“That foolish boy!” she said, in a low voice.
Lucius looked over his shoulder. Maitland had flung himself off his horse and was standing at Posy’s head, making a great show of admiring Imogen’s horse.
“His foolishness lies in reckless riding?” Lucius asked. “Could one not accuse you of calling the kettle black?”
“I suppose you think that Midnight is too much for me.”
“Probably for me as well,” Lucius replied calmly.
“I doubt it. Your mount is no tame youngster, is he?” She reached over and scratched Lucius’s horse on the neck.
“Pantaloon,” Lucius said, “out of Hautboy.”
“He’s a beauty.”
Pantaloon stilled his massive head and snorted with pleasure as she scratched him behind the ear.
There was a clatter as the rest of the Maitland party entered the courtyard. Lady Clarice was riding a velvety little mare, who looked capable of going a mile or two with pleasure, and then would drag her hocks all the way home. Not that it mattered, as Lady Clarice was currently explaining that her carriage would apparently follow them every step of the way, in case the ladies tired.
“For one does!” she shrilled. “And exhaustion simply does not enhance one’s complexion. Miss Pythian-Adams is already in the carriage. She doesn’t care for the sensation of horseflesh beneath her.”
Maitland walked over to Tess, his eyes on her horse. One could fault the man for many things, but he certainly knew the racetrack inside out. “Haven’t seen Midnight Blossom in a year or so,” he said, grinning. “I almost won him from your father in a bet, you know. That was just after Midnight won the trial at Banstead Downs and before he had to be retired. I could have taken him to the Ascot.”
Lucius watched as Miss Essex’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I am very glad that you did not win that particular wager,” she said.
“Oh, I did win,” Maitland said genially. “Essex thought that roosters always crowed atop a fence post. That wager was easy enough to win.”
Lucius bit back a smile as Miss Essex looked down at Maitland. Maitland was so utterly unaware of the expression in her eye and, in fact, had taken to checking Midnight Blossom’s teeth as if he thought the animal was for sale. “Let me guess,” she said in colorless voice, “you trained a rooster to crow from a dung heap, and then demonstrated its skill to my father.”
“Better than that,” Maitland said, jumping back as Midnight Blossom laid back his ears. “I cut the tendon in the bird’s heels. Once he couldn’t get up to a fence post, the animal crowed wherever he happened to be. But I didn’t accept the horse, of course. No, no. Your father was a man who took a wager seriously; I would never take Midnight Blossom from him on a piece of cajolery, much though I love the joke of it.”
Miss Essex had just finished soothing Midnight Blossom. Her hand stilled in stroking, and then she said, very evenly, “I’m certain that my father was grateful for your forbearance.”
“Must have been,” Maitland said cheerfully. “Now, if this fellow would just let me take a peek at his molars—”
But Midnight Blossom had not taken kindly to Maitland, nor to his prying ministrations to his jaws. The next moment Tess was fully occupied in controlling her mount as Midnight Blossom pawed the ground, and then reared straight into the air.
“Be still, you foolish beast!” she told him, leaning forward over his neck. Her voice was amused rather than angry, and there wasn’t even a second in which she appeared to have lost her balance.
Lucius had started up, onto his stirrups, ready to pull Tess’s bridle down—but she didn’t need any help. Those arms were as slender as a reed, and yet the great Thoroughbred quieted at her touch and settled, contenting himself with snorting at Maitland’s back and rolling his eyes as if he were having carnivorous thoughts.
Lady Clarice was leading her mare around the courtyard, greeting each member of the party in her high, rather irritable voice as she jerked on the animal’s bridle in a manner that was painful to see.
“My dear Miss Essex,” she called, “I fear you are not quite the horsewoman to handle this…animal. Aren’t you concerned for your ward’s health, Duke? I do believe that the horse should be barred civil company. Do you see the way he’s looking at my son? One would almost think that he…”
Her voice trailed off. Clearly the idea that someone might wish to chomp her son’s rear end was inconceivable.
“Your wards are in danger from these mounts!” she said sharply to Rafe, having now got the measure of all three horses.
Never mind the fact that Lucius had thought the same thing himself. “Miss Essex has her mount under perfect control,” he noted.
Rafe ignored Lady Clarice, throwing himself onto his own horse. “Let’s go!” he shouted. “Is everyone mounted, finally?”
Lucius quelled a grin. Of course, Rafe was as unused to family groups as he was.
“Not quite,” came a cool voice from the door. Mayne paused in the doorway, pulling on his gloves. He was wearing tight-fitting breeches tucked into riding boots and a coat of superfine broad cloth in Spanish blue. Lucius blinked; he was unused to seeing Mayne rigged out in full regalia. Generally, when the three of them were together, they all wore leather breeches and a drab coat. But Mayne’s jacket—which Lucius had to admit made him look princelike—was a marvel of exquisite tailoring and cut-steel buttons, and his breeches fit without a wrinkle.
Mayne glanced around the group, now beginning to walk their mounts from the courtyard, and then walked straight toward Tess.
Lucius’s mouth twisted a bit. He’d managed to forget Mayne’s marital plans. Again.
“Midnight Blossom,” Mayne said, and his voice had all the true pleasure of a horse lover. “Miss Essex, you have just risen in my estimation to the unsurpassed equestrienne of your generation!”
Tess was smiling at him, and the sun was turning her brandy-colored hair into a thousand strains of taffy, gold threads twining into russet. With a touch of his finger, Lucius sent his mount to walking from the courtyard.
Unless he was quite mistaken, Mayne had just found a touch of utterly genuine emotion to bring to all his courtship flummery. That note of heady respect in his voice rang true.
They would make a good match, Lucius thought. Mayne was an excellent man, for all he had slept with half the married women of London. That would change once he was married. No one who had Tess in his bed would feel the need to seek out the tawdry pleasures of an adulterous affair.
How could Mayne not fall in love with Tess, with her steadfast gaze and her curious questions, with her superb riding ability and her natural seat on a horse, with her exquisite self? And when Mayne loved—well, he would love with a passion that was bone-deep. Lucius knew that from watching him reel and recover from the one woman he had loved during his life, Lady Godwin.
Of course, the countess had never loved Mayne. But she had taught him something about the poverty and shallowness of all those extramarital affairs he had engaged in.
To Lucius’s way of thinking, the countess’s rejection had made his friend ready to truly fall in love. And Tess would love him in return. Tess, with her passionate mouth and tender gaze—she would fall in love with her husband. It would take time, perhaps months, even a year, but that marriage—