Chapter Seven

T he Crown's private dining room now served as Raven's temporary office. There, his lifelong friend Jay Kydd pushed back from a hearty luncheon and raised a mug of the landlord's home-brewed. "You've done well, Rav."

Raven raised a glass in return. Now that the ladies had removed to the dower house, he had invited Jay down from London to help with the business of getting Raven's horses settled in Verwood's stables.

As boys in the duke's gang, they had been a matched pair, similar in size and dark coloring until at seventeen Raven shot up to his present height, while Jay remained short and wiry. Then the duke's discoveries about their parentage had further separated them. Raven had gone to his wealthy ironmonger grandfather while Jay had gone to an uncle who was a partner in a horse auction house in the East End. Jay had jumped at the chance to learn his family's trade. He had to be around horses, and he liked the company of jockeys and touts, trainers and breeders.

Jay drained his pint and set down the mug. "What I don't understand is why you want to bury yourself in the country and leave London's ladies pining. I'll grant you Verwood is a pretty piece of land."

"You saw the stables?"

"Aye, and met your lady landlord. Her Grace is a haughty piece of work. Good thing you saved Dick Crockett's bacon."

"You heard about that?"

Jay counted on his fingers. "From our host Higgins, from Mrs. Crockett, from Her Grace's head groom, from the lowliest stable boy. Saving Westminster Hall from the inferno was a mere nothing. Standing up for the best farrier in Wormley, now that makes you everybody's hero."

Raven laughed. "Stop."

"Crockett's well worth saving. I've seen the lad at work. He's got the touch. Calms his animals down. They trust him."

"What do you think then? Can I move my horses to Verwood without causing trouble among Her Grace's animals?" If anyone knew how to keep horses steady around new neighbors, it was Jay.

Jay turned serious. "I'd say bring your carriage horses in first, unless you need a hack. My uncle can get you one that won't embarrass you with the duchess or make trouble with her animals."

"I'll take you up on that offer when I'm settled. For now, I'm riding Apollo from the inn. He's well-known at Verwood and approved."

"When do you move to the hall?"

"Within the week."

"I thought you said it needed work."

"It does, but there are a few decent rooms." Raven knew the history of the hall now. When the old duke died and most of the unentailed lands were sold to pay death taxes, Verwood's rents disappeared. Furthermore, the duchess kept much of her land in pasture for her horses. The three ladies had only their portions to keep the hall going, and the estate soaked up money like a sponge.

"Sounds mad to me. You already repaired the dower house for your lady landlord, and now as a tenant you're going to drop more of your blunt into the hall? What's this all about?"

Raven took a drink of ale. He could not hold in a grin. "A man needs a house if he's to marry."

"Marry?" Jay shuddered. "You've done the bended knee thing?"

"Not yet. Verwood's the proper setting for a proposal I think."

"Nothing shabby for you, mate."

The duke's lost boys had been taught to speak like the duke himself, but Jay preferred the cant of the horse world. He was a charmer with the sort of woman who liked a handsome face and a bit of swagger. He sported a dotted blue handkerchief instead of a silk tie, and top boots instead of Hessians, and a tweed riding coat. Raven supposed that if they'd remained the same in any way, it was in energy. Jay was as quick and as impatient as ever.

Now Jay leaned his elbows on the table. "So who is this damsel that's got you blowing a fortune on an ancient pile in the middle of nowhere?"

Raven shook his head. "When she says yes , I'll tell you who she is. I can't have you cutting me out."

Jay shot him a shrewd glance. "She's a lady, then?"

"An earl's daughter," Raven admitted.

"Glad to hear it. That leaves the village girls for me. Tell me I'm free to charm all the pretty ones."

Raven laughed. "As long as you don't break any hearts. Remember, Verwood is going to be my home."

Jay shook his head. "I'll wager you a pony that you'll be back in London by Michaelmas."

Raven whistled. "I won't be if you get my horses settled without offending Her Grace."

Jay tossed his napkin on the table and stood. "Afraid to take the bet?"

"Not at all. You're on for a pony."

"I'll stay the week. More if you need me," Jay assured him. "There's a little mystery I'd like to clear up."

"Mystery?"

"Well, I'd like to know why the duchess quit running a profitable stud."

"Ah," said Raven. "I've wondered that, too. Crockett told me that three, maybe four years ago, her grace had a promising horse."

Jay nodded. "My uncle said as much. My hunch is that whatever caused Her Grace to shut the stud down has to do with one fellow. He's the one that might cause trouble when you bring in your cattle. A bay with black points and an irregular star, almost a crescent, on his forehead. He's called Hermes. Something happened to make him difficult."

*

Outside Cassie's window, a rabbit sat on a mound of red earth nibbling new grass. Everyone, including the rabbit, was occupied except Cassie herself. Grandmama was with her horses, preparing the stables for the arrival of Sir Adrian's cattle. Honoria was writing. Only Cassie was idle. For more than two years, she had simply turned her mind to whatever next thing required doing to keep Verwood going. Now Verwood's books were in order. With the bills owing paid, she had nothing to dread from the arrival of another quarter day. Sir Adrian had firmly grasped the reins of the hall's upkeep. She was free.

To do what? she asked herself. Find a husband was the obvious answer. Husband hunting was the task of the gently bred maiden who wished to secure a respectable future for herself. But Cassie had tried and failed spectacularly in her one Season. She did not know if she could love another gentleman. The impression Oliver Torrington had made on her mind and heart had been a strong one.

She had for a time been intoxicated by his regard. In a crowded room, his gaze found her at once. He abandoned other companions with scant courtesy to reach her side. No evening ended without his seeking her for a last dance, or if they had crossed the bounds of an acceptable number of dances, he simply stood with her through the final set. If they parted at two, he met her at dawn for dashing rides in the park.

When his attentions ended, London seemed empty and life, flat. For two weeks, invitations still came, and she went through the motions of going to routs and suppers, boating parties and plays. He was nowhere to be seen, and no one else sought her company. She discovered that she had made few acquaintances outside of Torrington. Letters to him went unanswered. Then he returned. Wed!

She learned that his marriage had been expected by all who knew him. The attentions that she thought she had inspired now belonged to his glittering golden bride. The same way of turning to speak in the girl's ear, the same way of ignoring others to focus on her, the same way of laughing at something she said. The shock of it momentarily overcame all sense of propriety and decorum. Cassie simply marched up to him and called his name, and when he turned to her as if to a complete stranger, she slapped him, the way a man would slap another man for an insult. Her slap rocked him back on his heels. He gathered himself, looked through her, and turned back to his trembling bride. From that moment, everywhere she went, the notice of others was like a mirror in which she saw herself freakish and ugly. She could neither eat nor sleep. In a week, she and Honoria left London.

Recalling the debacle even now filled her with mortification. But she had fought back. She had discovered her capacity for endurance. Activity had been part of the cure, and it was only this unexpected idleness that lowered her spirits. The best thing to do was to get busy. She would write a note to her mother's cousins to inquire whether they could receive Cassie and Honoria in Brunswick Square in September. London was vast. She need not return to scenes of her former humiliation. A walk to the village to post her letter would dissipate the last of the dismals. She would be herself again in no time.

*

A conversation with Pindock about procuring an additional wardrobe for the duchess's riding habits caused an unanticipated delay in Cassie's plan to walk to the village. She would have to hurry not to miss the post. She tied the blue ribbons on an old straw bonnet she liked to wear for berry picking, tucked her letter in a basket, and set off through the woods for Wormley.

At once she felt her mind ease. The hawthorns were white with blossoms. Buttercups and blue speedwell bloomed underfoot, pushing up through the dead leaves of the old year. She had no trouble walking, and only stopped at the two-step stile where the public path crossed a strip of Ramsbury land. There, as she gathered up her skirts, the boot on her lame foot sank in a few inches of mud. She tugged, but the mud refused to let go. She set her basket on the lower step of the stile, hitched up her skirts farther, and gripped the fence rail to pull.

"May I help you, miss?" a low male voice asked.

Cassie looked around. Behind her on the path stood a jaunty stranger, his tan beaver hat at an angle on glossy black curls. He wore a flashy checked waistcoat under a brown tweed coat, top boots that had somehow avoided the mud, and pristine buff breeches.

As awkward as it was to be caught with her skirts around her knees, it would be silly to refuse his aid. "Yes, thank you."

He sidestepped the mud, picked up her basket, and leapt to the first step of the stile. Setting her basket on the upper step, he gave her a cheeky grin. "Ready?"

"What is your plan?" She distrusted that grin.

He leaned down. "Put your arms around my neck."

She shook her head.

"Really," he said. "If you're going to be missish, I'll have to leave you stuck in the mud."

"I don't know you," she said.

"Well, I don't know you. You're not an earl's daughter, are you?"

"No."

He grinned at that. "Good. Shall we have a get-acquainted chat while you decide whether to accept my help? Care to tell me your name?"

"I do not."

"I'll have to choose one for you then. Are you an Artemis? An Arabella? A Clover? A Dandelion? A Thistle?"

She shook her head, but couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "I'm not a horse."

"Sorry, an occupational hazard of mine. What about a flower? I have to call you something. What about ‘Bluebell' for those ribbons?"

"Who are you?" she asked. His speech and dress were at odds, a mix of flash and polish. She had no idea how he fit in the social order.

"I'm the fellow who's going to pull you out of the mud, if you let me."

"Very well then." Cassie gritted her teeth and put her arms around his neck. His cologne was as flashy as his waistcoat.

He closed his hands around her waist with a strong grip and straightened. Cassie felt herself lifted through the air and set on the lower step of the stile. She grimaced at the twinge in her foot from the pull against the mud.

"What?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," she said. He was a few inches taller than Cassie, and face-to-face, he regarded her with a frank male interest she had forgotten existed.

"Tell me, Bluebell," he said, "are you off to an assignation with your best beau?"

"You, sir, are impertinent."

He cocked one black brow.

"If you must know, I'm off to put a letter in the post, and I must be on my way."

"You're certain there's no waiting beau. That's a fetching blue ribbon on your hat and you've worn your best frock."

He was quite the flatterer to think she wore her best gown. "You are an authority on female vanity, are you?"

"I have eyes," he said. He offered her a hand and swung a leg over the stile to the other side.

Cassie took his hand and allowed him to help her over the fence. When she stepped down on the other side, she shook off his hold. Her skirts remained hitched up, and she was eager to lower them as soon as the gentleman left her, if he was a gentleman.

A quick glance at her muddy boot reminded her of the cost of modesty. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr.…?"

"Wait," he said. "Let me get a branch to wipe that boot of yours, or you'll have the devil of a time getting the mud off your skirts." He snapped a dry branch from a bush of common broom.

"Stop," Cassie protested. "You've been quite helpful. You may be on your way."

"Independent, are you, Bluebell?" he asked. "I like that. You're sure you're not an earl's daughter."

"If I were, would you go away?" His objection to earl's daughters was oddly specific.

"I'm afraid I'd have to," he said with a rueful smile. "I promised my friend, Raven, no earl's daughters for me."

"Well, I'm not an earl's daughter," she said, "and I'm not Bluebell ."

"I've got to call you something." He dropped into a crouch at her feet, and she felt the branch against her boot. "There," he said, straightening and tossing the branch aside.

Cassie dropped her skirts at once. She didn't know whether she was more annoyed or amused. But she had to admit she was curious about a man who apparently had objections to ladies of rank. "Who are you?"

He pulled a card from a pocket and handed it to her with a bow. "Jay Kydd, Miss…?"

The card read K YDD B ROTHERS H ORSE AND C ARRIAGE R EPOSITORY, H UDSON S QUARE, L ONDON . She had heard the name somewhere recently, and tried to think of the context.

"Bluebell to you," she said. "Thank you again, Mr. Kydd." She offered the card back to him.

"Keep it."

She dropped it in her basket and began to walk toward the village. Naturally, he took no hint from her actions, but fell into step beside her. She really should learn to practice a little of Grandmama's hauteur. Then the context of the name came back to her. Sir Adrian had mentioned a man name Kydd to Grandmama in connection with her stables.

She turned to her companion. "Are you here to… help Sir Adrian?"

"You know him?" He gave her a sharp glance.

"He's the talk of the village," Cassie said.

"He's my best mate, Raven," Mr. Kydd admitted. "Jay and Raven," he explained. "We were boys together in London and in the country. Before… well, before he got that sir of his at any rate."

Now her curiosity was truly piqued, but she kept her gaze on the path. Sir Adrian was merely her tenant. She had no business being curious about him. He paid his rent and abided by their agreement. That was all that mattered.

"Bluebell?" said the man beside her. "Want to hear the story of Jay and Raven?"

"I want to take this letter to the post."

"Listen to me," he coaxed, "and you'll have the edge on all your village friends when the gossip starts."

At that she laughed. Mr. Kydd plainly thought her a village girl to be teased and flirted with. Why not? For the moment she could be Bluebell, not a dead duke's damaged daughter. As Bluebell she could give in to her curiosity. The name Raven intrigued her.

"Very well," she said. "Tell me the story of Raven and Jay."