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Chapter 12

"I believe that went rather well," Elise said once they were alone on the steps outside his home.

The morning sunlight illuminated her blonde hair, making her positively glow. She looked stunning, with the faintest breeze tugging errant wisps of gold hair against her cheeks and neck, her brown eyes bright and warm.

"What?" she asked after a moment.

He hastily recovered once he realized he'd been staring at her. "Er, nothing. I was just thinking the same thing. I was pleasantly surprised at how well it went. I admit, I expected more resistance once they learned who they was interviewing them."

Thankfully, the staff seemed more than ready to help him put his townhouse back in order. The housekeeper he'd chosen, Mrs. Stanwick, seemed excited by the challenge rather than intimidated. Mr. Rueben, his new butler, had quite a few connections in the city and immediately sought permission to obtain estimates for wood rot repair, plumbing, and other things that desperately needed to be addressed before anyone could comfortably move in. Prospero had gratefully consented to Rueben's request.

Elise had handled the whole affair with ease and introduced herself to the staff as Mr. Roberts's employer, which seemed to smooth over any concerns about the impropriety of him bringing an unmarried woman with him to his house for interviews. She'd kept a cool appearance, offering only a polite, feminine interest in assisting her new neighbor.

Elise gave an elegant little shrug. "I suspect Roberts told them your name before he finalized their interview appointments so that we didn't have to bother with anyone who would have been uncomfortable with your reputation."

"Yes, I suspect you're right. That would explain it," he mused. "Either way, I'm grateful to him and to you. You thought of quite a number of things that I hadn't considered. I admit it's been years since I've had to manage a household."

Her gaze brightened. "Are you grateful enough that you truly won't mind buying a horse today?"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes, all right. I will buy one. I suppose I do need to get about town on a horse until I can buy a coach."

"We have room in our stables until you have had a chance to assess the condition of your stables," Elise offered.

"Thank you."

"Now, if you don't mind, I need to change again. It's less fun buying horses dressed as a woman. Once we buy yours, we ride in Hyde Park. I wish to see it from a man's perspective."

"Very well. I will wait for you to change." They returned to Elise's home, and Prospero met with Roberts while Elise ran upstairs to change.

Roberts was delighted that Prospero had approved his selections. Once Elise bounded down the steps dressed as her male disguise Elliott, they set off for the Barnet Fair to look at horses.

Barnet had been primarily a meat market in the age of the Tudors, with butchers bringing their best meat to sell. Horses had started to be sold there in the late 1500s but often weren't pedigreed or registered on any of the Thoroughbred books, Prospero was aware of that. The men in his set always went to Tattersall's. Elise, however, seemed quite comfortable moving among the stalls, as though she visited such places frequently.

"Why Barnet?" Prospero inquired as they entered the market, which spread out on the green fields before them.

"Tattersall's is good," she admitted. "But you need an exceptional beast, Prospero. If there is one thing I know about horses, the Romani breed splendid mounts."

"Gypsy horses? Good God," Prospero exclaimed. "I heard they train them to escape their paddocks and return to the Gypsy caravans after they've been sold."

Elise shot him a quelling look, and he realized quite a few people had glanced their way at his outburst.

"I would think listening to such rumors would be beneath you," she said calmly. "And they prefer to be called Romani or Travellers. Now hush and follow me."

She led him past the paddocks loosely constructed into roped areas and toward a large tent with a striped tarpaulin top. Inside the tent, he found a smartly dressed man in black trousers and a black waistcoat, leading a range of horses through their paces. Dozens of men and even a few women watched the horses on display with keen interest.

The man in the black waistcoat had slightly olive skin and raven-black hair and was close to the same age as Prospero. The man gave a sharp whistle, and all the horses abruptly changed direction to go in a counterclockwise circle. It was clear he was in full command of these horses; he exuded a quiet confidence that the horses sensed and respected.

Elise watched the horse trainer with open admiration. "That is Anthony Ardelean, one of the best Romani horseman you'll ever meet. He studied at the Spanish Riding School with the Lipizzaners."

Prospero immediately fixed on the man. Any man or woman who loved horses knew about the Spanish Riding School and their beautiful Lipizzaner horses. They had coats as white as fresh snow and could perform incredible feats such as "airs above the ground," where a horse would balance on its hind legs with its front legs in the air, then it would make three or four jumps on just its hind legs. Then it would leap into the air and draw its forelegs under it and kick its hind legs out before landing on all four legs at the same time. The skill required for such a thing was nearly impossible to achieve without the most capable trainer and the most capable horse.

Prospero watched Anthony click his tongue, and the horses stopped their parade and waited patiently for the next direction. "He no longer rides at the school?"

"No. He wanted to use what he learned with horses of all sizes and breeding. He believes what matters is temperament more than the breed. Size and strength play a role, but a horse without breeding can still defeat the finest Thoroughbred in a race if it has the heart to win."

Prospero smiled at her. "Now I see why you like him," he said.

A blush darkened her cheeks, and he wondered if perhaps she was attracted to this good-looking Ardelean fellow. A flash of unexpected jealousy forced him to check his reactions, lest Elise notice.

"Anthony is indeed a fine man, but we are merely colleagues. We both believe that men often misjudge—not just women, but other creatures as well. It's refreshing to talk with someone who listens and doesn't dismiss my thoughts and observations."

Prospero wanted to point out that he did that too, but he feared it would make him sound petulant.

"Come, I'll introduce you." She led him closer to the paddock under the tent where Anthony could see them.

"Anthony!" Elise shouted, but then she remembered to lower her voice and called out again in a more masculine octave.

Anthony's gaze swept over Elise in momentary confusion before he burst into a grin.

"Well, this is a new look for you, Hamblin," he greeted as he came over.

She chuckled. "Today I'm Elliott Hamblin. Mr. Ardelean, this is my friend, Prospero Harrington, the Earl of March. He needs a good horse to ride. Something strong, dependable, and fast."

Anthony shot Prospero a meaningful look. "You mean one that will keep up with Honey."

"Yes, exactly."

Prospero felt another pang of envy. It was clear they had a friendship that was built upon mutual trust and respect. He wanted that with her, and the desire was so strong it stunned him. He'd known this woman but a handful of days, yet he craved an intimacy not just of the body with her, but of the heart.

Anthony held out a hand to Prospero. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord March. If Hamblin likes you, you must be a solid fellow."

"Please, call me Prospero. I don't know if I am worthy of the praise you've just given me, but I will strive to be," he said.

Anthony's grip was firm and his gaze honest. "Let's find you a proper horse then, eh?"

Prospero ducked under the ropes with Elise as Anthony beckoned for them to follow. Other horsemen took charge of the beasts that Anthony had been leading around the paddock.

"You're a tall man, so you'll need a decent height. At least fifteen or sixteen hands," Anthony said. "No delicate Arabians for you."

Prospero nodded. If the horse was too short, his legs would come down too far and create discomfort for the horse.

"You'll need speed and stamina as well." Anthony eyed the horses in the paddock in front of him, then whistled to one of the grooms. "Renaldo, bring me the Palouse horse."

"Palouse?" Prospero had never heard of such a breed.

"He is only half Thoroughbred—the rest of him is a Palouse. We acquired him from the Americas. The Palouse is a breed raised by the Nez Percé Indians. They have mustang blood, descended from the Spanish horses brought to the Americas. Those horses were powerful, ready to carry the Spanish conquistadors in full armor. The call these horses Palouse because of the Palouse river that ran through Nez Percé lands."

The horse that was brought over was entirely black except for its flank, which was snow-white and flecked with black spots like a dalmatian. It was unusual looking, but not unattractive.

"This horse will not let you down, my friend. But you will face derision among the elite horsemen. They won't see this beast as we do. This stallion has heart, strength, and courage. He needs a man brave enough to ride him."

Prospero approached the horse, which cocked his ears forward curiously and flipped his lips up and down once or twice, making Anthony chuckle. Anthony reached into his pocket for a lump of sugar. The horse ate it happily and nudged Prospero's elbow.

"Sorry, old boy, no more sugar here. At least for the moment." Prospero stroked the horse's nose, and he leaned his face against his shoulder in encouragement.

"He's a beautiful horse," Prospero said. "How much are you asking for him?"

He had hoped to pay for the horse himself, but the truth was that the money in his pockets really belonged to Elise. She had told him to think of it as his own, but that still was a hard thing for him to accept. Running about London with her had been enjoyable, and he could not quite justify being paid for having such adventures with her.

Anthony considered the matter. "For a friend of Hamblin's? Seventy-five pounds."

He paid Anthony from the billfold in his coat pocket.

"Does he have a name?" Prospero asked.

Anthony patted the horse's shoulder. "I call him Raider."

"He sounds fierce indeed. What did he do to deserve such a name?" Prospero envisioned the horse charging across a battlefield, cannons firing around him as he gave no quarter to the enemy.

"He raided an apple orchard when he was a foal."

"So no fierce battles?" Prospero asked Anthony.

"Him? No, but he is a loyal beast and won't let you down. He just has a soft spot for treats." Anthony winked. "Shall I deliver him to you this afternoon?"

"Yes, that would be good," Elise answered for him. "He'll be staying at my stables while Prospero prepares his own.

Anthony smiled. "As you wish. It was good to meet you, Prospero. May Raider give you joy."

Prospero shook hands with Anthony once more. "I have no doubt that he will."

Elise led Prospero away from the tent. They spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting the other stalls and discussing horses before returning to her townhouse. Time seemed to pass so quickly whenever he was with Elise.

John met them in the hall as they entered the house. "Good Lord," her father muttered at the sight of Elise parading around in her masculine costume.

"Like my mustache, Papa?" She winked at Prospero, who bit his lip to hide a smile.

"Gracious, no. You'd better hope it comes off before tonight, or you'll have much to explain to your dance partners this evening."

Elise frowned at the mention of the ball.

John turned to Prospero. "And how was your ride?"

"We actually didn't have time after the staff interviews," Elise cut in, pulling her mustache off. "We went to the Barnet Fair and bought a beautiful horse from Anthony Ardelean."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that you found a good beast for him." John held a curious expression before he turned again to Prospero. "March, would you mind joining me in my study for a moment? I would like to discuss some business with you. It's about our meeting later this week with my investment partners."

"Do you mind?" Prospero asked Elise.

"Not at all. I suppose I ought to go bathe and change if we are to attend that ball in a few hours." Her nose wrinkled at the word, and Prospero almost laughed. She ran up the stairs two at a time, a feat easily managed in her trousers. John turned toward his study, and Prospero dutifully followed behind. John didn't sit down once they were inside, so Prospero remained on his feet as well.

John clasped his hands behind his back. "What do you think of my daughter?"

"Think of her? How do you mean?"

"I mean, do you like her as a woman...? As a person? As a friend?" John's serious gaze calmed the strange flurry of nerves in Prospero's stomach.

"I... do." Prospero hesitated because he wasn't sure why Elise's father was asking him such an intimate question. Did the man know what he and Elise had done last night? He hadn't compromised Elise, per se, but he'd come damned close.

"I find myself facing an unfortunate situation." John glanced down at his trembling palms as he gripped the back of his chair.

"Situation?" Prospero was still confused by the direction of the conversation and more than a little concerned to see a strong man like John trembling.

"I am ill, my dear boy," John said. There was such a softness in his words that something in Prospero's heart shattered. This was a man Prospero would have gladly called Father, a man who treated him as a son despite having known him only briefly. John Hamblin was a good man through and through, and Prospero, more than most people, knew the value of that.

"Ill?" That single word held the power to destroy something precious to the both of them. Elise.

"Yes. It's my damned heart, you see." John tapped a finger against his chest with a rueful smile. "Never been quite right since Elise's mother died."

Prospero's lips parted, but he had no words that could comfort Elise's father.

John clapped his palms on the back of his chair. "So you see, I need to know my child is safe... that she is cared for, looked after, by a man who will love her and never try to change her. He must accept her running about in trousers, breeding racehorses, peering into microscopes, and collecting fossils. He must love every part of her for the perfection she is. For the gift she is." John held his gaze once more. "I'm asking you, March. Are you that man?"

Prospero did not answer right away. Was he? He needed time to reach into his soul and consider. He walked to the window that faced the garden of the townhouse and stared at the colorful blooms amidst the deep green. It was a stunning display of nature's beauty. He noticed the wild roses along the stone wall at the back of the garden. He feared that winter would strike early in their brief but brilliant lives and cover the petals with a velvety layer of frost.

How beautiful and short all life was; whether it was years or mere days that a creature had on this earth, it all ended too soon. When he'd been a younger man, the days had seemed endless, as though the summer skies above him would be blue forever. But now he was in the summer of life and smelling a hint of winter upon the air. Prospero had never felt that awareness so keenly until this moment. He turned back to John. Elise's father always seemed so in control, yet as he waited for Prospero to speak, as if unsure of himself.

"I'm afraid I have nothing to give your daughter, save myself. My estate is all but empty, and my ancestral home, Marchlands, is no longer in my family's hands. I possess nothing but that house across the street."

"I am aware of that, of course," John said. "What I want to know is what my daughter would mean to you."

"If she would have me, I would cherish her, and I dare say that I will love her." The words cut into his soul. Was it possible for his heart to bleed after being dead for so long? He hadn't thought love would be possible, yet as sure as the sun would rise, he knew that he would love Elise in time.

"She's a warrior, March. But she is still human. She can still bleed. My little Joan of Arc needs a knight by her side to slay those foes that may come at her back. Do you understand?"

Strangely, Prospero did understand. Elise was able to take care of herself, but it was her father's duty, and then her husband's, to watch over her in those moments when she could not.

"Even if you offer her nothing but yourself, that's all that she would want or need. Someday, when she comes to understand this arrangement?—"

"What arrangement?" Prospero now realized this was more than just a heartfelt conversation.

"I've had everything prepared. I wish for you to marry while I am still well enough to walk her down the aisle. My solicitor has arranged for this house and half of my fortune to pass to Elise in a trust. The other half of my money, as well as my company and my business interests, will go to you as her husband. You may use it to settle any debts your father had and restore your home to its former glory. I do ask that you will not sell this house, though. Elise's mother is in every room. She decorated it with love, and I never want Elise to lose that part of her. To leave it, to sell it, it would break my child's heart, so I beg of you as a father not to do that to her."

"I wouldn't," Prospero whispered. He hadn't had loving parents like Elise, yet somehow that sad truth made him all the more fiercely protective of Elise's memories of her own parents.

"Tonight, after the ball, I will speak to her and tell her of my wishes. The archbishop of Canterbury granted me an immediate marriage license this morning. I have everything ready."

Prospero's throat worked as he struggled to process what John was saying.

"How... soon do you wish for this to happen?"

"Within the next few days, if we can convince Elise to agree. I shall rely on you for that. I can order her to marry, but she will not bend to my wishes simply because I demand it, no matter how much she loves me. I want her to marry you because she wishes it. I am giving you permission to do whatever you must do to convince her."

"You wish for me to manipulate her into marriage?" Prospero said, barely hiding the bitterness in his tone. He wouldn't do that.

"You and I both know what this world will do to her if she has no one to protect her. My daughter holds a light within her that many men would do anything to extinguish. I trust only you to protect that light, to protect her. So, yes, that is what I wish you to do."

Prospero rubbed a hand along his jaw and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh.

"She may come to hate me."

"She may come to love you. Isn't that worth fighting for, my boy?"

Christ, the man knew just what to say to slide a dagger into the heart of Prospero's resistance.

His chest felt strangely heavy. "All right," he agreed. He would do his best to convince her, but he damned well wouldn't manipulate her, no matter what John wanted. But he wasn't about to tell that to a dying man.

"Good. Now, you smell of the stables. You had better go bathe and change before this evening. I have an old evening suit that should fit you if you need one. I'll have it laid out for you."

"Thank you, I do need one. I had planned to see the tailors tomorrow."

"Then be sure to have them make a wedding suit for you as well."

Prospero nodded in assent and left John's study. His breathing was faint as he stared around the grand house, sunlight bathing the art and statues that decorated the space. Now he could see the woman's touch, an easy elegance to every room that was warm and welcoming.

I'm to be married... The thought still felt hollow and surreal to him.

What did he know of love and marriage? His parents' union was a transaction, just as his and Elise's would be. He wanted love, wanted passion, yet he'd given no real thought to having it because of his past. Yet how close he was to a future that held such a bright light. All he had to do was win Elise's trust. And let his own guard down so that he might allow himself to trust her in return.

But to do that, he had to convince a woman who wanted no husband into wanting him to be hers. Elise was no fool. She was one of the brightest women he'd ever met. He wanted no lies between them, no secrets, nothing that could tear apart the life they would share. So what then could he do to make her agree to her father's plan?

He ascended the stairs and passed by her chamber, hearing her singing softly and splashing lightly. She was bathing, and the thought of her wet and bare in a large tub of hot water, smoothing rose oil into her skin, made him burn with carnal hunger. If he could just convince her that they could make a go of a life together, perhaps they would find married life enjoyable. He would do everything he could to make her happy as a lover, as a partner, in any way that she wanted, if she would only trust him.

A voice whispered in his head, I will dance with her.

Yes. Dancing. He would show her that they would be a good fit, and it would all start with a waltz. After all, dancing was a metaphor for love and trust, wasn't it?

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