The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“Good morning to you, Master James,” Sigmund said as he continued to pick at Bertram’s left front hoof. “Got a pebble here. Ah, there, got it. Nasty thing. Ye got it from yer long ride yesterday, didn’t ye? Good old boy, all right now.”

“Good morning, Jessie. You seem to be no worse from your excesses.”

Jessie had wondered about this moment of truth. James had told her that once it was done, then they could return to normal. So be it. She grinned at him. “Doesn’t Esmerelda look grand? She’s ready for a ride, James. Would you care to join me? We could try w

histling a duet.”

“No, Bertram, ye just stay away from Esmerelda,” Sigmund said.

“She was teasing him mercilessly yesterday,” James said.

“She ain’t interested today, that’s fer sure,” Sigmund said. “Come outta heat, she has, with a vengeance. She’s already bit poor old Bertram, jest for being a mite friendly to her.”

“Females,” said James, shaking his head. “Jessie, I can’t ride with you. I’m expecting a Mr. DeWitt this morning with a mare for Minotaur to cover.”

She just shook her head, saddled Esmerelda, and was gone. He looked after her.

“Don’t ye worry, Master James. Mrs. James knows wot she’s about. I took her all around and introduced her all over again. She spoke to each one of ’em, gave ’em sugar and a sweet pat. I swear they all remembered her and gathered around her like little kiddies. I ain’t niver afore seen a female what know’d so much about horses, an’ she’s easy wit ’em, never makes ’em nervous. None of the horses screwed their heads about the way they do when they don’t trust somebody.”

“You should see her race.”

Sigmund guffawed, shaking his head. “That’s a kicker. Race, ye say? That feminine little bit of red hair and white skin can race? You’re jesting me, Master James. She grooms a horse well, never complained once, no she didn’t, but race? That little sweet lady?”

“So little you know,” James said, slapped Sigmund on his skinny back, and took himself off to see to Minotaur.

“We’ve got six stallions and three mares,” James said as he handed Jessie a dish of compote of gooseberries, one of Mrs. Catsdoor’s specialties. Badger, in a moment of weakness when the four martinets had come to force James to the altar, had presented the recipe to her and she’d now made it three days in a row. “Minotaur covered the DeWitt mare, a smart little Byerley Turk out of Tomikins from Croft’s stable.”

“I was reading the General Stud Book. Goodness, James, things are so very organized here.”

“It’s really nothing more than a genealogy of horses but needed, that’s certain. I’ve been talking with many men in racing back in Baltimore. None of them believes it’s all that important. For the most part, they’re content to just pass things along, word of mouth.”

“Have Oslow write down what he knows.”

“Good idea. Do you like the compote of gooseberries?”

“It’s fine. Badger, though, he made it once and everyone tasted it and swooned.”

James just grinned. “I’m glad you didn’t die, Jessie. You’ve been a good friend and an irritation for too long to croak just yet.”

“You knew I wouldn’t. You let me make a fool of myself.”

“Yes, forgive me, but you were so completely convinced it was the end. I swear to you, I didn’t laugh once.”

“You slept with me, James.”

“Well, yes. It’s my bed.”

“The earl’s cat, Esmee, slept with me once. I rolled over on her by accident. She yowled, hissed in my face, and left me, never to return.”

“She likes to sleep on Marcus’s chest and knead his hair. He wakes up yelling.”

She pushed some garden peas around her plate, then went back to her compote. “What will we do now?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can help Sigmund and me with the horses this afternoon.”

“Of course I’ll do that, but it isn’t what I meant. I mean, what will we do about, well, the other?”

“What other?”