Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“Now, see here, Mr. Sherbrooke. Lord Grimsby wasn’t all that old then.”

Hallie said, “Isn’t Lord Grimsby married?”

“I was being indelicate,” Jason said. “When James and I were quite small, Lord Grimsby let us ride his prize pigs, big pigs, you understand, so fat they could barely walk and thus weren’t hazardous to the health of two three-year-old boys.”

“Your father let you ride pigs?”

Jason nodded. “He said if we could stay on Ronnie and Donnie’s backs for three minutes without sliding off, we would be ready for our own ponies.”

Lord Renfrew said, disdain radiating from his lovely tall self, “I have never ridden a pig in my life.”

“Well, I haven’t since I was three-and-a-half and my father set me on my first pony. How about you, Hallie?”

“I wish I had the memory of a fat pig from my childhood, but alas—you know that my father and I sailed everywhere when I was little and the deck rocked too much for livestock to roam about.” She turned to Lord Renfrew. “Perhaps you were too young to remember your pig-riding.”

“Of course I would remember. I don’t.” He shut his mouth. He was in Bedlam. This was absurd, ridiculous. Both his host and hostess were smiling at him, ready to offer him more tea, ready to misunderstand

what he said. He rose, bowed in Hallie’s direction, sighed, knew there was no hope for it. It was either both or none. “I will see you Thursday night. Mr. Sherbrooke, it’s been pleasurably irksome to meet you.”

He bowed again and nearly ran from the drawing room. They heard Petrie’s rapid footsteps toward the front door. “Oh, my lord, do give me just a moment. The door is heavy, it must be opened just right. I am re-prepared, and at your endless service.”

They didn’t hear a word from Lord Renfrew. The front door closed, a bit on the loud side. A moment later, Petrie appeared in the drawing room doorway. “How very odd, Master Jason, the gentleman didn’t take his hat or cane, and you can be sure I held them both out to him.”

CHAPTER 24

The Dauntry mare, Penelope, was made at home in the stall next to Delilah’s, where it soon became apparent that they didn’t like each other. Jason and Hallie watched Henry jerk Delilah back before she could sink her healthy yellow teeth in Penelope’s lovely chestnut neck.

“It’s because of Dodger,” Jason said to Hallie. “Both Delilah and Penelope want him. They know they’re beautiful, used to winning, and have sharp teeth. What will we do?”

“Let them tear each other’s manes out,” Hallie said.

Jason laughed. “What a sight that would be. No, it’s a sight I never want to see again in my life. Put her in the end stall, Henry.”

Henry looped Penelope’s lead reins around his hand. Her new accommodation was probably too close to Dodger’s stall because Delilah whinnied, tossed her head, and kicked out, making the wood shudder. As for Piccola, she continued to chew on her hay, her eyelids heavy. Dodger looked up to see what the excitement was about, saw Penelope swaying toward him, and nodded his big head. “I swear his ears perked up,” Jason said, “when Penelope came into his view.”

Henry called over his shoulder, “I will take his sultanship into a paddock so we’ll have no more carryings-on between the ladies.”

Hallie said slowly, “I don’t think I have laughed so much in a very long time.”

“With Elgin hanging about, I can believe it. You’re lucky to be rid of him.”

She shuddered. “I once thought he was very amusing.” She turned to leave the stables, paused a moment, turned back to him. “But not now. I am going to try to balance our expenditures with our profits. Will you check my figures later?”

He nodded, watched her stride back toward the house. He remembered the Wyndhams—the laughter, the shouting, the arguing, natural to a house with four young children. He missed that very much.

Both Jason and Hallie met at the top of the stairs at eight-thirty the evening of the Grimsby ball. They stared at each other.

Jason, because he was older, more experienced, more used to dealing with ladies than Hallie was dealing with men, said easily as he took her arm, “I don’t know, Hallie. Corrie has this lovely pale green gown that is the perfect shade for you. But this blue? Don’t mistake me, it’s lovely, and I’m sure the style of the gown is fashionable, but the truth? That particular shade of blue makes you the slightest bit sallow.”

She poked him in the stomach with her left fist.

He grinned down at her. He was so beautiful in his formal evening clothes it would make any living female so dizzy with excitement, she just might fall over, or vomit. “All right, not a sallow patch can I see on you. You look quite the thing. I’m glad Martha kept your hair simple, the braids look very fine on you.”

“She told me she’s the best braider this side of London, that the profusion of crimped curls defeat her. She patted my hair when she was done with me, said better braids for me than little sausages. As for you, Jason—” She drew a deep breath. It wouldn’t be wise to tell him the truth—that he looked like a god, so absolutely perfect, every artist in the world would have wanted to sculpt him, or paint him, or murder him when their wives got a look at him.

Thankfully, Petrie called out from the foot of the stairs before she could say something stupid, “Ah, Master Jason, every lady between the ages of fifteen and one hundred and five will believe you have the best valet in the entire world. It’s a treat you are to the senses, sir, a treat. Forgive me, Miss Hallie, you look as lovely as one could expect a female to look. Ah, isn’t this exciting? Our first ball in the neighborhood.”

“As for me what, Hallie?” Jason asked.