‘Neither had I, Uncle. Truly,’ Hester blurted, raising her head. For some reason, that statement caused amusement to flicker across her uncle’s face.
‘That I can well believe.’ He chuckled, before turning to Lord Lensborough and remarking, ‘Harry mentioned last night that you keep extensive stables, my lord. He spends a lot of time in London, does my nephew, and seems to regard you as a regular Corinthian.’
Lensborough dipped his head in acknowledgment of an accolade he often received, though on this occasion he recognised it for the attempt it was to divert attention from Hester.
Peter ambled forward. ‘I’m a keen rider myself,’ he began, ‘though not up to your standard, I warrant. But I would be honoured to show you around the place. There are some good gallops to be had up towards the moors.’
‘A word of warning, Peter,’ Sir Thomas interjected. ‘Keep well away from The Lady’s Acres—the ground is not fit. And as for you—’ he rounded on Lady Hester, jerking his thumb over his shoulder ‘—my study. Now.’
Sir Thomas turned and strode out of the yard and Lady Hester, to Lord Lensborough’s surprise, meekly followed him.
Her dejected demeanour wrung a pang of sympathy from him. Perhaps her punishment might be less severe if he were to explain to her uncle that their meeting had been accidental.
But then a groom brought his hunter, Comet, to the mounting block, and good sense reasserted itself. It really was none of his business, and he could not deny that the girl needed disciplining. Her behaviour was atrocious. And as for Sir Thomas thinking there was the remotest possibility he might respond to any advances she might make towards him…Why, he could not find a less suitable candidate to become his marchioness if he scoured the known world.
Lady Hester was hopeless, he thought, swinging into the saddle. If any man was ever foolhardy enough to contemplate marrying her, he would find his hands full with the battle to curb her wilful nature, and no guarantee of eventual victory. He’d wager the taming of Lady Hester would be a well-nigh impossible task.
Julia and Phoebe, on the other hand, were exactly what he’d told his mother to find. Plump and pretty, and willing to be content with such crumbs of his attention as he chose to throw their way. How could Sir Thomas seriously think Lady Hester could compete with them?
It was a pity that he could not work up more enthusiasm for either of Sir Thomas’s daughters. But then he had never expected marriage to be anything other than a duty to be got through with as little unpleasantness as possible. That was why he had been adamant that he required a wife who would not cavil at his keeping a mistress. He would need some compensation for the tedium of doing his duty to the family by getting heirs from a woman who only saw him as a means of social advancement.
He reined in his impatience with Peter, who was leading him through the park at a sedate trot when what he was aching for was a seriously hard gallop.
So little did Julia interest him that he could not remember having attended her come-out ball, though his mother had insisted he had, as a favour to her goddaughter. But then he routinely attended several such events in the course of an evening during the Season, and they all merged into a vague oneness in his memory. Not that there was anything amiss with his memory. He could name every winner of every race meeting he had attended at Newmarket that same spring.
His mother had indicated that Phoebe would enjoy being introduced to society as an engaged woman, but he thought it would be rather unfair to rob her of the fun girls seemed to take in attracting a bevy of suitors. And she would have plenty, she was so pretty. He had to make it look as though he was giving her serious consideration, however. She looked at him with such awe he suspected it would crush her if he dismissed her out of hand.
Finally, Peter urged his mount into a canter, and Lord Lensborough dug his heels into Comet’s flanks. The stallion shot forward like an arrow in flight, and the blood began to sing through his veins as they gathered speed. This was what he had been waiting for.
His breath caught in his throat as the wild notion that marriage to Hester would feel something like this—a wild gallop over unknown terrain, never knowing if your mount was going to put its foot into a rabbit hole and toss you over his head. Julia or Phoebe would never exercise him beyond a brisk trot.
He laughed aloud as he let his stallion have his head. Wasn’t that the whole point of coming to The Holme in the first place—to pluck some damsel from obscurity and flaunt her in the mercenary faces of the harpies who had been pursuing him so relentlessly? Lady Hester would be even more of a slap in the face to them all than her prettier, more accomplished cousins. Above all, he had wanted a woman who had never set her cap at him. Well, that was Hester all right. While her cousins had fluttered and flattered, she had spoken her mind, and given as good as she got on every occasion their paths crossed. Even the way she walked showed that she was totally resigned to her spinster state. When she was not creeping about like a cowed little girl, she strode about with a purposeful air, almost mannish in her bearing. Never did she adopt that seductive little sway to the hips that females employed to entice a man’s eye.
Why not? the thundering hooves seemed to echo. Why not? Why not?
Marrying such a harridan would be disastrous. So what? He had never expected his marriage to be anything other than a farce, after all.
They crested a brow, and momentarily he admired the rolling vista opening up below him. His plan had been to find a woman who would be content to remain for the most part on one of his estates and breed his heirs. He had thought to pick a woman too complaisant to interfere with his life in London, or his interests in his racing stables. But Hester—well, she was so socially inept she would not want to spend much time in London, if the account of her disastrous Season was anything to go by.
And in her case, boredom would not be an issue. On the contrary, getting heirs by her was likely to be a tempestuous affair—a vision flashed into his mind of her fists raining blows onto Pattison’s chest—if he could teach her to channel all that passion and energy more productively, he might even think about putting off his mistress altogether. Lush curves were not all that a man sought from his bedfellow.
He might do it. He really might do it.
Both men slowed their horses to a walk, their breathing laboured, their faces flushed with exertion. He turned in his saddle towards Peter.
‘Can you satisfy my curiosity with regard to Lady Hester? Am I right in assuming she performs the duty of unpaid housekeeper for her aunt?’
‘Ah, in a manner of speaking. That is, shouldn’t say so, but dare say you’ve noticed already. My mother-in-law gets flustered very easily. Not sure how she would cope with us all descending on her like this if Hester wasn’t here to help out, but Hester loves that sort of work, you know. Brilliant organiser. According to my wife, she loves planning things down to the last little detail.’
He had already deduced that Lady Gregory could not be the brain behind the smooth running of her establishment. So, Lady Hester would not shine at tonnish parties, but then he did not care overmuch for them anyway. She could certainly cater to the needs of guests he might invite to any one of his estates for hunting, say, or a shooting party.
‘And she organises the most marvellous games for the children, treasure hunts and what have you. They all love coming to stay here.’
Yes, they did. A smile curved his lips at the thought of her rapport with children. He had never voiced his hope that he could find a wife
