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“You’re bluffing!” She bit back a laugh. “Rollins hasn’t a sixpence to scratch with—”
“Don’t force me to—”
“Some basket you’d be in with a son-in-law like Sedwick Rollins. With those twelve children and not a feather to fly with, he’ll not be content to live down by the river in that sod hut if he marries me.” Alicia couldn’t keep her face straight. “He’ll move his brood in here faster than the scullery lads steals Cook’s pies left cooling on the windowsill. And you’ll not keep your brandy long with Rollins dipping deep in your jugs.”
Her father’s watery eyes didn’t blink as he stared long and hard. Then he drew a parchment from his desktop and grabbed his inkpot and quill.
She wet her lips, her mouth as dry as the cold ashes in the fireplace. “What are you doing?”
His mouth firmed into a hard line, his pen scratching across the rough paper. Alicia watched as her father’s large, spidery black script began to fill one side of the page. She glanced at the letter addressed to Sedwick Rollins. Alicia’s heart leaped in her throat. “You can’t go through with this outrage.”
“I can and I will. Rollins has inherited a small purse and will be moving to Dorset. You’ll be leaving with him unless you come to your senses.”
“Mother will never allow this.”
“Your mother already knows and understands the necessity.”
“I’m going to speak with her anyway.”
“Your mother has nothing to say about the matter. You will go through with the arrangement I’ve made with Wexton, or you’ll pack your things and be gone from here by nightfall.”
Alicia had never seen her father like this before. A heavy weight pounded in her chest. She drew her hand to her mouth, but the question wedged in her throat. “Why, Father? Why are you doing this?”
“Because we’re in quite deep. I’ve borrowed against Marston Heath, and…” He closed his eyes, and she watched him fight to control himself. Once again, she sensed that he had gambled heavily and lost.
“You’re the only one who can bail us out of this sinking ship,” he said, his voice strained.
“You know what Wexton’s mother did to me, Father. How can you—”
“Damned what she did to you, Daughter. The boot is quite on the other leg, now. It’s time that family paid you back for what the dowager did. Cinnamon Rose is worth five times the horseflesh we can afford, and we have the advantage because Wexton is soft on this stallion of his. Now carry on with your part of the bargain. I’ve negotiated a price from the duke. All you have to do is cure his horse, and we’ll be in the money.”
Words were useless. There was nothing she could say to refute the value of Cinnamon Rose and the importance the mare would bring to their stable.
Her father’s cheeks puffed with agitation as he waited for her answer. Alicia sighed. She might as well talk to a stump. “You win, Father.” She ran to the study door and burst from the room.
The long hallway and the staircase at the end blurred into a watery splotch as tears welled in her eyes. Hiking her skirts, she dashed through the house, too upset to speak to her mother. First, she needed time alone. Alicia tore open the front door and sped toward the quiet sanctity of the herb garden.
Chapter Two
Lacy umbels of angelica blossoms waved gently amid the plants shading the curved garden bench. Alicia sat down, her brow furrowed. What was the use? She might as well be a prisoner, for all the say she held in her life. In spite of the active role she took in running the manor, she was required, like her mother, to obey her father, regardless of his foolhardy decisions.
Her thought went back to Wexton’s stallion. If the horse was suffering, then she wanted to help. Healing wounded beasts was her salvation, her greatest pleasure. While she remained at Havencrest, she’d focus only on the horse.
But what if Wexton’s mother, the dowager duchess, lived at Havencrest? She would consider Alicia a servant, a woman toiling with her hands. The dowager would consider Alicia’s work with animals proof that she wasn’t fit for Society.
Alicia swept her hand gently across the clumps of frilly, green leaves at her feet. The air was charged with mint, lemon verbena and scented geranium. She felt her anger change into practical determination. Maybe the dowager had remained in London instead of returning with her son to the country for the summer. Especially since the duke would be at Havencrest until his stallion improved. The idea gave her hope.
Alicia passively swatted a flowering stalk of comfrey, the cloud of yellow pollen dusting her skirts. But why should she care who would be at Havencrest? She hadn’t deserved to be banned from society, and she would face the dowager or anyone else if need be. But she wasn’t foolish enough to go looking for trouble.
A soft nicker, then a velvet nose snuggled against her ear. Startled, Alicia turned as Cinnamon Rose nibbled her neck. Despite her mood, she laughed. “Have you come to plead your master’s case, too?” Alicia asked, rubbing the mare’s satiny ear.
The horse tossed her head playfully. Indeed, the animal was magnificent. She pressed her cheek against the mare’s velvet neck. “You needn’t plead, pretty thing. I’ll help your friend.”
Alicia stood, still petting Cinnamon Rose’s reddish-gold neck, when she noticed Wexton leading a handsome curricle with a matched pair of white Lusitano horses from the livery building. She warily narrowed her gaze at him.
“Did your master put you up to finding me and giving me a kiss, Cinnamon Rose?” She couldn’t help but chuckle. Alicia grabbed the mare’s halter and strolled across the lawn to meet him.
The duke appeared not to notice her as he drove the carriage in her direction. When the rig came to within a short distance from where she stood, Wexton stopped the team, his face revealing no emotion. Instead of a last-minute appeal, which she had expected, Wexton remained silent as his gaze fixed with hers. Yet the effect of his mesmerizing scrutiny couldn’t have been more calamitous to her nerves. Shock waves from his beseeching blue eyes made her insides feel jittery and her knees weaken.
Alicia steeled herself. “I admire a well-trained horse, but to have one seek me out and give me a kiss shows your hand as a spectacular trainer.” Any chance that the trick was a coincidence was erased by the answering twinkle in Wexton’s eyes.
“I’ve reconsidered my decision to help your stallion, Bashshar,” Alicia said, hoping the statement sounded as though it was her idea. “You can expect me to arrive at Havencrest by the first of next week. I expect to have private quarters where I can isolate myself and Bashshar away from people. I refuse to be put up in the main house. I need nothing fancy, a suite prepared above the carriage house will do.” She met his attentive gaze. “Are there any questions concerning my terms?”
Wexton studied her with an interested look. “What changed your mind so quickly, may I ask?”
Alicia braced her shoulders. What changed her mind, indeed. No doubt he’d known that her family was purse-pinched, and her father would never allow her to back out of the chance to own such an expensive mare as Cinnamon Rose.
“I’m not doing this favor for you, your grace. I’m doing this for your stallion.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said finally. “I’ll leave Cinnamon Rose here, at your stable. If you journey to Havencrest, regardless of your decision to remain and help my stallion, your kindness earns you the mare.”
“Take Cinnamon Rose with you. A finer animal I’ve never seen. Although my father is lord of the manor, he allows me to manage the few horses that make up our breeding stable. I’ll add to my horses quite nicely without any help from you.”
Dalton caught the mare’s line as she tossed it to him. He sat, dazed, while Alicia raised her head and swept across the lawn toward the manor, as proud as any English filly.
He felt as though he’d been properly put in his place, but what the hell had he done to deserve it? He rubbed his chin as he watched her stroll along the drive. Egad, he’d never met a more cantankerous wench. Were all the females in her father’s household as disagreeable and cranky as Alicia? If so, no wonder old man Spencer found comfort in the gin bottle.
Candlelight glowed from the massive, tiered chandeliers in the great salon of Havencrest. Ionic columns graced the second-floor balustrade where Dalton stood, gazing down upon the couples dancing quadrilles to the lilting music.
For the past week, Dalton had thought of nothing but this day, when Lady Alicia would arrive at Havencrest and finally meet Bashshar. The carpenters had been hammering day and night to finish the quarters Alicia had requested. If only she could cure Bashshar. His gut clenched again when he thought of the animal’s worsening anxiety. Was he selfish to try to keep Bashshar alive?
His gaze swept the faces of his mother’s guests for the week-long country party. How he detested these boring affairs. If he hadn’t expected Lady Alicia today, he would be long gone, buried with work, overseeing the fields, anywhere as long as he was away from his mother and the trappings of Society.
“Dalton, I beg your attention.”
He turned to see his sister Olivia, her lovely face pinched with concern. “Sister, have you found out what I asked you concerning Lady Alicia?”
“Not yet, but I expect Great-Aunt Mary will know. I expect her any time now.” She grinned. “I must say, Dalton, from what you’ve told me about Lady Alicia, I’m as curious to find out about her background as you are.”
Dalton nodded. “Then what serious business drives you from the arm of your devoted Robert?”
Olivia’s blue eyes sparkled with pleasure at the mention of her husband. “There’s a fuss going on downstairs. The butler is extremely upset and insists that only you can remedy the situation.”
“Thank God for small favors,” he said with a smile. He knew his sister understood that he would rather be alone with the horses than playing host to the ton.
“Dalton, I’ve seen so little of you this past week. Are you purposely avoiding your family?” She smiled mischievously. “Or are you trying to avoid Elizabeth?”
Olivia was teasing, he knew. She couldn’t keep her face straight as she gazed down at the black-and-white marble dance floor to the slender blond woman, who appeared to be flirting outrageously while dancing with a viscount. Olivia held on to her brother’s sleeve, showing no intention to let go until he answered her.
“I’ve not avoided anyone deliberately,” Dalton said, watching the blonde blush becomingly as several young men joined the growing circle of admirers. Elizabeth had been engaged to his younger brother, Drake, and after his death, the dowager duchess and Elizabeth had presumed she would eventually marry Dalton, something he had never encouraged. He liked Elizabeth, but only as a man cares for a younger sister. She was a graceful little thing, but too spoiled for his taste.
“Look how the lady gathers men’s hearts,” he said to Olivia. “I’m certain that Elizabeth hasn’t even noticed that I’ve been gone.” He smiled as he gently removed his sister’s hand from his sleeve.
Olivia’s delicate brow lifted. “Her flirtations are only a ruse to make you jealous. She’s mad about you. I overheard her say that she hopes you’ll announce your engagement to her before the party ends next weekend.”
Dalton frowned. “I’ve never invited the idea, my dear. It’s our mother who encourages her, not me.”
Olivia nodded. “That may be true, but I think Elizabeth needs very little encouragement, Dalton. The only heart she wants is yours, dear brother. I’d be very careful, if I were you.”
“Don’t worry, Olivia. I have no wish to marry Elizabeth or anyone.”
She tilted her fair-haired head to one side. “I so wish you’d find a woman who will make you happy,” Olivia continued. “You deserve the pleasures that a wonderful marriage can offer.”
He smiled at the romantic young woman of whom he was so proud. “Little sister, I hope life never rears its ugly head and disappoints you.”
She scowled at him. “You’re much too young to be so cynical, Dalton.”
Dalton’s only answer was an enigmatic smile. “Excuse me, dear Olivia, but I must see what the butler wants.”
Ignoring Olivia’s look of frustration, he turned and waded through the sea of guests. Maybe when he returned, the overdue Lady Alicia will have arrived.
Raised voices greeted Dalton before he reached the main hall. At the front entrance, Jarvis, the butler, towered over the slightly built young woman in front of him. On second glance, Dalton recognized Alicia with her hair pulled severely beneath a low-brimmed bonnet. Although she wore a traveling cape over her gown, he could imagine her shapely feminine charms hidden by the loose-fitting garment. The servant turned at the sound of Dalton’s footsteps.
“Er, your grace. This lady refuses to give her name, and she refuses to speak to anyone but you.”
Dalton smiled at the plainly dressed young woman before him. “Quite all right, Jarvis.” To the young woman scowling up at him, he said, “Welcome to Havencrest, Lady Alicia. I’ve been expecting you.”
The butler’s face paled when he realized the duke actually was acquainted with the lady. “I—I’m sorry, your grace, I—I—”
“I’ll take care of the matter, Jarvis.” Dalton led her from the hall and out the front door. “Come this way, Lady Alicia.” He signaled a groom standing outside. “Bring my curricle around. I’ll drive it myself.” The groom dashed off along the sheltered path leading to the carriage house.
While they waited, Dalton glanced at Alicia, wanting to see her expression, but she turned away, her face in shadow. “I’ll show you to your quarters, myself,” he said.
He saw her steal a look at him beneath her floppy hat brim. “I asked that I not be quartered in the manor house.”
Dalton peered down at her. “Your lodging is separate from the manor. In fact, the cottage is so far away that I’ve requested my carriage, my lady.” He was relieved to see her relax slightly. Damn, she was the most peculiar thing. But if she was willing to help Bashshar, he shouldn’t care if she wanted to bed down with the cattle.
The young groom arrived with the handsome black curricle pulled by a sprightly set of grays. The groom handed her up to the front seat while Dalton took the reins. Within minutes, the carriage clattered down the well-trimmed path along the gardens, past the numerous outbuildings, over a stone bridge and through a grove of trees. On the other side, the sheltered path curved toward a small cottage surrounded by trees and hedges.
Alicia stared at the thatched-roof bungalow. Dalton watched her brown eyes widen; her full lips formed an O of surprise before she masked her feelings. “Is this where I am…?”
He felt relieved at her pleased reaction. “I hope you find the quarters suitable, my lady. If not—”
“I’m certain the cottage will be most suitable.”
Dalton didn’t know what benefit she’d gain from sleeping away from the manor house, and he really didn’t care. “If you change your mind—”
“I’m here to be with Bashshar. He’s all that interests me at Havencrest. I had already instructed the groomsman to bring my trunks to my quarters.”
“Then if there’s nothing else you require…?”
“No, your grace.” Alicia covered her mouth with her dainty hand and as if on cue, yawned. “It’s been a frightfully long journey. I’m quite tired.”
Dalton turned to walk away, then paused. “Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, I’ll introduce you to Bashshar.”
“Why not now?”
“Because it’s late, and I don’t want the horse overly excited.”
“Good evening.” She bobbed a short curtsey and strode toward the cottage.
Dalton hid his smile as she dismissed herself without his permission. “Good evening, my lady.” No doubt the lady knew such behavior in front of a duke was considered a faux pas. Dash! He had hoped her distaste for him might have mellowed.
Dalton climbed into the curricle and headed back toward the manor. By now, maybe Olivia had learned something about this perplexing female.
Before he drove the carriage over the bridge, he gave in to the impulse to sneak a glance at her. She was standing at the cottage door, watching him.
Dalton smiled. Damn, she was an odd thing. And he couldn’t help wonder, again, what caused her to take such an instant dislike to him.
Alicia watched the elegant carriage pause before slipping out of sight. Aye, Wexton was as polite and charming as Lucifer—and just as handsome. In his elegant evening attire, he was all that and more. She nibbled her lower lip. Although she had risked his anger, he had not only tolerated her wishes, but appeared challenged by them. She took that as a victory. He’d met her demands, and built a fetching little cottage. The whitewash was still damp in places, and she’d wager that the roof thatch was so fresh it would shine like spun gold in tomorrow’s sunlight.
She hesitated before opening the door. How she’d hoped that the fluttery feelings in her stomach, when she was near Wexton, would have faded by now. How strange she felt when he stared at her with his penetrating blue eyes.
In the darkness, the sound of horses’ soft nickering from the nearby stables provided her with a familiar comfort. A wave of curiosity rose as she yearned to investigate Wexton’s prize-winning stock. Far and wide, men spoke of the duke’s horses, which were among the most splendid in England. She should wait until morning when the animals wouldn’t be so unsettled by a stranger in their midst. But her insatiable curiosity wouldn’t permit her to wait one more minute. The building was so huge, surely if she looked around for only a few minutes, no harm could come from that.
A short while later after she had settled in, Alicia slid the livery door open. She gasped, unable to believe her eyes. Walls of white alabaster marble rose to meet frescoed ceilings where every few yards lanterns flickered from ornate grillwork. White-graveled aisles led to the individual horses’ quarters past the immense tack room with dozens of hooks holding bridles, harnesses and rows of saddles. “My stars!”
To the right, a hinged sign above the passageway announced the stable hands’ wing. She peeked inside one of the empty chambers. The room was immaculate and its furniture clean and proper. The stable hands’ quarters were larger and more comfortable than her chambers at Marston Heath!
She hurried to take a glance at some of the horses. Lifting a lantern from its hook, Alicia strode past the tack room toward the horse stalls.
“Wha’ ye doin’?” A lad, not much older than her ten-and-four-year-old sister, poked his head out from the last stall. She had apparently awakened him by the look of his tousled red hair and sleepy eyes.
“I’m inspecting the quarters,” Alicia replied. “Who are you?”
The boy warily studied her plain dress and riding boots. “Name is Penn. I’m one o’ the stable boys.” He scratched his head and frowned. “Ain’t never seen ye before.”
Alicia bit back a smile. “I’ll be working here for a while,” she said instead.
A golden horse, similar in size to her own stallion, stuck its head over the stall gate and neighed a welcome.
Without a thought, Alicia peered over the rail, eager to see the animal’s conformation. Suddenly, from the far end of the stable, came a piercing cry, followed by a chorus of whinnies from the other horses.
“What was that pitiful sound?” Alicia asked.
Penn’s freckled face paled. “Nothin’.”
“Nothing?” Alicia pushed past him and rushed toward the racket. The agonizing sound reminded her of the day, last spring, when one of her mares had broken loose and wandered along the river. Alicia had followed that fearful bellow until she found her horse, stuck in the mud, just in time to save her from a pack of wild dogs.
