Chapter Thirteen
Tied behind his saddle, Seth’s rucksack bounced against his back as he trudged Sabre to the meeting place for the hunt.
Fallen leaves crunched under the horse’s powerful hooves, breaking apart the deep silence of the morning.
The refreshing scent of damp earth and fog cooled his lungs.
His skin was clammy and his joints ached from sleeping outside, but he had slept, and he felt better.
Rested. It took most of the night for his mind to settle; he hadn’t realized how much he needed the solitude and an open sky.
His gloved hands played with the leather of the reins as he corrected Sabre.
The horse tugged at the bit impatiently.
He snorted and nipped at him when Seth retrieved him from the stables.
Now, on his fourth day without a proper run, Sabre was becoming a right tyrant.
Seth tightened his hold and clicked at him.
Not now.
Cooper would take point on this morning’s hunt, as both agreed that at least temporarily, they should take precautions.
He would see more of Sir Reginald, and if it was to have the same effect, Seth shouldn’t be holding a gun in his hands when it did.
Cooper was oddly flippant about the episode from the previous morning, seeming no more upset than a man with a scuffed shoe, even with bruising on his throat that made Seth ill to look at.
“Think nothing of it, I’m sure I deserved it for something. The Lord knows I could think of a few reasons to give you a good thrashing.”
Seth was the last to arrive in the clearing.
Bishop stood tall and determined, Sir Reginald beside him.
Slate grey hair and an athletic build for a man in his sixties, Sir Reginald’s dark eyes shot him a look of pure malice before promptly turning his head to speak to his nephew.
His face hardened in the years since Seth had last seen him.
It helped his nerves some that Sir Reginald hadn’t spoken to him.
But what would they say? Nothing that hadn’t already been said. I’m sorry. I wish it was me, and of course, the response would be the same. You should be sorry. It should have been you.
When Seth was gone, all that would remain of him would be dust. No lands or titles to transfer, not even a name in a family bible.
Sir Reginald had lost all of that within six months, when a fire took one heir and a fever took the next.
It had taken such a toll on his heart that many speculated that he had little time left.
But Seth had tried to save his son, had looked and looked…
his heart rate increased and his legs trembled while he fought the urge to run.
Sabre grunted peevishly underneath him.
Tightening his shoulders, Seth shoved the memories down.
Not now.
With a series of deep breaths, Seth resigned himself to the other man’s presence.
Cooper stood next to Mr. Ezekiel Sanderson, the young man that accompanied Lord Bolderwood to Cooper House.
“I come from a long line of Sanderson’s, none of them are solicitors.
” But when asked where exactly his family was from, he gave a nondescript answer, “East.” Cooper was wasting his time.
Perhaps not an orphan, but one of Lord Bolderwood’s ‘children’ all the same.
Mr. Sanderson declined brandy following supper.
He had, however, enthusiastically accepted an offered cigar.
Polite, soft-spoken, but curious. He had a wealth of knowledge concerning weaponry that surpassed Seth’s.
Mr. Nott was the only one who hadn’t turned the round into a spectator sport. He stood alone next to Mr. Edgars and Lord Bolderwood, his rifle in a carrying case on his back.
Seth scanned the area. There were more horses than riders. Where was the Duke?
Mr. Edgars huffed in irritation as Seth dismounted and stood next to his entourage.
“Perhaps invest in a pocket watch, Mr. Reeves,” Mr. Edgars said, but there was no bite in his voice. While not warmed to him, Mr. Edgars regarded him with the air of a governess tasked with an unruly charge.
From his pocket, Seth pulled out a silver watch engraved with his initials—a gift from Lord Bolderwood after graduating from the Royal Military Academy. The Earl’s face shifted from recognition to an expression that almost looked like pain, and then it was gone, stoic and firm once more.
“Five minutes early.” Seth clicked the watch shut and dismounted. “If you give me the correct time, I can recalibrate it.”
Mr. Edgars clucked and checked his own pocket watch.
“Three minutes early,” Mr. Edgars corrected. “I trust that everyone remembers the rules, but….”
Seth’s eyes roamed the clearing as he droned on.
“Where is Duke Kendall?” Seth whispered to Cooper.
“Off exploring,” Cooper said under his breath. “Rode off as soon as he got here.”
Then why… but wait… was that a side-saddle?
And then he saw her. Dressed in a deep green riding habit, all but hidden next to a chocolate-colored mare.
Her thick hair was in a long braid underneath a black riding hat tied with a silver ribbon.
With the sheer volume of her skirts, it should have been impossible to miss her.
With a hand on her hip and a frown marring her face, she looked very much like she wanted to be anywhere else.
Seth frowned.
What is Cassandra doing here?
His gaze shot to Cooper, but the man was intent on Mr. Edgars’ words.
“Use of accompaniments in this round is not authorized.”
Hadn’t Cooper been blathering on about mitigating distractions?
There was no good reason for her to be there this morning unless…
Cooper felt the need to bring in reinforcements.
Damn it, he didn’t need coddling! If Cooper meant to make him feel better by having a family support system in place, he failed.
Cassandra’s presence had him more unsettled.
A hunt was no place for a lady.
“As a reminder, violence of any kind will be grounds for immediate disqualification,” Mr. Edgars finished. “As Mr. Reeves has an unfair advantage, a fifteen minute lead will be given to Colonel Bishop and Mr. Nott.”
At first Cooper had been indignant about the penalty, but Seth talked him down. The word favoritism darkened their standing already. It was best not to push too hard.
“As the purpose of this competition is to show the precision of the rifles for hunting, only one round is authorized per competitor.”
Mr. Edgars handed the hunters each a metal whistle.
“Whoever is the first to fell a stag will be the victor. When the fatal shot has been delivered, use this whistle to alert us of your success. Any rounds fired after the whistle will be grounds for disqualification. Colonel Bishop, Mr. Nott, good luck. You may commence your hunt while Mr. Reeves recalibrates his watch.”
***
“Truly remarkable what the two of you have done,” Mr. Sanderson said, testing the weight of the rifle against his shoulder.
“Similar to the Ferguson rifle. But I seem to recall the expense was substantial, and the crafting methods were too complex to produce in a timely manner. How did you manage to circumvent that?”
“That’s all information pending a patent,” Cooper reminded him.
“I understand,” Mr. Sanderson said diplomatically. “Still, quite impressive.”
Lowering the rifle, he handed it back to Cooper.
While definitely an enthusiast, Seth doubted that Mr. Sanderson had the financial backing that Cooper believed.
At any rate, the two of them were getting along.
Cooper enjoyed talking, energized by social activity.
What a relief it must be for him to converse with anyone else.
Seth knew more than anyone how trapped Cooper felt in Lincolnshire.
They had to win if either of them ever hoped to be free—Seth free to retreat, and Cooper free to advance his place in the world.
Seth’s motivation for winning stood in front of him, greeting him with a smile, warming him from head to toe. His lips lifted in answer and he bowed to her.
“Good morning, Miss Cooper.”
“Good morning Mr. Reeves.” She curtsied, a mere bob down and then up.
“I’m surprised to see you here this morning,” he said.
“I was ordered to.” Cassandra scrunched her nose and then surprised him by turning to his horse. “Good morning, Sabre.”
Seth tilted his head. “You know his name?”
“Of course,” she bristled. “I know the names of every problem at Cooper House. I had to endure complaints of him for a week after you arrived. He doesn’t like to be pinned up and won’t accept another rider.
He bit at James whenever he fed him. But, I figured out a solution.
” She pulled a green apple out of her pocket and presented it to Sabre. “He’s easily bribed.”
With a pleased puff of air, Sabre’s tongue lopped out of his mouth and wrapped around the fruit.
Strong teeth broke the apple in half with a crunch, chewing on one half while the other fell between their feet.
Seth picked it up, and to his surprise, Cassandra took it from his hand to feed Sabre herself.
Cooing, she reached out and rubbed the horse’s neck; he nickered and blew air out of his nose in pleased snorts.
“He likes you.” He smiled.
“We’ve gotten to know each other quite well. My morning walk-through includes the stable, you know.” He did. “I stop by after I’m finished with the garden.” She smiled, cupped her hand near his ear, and whispered, “Carrots are his favorite.”
“Something the two of you have in common.” Seth grinned.
“I was going to say the same thing.” Cassandra paused and blinked. “How did you know?”
“I… uh…. Everyone likes carrots.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
She raised a brow.
He said nothing.