Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A difference of opinion is what makes horse racing and missionaries.

—Will Rogers

V eronica grasped the saddle horn and reins with all her might. She leaned forward, using every bit of her expertise to hold onto her seat as Gunpowder Fury neighed and reared up, protesting the loud popping noises and rumbling emitting from the modern mode of transportation parked directly behind them. Of all the nerve…but she didn't have time to consider the actions of the men now. She had to hang on for dear life or land in the dirt, possibly be trampled…

"Whoa, boy! Whoa!" She managed to find her tongue as Fury's front legs danced in the air. The stallion brought his hooves down hard, but what sounded like one last backfire released from the horseless carriage.

She bounced in the saddle as her mount skittered forward, neighing, only to rear up a second time.

"Down boy, down!" Veronica wrapped both reins around her wrists and clung to the horn of the saddle. "Whoa! Steady, boy. Down!"

This time, Grandfather—the stable nickname they'd given Gunpowder Fury—brought his front legs down, then he scampered sideways. Gunpowder Fury was by no means a grandfather, but the nickname suited their need for humor in the barn. Especially given the horse's tendency to act like a born champion.

The driver behind Veronica finally turned the engine off.

"About time," she muttered, rolling her eyes. City boys! She patted the horse, exhaling in relief. "Good boy, good boy." Veronica scrambled down, careful to maintain a firm hold on the reins until Carter Mitchell reached their side.

"Are you all right, Miss Lyndon?" Out of breath from racing toward the circular drive, he began patting Grandfather, too, speaking soothing words from the other side of the horse.

Veronica caught sight of their visitors stepping out of their conveyance. "I'm fine, Carter. Thank you." She tossed their guests a hard glare. "He's terrified and breathing pretty hard."

"I'll be sure Grandfather gets some extra loving care," Carter assured her as she handed the reins over, satisfied her favorite horse wouldn't run away.

She took a calming breath and turned to meet their unwelcome guests.

E dward reached the lady rider. He tried not to stammer and stumble over his apology. "I'm so sorry. We didn't mean to cause you or the horse any distress. Are you all right, M-Miss Lyndon?" He held his hat in his hands, turning it 'round and 'round. He'd certainly mucked up his chances for a good first impression. Mucked. Another word Veronica Lyndon should know more about than him.

She spun around to face him, hands on slender hips. He didn't dare ask which Miss Lyndon stood before him, but if she was Veronica, or if Veronica resembled her, instant relief concerning her looks washed over him. But what a start, meeting her like this. She'd certainly defied odds and managed to hold onto her seat in the saddle like an expert horsewoman. Not only could she race well, but she could maintain control under duress.

"Rule number one on a horse farm. Don't frighten the horses and endanger their riders with reckless behavior in your modern contraptions."

Miss Lyndon offered no greeting—to be expected after what his actions had caused. She spoke with fierce disapproval in her tone, one booted foot tapping. Fire behind those narrowed brown eyes. Clearly, this was someone who would not put up with one bit of nonsense.

A breeze caused the long white scarf dangling from her hat to flutter around her fashionable riding habit. Rosy cheekbones, an adorably turned-up nose, and cherry-red lips competed for Edward's attention.

As if transported to some other realm for the briefest of moments, he couldn't think of a single reply. He had no excuse for his actions. What had he been thinking, racing his rented Runabout up the Lyndon drive, then parking behind her horse?

She sure was mad at him. Maybe she even hated him right now, but what a beauty!

"It's all my fault." Rupert came around the motor carriage and stopped at Edward's side. "I pressed him into racing against your stallion to see if the Runabout could beat him to the house. I didn't think it would backfire…and scare the horse."

Edward glanced at his brother, stunned that he tried to take the blame. But Rupert had forgotten to remove his hat. Edward swiped the tweed cap from his brother's head and handed it to him. In the presence of a lady, they'd done enough to forget their manners. But at least Rupe had tried to salvage some of Edward's dignity and his chance to marry into the Lyndon family. Maybe, if he was lucky, this wasn't Veronica Lyndon.

Before he could inquire, she turned on her heel, disappearing inside the house with a flurry of skirts. The door closed, but at least it didn't slam or draw further attention. They'd done enough to highlight their ignorance of horse farms. If Father had noticed the backfiring or the agitated horse, Edward would never hear the end of it.

Leading the disgruntled stallion toward the row of barns, with the horse's tail flicking as if to shed more disdain upon them, the groom left them standing there awkwardly. Edward sucked in a deep breath and drew himself up taller. If the lady rider had indeed been Miss Veronica Lyndon, he certainly had a long road ahead to win her affection. She did not look one bit happy—not about the manner of his arrival, or his presence.

Brows raised, Rupert settled his cap back on. "You're in so much trouble."

"Thanks, Rupe."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "She is never going to marry you."

"If that was even her…" Edward raked a hand through his hair.

"You have a point there. Could've been a sister."

"That's not much better. A sister will inform Veronica what idiots we are."

"Come along, Princeton. Don't let her intimidate you. You've much more to offer than first meets the eye." Rupert dug an elbow into Edward's side.

"All right, Harvard. Let's do better." Edward mustered his courage, turning his attention for the first time to the house.

Black shutters on the windows contrasted nicely against the white siding. Plenty of chimneys for a modest home, indicating a spacious and comfortable size and number of rooms, but mainly, he noticed the four grand columns spread across the front of the covered terrace-style veranda.

To his far right, where the groom had wandered off with the horse, a row consisting of several barns and four-board fences hemmed in the property. In the distance, he spotted several thoroughbreds grazing in the meadows…and a racetrack. The Lyndons must be fairly loaded to own their own racecourse. It all reminded him of portraits he'd seen in museums of other picturesque horse-farming landscapes.

But now they had to go inside. And try to salvage the mess he'd made. Had he just destroyed any possibility of marriage and ruined his entire family's future?

Edward drew in a deep breath as he and his brother crossed the front porch, reaching the main doors of the house. He paused, straightening his jacket, pulling his vest down a notch, and tugging on his tie. Before they could knock, the door swung open to reveal a butler.

"Edward and Rupert Beckett?" the employee asked. They nodded. "Mr. and Mrs. Lyndon and your father are expecting you. Right this way, gentlemen."

Edward's throat began to constrict. Soon, someone would introduce him to his future bride. Maybe Mrs. Lyndon would offer a cup of tea to wash away how dry his mouth felt at the prospect. Rupe followed him past a staircase and through an arch beyond it. They turned right before reaching the rear of the house, where a heart-shaped piano stood.

Glancing ahead through the windows, Edward could see a small flower and shrub garden beyond a covered porch. The charming country farmhouse held an appeal their posh New York townhouse didn't offer. The servant opened a set of double doors on their right to reveal a family sitting room. Relief washed over Edward at finding his father gathered with the Lyndons…far from the front of the house. Maybe they hadn't heard his automobile backfire or the horse neighing in distress.

"Edward and Rupert Beckett have arrived," the butler announced before stepping aside to grant them entrance.

Edward glanced around at the faces seated in the pleasant room as Joseph Lyndon stood to welcome them with a firm handshake. Where had the fiery southern belle gone? Did he detect a pang of disappointment at not finding her there? He had a feeling they had already encountered Miss Veronica Lyndon, but time would soon tell.

They'd met Joseph Lyndon at the train station, and Edward had instantly liked the man, vaguely recalling him from their first meeting long ago. He returned a greeting from Mrs. Lyndon before nodding to his father and sitting down on the sofa with Rupe. Two young ladies who resembled the one he'd met so disastrously outside occupied chairs across the room.

"I see you've finally made it," Father said without rising from his chair. "I was beginning to think you were lost."

How should he reply to that frosty tone? Should he apologize for arriving later than his father? Did the stiff greeting infer he should not have taken time to rent the Runabout? Or had his father heard about the incident outside, after all? "No, not lost, just enjoying the countryside, Father."

"Would you like sugar in your tea, Edward and Rupert?" Mrs. Lyndon asked, leaning toward a silver tea service on a table before her.

"Yes, please and thank you. We both take sugar in our tea, ma'am." Edward nodded toward an older version of the three brunette ladies he'd seen thus far on the property.

"Call me Eleanor, boys," Mrs. Lyndon said as she prepared their tea.

"Your directions were spot on, Father." Rupert shot a glance at their father on their left, breaking the ice with him, even earning a smile. "Lots of fresh country air. We passed a few other horse farms too."

"Refreshing change of pace from city life." Edward accepted a cup of tea Mrs. Lyndon had poured, delivered to him by way of Mr. Lyndon on his right. He passed it on to Rupert as another came for himself.

"Your father said you rented one of those new horseless carriages," one of the ladies on the sofa said, causing Edward to freeze. She continued. "Was it a Runabout model? Delia and I would love a ride in it sometime."

Edward sighed inwardly with relief as he took in the face of the youngest-looking Lyndon sister. She practically held her breath with excitement evident in her eyes as she glanced from Edward to Rupert, awaiting a reply.

Before he could answer, her mother spoke up. "These are our two youngest daughters—Delaney, our middle daughter, and Gladys, our youngest, but please call them Delia and Gladdie as we do. After all, we're about to become family. Veronica will be here shortly. I'm not sure what has delayed her…" Mrs. Lyndon's smile fell flat as she glanced toward the double doors to the room.

So Veronica had been the one on the horse. Ignoring the way that realization hollowed out his stomach, he offered Mrs. Lyndon a forgiving smile before he nodded toward the young ladies. "Yes, it was a Runabout, and we'd be delighted to take you out for a spin."

"Veronica has probably been out riding. You know how she loves Gunpowder Fury," Gladdie said before sipping her tea, glancing toward her mother. Then she directed her gaze to Edward. "And thank you. I'm sure we'd enjoy a spin in your automobile."

Her sister nodded, looking shy and demure as she stared at the floor.

"Gunpowder Fury?" Rupert repeated, leaning forward. "That's an unusual name."

"Our newest champion stallion," Joseph Lyndon explained. "Or so we hope. He's a descendant of Colonel Blaze."

Edward perked up at the topic. Anything to avoid a discussion of what had happened earlier in front of their house. Why hadn't he accepted Joseph Lyndon's offer to ride from the Phoenix Hotel to the horse farm in his carriage? "I assume this Colonel Blaze was a noteworthy stallion. Do tell us more." Perhaps he could at least give Miss Veronica's father a decent impression of his potential as a son-in-law.

"Well, since you ask…Colonel Blaze won the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes during my father's days here at the farm. Though my father has retired to live in town now, he visits frequently. Anyway, Gunpowder Fury is a grandson of Colonel Blaze, sired by Blaze of Glory."

"His stable name was Glory," Mrs. Lyndon informed them.

Was this the same horse his Runabout had frightened? Great. Just great. He could now accept responsibility for traumatizing their next champion horse.

"Glory won everywhere except the Derby in his prime," Gladdie added.

"I can imagine how exciting it would be to watch one of your horses win at such a prestigious track as Pimlico or Churchill Downs." Hopefully, Edward's reply demonstrated the right amount of enthusiasm.

Rupert flashed his charming grin. "Yes, Edward and I are looking forward to the Phoenix Stakes Race."

"We are too. Every race feels like the first one I've ever watched. I get caught up in the excitement and forget everything else, but I will never forget when Colonel Blaze crossed the Derby finish line to victory." Mr. Lyndon let out a sigh. "Those moments are rare and thrilling."

"You have a fine horse farm with a stunning racing record, Joseph. I look forward to our tour and meeting some of your horses after our luncheon. And I, too, am excited to attend the Lexington race." Turning to his sons, Father added, "In addition to training his own horses for thoroughbred racing, Mr. Lyndon also trains horses for several local horse farms. Isn't that right, old friend? I always knew you'd be successful, even back in our university days."

The double doors opened, and the beautiful lady Edward had nearly caused to fall from her stallion breezed into the room. He held his breath as she settled into a seat across from him between her sisters and the conversation continued. She didn't even glance in his direction—surely, a sign of how much she disliked him at this point.

V eronica's late arrival constituted another act of defiance. She smoothed her skirts, determined to show Edward how little he mattered to her by not looking in his direction. She had changed into a suitable day dress in a shade of pale yellow, and Grace had freshened her updo with additional hairpins, but she had already endured a lecture from the faithful housekeeper and didn't need any disappointed glances from her mother. That meant she must also avoid the gazes of her parents, seated to her left in two armchairs near the fireplace where Mother poured her a cup of tea.

When Veronica tried glancing at her sisters, Gladdie cleared her throat as if to say, it's about time you arrived. That left precious few places to look.

"Thank you, yes," her father was saying to Mr. Beckett, "we do train a number of horses for some well-known farms in the area, but I always knew you'd be a Wall Street success from the first time I met you, Levi. There's just one thing I've never understood, though. Why did you leave Harvard to attend Cornell?"

"That's easy to answer," Mr. Beckett replied as Delia passed a cup of tea to Veronica. Too bad she hadn't sat beside Edward where she could startle him by spilling it all over him, the way he'd frightened her stallion. "Well, you know I wanted to be in banking and stocks."

Veronica stiffened. Banking. Just like Henry Sullivan, who'd broken her heart. The Sullivans owned Sullivans Savings & Loan, one of the few banks in town. Bankers could not be trusted.

Mr. Beckett continued. "Of course, Cornell opened in Ithaca in 1868, where I had been offered an entry-level, part-time job writing down the stock market prices on a chalkboard for a small trading company. And they were the only university to allow us to choose our own course of study. I wanted to study banking law, and Father wanted me to earn my own way. So off I went to Cornell."

Father's face lit up. "I'm so thankful we met there. You know I had gone as far as I could in my studies at Kentucky University and how my parents said it wasn't safe to travel through the whole blasted war. I couldn't wait to get out of Kentucky."

Mr. Beckett grinned. "I remember looking out the windows during lectures and thinking how lucky you were to spend so much time in the university stables instead of being stuck inside the classrooms with the rest of us."

"I had my fair share of lectures to listen to and medical books to study."

As the elder gentlemen monopolized the conversation, Veronica couldn't help but steal a few glances at Leviticus Beckett's two sons. Unfortunately for her plan to avoid a betrothal, they were both quite good-looking. She assumed the one with dark-brown hair and blue eyes must be Edward Beckett, the one they intended her to marry. The younger one who looked like a replica of Edward must be Rupert. Hadn't Pa said Mr. Beckett called him Rupe in his letters?

In any case, the three Becketts appeared fashionably dressed in their light-colored spring suits. Yet another reason she decried the match—they were no more than upper-class snobs trying to impress her. Didn't her parents see through their facade?

"A week after I arrived home in South Carolina with my degree, my Gloria and I were wed. A year after our wedding, Edward was born, the first of our four children." Mr. Beckett turned to gaze at his sons with pride, but his florid color and stiff posture revealed an unexpected tension. Likely from the stress of city life and his high-powered business dealings. The way he looked down at his tea and pressed his lips into a firm line, Veronica had the sense he had something more on his mind than college memories and family history.

Edward shifted in his seat and exchanged a glance with his brother. A concerned glance? Was their father unwell?

Basking in the nostalgia of the reunion, Father seemed impervious to anything amiss. "And I came home to Velvet Brooks and promptly married Eleanor at the end of our first summer, one of the greatest decisions I've ever made in my lifetime. Three years later in May, our darling Veronica was born, right here in this house." Father smiled at her.

Martin stepped into the room, sparing Veronica from becoming the subject of conversation. "Luncheon is served."

Could she have some sort of coughing fit and retreat to her room? Fainting wouldn't work since she'd never fainted before. And if she did manage to faint, no one carried smelling salts these days, so she could potentially lie there for an embarrassing amount of time, unrevived. Dread filled her, but she couldn't think of a single reasonable excuse to skip the meal.

"Thank you, Martin," Mother replied, rising. "Let's adjourn to the dining room where we can continue our conversation. I'd love to hear more about your train journey from New York. Was it a pleasant one, I hope?"

Veronica breathed a sigh of relief as everyone else stood. Thankfully, no one had drawn any undue attention in her direction or attempted to awkwardly introduce her and Edward to one another.

"A fine journey, Mrs. Lyndon. Beautiful mountain views and countryside." Edward responded on behalf of his family as they all began to move toward the hall.

"I'm so pleased to hear it. Veronica, let me introduce you to Edward," Mama insisted, raising her voice just enough and dashing Veronica's thoughts of escaping through the front door to the barn.

Drat! She wanted to pretend she hadn't heard, but since everyone else filed out of the sitting room ahead of them, Veronica found herself trapped. Now she had to acknowledge him.

She turned to him with a forced upturn of her lips. "Yes, I believe you met me and my horse at the veranda."

"The pleasure was entirely mine. A lady of unrivaled beauty astride a fine stallion." Edward returned a genuine smile.

Did she detect a hint of wonder in his eyes? He bowed his head and then stood up taller. His formal, stiff greeting reminded her of an officer doing his duty.

Perhaps he, too, felt the pressure of family bearing down. Perhaps he tried to find the honor in fulfilling it, while she found no pleasure in it at all. The way he clamped his lips together and waited for her mother to step around them made it clear that he wished to avoid discussion of their first encounter.

Veronica hurried away, slipping out into the hall and ahead of him to gather her composure before facing the luncheon. She felt like a heel. Her tardy entrance and accusing manner had fallen barely short of insulting.

He, on the other hand, had chosen not to point out to her mother that Veronica had lacked any display of hospitality. She couldn't speak to that bit he'd said about unrivaled beauty. Beauty was too subjective. It remained in the eye of one's beholder. But grace was the one thing she had definitely not shown him or his brother. Yet he praised her in front of her mother.

No matter how chivalrously he'd behaved during their introduction with Mama hovering nearby, she had to find better ways to make him dislike her. It simply could not be helped.