Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Forget the prince, I'll take the horse.

—Unknown

E dward, shadowed by Rupert, leaned over the rail as the horses of the Lyndon daughters galloped around the first turn. His father, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Lyndon, had reached them in time to see the race begin.

"Step up to the clubhouse turn, Levi." Clad in a tweed sports coat, Mr. Lyndon motioned Father toward the fence. "You'll have a front row seat for the finish."

"The clubhouse turn." Father chuckled, grasping the edge of the rail. "I like that. Would you place it here, before the finish line, if you built one?"

Mr. Lyndon nodded. "I probably would."

"Now don't go putting grand ideas into Joseph's head, Mr. Beckett, not with three daughters and three weddings ahead of us." Mrs. Lyndon shook her head, but a smile on her face conveyed her sense of humor intact.

Most of the men Edward had met in the horse barn had also lined up along the rail. A jockey-sized fellow began to mention the performance of a horse with Mr. Lyndon, but most of Edward's attention remained on Veronica as she leaned low over the neck of Gunpowder Fury. She had a feisty temperament and…dare he say he found her downright interesting? The glorious bay stallion moving beneath her had already taken the lead in the race, and all he could see now consisted of a flash of petticoats and skirts fluttering in the wind as the three daughters urged their horses toward the finish line.

The one they called "Red" stood at the quarter-mile marker with a white flag bearing the farm's emblem, ready to wave it when the winner crossed into victory. Edward had seen the same emblem embroidered on the corner of several horse blankets and a few other items around the barn. The design consisted of a chestnut horse jumping over a blue river cutting through two green meadows. Atop the horse rode a figure wearing a pink-and-gold silk jersey—which must be the family colors. The shelves of a display cabinet in the family sitting room had displayed trophies, ribbons, and horse memorabilia behind sparkling glass doors. How would he—a city boy, a stockbroker's son from the banking world of Manhattan—ever fit into this horseracing family and the legacy they'd built? If he could spend time getting to know the horse farm and Mr. Lyndon, perhaps he could slowly win Veronica over.

The horses rumbled around the track, approaching the final turn before the last quarter mile. They kicked up clouds of dust and dirt as they thundered toward Edward and the other observers. Veronica only had to hold onto the lead to secure a win.

"Look at Gunpowder Fury go!" Mrs. Lyndon didn't seem worried about her daughters falling off the horses or becoming injured. No, on the contrary, her smile told Edward she thoroughly enjoyed the race and had accustomed herself to such antics among her offspring.

"Delia is edging in closer on Silver Streak." Carter crossed his arms over his chest. "It's going to be a close one."

"Sure is. Gladdie on Diamond Comet is almost neck and neck with Delia," Nathaniel said approvingly. Pride rang in their voices—in the farm and the expertise of the Lyndon girls.

A few seconds later, Red waved the white flag as Veronica flew past where he stood. The trainer checked the time on his pocket watch as each of the Lyndon girls brought their horses across the marker.

Mr. Lyndon stood up taller. "Another victory for Gunpowder Fury! I love that horse."

"He has so much potential, Joseph," Father said. "And what a treat to see a race we didn't expect today."

"What did our daughters race for as a prize?" Mr. Lyndon looked toward his wife.

"I'm guessing it's all about who will escort my mother, their Grandmother Spencer, at the Phoenix Stakes." Mrs. Lyndon opened her parasol to block the sun.

"I should have known." Mr. Lyndon turned toward Father. "The girls help look after my mother-in-law and fetch things for her on race days. She's still quite…active for her age." He didn't take his eyes off their horses, now breathing heavily from the exertion.

Father chuckled. "I see. Well, a bit of sibling rivalry is only natural and seldom hurts anything."

Edward's father's remark struck a chord. His folks hadn't sent Rupert to a military boarding school. No, they'd kept him at home with fine tutors and spoiled and indulged him, like Edward's sisters. It would seem Edward and Veronica both contended with sibling rivalry. Maybe the topic would prove useful for a future conversation with her, if she'd ever give him the time of day.

He pushed darker days and memories aside, turning his attention toward Veronica as she exited the track astride the winning horse, pacing Gunpowder Fury at a canter, then a slower trot, and finally, easing the stallion to a stop.

The groom and some of the middle-aged farmhands met the sisters as they dismounted. The employees, after congratulating each of them and consoling Gladdie for coming in last, took the reins to walk their mounts toward the horse barn. And doubtless, they would cool them down with extra walking to prevent their muscles from tightening up and stiffening. That much Edward knew about horses, but he had so much more to learn.

"After we congratulate the winner of the race, shall we begin our tour of the rest of the farm?" Mr. Lyndon turned to Edward's father, who nodded as they strolled toward the three girls—all of them windblown, an air of breathless excitement about them.

"Yes, yes, I'd like to see as much of it as we can. The fresh air out here in the countryside does me good."

"Well done, Veronica Jo! A fine race, Delia, Gladdie," Mr. Lyndon said, embracing each of his daughters. They received similar adulation from their mother and then shook hands with Edward's father. Then, showing good sportsmanship, each of the sisters shook hands with each other.

Gladdie, with hands on her hips, offered a magnanimous smile toward her sisters. "It appears Delia and I shall both look after Grandmother at the Phoenix Stakes since we've nearly tied for second and third by a nose length."

"A fair assessment and a good race." Delia handed her sister the borrowed gloves.

Edward hung back with Rupert, waiting for his turn to congratulate each sister, but particularly the winner. Since the eldest Miss Lyndon had held onto first place, she would be free to observe the Phoenix without having to tend her grandmother's needs. If he did not make some attempt to pursue her, Father would only nag and pester him.

Perhaps he could find a way to ask if she would permit him to escort her to the race. If she said yes, it ought to satisfy their parents and show they had at least put forth an effort. Not that he would necessarily dislike having Miss Lyndon as a wife, but she seemed…how should he put it? Rather feisty. Though she was also rather adorable in her petulance.

Finally, she stood before him, and he shook hands with her. "Congratulations, Miss Lyndon. A splendid race." If only he could think of something more to say…

She barely looked at him, though she said, "Thank you, Edward." As she moved on to shake hands with his brother and then fall in with the others on their way to look at the horse barn, he hung back near her.

He couldn't help but wonder if she had any other interests besides horses. He aimed to find out before he ruled a marriage with her completely off the table. Never mind the fact she had made it clear she would not consider him only moments before the race. He would take things one step at a time. First, he had to learn more about her, and he only had two weeks in which to do so before returning to Manhattan with Rupert and his father.

Except now, as he opened his mouth to ask her a question, she made a beeline escape toward the house. Should he attempt to catch up with her? But no, she had disappeared around the corner of the horse barn before he could blink an eye. His plan would have to wait. The woman had dogged determination to steer clear of him, and he would need to step up his game to catch a moment alone with her.

E dward stared at the front door of Velvet Brooks the very next morning and gulped. Would Veronica like the flowers he'd brought her? The Lexington florist hadn't much to offer this early in the season. If he could get her to simply tell him one thing about herself, he'd consider it a small step in the right direction. At least parking the Oldsmobile out front hadn't frightened any horses today. He'd learned his lesson, parking a little farther away from the door than yesterday.

Mr. Lyndon had invited them to spend as much time as they liked at the farm over the next two weeks, even going so far as to offer some of the guest rooms, but Father had assured him they would remain at the hotel and continue to make the drive into the countryside as needed.

He tucked the flowers under his arm and tugged on the vest under his suit jacket. Then he buttoned one button of the suit and, thinking the better of it, unbuttoned it. Shouldn't he try to blend into the farm and look casual? Finally, he knocked on the door.

When the butler opened it, Edward offered what he hoped was a relaxed smile. "Hello, Martin. Nice to see you again."

"Thank you, Mr. Beckett. Do come inside. I assume you are here to call upon Miss Lyndon." Martin opened the door wide and beckoned him into the foyer.

Edward stepped over the threshold, casting a glance around. "Yes, I'd like to call on Miss Veronica Lyndon." Best to specify which Miss Lyndon, just in case.

"I believe she's out in the garden with her art instructor. Right this way." Martin led him through the main hall, then through the music room to the set of French doors leading onto the rear covered porch.

An art instructor? Had he heard Martin correctly? Did Miss Lyndon enjoy art?

Edward spotted her at once through the windows. Seated on a wooden stool before an easel in the middle of the garden, she looked lovely dressed in a shade of violet, surrounded by spring blooms, basking in the morning sunshine.

The butler's voice interrupted Edward's thoughts as he took in the glorious scene. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you." Edward straightened his tie as the employee hurried away to tend some other task. He opened the door and stepped outside onto the porch, waiting for the right moment to address Veronica, almost wishing the butler would have at least announced his arrival.

V eronica glanced at the timepiece pinned to her reception dress. Nearly eleven o'clock already! Her art instructor, the elderly Isaac Brennan, would soon depart, although she never wanted him to since she enjoyed his classes so much. He always had a new technique or some idea or another to broaden and challenge her artistic abilities.

"Yes, that's it, Miss Lyndon. I dare say you have mastered pine trees. You can see how fanning out the bristles of the brush works well if it is a very stiff brush." He leaned closer to her canvas to inspect her work as he spoke. "I believe you've got the hang of it."

Veronica smiled at his praise. "Thank you, Mr. Brennan. I do find this technique helps a great deal. I'm terrible at pine trees, but now I am able to build the appearance of a forest line or a cluster of trees with merely a few strokes of the brush."

"Yes, it is a wonderful technique. No, don't get up from your easel. I don't want to disrupt your progress with your spring landscape, but I must be on my way to my next pupil."

"I never know what you will teach me next. One week, ceramics, the next pottery, sculpting, sketching, painting on canvas, shading with pencils…" She glanced at her supplies, an assortment of at least a dozen tin tubes containing oil paints in various shades of violet, red, blues, greens, orange, pinks, and yellows. "I will continue to find ways to add the colors of God's glorious rainbow to my landscape and master this brilliant technique."

"Yes, next week at the usual time." Mr. Brennan gathered up his supplies.

She refrained from flinging her arms around his neck to thank him for helping her master the challenge. It would only cause him to blush and become flustered. Every now and then, the aging fellow became forgetful, and then his lessons sounded a little repetitive, but she still enjoyed his instruction. Watching her silvery-white-haired instructor pick up his satchel and hurry away, she caught a glimpse of someone standing on the porch with hands clasped behind his back. Edward!

The smile of contentment disappeared from her face. Had he been there for long, observing her in their private garden? Why hadn't Martin announced his arrival? She didn't want him to know anything more about her, least of all invade her creative space.

"Oh, Edward, hello." She forced herself to greet him, but his appearance did not invigorate her aspirations.

"Hello, Miss Lyndon." He stepped forward, offering a bouquet of flowers. "These are for you."

She couldn't refuse the offering he thrust into her hands, and as he had somehow managed to bring her favorite Virginia Bluebells, she supposed she couldn't avoid spending some time alone with him forever. The offering softened her a little. Reluctantly, she motioned him toward the stool in front of her instructor's easel. "Would you care to sit down for a few moments?" If he overstayed his welcome, she would simply tell him she had an important obligation to attend.

He joined her beside the easel and perched on the stool. "Thank you. It's nice to see you again too. I didn't know you liked to paint."

She had no desire to tell him about her artwork, but as it was too late to hide the fact now, she muttered a response without looking at him. "Yes, I do very much enjoy painting." She drew in the scent of the flowers, closing her eyes as she breathed in. She set them aside on the table next to her tea service, palette, and other painting supplies. She should probably show him she possessed civilized manners, but it defied every bone in her body to do so under the circumstances. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"No, but thank you."

She tried not to rejoice at the indication he didn't intend to pester her for too long. Unless the other Beckett men were with him…in which case she might be forced to entertain them as well. "And where is Rupert today? And your father? Did they accompany you?" She resumed her work, picking up a brush, dipping it in some purple from the palette to make a pansy on her canvas.

"I think they are touring a museum today in Lexington not far from our hotel and joining us here later for dinner. I won't take up much of your time. I've only come to make a proposal."

"A proposal?" Veronica's heart dropped, and her brush streaked the canvas with a swath of purple. Did he plan to make a formal offer of marriage, right then and there? Now, in her family garden, after she'd told him only yesterday she absolutely would not marry him?

What trouble this man brought to her life! Now she'd ruined her spring landscape. She drew in a deep breath and bit her lower lip, ready to explode with the anger about to boil over from deep within. Laying the brush aside, she stared at the mess she'd made.

Edward glanced at her damaged portrait and then at her, holding up a hand in his defense. "No, no, it's not what you think…not that sort of proposal. More of a plan, and one I think you might like, if you'll hear me out."

"Oh." How silly of her to jump to conclusions. Goodness, she really must stay calm. She'd have to wait for the streak of purple paint to dry for a few seconds and cover it with a great bunch of flowers. Maybe turn it into a large dark-green shrub with pink blooms.

"Go on." She cast a wary glance at him before picking up her paintbrush again. "Tell me your idea."

He studied the progress on her canvas as he spoke. "Seeing how neither of us are thrilled about the idea of an arranged marriage, I figure our parents will only become agitated if we don't spend time together and show we are making some sort of effort to go along with their plan while I'm here in Kentucky."

"I had considered that, too," she admitted, keeping her eyes on the canvas, but she did glance over at him and nod after completing a few brushstrokes in a shade of forest green to cover the purple streak. "I only found out about this whole ridiculous idea a few days before your arrival, and to be honest, I'm still trying to sort through what my parents are thinking and why."

"I understand. I haven't known about it for long either. I thought perhaps if I could escort you to the Phoenix Stakes, and if we could plan a few other excursions, our parents wouldn't be able to say we hadn't at least tried."

"You aren't suggesting I ride in that noisy Runabout, are you?"

"Not if you don't want to." He paused. "I could rent a horse and carriage from the livery if you prefer."

"I see." Veronica set her brush aside in a mason jar filled with a little turpentine to dissolve the paint. She swiveled on the stool to look directly at him. His plan did make a bit of sense. And hiding from him had thus far proven an inefficient way of convincing her parents their union posed a threat to her happiness. "What exactly did you have in mind?"