Chapter Nineteen

Although the Greer estate was rather small, there had been hours of entertainment. Picnics, yard games, parlor games, fancy suppers, casual breakfasts, long walks, rides, and an excursion to the shops. Pen had spent hours in the stables and fields with the horses, learning more than she’d ever expected about racing.

At present Penelope was sitting near the pond on a picnic blanket with Henry. Kit and Sarah were on another blanket within sight but not hearing. War and Ana had declined the outing. Penelope still didn’t understand the animosity between the two, and no one had offered to explain it.

“Why do Kit and War call you Henny? It seems an odd nickname for Henry, it’s not even shorter.”

“It’s not a nickname for Henry,” he said. “It’s because of my nickname Hen.”

She laughed. “That makes no sense, you will need to explain.”

“Their nickname for me is Mother Hen.”

“Oh no,” she said, laughing even harder. “Why?”

“Have you heard how we met?”

She shook her head no.

He looked off toward the water then, obviously recalling a memory. “When we started school, Kit and War became almost immediate friends, but I didn’t have any friends because I can be rather odd and quiet. I was walking to the lake, thinking of skipping stones or some such, because I don’t like spending all of my time surrounded by noisy boys. I ran across some older boys near the water’s edge that had a bag. As I was passing by them, I heard them say it was a bag of kittens. The baker had given it to them because he didn’t want the kittens, and they were trying to decide if they were going to drown them or, well, do other awful things that I won’t tell you about.”

Pen gasped and covered her mouth. “How could they?!”

He nodded grimly. “It didn’t even occur to me that I should worry that there were five older boys. I only knew that I was the one thing that could stand between those kittens and a terrible fate. I knocked the first one down from a combination of my fury and his surprise, but by the time Kit and War happened upon us it was a four on one brawl. They recognized me as a classmate and thought it terribly unfair for older boys to be fighting me, as they didn’t know I’d started it. They weighed in, and it has gone down in school history as the time three first-years beat five third-years. Regardless of my reasons, when the story of what happened was clear, the headmaster still couldn’t condone my actions. I was sent home for the rest of the term and took my kittens with me.”

She clapped. “That is splendid.”

“There were four kittens,” he said. “I kept two, and when Kit and War came home from school that summer, they each took one. Prince Eugene is a descendant of my kitten Hypatia.”

She thought for a moment. “Euclid and Hypatia are both mathematicians, so why Prince Eugene?”

He smiled at her then. “Mama named him. She is a woman of varied and unusual interests.”

Pen laughed. “Yes, I like that about her.”

Henry reached over to touch her ankle where it peeked out below her skirt. She could feel the heat of his hand through her stocking as he stroked the delicate bones and she leaned towards him, wishing he would explore further. Wishing they were alone, and he could touch her everywhere. This beautiful man who looked like a sun god and defended innocent kittens now owned every bit of her heart.

***

ON THE SURFACE, HEN knew that he seemed pleasant and affable all week. It was a demeanor he’d spent a lifetime perfecting. Inside, however, he was a caged beast that only wanted to claim its mate. The energy of that frustration meant he was sleeping very little. To keep himself from prowling all day and night, he invited Mr. McTavish to come early in the mornings to advise him on training for Hawthorne and Knox. This was the third morning in a row that they’d met at dawn to watch the horses put in their paces before the summer heat burned off the mist. On the first day, the first time Mac had seen the estate, he’d commented that Hen had the best stables and training track he’d seen. Henny believed that was most likely true, because he’d spent the money to make it true. It was uncouth to speak to one’s wealth, however, so he merely nodded his thanks.

On this third day, they were discussing the finer points of Hawthorne’s lines when Mac offered him a flask. Hen waved it off, not wanting to partake quite so early in the morning. He also wasn’t a particular fan of sharing cups, much less flasks. Later when Mac asked the grooms for tea and they both had a hot mug, Mac offered the flask again. This time Hen agreed. He liked to be affable, pleasant. Surely no harm could come of a spot of liquor in his morning tea.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.