Chapter Fifteen
Augusta stared wide-eyed at the picturesque scene before her, hardly able to form words. Rolleston-on-Dove—her new home—was breathtaking to behold, positioned perfectly on the landscape, and leading the eye to a grand portico built over an impressive set of stairs.
Sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the Palladian house with the same greenish stone she’d seen utilized in the village. The whole of it—the small temple set above the main house and the two wings bordering each side, the groves of trees sheltering the eye from smaller buildings nearby, and the rolling meadow meandering to a small lake—left Augusta absolutely speechless.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined living in a place so fine.
And it was hers.
Louisa let out an unexpected yelp. Augusta sat back, elbowing the girl for her impolite reaction before encountering Quin’s questioning stare. “We... I never expected—”
“Of course.” A muscle quivered in his jaw. “Why would you?”
He frowned, a pained tolerance affecting his eyes as they leveled beneath his brows. Offering a distracted nod, he tapped his cane on the ceiling, and the carriage promptly jolted back into motion.
“You misunderstand,” she said, scrambling to repair the damage she appeared to have done to his pride. “I did not mean to cause offense, husband. Truly. I am being completely honest when I say that I have seen nothing more beautiful than Rolleston-on-Dove in my entire life. Nothing compares to it.”
A smile fought through his mask of uncertainty. “I cannot take all the credit. The house was derelict when I purchased the property and I spared no expense to see it righted.” He pointed to the lake. “Nature is the genuine artist here.”
“Spoken like a true gentleman.” She leaned forward to squeeze his hand, then sat back to study him. “Upon my life, you are too humble by half.”
“Ah.” Had the cost of humility come at a high price, an amount no man should have to pay? “Here we are,” he said as the carriage went round the front drive.
Desperate to see more of the estate before she faced the staff and took on her new role as mistress of the house, there was something she wanted to do first. But would Quin permit it? A pulsing knot worked in her throat. “Wait!”
His brilliant eyes fixed on her. “Yes?”
“May I see the horses?” she asked awkwardly.
His laughter was a full-hearted sound. Raising his cane, he tapped on the carriage once more. “Change of plans. To the stables.” He smiled a disarming smile. “But I must warn you. I am renovating the stables and enlarging the structure to house more stock. I hope you’ll keep that in mind when we arrive.”
“You needn’t explain. I am just eager to see your horses.”
They traveled the grounds, leaving the ornamental lake and house behind, passing a grove of trees. There, a two-story ragstone structure emerged, smaller in comparison to the larger construction taking place next to it, but well-built, with a tall archway topped by a small clock tower.
The horses’ hooves clopped onto the cobbled courtyard before coming to a stop.
“Shall we?” Quin asked, offering his hand.
The door snapped open, and a stable boy appeared. “Welcome ’ome, sir.”
“Good day, Jimmy. How goes it?”
“Good, sir.” The over-eager stable hand stepped back so as not to overcrowd them. “Can I assist ye?”
“Yes.” Quin tussled the boy’s hair, the look on his face tender and kind. “I’ve brought my new bride to tour the stables.”
“Yer new bride? Glory be!” He let out a shout. “Fry, the master’s gone and done it!” He quickly composed himself. “Forgive me outburst, sir. We’re all ’appy for ye. Will ye be needin’ ’elp?”
Blissfully happy and alive, she watched the exchange, her heart expanding.
“Maybe later, Jimmy. Report to Hatt and tell him our intentions.” He took her hand and guided her to the cobblestones before addressing the postillion. “Escort my lady’s maid to the house and ensure her needs are met, then return back for us.”
“Aye, sir.”
At this news, Louisa sank back onto the squabs. Augusta reached through the window to squeeze Louisa’s hand reassuringly. Neither of them knew where they were or what to expect, so she did not blame the girl for looking entirely miserable.
“Follow instructions and we shall be together soon.” Louisa jumped with fright as the coach set into motion. “I shan’t be long. I promise!” she shouted as the postillion expertly turned the carriage.
Brushing her hands down the sides of her skirts, she turned to face the place where she absolutely knew she’d be spending most of her time—the stables.
“Who is Hatt?” she asked.
“He’s our stablemaster,” Quin said, guiding her across the courtyard. “You shall meet him later. But first, allow me to share my plans for the stables.” He pointed upward. “A hayloft and groom’s quarters are above. A much larger coach house will occupy that point beyond the shed after construction is complete, along with four more stalls and a harness room. The bigger enclosure will provide more room for a chaise and four to maneuver.”
He clasped her hand, causing a rush of shock to flow through her as he continued to explain his plans. Being with Quin like this, here, now, felt natural and right, a tête-à-tête that surpassed understanding.
“I can see it now. How grand it will be, and practical too. The new design will benefit the horses, offering them greater comfort and shelter. May I see them?”
“Of course.” He winked at her broadly and they walked hand in hand, his touch firm and persuasive.
She giggled as a whiny filled the air, and broke free, recalling the joy of younger days. He followed her, a broad smile transforming his handsome face.
“I assume you will have a sick box and a place for tools as well.”
“We shall have eight stalls, a provender, washing box, loose boxes and roots. As of now, we only have four stalls and that is not enough to house the carriage horses, let alone my thoroughbreds.”
“May I see them?” she asked before entering the wide door leading to the stalls. At his nod, she went in. “Brilliant. The doorway is wide enough for horses to pass without injury. And they laid the stone properly for drainage and to prevent slippage.”
His look of surprise was endearing. “I knew you were a horsewoman, but I didn’t realize you were so knowledgeable about these matters.”
Her shoulders lifted, a sense of pride swelling within her breast. “I love horses.”
“It has always been my understanding that women prefer balls and theater and city parks to the smell of leather and muddied hay.”
She traced her hand over one six-foot stall after another, silently complimenting the simplicity, style, and sanitation. A hoof hit the ground and a flick of a tail caught her eye. Changing course, she came to the box occupied by a sleek white horse.
“He’s glorious.” She rubbed her hand over his hindquarters, his thin skin and sleek muscular structure superbly made. “What is this courser’s name?”
“Careless.”
She giggled. “What kind of name is that for a horse?”
“When I’m riding him, I don’t care about the world around me.”
“Ah.” She took a breath of sheer joy, at last understanding. “He’s a flier.”
He nodded, a hint of pride in his tone. “He’s lively and eager and ready to run, and comes from Arabian and Eastern stock.”
“A blood horse then,” she said unable to hide her awe. “But not a true thoroughbred?”
“He’s a ‘bit of blood’.” He leaned back against the box. “And his fee nearly broke me. But, when I first saw him, I knew I had to have him.”
“You should have named him Pegasus.”
“Names like Prendergast and Bellerophon force a man to keep things simple.”
She appreciated his humor. “But wouldn’t it have been magical if someone had named him Pegasus? Think on it. In mythology, Pegasus and Bellerophon won the battle at Chimera and afterward got along famously.” She locked her eyes with his, mischievous inclinations taking hold. He intended to raise thoroughbreds and race horses required fancy names. “In a perfect world, we could visit my sister and Kilverstone at the Temple of Athena, and unearth a golden bridle that could bless every sprinter coming from Rolleston-on-Dove.”
He closed the space between them. “If I could, Augusta, I would fly to the source of lightning and thunder and gift you the moon.”
Her heart pounded out of rhythm, the swift violent pull on her affections stealing her breath. “I would settle for a trip to Lyme,” she said breathlessly.
He took her into his arms. “That can be easily arranged.”
A wild swirl of delight filled her as he brushed a gentle kiss on her forehead and cheek. Then his lips came coaxingly down on hers, drugging her with anticipation and need. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her emotions whirring and skidding as his tongue explored her depths.
“The carriage is returnin’, sir, I—”
“Thank you, Jimmy.” Quin quickly put distance between them and turned to rub Careless while she struggled to regain control. The ‘bit of blood’ flicked its head, oblivious, continuing to eat from the trough, and making her laugh at the absurdity of it all. “We shall be out momentarily.”
“Forgive me, if I—”
“No harm done, boy. Go now. Tell Hatt we’re on our way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quin turned back to her. “Now, where were we?”
Later that evening,after an exhaustible tour of the stables, Quin reflected on his good fortune as they dined on turtle soup, roasted hen, and an assortment of vegetables. It seemed odd sitting across from an occupied chair when he was accustomed to living and eating alone. But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. He had a wife.
He raised his wineglass to salute her. “To your first night.”
“Thank you.” She repeated the gesture, smiling. “Rolleston-on-Dove is a beautiful place.”
Whole, now, he thought. After countless rejections and hurdles, his wagers had come in. Augusta was splendid and strong, caring and compassionate—especially to a beloved sister—an expert horsewoman who would help make his plans for Rolleston-on-Dove a resounding success.
He was a strategist, his advantages earned from the earth and forged through the sweat of his brow. She was a viscount’s daughter, pampered and postured for a loftier man of no less important means. Not a man who staked his life on speculation, striving to elevate his position in Society and almost always having to rely on an institution determined to shut him out.
But there was more, plenty more, to be grateful for. Against all odds, he’d found a well-suited partner. Her beauty and familiarity with horses ensured hope for a future far better than the one his parents dreamt of, and could have had, given good health and wealth and fertile soil.
This is all Bess’s doing. She has never led me astray.
He gazed at his wife from across the table, content. What more could he possibly need?
Plenty, he thought to himself.
Something did not add up. Men like Lord Steere did not allow daughters to marry untitled gentlemen. What reasons would the viscount have for agreeing to their hasty marriage? The obvious one was to avoid a scandal after Augusta kissed him, and both Lord and Lady Steere and their hosts walked in and caught them. But was that the only reason? He had ￡3,000 a year, and insolvent lords struggled to maintain legacies, easily winning and losing fortunes at the Lyon’s Den, destroying sons, bartering daughters, and marrying to replenish their coffers.
Why did it bother him that Augusta had kissed him in the Claremont’s library and Delphi had lied about a proposal that never happened? The Misses Steere had a list of eligible bachelors to choose from. Why had they picked him?
Had this been planned from the start?
Rubbish! Augusta would not leave her sister to chance.
And what did their reasons for targeting him matter?
It mattered to him.
Because I long for respect. And while emotion was not a factor when I traveled to London in search of a wife, it is now. I don’t want to settle. I want love.
“Will you need anything else, sir?” his butler asked.
“No,” he said, startled out of his musings He gazed across the dining room table, past the sparkling crystal and silver service ware, the glowing tiered candles and bowls of sugared fruit, locking his gaze with Augusta’s. “Thank you, Ellis.”
“Very well, sir,” Ellis said, motioning to several footmen to follow him out the door.
A tense silence enveloped the room save for the crackle and pop originating from the hearth and the occasional clinking fork or knife. He studied Augusta closely, curious about so many things. What was her favorite color? For instance, was it the color of her dinner gown—imperial blue? The color enhanced her eyes, making them gleam like jewels. If so, perhaps he should purchase a pair of sapphire earbobs as a wedding gift for her.
The truth was that Quin barely knew anything about the woman sitting before him, nor she him. How did a man understand a wife? Time and patience, he supposed. A new bride was like a thoroughbred, he’d once been told. She was poised and pampered, and projected an undeniable energy and power like unbroken fillies who tended to be on high alert, requiring constant assurance, nearness, reinforcement, whispered words of encouragement and calm. If he intended to prove himself a good and trustworthy husband, he must learn to savor her spirit, protect it, and strive to prove that she could trust him.
She couldn’t though, could she? He’d lied to Augusta and her entire family about Bess. And until he told her the truth, he could not, in good conscience, march to the other side of the table, lift her into his arms, carry her upstairs and—
Devil take me, I am a cad.
“You are right.”
He stiffened, wondering if she’d read his thoughts. “About what, if I may ask?”
“Your home,” she said sweetly. “It is everything you said it would be.”
He glanced around the room. “I am happy that you like what you see.”
“I do.” She followed his lead, drinking her wine and regarding him over the rim of her glass. “The landscape over the hearth. Is that an early depiction of Rolleston-on-Dove?”
“It is. I commissioned John Constable to paint the estate before building the manse. Are you familiar with his work?”
“Yes. He winters in London, painting portraits, though I’ve heard he finds them dull, preferring wild landscapes and ruins. I tend to agree with him. I have always preferred country life. And after seeing all that you hope to accomplish, I must say, I am impressed and look forward to helping you finish the stables.”
“Good.” Augusta knew and appreciated Constable’s work? She continued to impress him. He leaned back in his chair to study her. “I am glad to hear it.”
Her smile instantly faded. “If only Delphi could be here.”
Mention of her sister made him feel oddly uncomfortable.
“I know that wouldn’t be entirely proper,” she quickly added. “Having her here after we just married. But, at the very least, I could see her and know that she is being properly cared for.”
A strange surge of tenderness rushed through him. He’d lost members of his family and would never wish that experience on anyone else. “Do you doubt your aunt’s ability to care for your sister?”
“No.” She worried her bottom lip. “It is just that we have never been apart.”
“Ever?” he asked, stupefied.
“Never.”
Hell and the devil.“You must miss her very much.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”
Clearing his throat, he decided it would be good for Augusta to talk about her sister. “Does Miss Delphi enjoy riding as much as you do?”
“Not nearly as much.” Her blue eyes twinkled mischievously in the candlelight. “She is a capable horsewoman. It isn’t anything of that nature. Delphi prefers walking. She says riding prevents a person from observing nature, which can be more easily discovered with feet on terra firma.”
“I cannot fault her there.” He gazed at her speculatively. “And what are your thoughts on the matter?”
“I prefer speed.” She took another sip of wine, then dabbed her mouth. “There is nothing more thrilling than the wind in my hair, flying over grassland and hurdling obstacles in my path.”
One activity came to mind. “We think alike.”
Her smile made him want to please her all the day long. “Can we go riding in the morning then?”
He should advise against it. The type of riding he preferred—consummating their vows—would not allow for a comfortable outing come morning. But something inside him demanded that Augusta needed more time to adjust to being apart from Delphi. Heaven only knew how long that would take. He still felt his parents’ deaths keenly. What harm could there be in encouraging her to do the thing she loved most in the world? A woman’s spirit could be easily broken, just like a horse’s. She needed gentle guidance. Only then could they have a trusting and affectionate and lasting bond.
“I can arrange that,” he said, attempting to conceal his disappointment.
A dimple formed in her cheek. “I don’t suppose you will let me ride Careless.”
“No one rides Careless but me.”
Her laughter made him suddenly aware of what he’d just said. “You do not seem like a reckless man.”
“Not when it comes to those I care about.”
It had taken years to overcome the deaths of his parents, a grueling education, hesitant investors, the snobbery of the ton, and a gauntlet of matchmaking mamas. He would never be reckless again.
“And do you... care about me?” she asked.
“I care.” He swallowed thickly, unwilling to share the depths of his feelings. The situation at the White Hart Inn fresh in his mind, he didn’t want to pressure Augusta into sharing his bed—yet. No. If she needed time to adapt to her new life, he would give it to her. “I am your husband.”
“In that case.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “What horse can I ride?”
“I’ll find an acceptable mount for you to ride until Bellerophon arrives.”
She bolted to her feet, eyes wide and rattling dishes in her excitement. “Bellerophon?”
“That is his name, is it not?”
“You sent for him?”
“I have,” he said matter-of-factly, trying without success not to smile. He’d done the right thing brokering the sale of her horse. Though her father had refused to sell the beast. Rather, he’d promised to send Bellerophon to the estate as a wedding gift. “Your father is making the arrangements.”
“I shall be able to fly without wings again.”
I can teach you how to fly without wings.