Chapter Fourteen

I n the two days of rain that followed the Montford picnic, Cassie had no opportunity to walk, no chance to see Sir Adrian. She helped Honoria shelve her books and tried not to worry overmuch about any delay in telling their tenant of her encounter with Mr. Kydd. She felt that once she told Sir Adrian, her odd freak of pretending to be Bluebell would appear in its proper light, not as a deception, but as a lark of sorts, and not as an attempt to ferret out truths about his past as a boy called Raven.

On the third day, the sun came out, and Grandmama returned from the stables before nine to insist that Cassie come at once to help with Sir Adrian's messenger boys.

"He's gone and left them to get up to every sort of mischief."

"Gone?" Cassie looked up from a stack of books on the floor.

"Off to London, of course. Now those boys are idle and up to no good."

"Oh," Honoria said, "he's not gone ." She gave Cassie a questioning look. "He's away ."

Cassie pulled herself together. The brief alarm passed. She was annoyed at herself for being susceptible to it. Of course, Sir Adrian wasn't gone. He had plans. He was to give a summer ball. His messenger boys were still here.

Grandmama flashed an impatient glare at Honoria. "Don't quibble about words, Honoria. Cassie, you know those boys. Get them sorted. They can't remain idle and underfoot, and I can't have them wandering about either. They'll spook the horses."

Cassie turned to Honoria, standing in front of her writing table. "I'll return as soon as I can, Aunt."

"You go, love. We've made great progress." Honoria gestured at the piles of books on the floor. "We're sorted. We just need to shelve."

Grandmama sniffed and turned on her heel. Cassie gave her aunt a quick hug.

*

She arrived at the stables with a basket of sandwiches from Cook, expecting from Grandmama's report to find mayhem. But the stables had an air of quiet busyness that made her think that her grandmother had exaggerated the boys' antics. Then she found them.

Over the past weeks, she'd come to know their names. Joe, Ben, and Tim were roughly the same age, which Cassie guessed to be eight. They were skinny and ruddy-cheeked with almost identical mops of brown hair and thick London accents that often required her to ask for repetition. Sir Adrian had outfitted them in gray wool breeches and caps, blue shirts, and sturdy shoes. Now they sat, unmoving, gazing into Hermes's open stall.

As Cassie approached, Hermes sensed her, and tossed his head. The boys looked up and Joe, who seemed to be their leader, put a finger to his lips. Cassie glanced into the stall and met Dick Crockett's gaze. Dick smiled and gave her his greeting sign. Cassie nodded in reply.

"Please, Lady C," Joe whispered. "Don't make us leave. Dick lets us watch 'im."

"I won't," Cassie whispered back. She wondered how Dick had made their acquaintance and even more how he had got them to sit quietly.

"'e's softening the 'orse," said Joe.

Cassie nodded. She was familiar with the ritual with which Dick always began his work. He wanted a horse to stand and let him hold its hooves, but first he wanted to know that the horse had no injuries or lingering pain that would make the animal uneasy. Perhaps because Dick's primary language was a language of gesture, he used his hands to talk to horses.

She began to lower herself to the floor beside the boys when Joe held up a hand. "Wait Lady C." He dashed off down the main aisle of stalls and returned with a stool for her to sit on.

Meanwhile, Dick, in his leather apron with his sleeves rolled up, stood on Hermes's near side, his left hand below Hermes's shoulder, his right moving gently up from Hermes's left eye, over the poll, and along a line just below the ridge of the neck and withers. As Hermes grew easy under the gentle touch, Cassie marveled again at the youth's way with animals.

The boys, to her surprise, sat unmoving, and she wondered what they'd been up to that had prompted her grandmother's complaint. And how Dick had managed to cast a spell over them. When Hermes's head drooped and his eyes began to close in drowsy contentment, Dick grinned at Cassie and the boys. He examined each of Hermes's hooves in turn, applying a hoof pick when needed, and then stepped away from the horse and out of the stall, closing the door behind him.

He signaled with a finger to his lips for the boys to remain silent. Then he led them out of the stables. Outside in the sun, the boys immediately fell into a shoving match. Until Cassie cried, "Stop."

"Lady C," began Joe. "Do you speak Dick's sign language?"

"A very little," she said.

"I'm learning," said Ben.

"A fat lot you know," said Tim.

"Wot we want to know, Lady C," said Joe, "is, can that 'orse run? Can 'ermes run? Is 'e fast? 'e looks fast."

"We think," said Ben, "that Dick knows."

Cassie turned to Dick, and made the sign that she knew meant question . She both spoke the question, and pantomimed with her fingers the motion of running.

Dick appeared to comprehend instantly, and nodded vigorously. He signed for the boys, and let them mimic his gestures. From the pocket of his leather apron, he drew a pad and a pencil. He wrote, Snell runs Hermes in his pasture. No saddle. No rider.

Cassie borrowed Dick's pad and pencil and wrote. " Does my grandmother know? "

Dick nodded.

Cassie shook her head. She wondered at the concealment. Here was Grandmama forbidding Cassie to go near the horse, but secretly allowing Hermes to run. It made no sense, but her grandmother answered to no one. She could do what she liked with her horses. Still Cassie resolved to speak to her grandmother. To the boys, Cassie said, "Hermes can run, and if you get on Mr. Snell's good side, you can probably watch him."

"Mr. Snell doesn't like us," said Joe.

"'e sez we cause trouble," added Ben. "But we only come on account of Mr. K."

Joe and Tim turned on Ben and offered him a flurry of whacks with their caps.

After the blows and Ben's yelps subsided Cassie asked, "Mr. K?"

His companions glared at Ben.

"It's only the stable boys that don't like us, Lady C," said Tim. "They sez we want to take their jobs and we have no place 'ere. It's war between us and 'em." He punched the air with his fist.

"Oh dear," said Cassie. "A stable is no place for a war. I think you need to tell me what Mr. K has to do with it."

The boys' expressions turned sheepish.

Cassie held up her basket. "I have sandwiches. Mr. K is Mr. Kydd?"

"'e is, Lady C," Joe admitted. "Gave us each a bob to spy for 'im."

"Spy?"

"'e wants us to find out if 'ermes can run. Mr. K said 'e'd give us more when 'e comes back if we see the 'orse run."

"Ah," said Cassie. "And do you know when he will return?"

The boys looked at each other, and shrugged.

Cassie refused to be uneasy about Mr. Kydd's return. She would simply tell Sir Adrian and Mr. Kydd about Bluebell and be done with it. Another thought occurred. Maybe the boys could spy for her and warn her when the two gentlemen returned. In the meantime she would see for herself how Hermes was doing and tell her grandmother that she, Cassie, was ready to ride again.

She squared her shoulders. "Shall we go eat and talk about how to end this war and how you can earn that bob?"

*

On the morning after his return from London, common courtesy required that Raven call upon the ladies of the dower house. His young messengers were hanging about to see Jay Kydd, so Raven sent Joe to ask when the ladies might be available to receive him. Joe returned promptly with the reply that Lady C was on her way to pay him a call. Raven left the boys waiting for Kydd to finish a hearty country breakfast, and set out to meet his landlady in the lane.

Verwood was lovelier than he remembered. The trees in leaf overhead changed the quality of light, and scents he couldn't name filled the air. When he reached the lane that branched off the carriage drive, he saw Lady Cassandra coming toward him with her characteristic lurching stride. He had counted on his stay in London to obscure the strong impression she'd made on his senses, but seeing her brought back the press of her hand in his and her steadiness when the Montford boys were in trouble. She was altered, too. A deep blue riding habit clung to her light figure.

Coming up to him, she halted. "How was your trip?"

"I didn't know you rode." He spoke the thing that was on his mind.

One of her dark brows quirked quizzically upward. "I've just returned to it after… some time. You must have heard someone speak of the accident ."

"Only that there was an accident. Were you thrown?"

"No, though perhaps I deserved to be for riding a young horse so hard and so far."

"I cannot imagine you careless of a horse."

"It is good of you to think well of me, but in this case, I don't deserve your admiration." Her frank gaze didn't falter. "Will you walk with me? I am headed for the stables, and wanted a private word with you."

"A private word?" he said. "Intriguing, but first, will you tell me about the accident?"

"I think I must," she said.

"Only if you want to. I would rather hear of it from you than from your neighbors."

She sent him a wry glance. "Yes. I think it is better to hear things directly from those involved rather than secondhand, don't you?"

He nodded.

"Very well, then. It was dark and late, and Hermes and I were tired from a long, cross-country run. He was a bit lame, and I was leading him along the road. We were nearly home when a carriage came around a corner fast. Its lanterns flashed in Hermes's eyes. He reared and came down hard on my foot. When I reached for his lead, his head hit mine, and I was knocked into the ditch. I must have fainted. He stayed with me until Snell found me in the morning." She gave a dismissive little shrug. "Old history."

It was his turn to offer a wry smile. "I'm guessing that your physician's attention was directed at the head injury."

"It was. My foot had swollen in the boot, and when they cut away the leather to examine the break, it was decided to wait for the swelling to subside. Then the bones fused."

It did not surprise him that she spoke in her usual matter-of-fact way. He was curious about the foot whether anything had been tried to repair it, but he sensed that her revelations were at an end. They walked on toward the stable courtyard where he was used to waiting for the dowager's permission to enter.

He had first learned to recognize steadiness under fire as a boy in Wenlocke's gang, and he'd come to value it more as he worked with firefighting crews in London. Lady Cassandra's steadiness had impressed him from the beginning of their acquaintance. Seeing the Montford boys on the crumbling wall, he had reached for her hand instinctively, sensing that she would be of more assistance than the distraught father or the scolding neighbor.

They reached the stable courtyard and halted. "Thank you for telling me."

She nodded. "You've got me off track. I came to meet you in the lane to tell you something quite different."

"I'm listening."

"I have a confession to make." For once, she did not meet his gaze.

"You? A confession?" It was the last thing he expected from her.

"Yes. Before you left for London, before… the ceiling fell, I met your friend Mr. Kydd."

Raven stiffened and hardly knew why. Jay had not mentioned meeting Lady Cassandra, but why should he? Raven was conscious of an instant surge of male jealousy, to which he was not entitled. He had no claim on her. She was merely his landlady, one of them, at any rate. He could not claim to have discovered her, this unusual woman hidden away on an obscure estate who fit her surroundings so perfectly.

"There's more," she said. "I didn't give him my name. I let him call me Bluebell and encouraged him to think I was a girl from the village."

She was Jay's village girl. The one Jay enjoyed flirting with. "You met him more than once?"

"Twice," she said. "I meant to tell you on the day of the picnic, but we were occupied with other concerns."

"Was there something between you and Kydd that you felt you needed to confess ?" He used her word.

"Not at all. Your friend is a flirt and a tease, but I doubt his heart can be won by any two-legged creature, least of all one like me. Of course, I owe him an apology for the deception. I believed he would change his manner to me if he knew my true name, or perhaps he wouldn't talk to me at all."

Raven thought she had an odd opinion of herself not to recognize the nature of Jay Kydd's attentions to her. "He didn't offer you any insult, did he?"

"Never. But I must tell you—"

"What?" He spoke too quickly, too sharply.

She gave him a puzzled look. "He told me that you were, are, Raven . And," she said, "I confess, I think the name suits you. Is that impertinent of me?"

She stunned him. Whatever name he'd had as a boy before Wenlocke called him Raven was lost along with the memories of that dark time that only haunted him in dreams. Raven was the name that had given him courage and friends. Yet his grandfather never used the name, and Raven himself had not told it to Amabel. The name was a part of his old self that he put aside in his new life as a gentleman until Lady Cassandra spoke it and brought it into the present. She had some quality that his grandfather and Amabel lacked. Raven could not name it, but it was there in her defense of Dick Crockett and in her defense of ravens at the picnic. She had called them clever, cheeky birds. She saw in the name the courage it was meant to inspire.

The clop of hooves and the sound of boys' voices brought him back to the present. "So, you knew. That day you knew?"

"Yes, I hope there will be no awkwardness between us."

"That's why you told me about the accident, isn't it?"

"I admit that I was inclined to think Mr. Kydd's tales of your youthful exploits on the rooftops of London were fanciful, until I saw you climb that ruin."

"You still think I am an acceptable tenant for Verwood?" He had seen nothing in her manner to indicate that his old name had changed her opinion of him, but he had to ask.

"Oh," she said with a grin, "a most acceptable tenant. You pay the rent."

He laughed. She was not a woman to inflate a man's sense of himself, but there was something in her calm acceptance of imperfections that he liked.

"Anyway," she said. "I will disabuse Mr. Kydd of the notion that I am Bluebell. So you need not fear that he will make further disclosures of your misspent youth. Did you know that he employed your messengers to spy on Hermes while you were away?"

"That does not surprise me. Jay has been horse-mad as long as I've known him."

"I hope you won't mind if I encourage him to nudge Grandmama to train Hermes."

"Ah," he said. "You do mean to be rid of me as a tenant."

She gave him a questioning look. "What makes you think that?"

"If Hermes wins prizes and your grandmother reopens her stud, you won't need to lease the hall."

"First," she said. "Hermes has to be willing to accept a rider. He's had a long stretch of freedom."

"Wait," he said. "Is that why you've donned a habit? You're not seriously considering riding him, are you?"

Her expression changed to one of gentle sorrow. "I'm not the rider for Hermes, but I will sit on his back today and show him that he's not to blame for any… of this, of the changes here. He is young and strong, and perhaps Mr. Kydd will know someone to ride him as he deserves to be ridden."

"Of course," he said. It made sense that she would turn to Jay Kydd for advice about a horse. Jay would be helpful and knowing. Raven just wished his friend were not so charming.

*

"Bluebell!"

At the cry, Cassie turned. Jay Kydd strode toward them, his face darkened by a frown.

"What's this, Raven? You've turned poacher on me. I thought the only rule was to stay away from earls' daughters." Kydd turned his glare on Cassie.

"Mr. Kydd, I beg your pardon," Cassie said. "I owe you an explanation."

"Who are you then?" Kydd demanded.

"Jay, may I present Lady Cassandra Lavenham," said Raven.

"You're Her Grace's granddaughter?" Kydd stiffened, and his expression changed from wrath to chagrin. He gave Cassie a brief, formal bow. "Well, my lady, I guess the joke is on me."

"Mr. Kydd," said Cassie, extending her hand. "I apologize for the deception. You were never meant to be the object of a joke. I thought only that you might not speak to me if you believed I was a person of… rank."

"Like your grandmother?" He cocked a brow at her. His gaze took in her blue riding habit, which, she had to admit, was just what Grandmama would wear.

"Yes, but you will forgive me." He still hadn't taken her hand, but she refused to bend.

"Will I?"

"Yes. Because I'm going to take you to see Hermes run and help you talk Grandmama round to letting him race."

The play of expressions on Kydd's face was comical, offended male pride warring with his mad love of horses.

At last, he shook her hand, and his grin broke through. "You do know how to get around a man. What am I to call you then?"

The three messenger boys surrounded Kydd, tugging at his coat. "We calls 'er Lady C," announced Joe. "And you owe us a bob each."

"Lady C it is, then," said Kydd. He dug in his pocket and produced a jingle of coins, dropping one in each of the boys' outstretched hands. "Let's see that horse."

*

Delayed by the conversation with Raven and Jay Kydd, Cassie and the little crowd she'd gathered moved into the stable. Days earlier, Cassie had told her grandmother her intention to ride. Things had to change even if Cassie must endure the perpetual frost of Grandmama's displeasure. This morning Cassie meant to make a beginning. She hadn't counted on a full escort. Only Raven would miss the event. With his characteristic change from warmth to cool distance, he had bowed and taken himself off. It was Dick Crockett who opened the stall and went to stand at Hermes's head. The boys settled on the stable floor, and Cassie stood next to Dick, talking to the horse, watching his ears and tail. Jay Kydd offered Hermes a sniff of Cassie's old tack, letting the horse catch the scent of her on the old bridle and saddle. Then, with quick, light hands, he put them on the horse.

"You'll take me for a ride won't you, boy?" she asked the horse. Hermes, she thought, must wonder at the crowd he'd drawn to his stall, but he seemed to take their attention in stride. The plan was for Cassie to take a short ride around Grandmama's largest paddock. It was laughable really to make such a production of the thing. Before her accident, Cassie would have slipped away on her own without even a groom and ridden across miles of open countryside. Today, after Hermes's jaunt around the paddock, he would be free to run in his usual pasture.

At a nod from Kydd, Cassie and Dick stepped away, and Kydd led Hermes from his stall.

Their small party trooped out to the stable courtyard, where, as luck would have it, they met the dowager returning from her morning ride on Arabella, her favorite bay mare. Mr. Snell was with her on Mercury, a chestnut gelding, another of her grandmother's favorites. The horses whinnied and danced, and two other grooms rushed forward to help settle the animals. The dowager dismounted without assistance, and faced Cassie and Mr. Kydd. She gave Dick Crockett a quick sharp glance that questioned his loyalty.

"What's this?" she demanded. "An invasion?"

"Grandmama, I believe you've met Mr. Kydd and know Kydd Brothers, his family's firm in London."

"Your grace." Kydd bowed.

"Don't your grace me, young man. I won't have you telling me how to run my stables no matter how many horses your uncle sells in London."

"Never ma'am," said Mr. Kydd.

"So, what are you about then?" The dowager fixed her sternest glare on him.

"I hear, ma'am, that there's a July meeting at Chichester."

"Grandmama," Cassie intervened, "I'm going to ride Hermes around his paddock. No galloping, no jumping. I merely want him to know that he is not to blame for the past." She lifted her chin. She should be afraid, but she wasn't. "It is time to put the accident behind us for me and for Hermes."

"And you need this scurvy lot around you for courage, do you?"

"These are Hermes's staunchest admirers, who only want to see him run, as he was meant to run. He has been running, hasn't he, Grandmama, in secret, under Mr. Snell's watchful eye?"

Mr. Snell looked away.

"Mere exercise to keep him sound and strong. No horse of mine will grow fat and lazy."

Cassie wanted to tell Grandmama what a fraud she was. "And if Hermes has kept sound and strong, will you let him race?"

"Hah! You have no idea of the work required to bring a horse to the field. By July? You're dreaming, girl." Her grandmother glared at her.

"It's work you know well, Grandmama, and you have those who are willing to help, and if we start now…"

"That horse hasn't carried a rider in three years."

"But he will today." Cassie refused to bend.

"Very well. See that you don't break another limb." Her grandmother turned away and strode into the stable. Snell followed with the two grooms leading the other horses.

Cassie drew a deep breath.

"Still game?" Kydd asked her.

"Still game," she replied, and turned toward the paddock. The boys dashed ahead and scrambled up onto the fence. Dick Crockett opened the gate. Kydd led Hermes inside. He stepped high and tossed his head, but under Kydd's influence, he stood at the mounting block.

"How do you want to do this?" Kydd asked.

"I don't know," she said with a laugh, suddenly conscious that when she put her damaged foot in Kydd's linked hands, the uncooperative foot was likely to crumple.

Kydd stepped back and studied the situation for a moment. He signaled to Dick Crockett, who stepped up to hold Hermes's head and keep him calm.

"Here's what we'll do. Take hold of the high pommel, and keep one hand on my right shoulder. Ready?"

Cassie did as he suggested, putting her foot in his hands, taking hold of the sidesaddle's pommel. Kydd's shoulder was solid and steady under her other hand. He lifted his linked palms, while she pushed against his shoulder, and then she was in the saddle on Hermes's back, her knees around the two pommels, her back straight, her body centered on the horse. Hermes took a few dancing steps to the right and then settled, alert, waiting for her command. She stroked his neck. The boys whistled and hooted.

For a moment she simply enjoyed the familiar symmetry of being aligned with a horse and the sense of Hermes's power and sure-footedness under her. She gave him the command to walk on, and he began to circle the paddock. She and Hermes moved as one. Her body stayed straight in the saddle without the listing jolt of her walk, and hot tears stung her eyes. It was daft to feel so happy. She dashed away the stupid tears, and patted Hermes's neck. He was as perfectly behaved as she'd thought he'd be. When they reached the far end of the paddock and turned back toward the little crowd watching them, Cassie thought she saw the blue of her grandmother's habit disappear into the stable. Cassie shortened the reins, leaned forward, and gave Hermes the command to trot. He moved smoothly into the jaunty, faster gait that lifted her in the saddle. Once again they made a circuit of the paddock, showing off a little, rider and horse in unison, until she brought Hermes to a halt before his admirers. Dick was the first to touch the horse and let him know he'd done well.

Jay Kydd grinned up at her. "I forgive you everything, Bluebell," he said.