Princess Charming (34 page)

Ash shook off that dismal reflection and came to a new resolve. Even a few days of waiting would doubtless be interminable, but he wasn’t ever giving up. He would allow Maura a sufficient interval to reflect and
sort out her feelings for him. But if she didn’t love him now, he would hound her until she did.

Ash felt a determined smile curve his mouth. Maura was his life’s mate, he knew that now without a doubt. He’d felt that remarkable bond between them last night when he’d made love to her, and again this morning when she’d come to his rescue.

He simply had to make her recognize it as well.

He would shape his destiny by sheer force of will if need be, but in the end he would make Maura love him.

Situated between Newmarket
Heath and the village of Cavendish, the Collyer Stud had the advantage of being close to the racing downs and annual bloodstock sales of Newmarket, yet boasted rich grass pastureland that was ideal for horsebreeding.

Charming streams and roads dotted with poplars and beeches laced the undulating, green countryside, where timber-framed thatched cottages mingled with the grand estates of the Suffolk nobility, occasionally interspersed with cupolas and turrets of various studs and stables.

The Collyer Stud had a quiet beauty all its own, Maura had always thought. Normally she relished the peace and tranquility of her home, but on this particular occasion, six long days after her retreat from London, she gave little thought to the loveliness. She and Gandy had both been up since well before dawn, encouraging a fractious mare through a difficult birth.

They had just stepped outside the stall and were now observing over the half door. Twenty minutes ago, the
tiny black foal they’d named Noble Prince after his sire’s champion line had stood on its long spindly legs and had successfully begun nursing.

Despite her relief, however, despite the fact that the miracle of birth never failed to awe her and watching precious young foals always raised her spirits, Maura felt drained to the bone. Even so, she welcomed the weariness. Upon arriving home, she’d thrown herself into her work, hoping to make herself so exhausted that she would cease mourning her loss of Ash.

Gandy appeared to be growing more and more concerned for her, though. Tall and wiry, his hair peppered with gray, her longtime stable master still had a spring in his step that belied his nearly sixty years of age. He was the closest thing Maura had to a father since her own father’s passing. Actually she thought of Gandy more like a dear uncle, despite the differences in their fortune and stations.

His rugged, weathered face was frowning now as he shifted his attention from the weak mare to her. “Ye should seek yer own bed now, Miss. I can deal with the young ’un and her mama from here.”

Maura glanced out the window of the foaling barn. The angle of the sun suggested that it was early afternoon. “It is broad daylight, Gandy. I won’t be able to sleep until dark.”

He made a face. “If ye won’t turn in and lie yerself down for a nap, then take yerself back to the manor. Ye should eat something. Ye missed yer breakfast and dinner.”

“So did you.”

“But my old bones can get by on scant victuals. Please, Miss Maura.”

“Very well, I will go.” She had been resting her arms on the door and now pushed away. Before she turned, however, Gandy spoke again.

“ ’Tisn’t my place to say, but p’raps ye should return to London. Ye aren’t happy here. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

She was indeed fiendishly unhappy. Three days of heavy rain had darkened her mood even further. Yet she forced a smile. “I will be fine.”

“Well, for my sake I wish ye would heed me. Yer papa would have me head to see ye now. He’s surely looking down from heaven and cursing me.”

“Papa never cursed, Gandy.”

“Not in yer hearing, no, but he could swear a wicked streak if he had a ken to.”

His observation won a more genuine smile from her, a smile that stayed with her as she made her way down the aisle to the pump.

Her amusement faded as she scrubbed her hands and arms and removed the thick apron that had protected her gown. But at least the dreary weather had let up, Maura thought as she left the barn and trudged toward the manor. The afternoon was growing warm with bright spring sunshine, a welcome change from the recent downpours.

When she grew closer, she noticed a carriage in the stableyard. Her spirits sank when she recognized Priscilla’s barouche. Wondering what had brought her stepmother calling, Maura let herself in by the back door, where she traded her half boots for shoes. She still was not at all presentable for company, though, certainly not by Pris’s standards, and so she considered going up to her bedchamber to change her gown.

She was rather surprised when Priscilla intercepted her at the back stairs—and taken aback at the thoroughly amiable tone of her greeting.

“There you are, my dear,” Pris said, smiling broadly. “I should have known you would be out in the barns. I trust the new foal is healthy?”

“Yes, although the mare had a difficult time dropping. What brings you here, Priscilla?” Maura asked warily.

“Why, I wanted to report the glad tidings to you myself. Lord Deering has left the country! And before that, he made a public apology to your late father in the papers!”

Maura exhaled slowly. Katharine had sent her a copy of Deering’s retraction, but she hadn’t yet heard of his departure and had been almost afraid that it wouldn’t happen.

“That was Beaufort’s doing, was it not? And you are the reason Beaufort intervened. I cannot thank you enough, dearest Maura.”

“You needn’t thank me, Priscilla. I acted for Papa’s sake.”

“Well, I am beside myself with joy. I confess”—Pris lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“I found Deering’s public humiliation immensely satisfying.”

“As did I,” Maura said in heartfelt agreement.

“And my daughters are flourishing, now that the Wildes have taken such a particular interest in them. I know you are the sole reason.” Pris hesitated, her expression growing solemn as she took Maura’s hands in her own. “I must apologize for how I treated you all
these years. As I told you last week, I very much hope we can start anew, if that is even possible.”

Maura felt her usual guard crumble at her stepmother’s genuine contrition. “I hope so too, Priscilla,” she replied quite honestly.

“Then why don’t we share a nice cup of tea and I can tell you everything that has happened in London during your recent absence?” She took Maura’s arm and turned her toward the front of the manor. “You and I never have had a real coze, like mother and daughter, but I should like to try.”

Amazingly enough, Maura realized she would like that also. After detouring to the kitchens to ask the housekeeper to bring them tea, Maura went up to her bedchamber to quickly wash and change, then settled in the rose parlor with Priscilla, where they eyed each other hesitantly.

Their conversation began tentatively, even stiffly, but Priscilla appeared determined to persevere and move beyond establishing a mere truce in favor of a comfortable relationship. And after a while Maura found herself relaxing and even smiling. It was her first time being the target of the beautiful widow’s charm and a pointed reminder of how her father had been seduced so easily.

When the subject turned to Maura’s betrothal to Lord Beaufort, however, she balked at discussing any of the details, merely saying there would be no wedding.

“What do you mean, there will be no wedding?” Priscilla’s tone quickly changed from persuasion to exasperation, and even held a shrill note. “What happened,
Maura? Did you offend his lordship in some fashion? You never could behave suitably toward an eligible gentleman, with decorum and charm and sweetness … honey not vinegar. No doubt you gave Beaufort a disgust of you with your tart tongue and indelicate manners.”

Maura’s lips twisted in an ironic smile. “For once you misjudge me, Priscilla. The truth is, our betrothal
never
was real. It was only a pretense so Beaufort could challenge Viscount Deering on my behalf.”

Her stepmother’s mouth dropped open. “Not real? Well then, you simply must make it real, Maura. You must marry the marquis!”

“I’m afraid I cannot oblige you, Priscilla.”

“But this is a golden opportunity for you,” she chided. “And your family as well. How can you pass it up, marrying a nobleman of his fortune and rank? Surely you want your stepsisters to have such a splendid connection—”

Suddenly Priscilla bit off her last words and stopped the harangue herself. For a moment, she looked as if she had swallowed a sour lemon, but then amazingly, she managed a rueful smile. “Please forgive me, my dear. I promised I would turn over a new leaf. You don’t need me to scold you. Truly, Maura, I did not mean to imply that my only thought was for my daughters or that you were deficient in some manner. I sincerely want for you to be happy. Beaufort seemed quite taken with you and you with him. Is there no hope for a marriage?”

“No, I am sorry, there is not.” The thought brought a sharp pain to Maura’s breast, but she was determined to conceal it.

Priscilla sighed. “Very well, then, I will cease reproaching you. My lips are sealed, I swear. So why do you not tell me about this year’s foals? How many of them are Emperor’s?”

Since Priscilla had never once been interested in the workings of the stud, Maura was convinced her stepmother was making an enormous effort to reconcile. When she extended an invitation to stay for the night, however, Priscilla claimed the need to return directly to London in order to chaperone Hannah and Lucy at an important engagement the following morning. But she had considered it necessary to come in person and express her thanks to Maura for vanquishing Lord Deering.

They parted on remarkably good terms and actually embraced for the first time in years. Maura saw her stepmother’s barouche off, but in the quiet that followed the departing carriage, she had to face her own problems once more. Her heart was so heavy, it felt like a lump of lead had lodged in her chest.

Rather than return to the house, Maura crossed the stableyard and passed the barns, then walked out to the stud paddocks to check on Emperor—something she had done frequently since his return to Suffolk.

A swell of affection filled her when she saw the stallion cavorting in the meadow like a young colt. The enclosed pasture was surrounded by high rail fencing and tall yew hedges and separated from the broodmares and foals by the width of the farm, but he didn’t appear to mind the segregation since he had Frip for companionship. The elderly chestnut gelding was contentedly grazing while Emperor raced freely across the grass.

He was very happy to be home, Maura knew. Moreover, the bond they shared had only been strengthened by his ordeal. When she let herself in by way of a sturdy gate, Emperor suddenly plunged to a halt and whipped his head around, as if sensing her. Upon spying her, he let out a piercing whinny and galloped over to Maura, only slowing at the last instant.

For a time he pranced in a circle around her, snorting and tossing his head, hooves dancing, tail raised high as he showed off his regal carriage and noble bloodlines. Sweat shone on his glossy black coat in the sunlight, accentuating the power in his rippling muscles.

However, the stallion finally halted quietly before her, tame as any lamb. Eager for the attention, he offered his face to be fondled. Maura obliged, stroking his ears and the poll between.

“I am glad that one of us is happy, Emp,” she murmured. “You at least have good reason to be cheerful since your amorous affairs are far more successful than mine. You are back with your harem, while I am alone once more.”

It was a measure of how lonely she was that she was talking to her horse, Maura knew. But even her beloved Emp couldn’t cure her heartbreak. The hurt inside her was like an aching wound.

She had brought her misery on herself, though. By letting herself love Ash, she had made her pain and loss infinitely greater. If only she had heeded her own self-warnings and kept her heart closed to Ash.… Except that would have been impossible. She couldn’t help loving him, any more than she could will herself to stop breathing.

Adding disappointment to her crushing despondency was the fact that her monthly courses had come and gone. She had wanted Ash’s child to love, even though becoming
enceinte
out of wedlock would have resulted in a monstrous scandal.

“I believe the poets are wrong,” she told Emperor sadly. “It is
not
better to have loved and lost. Losing at love is far too excruciating.”

The stallion shook his head at her musings, which drew a faint smile from Maura. “What, you disagree? Priscilla shares your opinion. She thinks I should pursue Ash for his fortune and connections.” Maura hesitated, then dared to voice the subversive thought that had been intensifying for days.

“Perhaps I made a mistake returning home, Emp. At least if I had remained in London, I could have been with him.”

The prospect of being with Ash again was so appealing it was frightening. Was she seriously considering, Maura wondered, taking her stepmother’s advice to join all the other pitiful husband-hunters who stalked wealthy noblemen?