Chapter Twelve
The clip-clop of shod hooves on brick pavers echoed through the stillness of the English afternoon. As a groom walked the chestnut gelding up the ramp and into the horse van, Sebastian exchanged the bill of sale in his hand for a check from the buyer. A glance confirmed it was made out for the correct amount, and Sebastian slipped it into his inside jacket pocket.
“I’m confident the horses will make suitable mounts for young riders, Mr. Melrose,” Sebastian stated. “I know they served my nephews well.”
“They’re fine, sound animals. My daughters will be thrilled to have them.” The heavyset man threw a look over his shoulder as the groom emerged from inside the van to load the second horse. “Myself, I’ve never understood the connection between horses and young girls, but mine are completely daft about them.” When the second gelding walked up the ramp, the man touched his hat to Sebastian. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Your Lordship.”
Nodding, Sebastian murmured an appropriate response, his attention distracted by the approach of a vehicle. Quick to recognize the driver behind the wheel as his sister, he turned to meet her while the man went to help the groom secure the horse van for travel.
Helen stepped out of the car, greeting him with a wide smile. “Since I was in the vicinity, I thought I would join you for tea.”
“I’m glad you did.”
She threw a curious glance at the horse van. “Is that Jaspar and Big Mike in there?”
“It is.” Sebastian opened the front door for her.
Helen stepped inside then waited for him, her expression puzzled and slightly uncertain. “Did you sell them?”
“To Mr. Melrose,” he confirmed and led the way toward the twin library. “It seems his twin daughters have outgrown their ponies.”
“I had no idea you were thinking of selling them.”
“Under the circumstances, a six-horse stable is a luxury I can’t afford.” Upon entering the library, he crossed to the desk and rang the kitchen. “Inform Grizwold there will be two for tea. We’re in the library.”
“I hope you received a good price for them.” Helen sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs and curled her legs underneath, making herself at home.
“The sum is more than enough to finance a trip across the pond,” Sebastian replied.
It took a moment for the significance of his statement to register. “Are you going over there to see her?” Helen asked as if none too sure of his reason.
“If I don’t, I will always wonder what might have happened if I had made one more attempt to win her.”
His expression was much too serious for Helen to doubt the truth in his words. Neither had to say Laura’s name; they both knew to whom he was referring. The mere reference to Laura prompted Helen to glance at the wall where the portrait hung. But the space was blank.
Her gaze flew to Sebastian. “What did you do with the portrait of Lady Crawford?”
“As soon as Melrose agreed to buy the horses, I had Grizwold take it down and crate it for shipment.”
“You’re taking it to America with you.”
“I thought it might make a useful peace offering.” His mouth quirked in an attempt at a smile.
Helen saw through it. “You really care about her, don’t you?”
“I must. It’s been impossible to get her out of my mind.” The portrait was merely one reminder of Laura. Sebastian knew there were few rooms in Crawford Hall that he could enter without seeing Laura in them.
Logan drove into the ranch yard and headed straight for The Homestead. A car was parked in front of it. There was nothing unusual about that, but the compact sedan wasn’t one that he recognized as being from the area. As he pulled up beside it, Logan automatically glanced at the license plate and saw it was a rental.
It was a habit to be interested in any stranger, and his attention quickly shifted to the man standing near the top of the veranda steps. Tall, and well-dressed in a sports jacket and slacks, he looked to be somewhere in his early thirties. Most distinctively, no hat covered his head, and he wore shoes, not cowboy boots. Lean of face and fair-complected, he had a touch of red in his light brown hair.
Logan climbed out of the Jeep Cherokee and approached the steps. “Afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” the man replied with a British accent, then glanced in the direction of the front door. “No one seems to be in. I knocked, but there was no answer.”
“No one knocks at the Triple C.” Logan gestured toward the door in invitation. “They just walk in.” He continued past him to the door.
“Unannounced?” the man questioned.