CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 6

Edward spent the afternoon at the stables and Van spent the afternoon with the dressmakers. She and Lady Linton were alone at dinner.

"Edward sent word he was taking potluck over at the squire's," Lady Linton reported to Van with a smile. "He'll be back later in the evening."

Van thought that it would be fine with her if he never returned.

She was playing the harpsichord for Lady Linton when he finally came in at about eight o'clock, and for some reason, she, who wouldn't notice if the house burned down around her, was instantly aware of his presence. She finished the piece and then turned around on her stool, suddenly wary.

He gave her a sunny smile. "Lovely," he said approvingly.

"Yes, it is a great treat to have such grand music all to oneself," Lady Linton agreed. "Did the squire give you a good dinner, darling?"

"The usual." His blue eyes laughed at her. "Mutton."

"Oh, dear," the countess said comically. "He is so predictable."

"I'm hunting with him tomorrow morning," the earl said. "I want to get Beau out over some fences, and I want to get the squire and the rest of the local landowners turned up sweet for the Quarter Session."

Lady Linton turned to Van. "Edward is lord lieutenant for the county," she explained kindly, "and he has been trying to work with the landowners to develop a relief policy for the rural poor."

"I see," Van replied quietly. Then, "It didn't seem to me that poverty was much of a problem here in Kent. The tenents' houses I saw today all looked very prosperous."

The cottages of the Staplehurst tenants had in fact looked like palaces in comparison to the poor dwellings of sod and heather and stone that housed large numbers of MacIan clansmen.

"Edward's tenants are never in want," Lady Linton said proudly. "But not all landowners are as diligent or as clever as he."

"Nor as rich," Van put in dryly.

"It isn't merely a matter of money," Edward said, and his voice was very serious. "It's a matter of being open to new ideas. Most Englishmen farm the exact same way their great-great-grandfathers farmed. Agriculture will never progress until people are ready to use new inventions and new ideas."

"Such as?" Despite herself, Van was curious.

"Such as Jethro Tull's new seed drill. It sows seed in straight rows and makes weeding easier and more efficient. And all my own land is planted under Lord Townshend's crop-rotation plan. This eliminates the fallow year and allows you to bring more land into cultivation each year."

His eyes were brilliant. "Then there is the pedigree breeding of cattle," he began, but Lady Linton cut in.

"I don't think that is a proper topic to discuss with Vanessa, Edward."

Van stared at Lady Linton in surprise. "Why ever not?"

Edward grinned. "Young girls don't discuss breeding in mixed company," he said.

"Breeding cattle?" Van asked in astonishment, and Edward's grin broadened.

"It's time for the tea tray," Lady Linton said firmly, and rang the bell.

For the remainder of the week Edward and Van met only in the company of Lady Linton and were scrupulously polite to each other. Edward spent his days with his horses, his estate manager, and his tenants. Van was being bored into near-rebellion by the dressmakers and the constant talk of clothes and found herself increasingly resentful that the earl never even offered to let her ride again.

Then, on the day before they were to leave Kent for London, he told her to get her riding habit on and he'd take her out. Van's initial impulse was to refuse; his invitation had sounded remarkably like an order. But she was desperate to get outdoors and exercise, so she swallowed her temper and accepted.

"Just give me half an hour with Vanessa, darling," Lady Linton interposed. "The cream satin ball gown needs only one more fitting."

"Very well. Mama," Edward replied with resignation. He was already dressed for riding in a rust-colored coat and tan breeches that showed off his long, muscular legs.

"I'll meet you down at the stables," Van said.

His eyes just touched hers. "Very well," he said again. "I'll have one of the footmen escort you."

"I know my way, thank you," Van replied irritably.

He cocked a golden eyebrow and then nodded.

"Come along, Vanessa," Lady Linton said. "We don't want to keep Edward waiting too long."

An hour later Van arrived at the stables dressed in her green riding habit. One of the grooms immediately came over to her. "His lordship is riding Marcus in the paddock, my lady. I'll go tell him you're here."

"That won't be necessary," Van said. "I'll go." She could see a horse and rider circling the paddock immediately behind the carriage house and she moved in that direction.

Edward was riding Marcus in a large circle in one corner of the paddock. He was, as usual, bareheaded, and the April sun beat down on his bright hair and the richly shining dark bay coat of the stallion.

Van's throat began to ache strangely. The two of them were so beautiful, moved in such perfect harmony together. As she watched, Marcus turned his shoulder slightly and, still traveling forward in a soft, springy trot, began to cross his inside legs over in front of his outside ones.

Van's mouth dropped slightly open. She had never seen anything like that before. Then, smoothly and softly, with no perceptible movement on Edward's part, Marcus came back to trotting forward normally. As Van watched, he slowed the trot even more but came further off the ground at each step. It seemed, in fact, as if he hung in the air, the great, powerful stallion as light as a current of air himself.

Marcus came down to a walk and Edward leaned forward to pat his neck. Then he looked up and saw Van at the rail.

"Sorry," he said as he came up to her. "Have you been here long?"

"No." Van's great eyes were fixed on Marcus. "That was beautiful," she said, almost reverently.

"He's good," Edward agreed, patting the stallion again. He looked over Van's head. "Is Mallow ready?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord. She's coming."

"Good. Open the gate for me, please."

The groom hastened to do the earl's bidding and Edward and Marcus came out to stand by Van. She still could not get over how quiet the obviously highly bred horse was, how tractable.

"Here's Mallow now," Edward said, and Van let a groom give her a leg up into the saddle. She was much less tense this time and was able to sit relaxed and easy as the two horses walked out of the stableyard together.

Van filled her lungs with air. It felt so good to be outdoors.

"Beginning to feel a little caged?" the deep voice next to her inquired.

She shot him a sideways look. "I'm accustomed to spending a great deal of time out-of-doors."

He didn't reply and after a minute she asked, because she was intensely curious, "What was that you were doing with Marcus back in the paddock?"

His splendid profile was grave, unreadable. "Just some exercises," he replied.

"Can Mallow do them?" Van persisted.

He looked at her. "He can do the shoulder-in, but his passage is nothing at all like Marcus'."

"Passage?" she inquired.

"That slow, highly cadenced trot we were doing."

"Did you teach the horses to do those things?"

She got his profile again. "Yes."

Van was damned if she'd ask him any more questions. She directed her own gaze to the path in front of her and pretended she was alone.

"I'd better bring Mallow up to London for you," he said finally as they came out of the home woods onto one of the farm roads. "You'll want to do some riding in Hyde Park."

Van wasn't quite sure if her riding was up to London traffic, but she remembered the confinement of the last week and decided she'd rather look a fool outdoors than be relegated to the house all the time. "Thank you," she said expressionlessly. At that moment a dog erupted into the road in front of them, barking excitedly. Mallow began to dance around, but by this time Van was confident enough to sit calmly and tell him firmly to whoa. Marcus had his ears back but otherwise was quiet. A child dashed into the road after the dog and after a missed try or two finally grabbed it. Then he looked up at the earl and said guiltily, "I'm sorry, my lord."

Edward looked sternly at the tousle-haired youngster. Van judged the boy to be about seven. "You never even looked before you ran out into the road, Jem."

"S-sorry, my lord,'" the child repeated. He stared fearlessly up at Edward. "I didn't mean to hurt you or the lady."

"You are the one who would have been trampled," the earl replied emphatically. He looked then with distaste at the shabby ball of fur in the child's arms. "I hope you are keeping that mongrel away from my cattle."

"I am that, my lord." The boy's eyes began to sparkle. "Sam's ever so smart, my lord. I'm learning him all sorts of tricks."

"How delightful. Have you ever tried teaching him the trick of a bath?"

"Oh, yes, my lord," Jem replied blithely. "Only, he rolled in the pig's mud this morning."

At that Edward grinned. "He looks it. Get along with you, lad, back to your mother. The next time I come by, I'll expect to see those tricks."

The boy grinned back. "Yes, my lord!" Then he obediently raced to the house.

A reminiscent smiled lingered around the earl's mouth as the two horses started forward again. "I remember that age very well," he murmured nostalgically. "One never walked, one ran. And one's dog always seemed to be rolling in mud puddles."

Van thought for a minute and then her elegant nose wrinkled. "I think I'm still in that stage," she said doubtfully, and at that he threw back his golden head and roared.

"Do you raise cattle?" Van asked when his mirth had subsided.

"Yes. Beef is coming more and more into demand." He guided Marcus around a fallen branch and Van followed. "Cattle raising is one of the main occupations of the Highlands, I believe," he said to her over his shoulder.

"Yes. And we farm as well. The soil is rocky and hard, nothing like what you have here, but we plant corn. We fish. Mother has a huge kitchen garden filled with vegetables."

She came up alongside him again. "Do you sell your beef to the Lowlands?" he asked.

"No." Van's voice was cool and reserved. "We do all our trading out of Inverness. To France."

"Ah," he said very quietly. "Of course. To France."

The air between them, momentarily thawed by the incident with the dog, was frozen once more.

The following day they left for the Lintons' house in London. England's capital was the first large city Van had ever seen—Edinburgh was a mere village in comparison—and she was overwhelmed by its magnitude.

Linton House was a stately, sumptuous residence in the relatively new Grosvenor Square. Lady Linton informed Van that it had been built by her husband ten years previously. All the rooms were large and grand, either perfectly square or perfectly rectangular. Van thought of Creag an Fhithich, where no room resembled any other, and felt a stab of homesickness.

Edward disappeared for the evening and Van went to bed early, pleading fatigue from the trip. The following morning the earl brought Carlo Martelli to see her.

Van had dressed for the morning in a dress made of some soft apricot material and her hair was dressed loosely in long ringlets on the nape of her neck. She was running through some practice exercises when Edward arrived with the musician.

Signore Martelli was a slight, dark man whose large brown eyes regarded Van with an expression of kindly patience. "I have come to hear you," he announced, "because Lord Linton asked this of me. You wish to improve your performance, eh?"

"I wish to learn to play better," Van said.

"Prego," the Italian replied. He walked to the harpsichord and looked through the music there. "This." He selected a sheet and placed it on the music rack. "Play that," he said.

Van swallowed nervously and her eyes went to Edward. He nodded to her once, gravely, and she went to the instrument and sat down. The Italian had chosen a piece by Handel that Van knew quite well.

At first the keys seemed strange under her fingers. She could feel how stiff her back was and her eyes followed the music in front of her with frantic attention. Gradually, however, the strangeness disappeared and the music took hold.

When she finished she felt that familiar moment of quiet deep within herself and then she turned around. Edward was not looking at her and Van could not quite bring herself to look at Signore Martelli.

"Play it again, please," the Italian said, and at that she did look. His eyes were directly on her, only now, instead of patient kindness they were filled with anticipation. "Again," he repeated softly, and Van turned back to the keyboard.

"You have a very great talent," the musician said when Van had finished her second rendition. "But I must ask you this—are you willing to work?"

"Oh, yes," Van breathed, her light eyes glowing.

"I mean work hard." The dark eyes looking at her were stern. "I will make you do it again and again and yet again, until you are ready to weep. Do you understand?"

Van's chin came up. "Yes," she said firmly. "I understand. And I am willing to work."

"Very well." The Italian turned to Edward. "I will come tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, my lord."

"Thank you, maestro," Edward replied. "You do Lady Vanessa a great honor."

"Yes," the musician returned superbly. Then, "I only come for you. Never did I expect to find this," and he gestured grandly toward Van. He turned to the door and Edward followed to escort him out. "Such a pity," Van heard the Italian saying, "that she is a lady."

"Why is it a pity that I am a lady?" Van asked Edward when he returned to the drawing room.

He had not sat down but was standing at the chimneypiece, his shoulders comfortably propped against the marble. He was dressed in riding clothes and he slapped a whip thoughtfully against a polished boot as he regarded her. "I believe he feels a talent like yours should be shared with others, but the daughter of an earl can hardly go on the concert stage."

Van frowned. "I do want to get better," she said. "I want to be the best I can be. But not for others. I want it for myself."

He was regarding her with a strange look in his eyes. "I suppose that sounds selfish," Van said defensively.

"No," he replied. "Just rare. Most people require the approval of others." The whip in his hands had stilled.

"Thank you for bringing Signore Martelli." Van spoke with difficulty but it had to be said.

He smiled at her, his blue eyes suddenly full of that lazy sunshine he bestowed so generously on others and so seldom on her. "It was my pleasure," he replied. He straightened up, away from the chimneypiece. "I won't disturb you further, however. I know you have only begun to play."

Van's eyes followed him all the way to the door.