently, wishing she could think of a way to send this Lord Anthony on his way without upsetting her father. What was he really doing here? Had he come looking for her? But how, when she had never given him her name?

  "Have you discussed any particular horses with him?" her father asked her then.

  "Not yet," she said, striving for a normal tone when her every sense was focused on their visitor. Grasping at the one subject that gave her confidence, she asked him, "What qualities are you looking for in a hunter, Lord Anthony? Speed? Endurance? Or beauty?"

  One of his eyebrows rose and she instantly regretted that last word. She had been thinking that Lord Anthony was the epitome of male beauty—a fine animal, in the physical sense —and it had just popped out.

  "I hope I'm not so superficial as to buy a horse for mere beauty, Miss Seaton, though I'll admit it's a nice bonus in an otherwise exceptional . . . creature."

  She felt her cheeks warming, but she refused to drop her gaze. "Speed and endurance, then?"

  "I've always been partial to endurance over speed," he replied with a smile she could only call intimate. "It makes for more satisfaction in the long run, wouldn't you say?"

  Innocent she might be, but it was clear he was talking about more than horses. Confused, she averted her eyes so that they could not reveal her unsettled feelings at this turn in the conversation.

  "I suppose that might be true, for a long day's hunting," she said primly. "There is a certain cachet in being among the first in the field, however, is there not?"

  There was a hint of laughter in his voice as he replied, "Oh, I always contrive to be among the first in any field, I assure you, Miss Seaton."

  Shocked by such shameless flirting in front of her father, she retreated to business. "We have hunters with excellent stamina as well as speed. All are at least three-quarters bred, but with good depth behind the knees, which makes for excellent jumpers."

  "Now, now, my dear," her father interrupted. "You know I don't care to have you discussing such things in company. We'll leave that sort of talk to Mercer, shall we?"

  "Of course, Papa." She well knew that Sir George sought to shield her from any taint of trade, but Lord Anthony's impudent double entendres had clouded her wits. Harold had said Uncle Mercer was hoping to sell Nimbus after the first hunt, she mused. It might be amusing to see the handsome, polished Lord Anthony attempt to handle him.

  But no. If he had already purchased Zephyr from Mr. Ballard, she couldn't wish two difficult horses on the same man, even one who unsettled her as much as Lord Anthony did.

  A commotion in the hall interrupted her musings, and a moment later old Griffith announced Lord Rushford, Sir Charles Storm, and Mr. Turpin, handsome, fashionable gentlemen, all— though Lord Anthony was easily the most handsome of the lot. They were accompanied by a visibly irritated Harold Emery, Mercer Emery entering just behind them.

  Tessa's concern about Lord Anthony's motives quickly gave way to concern for her father. So much excitement could not be good for his heart. "Gentlemen, please—" she began as greetings were exchanged, but Cousin Harold interrupted her.

  "These gentlemen have expressed an interest in your horses," Harold said to Sir George. "I could wish, sir, that you had warned me before sending them down to the stables. Such disruption is not good for the animals."

  Lord Anthony spoke before Sir George could answer. "It's my fault, I'm afraid. I sent them down when I came inside. I'd no idea it would upset you, of course."

  Harold's smile was more a grimace. "I'm not the least upset, my lord. It's simply not how we do things here, that is all."

  "Then I must apologize," Lord Anthony replied, one brow raised. He seemed to be taking Harold's measure. Tessa wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

  Turning back to Sir George, he continued, "In truth, I did have another reason for my visit, sir. A friend of mine recently purchased one of your hunters and has had some difficulties."

  A light broke upon Tessa and she suddenly felt stupi
d for not seeing it sooner. Of course! Mr. Ballard must have told him where he had bought Zephyr. Lord Anthony's visit had nothing to do with her at all. She trusted he would honor his vague promise that he would say nothing of their meeting last night.

  "Difficulties?" Her father glanced at Uncle Mercer. "Mr. Emery handles all sales for me, and his son, my trainer, is the one most familiar with the horses."

  Uncle Mercer stepped forward, though he looked wary. "What animal did your friend buy, and when? Perhaps I can clear up any misunderstanding."

  "It was a remarkably skittish chestnut, sold some weeks ago to a young man—a very young man—by the name of Ballard. He found himself unable to handle the beast, so I took it off his hands, as he was willing to give me rather a bargain price."

  Folding his arms across his chest, Harold jutted out his chin. "I can't imagine what your young friend did to ruin a perfectly good horse in such a short time. There was nothing wrong with his temperament when we sold him, as Mr. Ballard himself surely must have told you."

  Lord Anthony's eyes narrowed as they swiveled back to Harold. "Yes, he told me the horse showed well. But then, an animal will often respond favorably to a familiar . . . touch."

  He glanced at Tessa and her throat tightened with alarm. Surely, he was not going to—

  "A properly trained hunter cannot be dependent upon that for good behavior, however, or he will be useless in the field," he continued, turning back to Uncle Mercer, and then to her father, seeking their agreement.

  "Are you implying that my training isn't all it should be, my lord?" her cousin demanded.

  "Now, now, Harold," Sir George said soothingly. "He said no such thing." Then, to Lord Anthony, "I will stand behind any horse we've sold, my lord. If you feel your friend was somehow misled, then of course we will buy the animal back."

  Tessa bit her lip. They couldn't afford to do that, but her father didn't know it. Before she could give way to panic, Lord Anthony responded, allaying her fears.