Читать книгу Dawn In My Heart - Ruth Morren Axtell - Страница 9

T ertius picked Gillian up in his curricle the next afternoon and took her to Tattersall’s at Hyde Park Corner.

A large crowd was congregated around the tall column at the entrance of the brick building.

“Oh, it must be the day of settling racing bets,” Gillian exclaimed. She hadn’t been here since her father had died. He’d taken her along whenever he’d won a race. She looked up the column at the statue of the fox atop it and remembered the excitement of those days.

Tertius commented, “Maybe the crowds will stay out here and give us a chance to look at the horses inside in some modicum of peace.”

He gave the reins to his tiger with instructions to tool around the park for about an hour and handed down Gillian. They walked into the courtyard of the three-story building that boasted the best horse auction in London.

“I should think your father’s stables already contain the best cattle in town,” Gillian said as they eyed the horses being paraded on the stone and gravel walkways in the courtyard.

“He has a fine stable,” he conceded. “So did Edmund.”

“But you want your own animal.” She looked at him in understanding as she petted the neck of a fine bay. He felt gratified that he didn’t have to explain to her. “Here in town Mother lets me take out my small phaeton hitched to a pair of ponies. Occasionally, I ride my mare in the park with my groom.”

“We should have ample opportunity for riding once we leave London,” he promised her.

“Will that be soon…after the…wedding?” Her voice faltered, and he realized the idea of being married to him was still daunting to her.

“Actually, it would be nice to tour some of the estates before the wedding—for the hunting season. You and your mother—and Templeton—” he grinned “—could be my guests.”

She smiled in relief. “That would be delightful. Where are your family’s estates?”

“Oh, the main one is in Hertfordshire—a monstrous thing. There’s another up near Leicester, another down in Dorset and there’s even a very gothic property way up in the West Riding in Yorkshire. I haven’t been there since I was a child. I daresay we shall have to visit them all once we’re married. Who knows when my father has last been to them, except for the family seat in Hertfordshire, of course.”

“Well, I shall enjoy touring them all!” she said, her eyes shining in delight. “May we entertain at each?”

“Entertain away. As long as I have a few good hunting and fishing companions, I can always manage to avoid the rest of the company if they prove too tedious.” As he was speaking, they walked around the animals being walked about the courtyard.

“What do you think of this one?” he asked Gillian of the black horse snorting and pawing the ground.

The groom holding the animal spoke up before giving Gillian a chance to reply. “Oh, he’s a high-spirited fellow, but you’ll get sixteen miles an hour outta ’im once you’ve got ’im well broken in…”

“He’s not broken in?” Gillian asked.

As the groom continued listing the selling points to Gillian, Sky walked around the animal. He bent down and examined his knees and fetlocks, then went to his hindquarters. When he felt the animal’s hock and cannon, the horse fidgeted.

“You take it easy,” the groom spoke to the horse.

Straightening, Sky asked the groom, “Has he ever thrown a splint?”

“Naw, me lord, never!”

Sky touched Gillian on the arm. “Come, let’s see what they have in the stables.”

“But guvner, this one here’s the finest you’ll see today. He’ll be up on the block soon.”

They left the man talking and entered the stalls.

“You didn’t like him?” Gillian asked curiously.

“The groom was lying about him. That horse has clearly had some injury near his hind cannon.”

They ignored the hunters and matched pairs and concentrated on the riding horses. Gillian liked a high-stepping bay mare. Sky kept going back to a gray gelding.

“He’s a beauty,” agreed Gillian, smoothing down his forelock. “Aren’t you?” she asked, directing herself to the horse.

“We’ll see how he performs,” Sky said, watching her fondness for the horse. She had an affinity for animals, and the tenderness in her manner drew him. Her skin was so soft he craved to reach out his forefinger and touch her cheek, but he didn’t know how she would react. Her embarrassment over his mention of their wedding told him she wasn’t ready to face the physical aspects of marriage. It was understandable. She was a young lady, probably as innocent as a babe. He’d have to be patient and initiate her into the ways of a man with a maid gradually.

“Shall we stay for the auction?” he asked.

She turned to him with an eager smile. “Oh, yes. I haven’t been to one since Papa passed away. Will you bid for this one today?”

He shook his head. “Likely not. There’s still time. I just came to look around today.”

“You must have been quite a whip in your London days,” she said in a teasing voice as they continued along the dim, straw-strewn passages of the building.

He smiled. “Yes, I was a member of all the clubs…the Four-in-One, the Jockey, the Whip…Edmund and I would compete against each other. Our favorite pastime was bribing the jarvey of the stage to let us have a go at the reins. We’d start out at the White Horse and ride neck-or-nothing between London and Salt Hill.

“We’d come roaring into the inn, our horses in a lather, all of us caked in mud, our poor rooftop passengers hanging on for dear life. It’s a wonder we didn’t break our necks. Father would be livid when he’d find out. But Edmund would just laugh and tell him it was nothing he hadn’t done himself when he was young, and Father would have to admit the truth of that.” Sky sobered, remembering his brother’s end.

“I never thought it would be a coaching accident that would get my brother.”

“Were you and Edmund close?” she asked softly.

“We were only a year apart.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Not anymore. I hadn’t seen him in over a decade.”

“Why didn’t you come back to London in all those years?”

He shrugged. “There was nothing for me here once my mother passed away.”

Before she could ask him anything more personal, he said instead, “Enough about me. Tell me instead how a young lady would ever have been inside a place like Tattersall’s. I imagined you with the typical upbringing.”

She gave him a saucy smile. “What is that, may I ask?”

“Oh, a French governess until you were about twelve, then off to Miss Something-or-Other’s fine establishment on the outskirts of London. You’d see your parents on the rare occasion until your come-out….”

She laughed. “How did you know? And what about you? Your boyhood, let’s see…” She put her finger up to her lips, pondering. “Eton, then Cambridge, probably sent down a few times.”

“You can’t imagine how many,” he replied dryly. “I probably wouldn’t have graduated if not for a young lad I met in my last year at Eton—a brilliant fellow. Latin declensions rolled off his tongue with the ease of a Roman orator.”

“So, you were a lazy scholar.”

“I never believed in exerting myself over anything until—”

“Until?” she prompted.

He shrugged. “Until I made a bargain with Father. In exchange for his paying off my last gambling debt, I would go out to the Indies and take over a failing plantation. I told him I’d turn it around and make it yield a profit.”

“Did you?” she asked.

“Not at first. It took a few years longer than I’d anticipated.”

They walked back into the sunshine of the stone courtyard in time for the auction. Gillian became wrapped up in the bidding. When the black horse went for a hundred pounds, Sky shook his head and looked at the young buyer in disgust. “He wants a showy mount and doesn’t bother to look further than its appearance.”

After the auction, Sky returned Gillian to her house. Before helping her down from the carriage, he removed the small jeweler’s box from his pocket. “I got you this the other day. I was going to give it to you at the Prince’s fete, but now seems the best time.”

Her eyes widened in delight as she reached for the box he held out to her. “What is it?”

He smiled at her childish enthusiasm. “Why don’t you open it and see? If you don’t like it, you can pick out something yourself.”

She bowed her head over the velvet box and, with a flick, undid the tiny clasp. Inside lay the diamond-and-ruby ring. The ruby shone brightly against the white satin cloth.

He heard her sharp intake of breath. “It’s beautiful!”

“May I?” Before she could move away, he took the box from her hands and removed the ring. He held it out to her. “Would you like me to try it on you?”

“Oh yes!” She removed her glove and held out her hand.

He took the pale, slim hand in his darker one and slipped the ring onto her finger. The gesture made him think of the marriage ceremony and the finality of that moment when he’d slip the wedding band on her finger. It would signal the beginning of their life together.

The ring fit perfectly and looked nice on her. Maybe it was a good omen.

“Thank you…it’s lovely.”

“Not more so than its owner.”

The smile on her face grew, lighting her pale green eyes and parting her rosy lips.

He strained to lean forward and kiss them, but he held himself back.

Next time, Jilly-girl, he promised, liking the sound of the nickname that popped into his head. He would taste of them the next time they met.

Gillian glanced across the carriage to her mother. They had spent most of the day on their coiffures and dresses, and by eight in the evening, they sat in a queue of carriages that inched along the cobbled street. They had finally left Bond Street and now stood at the top of St. James’s Street.

She chanced a look out the open carriage window to see how many coaches were lined down the street behind them. The interior was hot and stuffy so they had been forced to keep the windows down, to the displeasure of her mother.

She could see why. As soon as she did so, the crowds packed along the sides of the streets began ogling her.

“Hey, ducky, you’re a comely thing.”

“Come, lean out farther, so we can see that pretty frock.”

“Look at those pearls.”

“Are the flowers in your hair real?”

“Gillian, put your head in immediately!” her mother said.

“Who’s in there with you, love?” a female bystander demanded. “Is it Lady Bessborough?”

“I think it’s Lady Hertford,” her companion decided. “The prince’s favorite.”

“No,” decided a poorly dressed man who had the effrontery to press his head into the coach window. “This lady’s not fat enough!”

Gillian had pulled her head back in as the soon as the man approached. Now, she imitated her mother who sat in icy silence until the man removed his head from the window.