Nell frowned. “But I thought—”
Lady Gosforth nodded. “Harry was initially taken in by Mrs. Barrow, my aunt’s cook. His mother had died and he was badly neglected, and there it would have stayed except for the fact that Harry is the living image of his father. The moment my aunt saw the family resemblance she decided to raise both boys as gentlemen—after all it would not do to have a groom who was the living image of the earl. Beside, Aunt Gert had an absurd reverence for Renfrew blood. She said she bred horses and dogs without caring about marriage certificates, and younger sons were no different. And if their father didn’t care for them, she would.”
Lady Gosforth clucked her tongue over such an outrageous attitude, then continued. “When the time came to send the boys to school, Aunt Gert sent them both to Eton, where Renfrews had always gone—the same school as Marcus and Nash, their two older brothers, attended.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what she was thinking—perhaps she thought it would do the boys good to fight it out.”
“Fight it out?”
“Yes. It is a peculiarity of the male sex that once they have done their best to beat each other to a pulp, they will often walk away the best of friends. And certainly the stage was set for a fight.
“Marcus and Nash had been taught to look down on and despise Gabriel and Harry, who no doubt resented their older brothers for their privileged position. It made for instant and bitter enmity. Some of it remains to this day, though Nash has managed to create some kind of bridge between them all. A born diplomat, that boy.”
She sighed. “To cut a long story short, it got very nasty and Gabriel and Harry were expelled. My aunt was indisposed at the time and asked me look after them. I was horrified. I wanted nothing to do with either boy.” She smiled reminiscently and added, “But when I say ‘asked’ it was an order. Something of a martinet, my aunt Gert, and in my younger days I was too nervous of her to disobey.”
It ran in the family, Nell thought dryly.
“Of course, as soon as I saw the two boys I knew my brother was wrong about Gabriel. Both boys have their father’s extraordinary good looks—in fact it is an irony that they each look more like their father than the two older boys. Have you met Gabriel?”
“No.”
“He and Harry are almost identical, but Gabriel has his mother’s blue eyes and her darker hair. Harry’s gray eyes, however, come direct from my late brother. Marcus, the current earl, has the same eyes.” She shivered. “They can be extremely cold.”
They could also burn, thought Nell with a different kind of shiver, and thinking of Harry, not Marcus.
“I remember them arriving on my doorstep, two identical small boys, battered and bruised and stiff and wary. I decided at once that I’d take Gabriel in—he was after all, a legitimate Renfrew, but I had no intention of taking in a maidservant’s by-blow, and I said so. I told Gabriel to come in—I had no idea which was which—and said that the other boy could go around the back and the servants would look after him. He could stay as long as he was useful.”
Nell put a hand to her mouth to hide her distress. It was cruel, but she knew Lady Gosforth would be regarded by many as keeping up proper standards. Most people would not think twice about it.
She could not bear it if anyone treated Torie that way.
Lady Gosforth said ruefully, “I know, but I never thought of him as having feelings. Harry flung away across the road and stood there, glowering, his arms folded, declaring that he didn’t need anyone to look after him.
“Gabriel was furious, of course. He stood on my front step and railed at me and said he wasn’t going anywhere without his brother Harry. He told me that like everyone in his family except Great-aunt Gert and Harry, I was ignorant, stupid, and a horrid old snob. And then he stormed across the road and stood there with Harry.”
She laughed shakily. “It was raining, did I mention that? They got drenched, but nothing could budge them. Harry wasn’t going where he wasn’t wanted and Gabriel wasn’t going anywhere without his brother. In the end, I was frightened they would get sick and Aunt Gert would blame me so I finally said they could both come in at the front door. Gabriel made me promise that his brother would suffer no further insult. I had to cross the road and invite Harry in personally and then
he
made me promise I would not blame Gabriel for his loyalty. In the end he came so grudgingly, you wouldn’t believe it.”
Nell nodded mistily. She could believe it. The stubborn boy had grown into a stubborn man.
Lady Gosforth gave Nell a watery smile. “Aunt Gert knew what she was doing, sending those boys to me. I’d had four babies, you see . . . but none of them lived . . . And when I saw these two stern little half-drowned creatures, looking just as my brother had as a boy . . . two unwanted urchins standing together, side by side against the world, well, my heart cracked wide open.”
Lady Gosforth put her wool aside and fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. “The more I got to know them, the more I saw what fine boys they both were.” She dabbed at her eyes. “They came to me often then, in the school holidays or when they wanted to visit London. They became the sons I never had. But Harry never forgot that first time. It took him years to finally believe I wanted him and valued him for himself. He’s never felt wanted, you see, and he’s too proud to ask for anything.”
She finished mopping her eyes and blew vigorously into her handkerchief. “And so, my dear, that’s why I find it so utterly fascinating that he asked for you twice.”
Three times, Nell thought.
“After only three meetings—a girl he barely knows. And when you refused him, he just carried you off and made such a scandal you had no choice. The Harry I know and love would never do anything like that . . . Unless . . .”
Nell waited, but Lady Gosforth said nothing, just went on winding wool.
“Unless what?” Nell asked at last.
Lady Gosforth gave her a troubled look. “Do you love my nephew?”
Nell didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure yet what she felt about Harry Morant. She was too mixed up to know.
She’d thought she knew what he wanted of her. It had seemed quite straightforward. But since last night, she just wasn’t sure of anything.
Lady Gosforth sighed. “Just don’t hurt him, my dear. That’s all I ask. Don’t hurt him.”
A
fter luncheon Lady Gosforth returned to her own carriage, for a nap, she claimed. According to Harry it was her usual custom to nap her way around the country. “Dashed if I know how she does it,” he told Nell as he helped her into the yellow bounder. “Carriage lurching and bouncing the whole way. And then the moment she arrives she goes straight to bed.” He shook his head.
“You’re fond of her, aren’t you?” Nell said.
He looked surprised. “I suppose I am, yes.” He shrugged. “I don’t have much family—just her and the Barrows really. And Gabe, in Zindaria.”
No mention of his two other brothers at all, she noticed. “The Barrows?”
“My foster parents. Mrs. Barrow was my great-aunt’s cook. She took me in when I was about seven and has mothered me ever since.” He grinned. “She still treats me as if I’m seven but she cooks like a dream so I let her.”
“Aggie does the same to me.”
“And Barrow taught Gabe and me everything we know about horses.”
“He must be very knowledgeable,” Nell said.
“Yup, he is. So what did you and my aunt talk about?”
“Oh, knitting, things like that,” she said vaguely.
“Knitting?” He looked horrified.
“We wound wool.”
“Lord. I did warn you.” He glanced at her from under his brows. “Did she tell you anything about me?”
“Not much,” she fibbed. “She told me how she first met you and Gabriel, that’s all. And how she came to love you like a son.”
He looked astonished. “She said that? About me? Like a son?”
“Yes.” Nell watched his face. He seemed shocked.
“Are you sure she wasn’t talking about my brother Gabe?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why would she be talking to me about your brother?”
He shook his head, still apparently amazed. “What else did she say?”
“She mentioned you and your brother Gabriel are close. Do you miss him a great deal?”
“In a way. We’ve always done everything together. But it’s inevitable that when men grow up they go their different ways. He’s in Zindaria with his princess and I have my horse stud to think of now.” He looked at her and added, “And you.”
For a moment Nell thought he was going to kiss her. Her face heated. His kisses were getting all too addictive.
She glanced out of the window. “Oh look,” she said, pointing. “Those two gentlemen are having a race across the heath.” A little off the road, two young bloods were racing neck and neck, making loud whoops of glee.
Harry looked out and as she’d hoped, he was distracted. The finish line appeared to be a low line of bushes in the distance. Three other young men waited next to it, cheering and whooping as well.
“The bay will win,” Nell said. “The chestnut has the better rider, but the bay is the better horse.”
Harry watched a moment. She was right. The bay lagged well behind the chestnut, but his pace was long and sure and powerful. He glanced at Nell’s intent expression and said, “I’ll wager you the chestnut wins.”
“I
never
make wagers,” she said immediately. There was ice in her voice.
Of course she wouldn’t, not with her history. “Not a real wager,” he said. “Just for a kiss.”
“A what?” Her head jerked around.
“If that chestnut wins, you pay me a kiss.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“What can it hurt? It’s just a kiss. Don’t you have confidence in your judgment?”
The small pucker between her brows appeared as she tried to ignore his gentle gibe.
“Yep,” Harry said softly. “The chestnut’s going to win, and you’re afraid I’m right.”
“Nonsense! Very well, I’ll take that wager,” Nell declared. “You’ll see who’s right.”
They watched as the two young men hurtled toward the finish line. The bay pulled ahead, eating up the distance in long, powerful strides.
“See, see?” She bounced up and down on the seat. “He’s winning, my horse is winning! Come on the bay!”
Harry was winning, too, he thought. With a kiss as the stake, either way, he couldn’t lose.
“I won,” she crowed. “My horse won.”
“Yes,” he said feigning regret. “And now I’ll have to pay my wager.” He leaned forward.
She eyed him nervously. “What are you doing?”
“Paying my wager,” he said and before she could say a word he took her mouth in a firm, possessive movement. At the taste of him a quick rush of heat shot through her, and the horses outside, the rattle of the carriage, the world faded away. There was only him, his mouth, his hands, his taste and scent and feel. She melted.
After a moment she realized he was pulling back. She sat up, trying to look as though she hadn’t practically climbed on top of him.
“We have an audience,” he said with a rueful smile, and she saw they’d come to a small village. People in the street watched them pass. They could see right into the carriage, thanks to the big window at the front. No wonder he’d stopped. She was very glad. Almost.
“That bay was so fast,” she murmured, hoping she sounded composed. Wagering for a kiss—it was nearly as dangerous as wagering for money. “I wonder who bred him?”
“He’s not as fast as Sabre,” he told her. “And Ethan’s got a two-year-old Zindarian filly that can already give Sabre a run for his money. We’re entering her in the St. Leger Stakes at Doncaster next year.”
Nell nodded. “Good idea. Fillies race better at that time of year than in summer. They’re less distracted, I think.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “That’s right.”
She laughed at his expression. “Have you forgotten so soon whose grandparents bred racehorses? It was my dream, as well. I have high hopes for Toffee’s colt, let me tell you. Did you name him, by the way?”
He smiled. “I called him Firmin’s Hope.”
“Ohh.” It was so unexpectedly touching that for a moment Nell couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t have picked a better name. It summed everything up; her hopes for the colt, for the estate, and his hopes, too, it seemed. Not to mention the estate workers who would get a percentage of the prize money every time the colt won. “That’s a lovely name,” she said huskily. “Just perfect.”
He stared down at her. “And so are you,” he said and drew her into his arms. The village was behind them . . .
The Palace of Zindaria
M
iss Jane Tibthorpe, known to her friends as Tibby, accepted the dozen or so letters the liveried footman brought her on a silver platter with a quiet thank-you.
She immediately began to sort through them: fancy engraved invitations, correspondence on embossed, linen-weave note paper, letters bearing a royal seal, a personal note from the Duchess of Braganza to Princess Caroline of Zindaria.
“Please take this to the princess,” she told the footman. “It is a personal note and should not come to me.”
Her fingers froze as she came to a small white letter, written on plain, everyday notepaper. Her heart started thudding under the prim bodice of her plain blue dress.
Tibby knew at once who it was from.
She lived for those letters.
“That will be all, thank you,” she told the footman. As soon as he’d gone she swiftly tucked the letter into the bosom of her dress.
Ethan’s letters she read in absolute privacy. They were hers and hers alone. As were her sentiments.
She bent quietly to her task, working methodically through the mound of correspondence until her work was done.
By then it was midafternoon. Callie made a practice of observing the English ritual of tea and cakes at this time of day. She did it for Tibby’s sake as much as her own, so Tibby had to delay the reading of the letter even longer.