Chapter Four
Geraldine was cold.
All the way to her bones, her fingers, her toes…
every single bit of her was utterly freezing.
The wool shirts she’d wrapped around herself had protected her from bumps and bruises, but soaked up a considerable amount of icy water, as had her breeches.
She could’ve sworn her boots were full of the damned stuff.
And here she was, in Sir Blaine Kendall’s arms – and the only thing she could focus on was that he smelled nice. Leather, horses, and something essentially male. She couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, but she liked it.
This was not what she’d intended at all.
He strode into Kendall Manor, making her jump as he yelled for his housekeeper, who came running downstairs with her eyes wide.
“Oh, Sir Blaine,” she gasped, eyeing Geraldine. “What’s Miss Foster been up to now?”
“More like what she’s been down to,” he answered wryly, putting his burden down on her own two squelching feet. “Been down into the stream. Face first. She’s soaked. Can you get her out of this wet nonsense and warm again?”
“Of course, poor girl.” The woman tut-tutted, as she took Geraldine’s hand. “Good Lord, child. You’re as cold as ice. Come along. We’ll take care of you.”
“I’ll have a message sent to your parents, Miss Foster. Then we’ll have a cup of tea to finish warming you up. After which I will return you to your home, where I assume your Papa will take a whip to you for your foolish behaviour.”
“I…” She opened her mouth to respond, but had no chance, since he’d already turned on his heel and marched away.
“Come upstairs, dear. What Mr and Mrs Foster will say about this, I don’t know.” She reached for Geraldine’s head and rubbed it gently. “Do you have any bruises? Did you hit yourself at all?”
“No, no really,” she protested. “I’m fine, Mrs Daniels. Honestly. Sir Blaine didn’t need to make such a fuss. It’s quite silly. I’ve taken a toss or two in my time, as you probably know.”
“Well, yes, dear.” The housekeeper shook her head. “But to fall into a stream in this weather? Goodness, what a horrid experience.”
Geraldine found herself in a nice bedroom, where a maid was already lighting a fire. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” she said, hesitating a bit as another maid appeared with a large bowl of steaming water and some towels, which she draped in front of the fire to warm.
“Silly girl. You’re a neighbour. Neighbours help each other.”
Geraldine looked at her. “Um, Mrs Daniels…that hasn’t always been the case.”
“I know. But thankfully, now that Sir Blaine is here and in charge, things have changed a lot.”
“They have?” She tipped her head to one side as she peeled away her damp clothing, relieved to have it in a pile on the floor but starting to shiver even more.
“Oh yes indeed, Miss Geraldine.” The housekeeper efficiently shooed the maids away and took one of the towels nearest the fire, rubbing it over cold skin.
It was heaven.
“Sir Blaine is exactly what a landowner should be. He’s kind, he understands what it takes to run a house like this – we all like him very much.”
Geraldine almost purred as feeling returned to her extremities. “Paid your wages up to date, did he?”
A snort of muffled laughter greeted her question. “Let’s just say that our new master isn’t backward in attention to the important things.”
Geraldine nodded. “He paid your wages.”
Mrs Daniels sighed. “Yes. It was…lovely.” She began rubbing Geraldine’s with another towel from in front of the fire.
“I’m sure it was. But has he made a decision about staying on? About keeping Kendall Manor? Or is he thinking of selling it?”
It was an important question, because of the horses. Geraldine knew that they didn’t have enough available cash to purchase the entire stables, nor did Holly Grange have sufficient space for them. But if they could manage Thunder…
Her thoughts drifted as Mrs Daniels replied vaguely that nobody seemed sure yet, least of all the Baronet himself.
“Things were in quite a mess when he arrived, as you can imagine.” The woman continued rubbing warm towels over Geraldine’s skin. It surprised her to realise that she was only wearing her chemise and the pantaloons she’d stuffed into her breeches, both barely damp.
And she tingled as the heat returned to her body.
“Old Sir Robert had what one might call a…a…”
“Tight fist?”
That got a chuckle. “Yes, quite. More like a death grip sometimes, but I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“None of us should, but we always do. Let’s just leave it that not many were terribly saddened by his passing.”
“Well put.” Mrs Daniels smiled in approval. “So once we realised that Sir Blaine was nothing like his Papa? Everyone’s lives got a lot brighter.”
“I’m so glad,” replied Geraldine. “Really, I am. This is a lovely house, and Mama always said that at one time it was the light of the neighbourhood. She was quite sad at how it lost its lustre in the past years.”
“How nice,” Mrs Daniels nodded. “We’re all hoping that now the lustre will return.
” She pushed Geraldine into a chair and handed her a fresh, warm towel.
“Now be a good girl and dry your feet while I try and find something for you to wear. I know we still have some old dresses of Miss Millicent’s, although they may be a bit small…
” She bustled away, leaving Geraldine to her own devices.
Looking around, she noticed that the room was shining. Every piece of furniture looked as if it had received a recent coat of beeswax, the fireplace was spotless, and the logs drying next to it still let off the scent of freshly cut wood.
It would seem that Sir Blaine had indeed made some positive changes since his arrival, not the least of which was paying his household staff their due.
She had to wonder, being a practical young woman, if the estate was in good financial health, but since that was none of her business, she waved that thought away and started brushing her hair – or trying to – with the tools that she found on the small vanity table.
Dry and warm now, her curiosity was rising.
From everything she’d seen and heard, it looked like there would continue to be a Kendall at the Manor. But was she jumping to conclusions based on what she hoped to see, or what was really there?
She sighed. As soon as she could, she’d ask Sir Blaine himself these questions. After all, he’d carried her in his arms into the house. That made her almost like family.
Almost.
He’d already downed one cup of tea and was pouring another when she finally made an appearance in the small parlour of Kendall Manor.
And for a few seconds he sat, stunned, trying to connect the young woman who had just walked in with the bedraggled and bundled rider he’d rescued from the stream. His brain had considerable difficulty with this task, because he was staring at a veritable vision.
Her blonde hair had been brushed back and secured with a clasp, allowing a fall of drying curls to cascade softly over one shoulder and down her back.
Mrs Daniels had obviously found a gown of Millicent’s that fit…almost. To his astonishment, Geraldine Foster possessed a delightful pair of breasts that thrust the lace-trimmed bodice of the dress into prominence.
And blue was definitely her colour. However, the pink in her cheeks seemed to be due to something other than a natural glow. She was blushing with a certain degree of embarrassment beneath his gaze.
“This is your sister’s,” she muttered, looking down at herself. “We’re a different size.”
“In some places,” he added with a grin.
She raised her chin and glared at him. “May I have a cup of tea?”
“Of course.” He gestured to a chair. “Do join me. You’ll have to forgive my manners. It’s not often that a drowned rat magically transforms into a brilliant flower of womanhood.”
The look he received made him want to howl with laughter, but he kept his face as straight as he could.
“Instead of uttering ridiculous commonplaces, perhaps you could tell me your plans for Kendall Manor.” She sat and helped herself to a cup and a plate with some gingerbread.
“Would you care for jam?”
“No thank you.”
He sipped his tea. “Why?”
“I don’t care for jam with gingerbread.”
“No, why do you want to know about Kendall Manor?”
Her eyes narrowed as she took stock of his erratic conversation, and he had the distinct feeling that this lovely chit had just taken his full measure.
“Because, Sir Blaine, you are now the owner of a property that is quite important in the area. Plus, along with said property comes a stable filled with excellent horseflesh. My interest is based there.”
She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then continued. “Excellent gingerbread, by the way. As far as the Manor is concerned, I couldn’t really care less about what you plan to do with it, as long as it goes into good hands. But your horses? That’s another matter entirely.”
“Ah.” He thought for a moment and was about to speak, but she forestalled him.
“And thank you, but no. I don’t wish for marmalade either.”
He couldn’t help grinning and was charmed to see that she grinned back.
Something odd kicked him inside; a strange sensation of warmth and the urge to laugh with delight. He restrained himself, but thought he saw an echo of such things in her warm, whisky brown eyes.
“So? Have you made a decision yet?” She touched her napkin to her lips.
“I’m still evaluating the estate as a whole,” he began, setting aside his amusement for a little while. “There is much to consider, and much which Sir Robert let slide in the last few years.”
She nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard the same from most everyone here. But I will say that aside from his other faults, your father seemed to maintain excellent control over his horses.”
“I agree.” Blaine stared at his cup. “Thunder. By God, what a horse. Excellent bloodlines and exceptionally fine form. He’s a winner no matter what the challenge.”
Her head came up. “Are you talking about the Mistletoe Cup?”
“So it is still in the works for this year? Despite my father’s death? I wasn’t sure.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “What the hell do you think I was doing this morning?”
The words “you idiot” had clearly been left off the end of that sentence because he could almost see them hovering in the air next to her head.
“What did I think? That you were an utterly stupid and careless youngster on a horse that was far too big for anyone your age and size to handle. And without a saddle…so don’t you dare ask me what I thought you were doing. I thought you were trying to kill yourself, you idiot.”
He added the words she’d politely left off. He didn’t feel very polite when he remembered her pitching into the stream.
“Well,” she humphed. “For your edification, I was riding the Cup course.”
“Why?”
She sighed and sagged a little in her chair. “Because, as you so obviously noticed, I am female and thus prohibited from participating in the real thing.”
He shook his head. “As well you should be. No woman could possibly handle that course. It’s far too dangerous.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I could ride that blindfold on Flora. She would leave the rest of you helpless males far behind, spattered with the mud from her hooves.”
“Oh really? Even Thunder?”
She looked smug. “I will allow that Thunder is exceptional. But I doubt he could keep up with my girl. He’s good in short bursts, but the Cup is a good three miles of rough riding. He’d be blowing hard by the end of two and a half, and we’d be crossing the finish line as he fought for breath.”
“You really believe that,” said Blaine slowly.
“I do.” She met his gaze straight on, without a quiver or a moment’s hesitation.
Not really understanding where his next words came from, but knowing he’d been challenged in some subtle way, he gazed back. “And if I said prove it?”
She blinked and stared at him. Then her chin came up. “Then I’d say when and where?”