Wishes in the Wind (2 page)

“Um-hum.”

“Well, I won’t be. Not outside our home. When I go to seek employment, I’ll be a man.”

“A man,” Nick repeated woodenly, ignoring the choked sputtering that emerged from Sully’s throat.

“Yes.” Nicole grinned impishly. “And a bloody good one at that.”

Without looking away, Nick raised his palm, effectively severing Sully’s oncoming verbal protest. “Elf,” he continued, “that’s absurd. Impossible.”

“Why?”

“To begin with, there’s nothing manly about you. Why, you’re scarcely five feet tall and slender as a reed.”

“And you’re but a few inches taller and not many pounds heavier. As was my grandfather, and his father before that. The entire Aldridge line—all exceptional jockeys—were short and slight. An asset, I believe you said, in your line of work. I don’t recall anyone questioning your masculinity.”

“You’re not only tiny, Elf, you’re delicate and …” Flushing, Nick sought the right words, eventually abandoning his attempts and gesturing vaguely in the direction of Nicole’s softly curving body. “You’re twenty years old, Nickie. A grown woman. Although God knows I seem to forget that fact often enough.”

“If I’m able to make
you
forget, the rest of the world will be easy to delude—especially once my disguise is complete. I’ll pad my uniform, bind myself down. Believe me, Papa, no one will suspect I’m anything but an eager and adept young man.”

“Hey, Sully! Where the hell are you?” came a shout from the far end of the stable. “Now we’ve lost you
and
Nick?”

With a start, Sully recovered both his voice and his awareness that precious minutes were ticking by. “Coming!” he called back, his worried stare fixed on Nick. “Go out through the rear,” he hissed. “I’ll tell the others Nicole took sick.” Purposefully, he shoved the bills into Nick’s hand, disregarding his friend’s protest. “Don’t be a bull-headed fool. You’d do the same for me. Now go. We’ll talk later.”

“Sully, I …”

“Go, dammit.” Sully planted himself directly behind them, thereby obstructing any onlooker’s view of their departure.

“Thank you, Sully,” Nicole whispered. In a heartbeat, they were gone.

Spraystone Cottage

The Isle of Wight

“D
USTIN, YOU’RE AS RESTLESS
as the waves of last night’s storm,” Ariana Kingsley declared, her turquoise eyes glimmering with humor, “and you have been ever since you arrived at Spraystone. It’s been three days. And, while I never thought I’d say this, you’re more insufferable than Trenton when you brood.”

“That bad?” Dustin Kingsley returned with mock dismay. He rolled his brandy goblet between his palms, gifting Ariana with the melting smile that, according to countless affirmations, left a line of swooning women in its wake.

“Worse.” Despite the levity of her tone, the duchess of Broddington studied her brother-in-law anxiously, wishing she could discern the cause of his unrest. Since the day they’d met, she and Dustin had been solid friends—and not only because of their mutual love for Trenton. Theirs was a caring, honest rapport, one that made Ariana feel as much Dustin’s sister as if they were bound by blood.

Which made his uncustomary reticence all the more perplexing.

Blowing a wisp of auburn hair off her face, Ariana was on the verge of probing further when, from the corner of her eye, she spied a more immediate dilemma—one that propelled her from her armchair and sent her dashing across the sitting room in record time.

Deftly, she extracted her eight-month-old son, Alexander, from beneath the sideboard, scolding him as she gathered him in her arms. “And just what are you doing?”

Chuckling at his nephew’s antics, Dustin leaned back against the cushioned settee, crossing one long leg over the other. “I believe he was on the verge of mastering the fascinating challenge that’s been endlessly plaguing him. After days of eyeing the sideboard and all its bottles and fine crystal, he was hell-bent on inspecting them at close range. Had you delayed your interruption a scant moment longer, he would have pulled himself up and accomplished his feat.”

“And my entire floor would be doused in madeira and garnished with slivers of glass,” Ariana muttered. With an exasperated sigh, she glared at her innocent-looking son, striving to appear stern. “You,” she informed him, marching back to her chair, “are an untamable tempest.”

“I quite agree.” Dustin flexed his shoulders, grimacing at the resulting stiffness. “Every muscle in my body aches from that tiny tyrant. I’m unused to such a whirlwind of activity.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” Ariana responded dryly. “From the gossip I’ve heard thus far this season, it sounds as if you’ve attended every party and danced with every woman the
ton
has to offer. Soon you’ll be forced to travel abroad in order to discover new prospects. Rather like you do with your thoroughbreds.”

“An interesting concept.” Surprisingly, Dustin sobered, staring pensively into his drink. “Unfortunately, however, I’m finding the allure of my thoroughbreds to be far more long-standing than that of my liaisons. I fear my brother snatched up the last real treasure in a vast array of shoddy imitations.”

Ariana inclined her head. “Did something unpleasant happen at Newmarket?”

“Yes. My mare lost.”

“Very amusing. That’s not what I meant and you know it. You’re not one to agonize over your losses—probably because they rarely occur. Now, are you going to answer my question?”

“Touché.” Dustin raised his glass in tribute. “Very well. No, nothing happened at Newmarket—at least nothing tangible. But you’re right. I am restless. Why? I haven’t a clue. Perhaps it
is
time to travel abroad. I might not find intriguing women, but I’m sure I’ll discover an Arabian or two.”

Unfooled by his lighthearted quip, Ariana studied Dustin, wondering how her brother-in-law would react if she were to tell him what she believed to be not the immediate but the underlying cause of his malady. Was he ready to hear it? And was she the one to impart the fact that he was far too warm and loving a man to be eternally content with empty dalliances and profitable horse races?

Chewing her lip, Ariana resettled herself—and her son—in the cozy armchair.

Alexander was gone before she’d smoothed her skirts. He slid down the seat cushion, dropped to the rug, and crawled toward the sideboard—a miniature bandit intent on completing his crime.

He collided with his father’s boots.

“Well, I see you’ve kept your poor mother occupied. All day, I suspect.” Hoisting Alexander into his arms, Trenton Kingsley crossed over to his wife. “I’m home, misty angel.” He bent, brushing her lips with his. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Ariana caressed her husband’s jaw. “You’ve been gone forever. It was scarcely dawn when you left for Bembridge. Was the storm’s destruction that severe?”

A tired nod. “Unfortunately, the village sustained quite a bit of damage. The good news, however, is that most of it is now in the process of being rectified.”

“In other words, you spent all day securing the homes and providing for the families.”

Trenton smiled tenderly at the blatant pride in her assertion. “It wasn’t so remarkable a feat. After all, I have the money and the knowledge of the structures.”

“You also have the heart,” Ariana added fervently, love shining in her eyes. “You’re incredible—and I don’t mean as an architect or a duke. I mean as a man.”

“And you’re beautiful.” Trenton frowned, stroking the shadows of fatigue beneath her lids. “But you look exhausted. In retrospect, I’m sorry we didn’t bring Alexander’s governess to Spraystone with us. At least you would have had some assistance.”

“I couldn’t do that to Mrs. Hopkins. She was more exhausted than I. Why, she nearly wept with joy when I told her to stay at Broddington for a much-needed rest. I suspect she’ll sleep the entire week in anticipation of Alexander’s return. Besides, I did have some help. Dustin was a savior.”

Trenton’s gaze flickered to his brother. “My thanks are twofold, then. One for helping Ariana with my rascal of a son, and one for remaining at Spraystone and keeping an eye on them both while I was away. I know you wanted to help out in the village, but when I left this morning, the skies were still ominous, the grounds were covered with splintered wood, and the base of the hill behind the cottage was badly flooded. I would never have left Ariana and Alexander alone, nor would I have trusted them into anyone’s care but yours.”

“My pleasure.” Dustin waved away the thanks, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Although, if you ask me, neither debris nor rushing waters are any match for your son. In truth, I believe that, had the storm chosen to resume, it would have survived a scant hour in Alexander’s company before spinning out over the Solent as fast as its winds could whip.”

Laughter rumbled in Trenton’s chest. “You’re probably right. What did my little villain do today?”

“You name it,” Dustin replied, counting off on his fingers. “Painted the oriental rug in the library a vivid green, used the silver tea service as a thunderous new musical instrument, plucked stray feathers from your hens. He has a propensity for detail, your son. The uneven feathers seemed to offend him. So, once again, did the inexplicable existence of facial hair on human beings.” Gingerly, Dustin touched the ends of his mustache and winced. “I take it I’m the only one he knows with one of these.”

“Actually,” Trenton replied thoughtfully, “I never before considered it, but yes. No wonder it baffles him so.”

“Well, I’ve endured eight months of bafflement in the hopes that he’d come to accept it. But now he’s graduated from bafflement to attempted obliteration. He spent the latter portion of the morning trying to detach my mustache from my upper lip. Thus, I’ve decided to concede and shave the bloody thing off the instant I return to Tyreham. At least that will leave one less part of me for Alexander to destroy.” A wry grin. “In any case, by midafternoon Ariana had reached the point where she looked as if she were about to drop. So, I took over myself, confident that an eight-month-old’s stamina was no match for a vigorous man of two and thirty. After three hours of frolicking in the barn and two hours of storytelling in the nursery, I’d altered my opinion. Your heir wasn’t a bit fatigued, while I, on the other hand, fell asleep on the nursery floor, where I snored away the afternoon, awakening only when Ariana came to fetch me for dinner.”

“I see.” Trenton had to struggle to control his mirth. “And what, pray tell, did Alexander do during your well-earned respite?”

“Located a new diversion,” Ariana sighed. “He squirmed down the stairs, feet first, only to discover the beloved haven you just completed for me. I spotted him as he crossed the conservatory threshold, eyes alight as he realized that it afforded him the same intriguing amusements as the conservatory at Broddington. By the time I’d dashed after him and crept through the pile of dirt he’d spilled, he’d already managed to upend three ferns and topple six geraniums.”

Trenton’s shoulders were shaking. “He’s your son, Ariana. Inspired by flowers and animals.”

“I beg to differ with you, Your Grace,” Ariana retorted. “Alexander’s propensity for getting into trouble is inherited from you. I was, and am, serene and content.”

“Content, yes—after a fashion,” Trenton concurred, having given the matter proper consideration. “But serene? Not until I’ve worn you out.”

“Nevertheless,” Ariana hastily interrupted, blushing as Dustin disguised his chuckle with a cough, “Alexander’s devilish resolve is a Kingsley trait. Like all of you, he’s intense, impatient, and perpetually in search of a challenge. I should know. I’m surrounded by Kingsley men.”

Dustin stood to replenish his drink. “Why, Ariana, you cut me to the quick. Intense? Impatient? And here I thought I was remarkably easy to get along with; far more charming than Trent, and not nearly as moody or volatile.”

“Normally, I’d agree.” Trenton joined his brother at the sideboard. “But not this week. This week you’ve been testy as a bear and unsettled as hell.”

Groaning, Dustin lowered the bottle with a thud. “First Ariana, now you. Well, you can both stop worrying. To my knowledge, nothing is wrong. Other than the fact that my trainer is retiring and my last three jockeys have been totally unable to win races.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just becoming intolerant in my old age. Or maybe, as I told Ariana, it’s time to go searching for new horses and horsemen to fill my stables.”

“You have the finest thoroughbreds in Surrey—perhaps even in England,” Ariana inserted quietly. “’Tis their owner who is out of sorts, not they.”

Silently, Dustin traced the edge of the mahogany sideboard. “Perhaps you’re right,” he acknowledged.

That did it. Ariana’s decision was made.

Rising, she transferred Alexander from Trenton’s arms to her own, giving her husband a meaningful look.
Talk to him
, her eyes pleaded.
You’re the only one who can.

Wordlessly, Trenton nodded.

“Once again, I’m going to attempt to put Alexander to bed,” Ariana stated. “And, given that it’s after eight o’clock and his eyelids are drooping, perhaps I’ll succeed. After which we can take a chance and sample our dinner. Since Clara was unable to get through Bembridge’s flooded roads, I tackled the job of preparing today’s meals. I’m encouraged by the fact that Dustin has consumed two of them and continues to live—a hopeful sign indeed. With a modicum of luck, we’ll all survive the ordeal.”

“You’re a superb cook, misty angel.”

“She’d be even better if you’d allow her more time in the kitchen,” Dustin suggested, his mischievous grin revived. “Between satisfying Alexander’s continual needs and your exhaustive ones …”

“That’s it.” Ariana scooted toward the door, her cheeks aflame. “I’m off to the nursery.”

“Hurry back,” Dustin called after her rapidly retreating back. “I look forward to continuing our discussion of your culinary skills.”

Still chuckling, he turned to his brother. “She’s quite a prize, Trent. Open and honest and so bloody in love with you that it’s humbling. You’re a lucky man.”

“I know.” Trenton sipped his madeira, his gaze fixed on Dustin’s. “Care to talk about it?” he asked bluntly.