Chapter Six
Six
Callie came down the stairs, buttoning her gloves. In the hallway sat her salt-stained portmanteau, much lighter than before. As she’d feared, the seawater had ruined many of her clothes, shrinking some garments and causing the dye to run on a red spencer, which had stained everything it touched.
“Nicky,” she called back up the stairs. “Hurry up. Mr. Renfrew will be waiting.”
As she spoke Gabriel stepped into the hallway.
He looked up. She froze, immediately feeling self-conscious.
Ridiculous, she scolded herself silently.
As if she hadn’t come down a staircase hundreds of times—with hundreds of people watching her.
She was used to people watching her every move, critically assessing her. Usually finding her wanting.
That was the trouble. He wasn’t watching her critically at all, even though she was wearing his late great-aunt’s old traveling cloak, hastily tacked up at the hem.
Mrs. Barrow had pressed it on her. She’d also given Callie one of the old lady’s hats, a black felt one with a bunch of purple flowers, just right for a widow.
She forced herself to move, pretending to button her gloves again so she didn’t have to meet his eyes and see the warmth there.
“Nicky!” she called again.
“He’s down here already,” Gabriel said. “In the kitchen, saying good-bye to the Barrows and Jim. And eating jam tarts, I’ll be bound. Mrs. Barrow has made a fresh batch.”
Callie nodded. That deep voice. Even when he uttered the most mundane things, it made her quiver inside. She’d found his offer to protect her very…appealing. Had her situation been different, she might have been tempted to risk it.
He stepped forward and held out his hand as if to assist her down the last few steps, as if she were fragile. She wasn’t, not a bit, but she allowed him to tuck her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. At the same time Nicky and his friend, Jim, came into the hall, followed by the Barrows.
“Here, lad, you come back here,” Mrs. Barrow said, and with a swift hand she seized Nicky by the collar and drew him back.
“I’ll not have any boy leaving my kitchen looking like he’d come from a sty!
” With a damp cloth she rubbed jam stains from his face, while Jim, watching his immediate future with foreboding, hurriedly scrubbed at his own mouth with his sleeve.
Nicky submitted to the washcloth with a bemused glance at his mother. He’d never been so summarily manhandled in his life, but from the look of him, he didn’t mind at all. Perhaps he enjoyed being treated like an ordinary boy, instead of a prince.
She liked these people. They’d been very good to her and Nicky, but she could not tell them the truth. If they had any idea who she and Nicky were, it would be bound to leak out, and any talk would bring the wrong people to their doorstep.
Callie would never forgive herself if any of them were hurt—or worse—just for giving her and her son succor.
They said their good-byes and Callie reiterated her thanks for their help. But just as they turned toward the front door, there was a loud commotion outside—hoofbeats, dozens of them—as if a small army had arrived.
Count Anton! Callie grabbed Nicky.
“That’ll be Harry. He’s early,” said Gabriel and before Callie could warn him, he threw open the front door. To her amazement, instead of Count Anton’s liveried cutthroats, nearly a dozen horses passed through the front gates and milled around near the front door.
There were three grooms, each leading two or three riderless horses. A dark-haired, swarthy man mounted on a powerful-looking roan horse seemed to be in charge. Was that Harry? she wondered.
“Good day to you, Captain Renfrew, sir, and where would you have me put these beauties?” he called out in a broad Irish brogue.
“Good God, it’s Sergeant Delaney!” Gabriel exclaimed. “Through the archway, Delaney,” he called. “You’ll find the stables with no trouble.”
“I’ll go and see to it, Mr. Gabe,” Barrow said. “What a fine collection of horses! Good day to you, Ethan,” he called to Delaney.
The dark man’s face split with a grin. “Barrow, is it? I didn’t know you’d be here.
Old home week it is to be sure! You’ll take good care of these lovelies, I know.
” Delaney dismounted and tossed his reins to one of the grooms. “Right, boys, take ’em round and get ’em settled—Mr. Barrow is in charge.
I’ll have a word with the captain here.”
The herd of young horses, mainly mares, streamed around the side of the house and disappeared through the arch into the courtyard. At the same time Barrow shot back through the kitchen, the shortcut to the courtyard, followed by Nicky and Jim.
Mr. Ethan Delaney came up the steps, and the two men shook hands.
A man of no more than medium height, the Irishman was thickset and powerful.
He walked with a roll that was only too familiar to Callie: the walk of a man who’d been practically born on a horse.
His tough-looking face and pugilist’s build contrasted oddly with his attire, for though he was in riding dress, he was very neatly and stylishly turned out, with shining black boots, an elegant neck cloth, and a well-cut coat of dark blue superfine.
“Where did you spring from, Delaney?” Gabriel exclaimed. “The last time I saw you was at Salamanca, bleeding all over your beautiful uniform like a stuck pig.”
“Your brother ran into me, hanging around Tattersalls.” He shook his head.
“I’ve not exactly been havin’ a run o’ luck, sir.
No London gentlemen wants to take an ageing Irishman on; old soldiers are a penny a dozen.
But your brother seemed to think I might be useful for this new scheme of yours, so he’s appointed me his head trainer. ”
“So I should hope!” Gabe clapped him on the shoulder. “Once they see what a wizard you are with horses, they’ll be trying to steal you from Harry.”
“Well, mebbe they’ll be findin’ I’m not such an easy man to steal,” Delaney said. “Now, do you want to take a look at those horses, Captain?”
Gabe glanced at Callie. “Delaney, this is Mrs. Prynne, who, with her son, have been my guests. I’m about to escort Mrs. Prynne to her friend’s house near Lulworth, so I won’t have time to look at the horses until after my return.”
“Lulworth is it?” Delaney said after they’d exchanged greetings.
“Would you mind if I came with you, then? I picked up a whisper of a stallion near Lulworth that might be for sale, and the sooner we get on to it, the better.” To Gabe he added, “A fellow called Blaxland, a devil for the tables he is and havin’ to sell up.
The whisper is that he’d sell Thunderbolt for the right sum—”
“Thunderbolt! The derby winner?”
Delaney grinned. “Aye, the very one. Harry and I mean to make Blaxland an offer.”
Gabriel’s brows rose. “Harry and you?”
The Irishman nodded. “I’ve some savings put by, a nest egg.
I’ve been looking for an investment in my future to keep me in my old age.
” He shifted awkwardly. “I’d not be just the head trainer but a junior partner—that’s if you’re amenable, sir.
” He eyed the younger man uncertainly. There was a difference in station as well as age here, Callie could see.
Gabriel shrugged. “It’s Harry’s dream and Harry’s scheme, so it’s for Harry to say. But if it were up to me, I’d say welcome, Delaney. A man of your talents is a valuable acquisition. You’re no shirker and an honest man. We’ll work well together.”
The Irishman’s face lit up. “That’s grand, sir. Harry said you’d not mind, but I wasn’t sure. I mean, you’re a lord’s son, and I’m just a poor bog Irishman—”
“—who’s a genius with horses,” Gabriel finished. “Now, I’d rather not keep Mrs. Prynne standing about any longer, so—”
“I am very well able to stand about a little longer,” Callie interposed. “Certainly long enough for Mr. Delaney to refresh himself after his journey. And I can see you’re itching to see those horses he’s brought, so shall we delay my departure for an hour or two?”
“That’s very considerate of you, ma’am,” Delaney said. “Thank you kindly. I’ll be off and see the mares are settled and then I’ll have a quick wash and brush up. And mebbe a quick cup of tea.” He bowed and hurried off.
Gabriel took Callie’s gloved hand. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice, and he raised her hand and kissed it. “We depart for Lulworth in an hour then.”
She blushed as she watched him run down the stairs, two at a time. Even through the glove, she could still feel his kiss.
“That’s West Lulworth, down there, and over there is Lulworth Cove.” Gabriel gestured with the handle of his whip. They were traveling in his curricle, a sporty vehicle painted in dark gray with cherry-red trimmings and pulled by two gray horses.
“What a lovely view,” Callie exclaimed, looking at the perfect horseshoe-shaped stretch of water beyond the straggle of thatched cottages that comprised the village. Lulworth Cove shone a dazzling blue in the sunshine. It was dotted with a few small fishing boats and a large, sleek white yacht.
“Where exactly does your friend live?” Gabriel asked.
“A house called Rose Cottage. It’s half a mile to the west of the village. There’s a kind of map here.” Callie drew a letter from her reticule and gave it to him.
Ethan Delaney rode alongside the curricle, on his big, ugly roan horse.
It suited him, Callie thought. Mr. Delaney had the look of a man who’d lived a hard life.
He had a large nose that had been broken more than once, a number of scars on his face and hands, a chipped tooth, and an ear that appeared to have been chewed at some stage.
His hair was thick and dark, beginning to go gray at the temples, and cut brutally short—to hide the fact that it was curly, she suspected.
Yet his waistcoat was splendid, if a trifle loud, and his boots gleamed with polish.