Tessa's Touch (3 page)

He patted her hand. "You're a good girl,
Tessa."

"I hope those gentlemen did not tire you
too much, Papa."

"No, no, I quite enjoyed it," he
said. "We should have callers more often."

Tessa smiled, but did not agree. "Now, I'm
sure you'd like to return to your memoirs," she suggested.

"Oh. Of course. Of course." Turning
to the nearest stack of papers, he began to rummage through them, his eyes
already reverting to their usual vagueness.

* *
*

"Sir George seems an upright enough
fellow, for all he can't stand upright," Sir Charles said as they rode away
from the Seaton estate.

"You should be smacked for that remark,
Stormy," Thor declared with shake of his head. "Still, I have to
agree. Seaton himself seems an honest sort. That trainer of his, however . .
."

Anthony nodded. "I thought the same. Young
Mr. Emery seemed overly defensive. So, what did you three discover at the
stables?"

"Not a great deal," Rush admitted,
"for the moment the fellow spotted us, he insisted we accompany him up to
the house. When we reached the paddock, he was exercising a big bay—a pretty
beast, I must say— while a few lads looked on. I'd wager that horse will fetch
a pretty penny once it's properly broken."

"Yes, they do have some exceptional
animals there, from what I could see," Thor agreed. "Of course, the
Seaton stables used to be famous, so it's likely they still have some of the
original bloodlines."

Anthony recalled that his Great-uncle Alden had
mentioned the Seaton stock once, before Anthony had gone into the Army. He'd
completely forgotten it until now. "I wonder why we've heard so little
about them in recent years?"

Thor shrugged. "I think the old trainer
died a few years back. My guess is this new fellow isn't up to the same
standard. Takes more than breeding to make a great hunter, after all."

They all murmured agreement.

"Well, it appears our little mystery is
solved, then," Rush said. "I doubt, after today, that the Emerys will
attempt to impose on any other greenlings —if, indeed, that's what they did.
What say you all to dinner at the Swan tonight?"

* *
*

"What did you tell that lordling that
brought him running with his high-and-mighty friends and their
accusations?" Mercer Emery demanded the moment they were out of the house.

Tessa stared at her uncle. "I didn't tell
him a thing. Why should you assume I did?"

"Harold said you mentioned seeing him with
Zephyr."

She hadn't exactly told her cousin that, but as
it was true, she didn't deny it. "I merely helped him last night when
Zephyr bolted. I didn't so much as give him my name, as I was in breeches at
the time. Thank goodness he didn't see fit to mention that to Papa just
now."

Harold snorted. "You must have said
something, else why would he have come here the very next day?"

"He obviously asked Mr. Ballard where he
bought the horse," she replied calmly. "I told you it was a bad idea
to sell horses before they're properly trained."

"You know nothing of it. The gentlemen at
those clubs auction off their mounts to the highest bidder after every hunt,
and no one worries whether that day's ride was typical of the horse or not.
Right, Father?"

Uncle Mercer nodded. "Your own father will
say the same."

Tessa frowned. "That seems remarkably
foolish. Most are educated gentlemen, are they not? Hunting is scarcely a poor
man's sport."

Uncle Mercer gave a bark of laughter. "A
rich man can be as foolish as a poor one when he's drunk enough. These young
bloods have the money to spare, don't you worry. Look how your Lord Anthony
bought Zephyr off Mr. Ballard simply as a favor to a friend."

Now she thought of it, Tessa realized that was
rather noble of Lord Anthony —or at least kind —but she knew better than to say
so. Her uncle and cousin had always regarded anything that went against one's
own self-interest as foolish. She'd argued that viewpoint with them in the
past, to no avail.

"Speaking of those fine gentlemen,"
her uncle continued now, "I believe they will be our answer to convincing
your father to let you ride Nimbus on Monday. It's clear from what he said just
now that he'd like to bring you to their notice, and what better way than at
the hunt?"

"But I thought—" Harold began, but
his father silenced him with a quick shake of his head.

Though her heart skittered with excitement at
the thought, Tessa said, "Really, Uncle, it just isn't done these days.
Proper ladies never ride to the hunt."

"Ah, but Sir George lives in the past, and
in the days of his youth it was not so uncommon. It's how he came to notice
your mother, you know."

Tessa nodded, for she'd heard her father tell
the story many times. "I can't imagine he'll let me do the same— though I
do think it would be splendid if we could somehow revive the custom of women
riding to the hunt."

They reached the stables then, and Harold
signaled one of the stablehands to bring Nimbus out. The man looked nervous,
and with reason, for when he reappeared a few minutes later, it was clear the
horse was in even worse temper than usual.

"Having them strangers and their horses
down here a bit ago has set him in a rare fury, sir," he told them as he
and another man led Nimbus into the paddock.

His words were superfluous, for the horse was
bucking against the lead, his ears laid flat against his skull and his lips
pulled back to reveal enormous teeth. As they watched, Nimbus swung his head
down and around to snap at the man on the right, who danced out of the way only
just in time. The horse gave a half-scream of frustration and tried to rear,
but was prevented by the curb bit in his mouth and the martingale, which kept
his head down.

With a sigh, Tessa stepped forward. "Here,
give me the lead," she told the first man.

"Are you sure, miss? Even you may have
trouble with him today. I've never seen him in such a temper."

"I'll be careful," she said, reaching
out her hand for the lead. The man relinquished it and quickly stepped out of
reach of Nimbus's hooves. Harold and Uncle Mercer, she noted cynically, stayed
well back, on the other side of the gate. Just as well, since the two men
tended to bring out the worst in the horses. Amazing that they shared her
mother's blood.

"Now then, Nimbus, what seems to be the
trouble today?" Tessa asked in the soothing lilt she reserved for problem
horses.

As Zephyr had done the night before, Nimbus
calmed noticeably. His sides still heaved and his eyes rolled, but he no longer
bared his teeth or tried to kick. Tessa moved forward to place her palm against
his neck. At the contact he gave a long shudder, then a sigh. Gradually, his
breathing slowed and his eyes returned to normal, the whites no longer showing.

Though she'd been able to do this for nearly as
long as she could remember, Tessa never took her gift for granted, realizing
anew each time that this was a sort of miracle she'd been equipped to perform.
She was glad of it now, for clearly Nimbus was much happier than he'd been two
minutes earlier.

"Would you like to use some of that
pent-up energy in a ride?" she asked the horse then. "Billy, bring my
sidesaddle, won't you?"

The younger man complied, but still looked
visibly nervous as he approached the beast that had been so furious just a few
minutes before.

"Don't worry. He won't hurt you,"
Tessa assured him.

Nor did he. Tessa continued to stroke Nimbus's
neck and Billy was able to put pad and saddle on the horse and even get beneath
him to tighten the girth. Nimbus sidestepped a bit in protest but did not try
to bite or kick.

"Thank you, Billy," she said when he
was finished. "Now, Nimbus." She led the horse to the mounting block
and jumped lightly into the saddle. Taking a moment to arrange her feet and
skirts, she gave the lightest flick with the reins and Nimbus obediently began
walking. Another flick and he broke into a trot, then a smooth canter.

Tilting her face up to the wind, Tessa laughed,
feeling herself coming fully alive, as she always did when she rode. Away from
the horses, it seemed she lived but a shadow existence.

"Let's try a little jump, shall we?"
she suggested to the bay, turning him toward the smallest set of rails in the
paddock. Without hesitation, Nimbus sailed over the jump, so she set him at the
next, which he again cleared without protest. After three more successively
higher jumps, she cantered him twice more around the paddock, then gradually
slowed him before returning to the gate.

Her uncle and cousin seemed to be arguing as
she approached. "—ain't natural," Harold was saying. "I'm still
willing, but—" His father jerked his head Tessa's way and he broke off.

"Looks to me like you won't have any
trouble at all with him on Monday," her uncle said when she reached them.

"That may be," she said, "but
you saw what he was like before. At a meet, there will be dozens of strange
horses as well as men to set him off. Suppose he hurts someone?"

Harold spat. "He just needs a firm hand.
Don't you, Nimbus?" He reached for the horse's bridle. Nimbus's ears
started to go back, but at Tessa's reassuring whisper, they righted themselves
and he allowed the trainer to approach.

"Gentleness will do more good than your
version of firmness, Harold," Tessa said as she dismounted. Nimbus was
bound to behave better away from Harold's inept methods. Her thoughts went back
to last night and Zephyr's near-catastrophe on the road. But he'd calmed
quickly enough, she reminded herself, and hadn't actually hurt himself or Lord
Anthony. She pushed the memory aside.

"Who's the trainer, then, me or you?"
Harold asked, as he so often did when she offered advice. "Don't forget
that my grandfather was one of the best horse trainers ever."

That much was true. Tessa refrained from
mentioning that Staunton Emery had been her grandfather as well. "Yes,
Harold, I know," she said placatingly.

Long experience told her that to antagonize her
cousin was to risk him complaining to Papa— which too often meant further
curtailing of her time with the horses. She had far less of that already than
she'd like, a mere hour or two a day.

"I'd better get back to the house."
Already she felt the shadows closing in as she turned away from the stables,
away from her one real source of happiness. She paused and looked back.
"Uncle Mercer, I will ride in the hunt, if we can convince Papa."

Her uncle nodded, a gleam in his eyes, and
Tessa continued up the hill, pushing away her misgivings. If nothing else, such
a plan would give her far more time with the horses —and that was worth almost
anything.

* *
*

"Come along, Stormy," Anthony called
from atop Cinder, his covert hack. "The meet begins in half an hour and
none of us want to bring up the rear, you know."

Sir Charles emerged from the stable on his own
bay hack. "Sorry, sorry. Stirrups needed adjusting. First meet of the
season and all that."

"Never mind your excuses," Rush said.
"Let's head out. We've at least a ten minute ride ahead of us."

A dozen members of the Odd Sock Club set their
mounts at a brisk trot toward Quorndon Hall, spirits high in the brisk early
November air. Anthony was almost bursting with eagerness to hunt again. Cub
hunting and aimless gallops through the countryside weren't the same.
This
was what life was all about, in his view.

That his comrades shared his enthusiasm was
clear from the rapid-fire chatter and bursts of song along the way. Soon they
could hear the assembling Quorn: the babel of male voices, the whinnying of
excited horses and, over all, the high-pitched whines and yips of the hounds,
as eager as the huntsmen to begin the chase. Rounding the corner into the yard,
the familiar throng of red coats and tophats greeted them.

"What ho, Smith," Anthony greeted the
Master of the Quorn. "How look the hounds this year?"

Thomas Assheton Smith, in his eleventh season as
Master, grinned. "Better than ever, Lord Anthony. They'll give us a good
run, whatever the fox does. And we've three good coverts marked."

Thor and Rush rode up to discuss some of the
finer points with Smith and one of his whippers-in. Thor, in particular, was
keen on breeding hounds himself and always wanted to be up on the latest
pairings and the pups they'd produced.

Anthony listened for a few minutes, then rode
over to check on his hunter, Faro, which he'd mount once they reached the first
covert. It was an unnecessary complication, he thought, for a good hunter like
Faro wasn't likely to be tired by the short ride to the stand of trees or brush
where a fox was likely to be found. However, it had become the custom in recent
years to ride one horse to covert and another in the hunt itself. Cinder and
Faro were both exceptional beasts, so Anthony had no real quibble with the
practice.