“Aye, I think I have one already—a colt, a three-year-old, racing at Newmarket tomorrow.” The earl made a bit of a face and said, “My man took him to race, wanted me to join him, but it will be a madhouse this time of year, and I am rather enjoying myself here. I like the breeding end of it much more than the racing.”
“Well, well, even so, congratulations are in order,” Lord Saunders returned, his face alight with excitement. “Who is the dam?”
“Sweet Breeze, from Grantham Grange.”
“Good horse people, the Granthams. Some very fine horses over there.” He sighed happily. “I can’t tell you how excited I am about this stud of yours.”
Bold Tim had trotted back to the gathered crowd, and as though understanding he was the center of attention, reared and pawed the air with his fores.
Donna and Bess clapped with pleasure, and Robby said, “I say, he knows his own worth, doesn’t he?”
This done, Bold Tim turned in a circle, put his nose to the grass, went first to his knees and then completely down with a heavy thud and a grunt, and rolled to his and everyone’s pleasure.
Saunders took his leav
e of his daughter and the assembled company before turning to the earl, who smiled and shook his hand heartily to say, “Well met, then.”
“Indeed, John, well met.” He sighed and added, “Now I am late and must hurry off. Sorry to leave these youngsters with you …”
“Youngsters!” objected Robby and Bess in one voice.
Both Bess’s father and the earl laughed, and a few moments later they escorted the viscount back into the stables, where he took up his horse.
They walked him to the front drive and waved him off before Bess looked across to the small holding paddock and saw her mare.
She made a distressed clucking sound. “Oh no … Missy … what have you done to your leg?” Her mare had pulled up lame.
“Right front, I think,” the earl said thoughtfully, as Bess took her halter and walked her a bit.
The earl joined her in the paddock and said, “Hold her still, lass, and we’ll see …” He bent and ran experienced hands up and down Missy’s two front legs. He frowned, and though Bess worried at his expression, she waited.
He shook his head and said, “No heat, no swelling. Let’s see about her shoulder.” He then palpitated the horse’s shoulder muscles, which caused the mare to flicker distressfully. “Och aye, ’tis the shoulder, then.” The earl patted the mare and turned to Bess. “Zounds then, lassie, it is a long way from her heart. Doona look like that. She’ll do.”
“Yes, but how did this happen? It was an easy ride over here.”
“It was that dashed last fence your papa told us not to take. She twisted over it. You held your seat, but she did not take it well—I’d wager that was when she did it,” Robby stuck in with a shake of his head.
“Robby!” objected his wife.
“He is quite right. Papa said to leave it, and I didn’t. Oh, I feel dreadful. This is all my fault. My poor Missy.”
The earl put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Never mind—ye couldn’t have known it would happen. Where was this fence?”
“The last stretch of wood just before you hit the open wheat field,” she answered with a heavy sigh.
“Aye, I know that trail. The blasted thing cuts out a good two miles of winding road. Indeed, I think I know the fence you must be talking about. Split rail, not high, but odd in color. Your mare probably backed off it just at the last minute.”
“Yes, exactly,” she answered, feeling blue-deviled about the entire incident.
“Only one good thing has come out of this,” remarked Robby, whose face had suddenly brightened. “Your horse needs rest, so there will be no traveling to Stonehenge!”
“Horrid man,” snapped his wife.
The earl laughed and said, “I am sorry, Robby, my friend, but I promised the ladies that we would escort them to Stonehenge, and Stonehenge they shall get.” He turned back to Bess. “I have a stable full of horses that need exercising, sweet lassie. Ye have but to pick one that ye think ye might be able to handle.” The tease was full in his blue eyes and on his face, and it suspended all chance at regular breathing. This was insane. Women were supposed to stun men, not the other way around.
“Oh, but I couldn’t …” Bess answered with a shake of her head.
“Oh, but ye can, and ye shall. Applejack is one of m’favorites. He is a sweet and honest goer and hasn’t had enough exercise this past month while I was in London.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “Try him out and see if you like his paces.” Again the tease came back to his voice. “Or mayhap ye think he might be too much horse for ye?”