his uncle’s doing as the contrada’s capitano.
The farm came into view, a lovely spread of flat green pasture fanning out before them with a brown-brick farmhouse rising in Tuscan style in the background. The age-old desire of man to claim land and to make it his own surged within Archer, so compelling was the scene spread before him. This was what he wanted—a home of his own where he was master, not of the land necessarily, that was rather egotistical, but master of himself and his destiny, where his children ran alongside the horses in the grass, where his sons and daughters would ride bareback through the fields, where he worked hard each day and retired each evening to a table full of fresh country food and a wife to warm his bed and his heart.
It was an entirely fanciful notion. He had some of that in Newmarket but there, he was always the earl’s second son and the stables had been part of the family long before he’d taken over. There was also the issue of wealth and social standing. There were appearances to keep up at Newmarket. He could not muck out the stalls or work too closely with the stable hands. He could hand out orders, design breeding programs and instruct the riders who exercised the Crawford string. But that was all. Heaven forbid his father heard his son had been out riding like a common jockey or cleaning stalls. And his father always heard. How many times had he been told by the earl that gentlemen rode to the hunt? That they bet on the races?
They swung off their horses as the man they’d come to meet strode out to greet them. Michele di Stefano was a man of middling stature and easy confidence, dressed in farm clothes. There was hand-shaking and cheek-kissing, something Archer didn’t think he’d ever get used to. He couldn’t imagine Haviland ever kissing his cheek, although he could very well imagine Nolan doing it just to goad him. Nolan would like Tuscany with all its touchy rituals. Nolan was a great believer in the idea that people were more inclined to trust you if you touched them.
They tromped out to the stables and the paddocks where his uncle’s two horses—both high-spirited chestnut beauties—were running the length of the fence. Giacomo and the man talked briefly before the man excused himself to see to other guests. For the first time, Archer noted how busy the stables were. They were not the only guests who’d come to see the horses. ‘I see you’re not the only one who thought to come out and view the horses,’ Archer said slyly.
Giacomo elbowed him teasingly. ‘Everyone is interested in making the race equal. There are three weeks until the horses are chosen. The capitani from the different contradas will spend the time travelling to the different stables looking for horses and fantini. Naturally, the capitani have been looking all year, but now that we’ve got one race behind us, we know what must be done for the next. We’re looking to fill in gaps.’ Giacomo lowered his voice. ‘What that really means is that we’re all looking for a horse to beat Jacopi’s Morello.’ This last was said with more seriousness than it had been on the road, a clear indicator that they were in earnest on this mission.
‘Tell me, mio nipote, what do you think of the horses?’ Here came the first test. Archer was ready.
‘I think they run quite nicely, but at a distance that is all I can tell. Let’s go in. I want to look at their legs.’ Archer was already heading into the paddock, slices of apple retrieved from a pocket and at the ready in his outstretched hand, his voice low and sure. It was an irresistible invitation. Both horses wasted no time making his acquaintance.
Archer stroked their manes and played a bit with them before beginning his examination. He checked teeth and ran his hands down their legs, finding the bones strong and the muscles cool. ‘They are in good shape. Now, how they’ll do with a rider remains to be seen.’ He brushed his hands on his riding breeches and stepped back.
‘We should take them to my farm, then, to join the others?’ his uncle asked. ‘I have riders there who will work with the horses we want to nominate.’
‘Yes, definitely take them,’ Archer said confidently, his blood starting to hum at the mention of a horse farm. He’d not realised his uncle had a place outside the one in town. ‘Perhaps I could deliver them for you if you’re busy?’ He was suddenly anxious to see this place.
His uncle smiled and Archer grinned, laughing at himself. He had taken his uncle’s bait quite easily. ‘You’re just like your father when it comes to horses, eager as a school boy.’ His uncle clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You may pick them up tomorrow and deliver them to our villa.’ There was something else in his uncle’s eyes too, something that said he had passed the first test.
‘Just like my father?’ Archer queried, not sure if he liked the sound of that. He’d spent most of his life trying to avoid such a comparison.
His uncle studied his face for a moment, his happy eyes sobering a little. ‘Like he used to be the summer I knew him. I don’t know the sort of man he became, but I know what he was like at your age.’
‘And what was that?’ Archer ventured, finding it odd and novel to think of his uncle knowing his father, knowing a man different than the one Archer knew.
A small smile returned to his uncle’s face. ‘A man who wasn’t afraid to live, to embrace life. A man like you, who wasn’t afraid to get his hands or boots dirty when it came to horses.’ Really? Archer didn’t know that man.
There was movement across the field, and Archer followed his uncle’s gaze as it flicked across the paddock to another holding pen farther out. ‘Pantera’s here. The capitano has sent his son and that niece of his to survey the competition. Rafaele di Bruno must be feeling the pressure now to win two. Wouldn’t that be a feather in Pantera’s cap to win both Palios in a single year? Of course, it won’t happen.’
Giacomo uttered something about the statistical possibility of that being unlikely, but Archer didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the woman across the field. He’d been ready to ride the breadth of Tuscany to find her and here she was. She could not have been delivered to him any more neatly.
‘His niece is a beauty,’ Giacomo put in idly. But Archer wasn’t fooled. He’d better tread carefully. His uncle’s next words confirmed it. ‘Perhaps you might spend some time with her this afternoon if you’re interested.’
Archer was interested, all right. She was perhaps even lovelier by daylight. Any worries he might have entertained that his perception of her beauty had been influenced by the night and the lighting were immediately banished. Her black hair was neatly coiffed beneath a straw hat that showed her profile to advantage; the curve of her jaw, the firm jut of her chin. She wore an exquisitely tailored riding habit done in blue. The white of her lacy jabot stood in striking contrast from the dark fabric, but even from here Archer could see that the jabot was loose, the neck of her blouse undone against the warmth of the day. She walked arm in arm with her cousin, stopping now and then to watch the horses and comment to their host. Archer imagined he could catch hints of her laughter. But thoughts of Elisabeta had to be set aside until later. There was work to do now. Pranza, or lunch, was to be served only after everyone had viewed the horses. There would be time to meet her then. He could possibly manoeuvre a place beside her at the table, perhaps a walk after the meal while his uncle conducted the rest of his business.
Archer’s blood began to hum with the knowledge of her presence and with plans. He let a smile of satisfaction spread across his face. Today was shaping up quite nicely in terms of his goals. His uncle had been impressed with his story about Amicus and Elisabeta was here, standing a hundred yards away.
He
