Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“He was quite serious, as am I. Come, Lord Brinkley.”

She actually heard him debating with himself as he trailed after her. “—damndest thing, a girl, nothing but a young girl—yes, she’d fill a man’s dreams and really she looks striking, lovely vest—but here she thinks she knows about breeding racehorses? Well, that Piccola of hers won, now didn’t she? Maybe all Miss Carrick did was wave her ribbons around the mare to encourage her. It just isn’t right for a young girl to see horses mate. So blatant it all is, so immensely intimate, so disgusting actually. Oh dear.”

Hallie didn’t know whether to laugh or scream as she listened, striding fiercely ahead of Lord Brinkley, forcing his lordship to take some double steps. Jason looked up from reassuring Delilah to see Lord Brinkley trailing Hallie, his head shaking, seemingly talking to himself. She’d already argued with him? Jason had been expecting this. He quickly gave over Delilah’s reins to Henry, their head stable lad, former head stable lad of Squire Hoverton. Henry stood back from Delilah, told her what a purty girl she was, his voice soft as silk, then finally, he lightly stroked the base of her neck, scratching gently here and there, always speaking quietly to her. He slipped her a lovely fresh carrot, a donation from Cook.

“Aye, would ye look at that, I’ve got me a friend for life, I do. Mr. Sherbrooke, ain’t she a lovely one? Jest look at them ears o’ hers, all turned forward.”

Jason turned and smiled. “Yes, she’s alert and interested.” Jason was grateful for Henry. He and Hallie had found him living with his widowed sister in Eastbourne, drinking too much ale because he suffered from melancholia. Jason couldn’t recall any individual ever being so excited before at an offer of a job. He had rubbed his hands together, grinning like a loon. Henry indeed had magic hands and a soft country voice that made every horse in the stable whinny and come trotting to him. He’d discovered four additional stable lads for Lyon’s Gate. He gave a quick bow to Lord Brinkley, told him not to worry, and turned back to Delilah. “Here now, beautiful girl, ye just come with Henry, he’ll feed ye all right ’n’ proper, let yer munch on another carrot or two. Jest ain’t ye a fine, fine girl. Yer going to like ole Dodger, he’s going to make a fine pa for yer baby.”

“Lord Brinkley,” Jason called, as he strided to the elderly man. “I am Jason Sherbrooke.” As he shook Lord Brinkley’s hand he continued. “I see you’ve met Miss Hallie Carrick. Henry will settle Delilah. We will continue with Dodger tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, may I see the stables, and Dodger?”

“Certainly. In a while Henry will turn her loose in this small paddock, and you can see how she likes her temporary home.”

Hallie let Jason give Lord Brinkley the stable tour. Well, she’d nearly gotten through her first dealing with a gentleman whole hide, or almost. It hadn’t been too bad. At least not yet. She was forced to laugh now, thinking back over his monologue. She wondered which one of him had won the argument. Probably the outraged one. She wondered if Lord Brinkley was staying for the mating tomorrow if he found it so disgusting. She knew if he did, he would be embarrassed to his toes if she were also present.

When the two men emerged, Henry had just loosed Delilah, a lovely chestnut Thoroughbred of perfect size and proportion, only fifteen hands tall. She had a refined head, a long arched neck, sloping shoulders and a deep chest. The only thing she didn’t have was hard legs. They were on the thin side and that was why Piccola had beaten her. She didn’t have the endurance in those too-skinny legs. Naturally, Hallie wasn’t about to say that to Lord Brinkley. Then, to her surprise, Jason said, “You saw that Dodger is immensely strong. His ancestry goes back to the Byerley Turk. Dodger’s endurance is legendary in America. He has dominant characteristics that appear in all of his foals—the most important one for Delilah’s foal is his thick muscled hindquarters and his hard legs. Dodger is bold and spirited, his will to win is unmatched.”

“Well, he hasn’t won here in England,” said Lord Brinkley. “Hmm, that does make his stud fee cheaper, and that is a good thing.”

Hallie nodded. “That is true. You are lucky, sir, for as soon as Dodger begins winning races here in England, his stud fee will rise quickly.”

After a moment Lord Brinkley announced, “Her legs look hard enough to me.” Neither Jason nor Hallie said anything to that, and after a pitiable sigh, Lord Brinkley admitted, “I heard someone say her legs were too skinny, but I ignored it, put it down to spite and ignorance. Her dam was crossed with Sultan, but her beautiful legs didn’t breed true. Still, I’ve always thought her legs quite elegant.”

Jason said, “Yes, they are elegant, but too skinny as well. But she is sturdy; look at that short strong back. With Dodger, she will birth a foal with his additional endurance. Just look at her. She’s ready.”

Delilah was prancing, as if for Dodger, back and forth in the paddock, head high, ears forward, tail up, whinnying. Lord Brinkley swelled with satisfaction.

Hallie said, “Look at the pride in her, my lord, and the graceful line of her neck. The intelligence in her eyes—yes, that will doubtless breed true.”

Lord Brinkley continued to puff out his chest until he chanced to look down. “My God, young woman, you’re wearing a man’s boots!”

Hallie immediately removed her booted foot from the bottom paddock rail.

She said mildly, “Slippers really aren’t the thing for stable yards, my lord. All the mud and muck and scattered pebbles everywhere. These boots were made by G. Bateson, a longtime apprentice of the great Hoby himself.”

“Hmm. It offended me when Hoby had the gall to die, fell over a boot he was fashioning, face landed in a pile of leather. Aye, I always gave Hoby my custom until that fateful day. Look at those boots of yours. I can see my face in the shine. Don’t tell me your maid knows how to shine a man’s boots?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but Hallie said, her eyes shining nearly as clear as her boots, “Actually, my lord, I take great pride in the appearance of my boots so it is I who polish them. It takes me a good half-hour, you know, sometimes longer, until I can see myself clearly in the shine.”

“I must ask your recipe, my dear. I’ll give it to my man.”

“It’s all in the size of the hand that measures out the vinegar, and my very special ingredient, anise seed. Does your man have large hands?”

“Oh, aye, Old Fudds has hands bigger than my mother-in-law’s, God rest her soul as of two months ago, amen. Used to sport in the ring, you know, Old Fudds did, not my mother-in-law. Oh dear, what am I to do? That is really a marvelous shine. Anise seed—who would have ever thought it important for anything save making your breath smell strange and sharp? I can see my eye twitching back at me, clear as day in that shine. My eye—been twitching like this for a good twelve years now, drives my wife quite distracted, particularly in company, She believes I’m winking at other ladies.”

“What do all the other ladies think, my lord?”

He grinned at Hallie. “They think I’m winking too. Quite dizzies them up.”

“Then it’s a good twitch, don’t you think?”

Jason said, “Er, Lord Brinkley, could you care to see Dodger out of his stall now?”

“What? Oh yes, certainly.” Lord Brinkley gave a wistful glance back at Hallie’s boots, then turned to follow Jason.

Hallie called out, “I will provide you with an exact measure, my lord, for