A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (31 page)

With a nod, Hugh said, “Snap, my little peach fuzz … ”

“Is it time to go?” the little girl demanded.

Hugh hoisted her from his hip to his shoulder. “That it is, lassie. Help me gather the horde. Call them.”

“Hear ye, hear ye!” cried Snap. “Step right up and get on the boat! Hear ye, hear ye, Mrs. Gower. Time to board.”

Hugh shifted Snap back to his hip and offered a hand to Mrs. Gower. “You are too kind,” the older woman gushed.

He led her toward the gangplank, but her breathing became increasingly troubled. “Oh, dear,” she said, slowing. “Oh, dear, dear me.” Just as she was about to place a shoe on the ramp, her legs buckled.

“Hold her! Hold her!” shouted Ellie’s father.

Snap scrambled out of Hugh’s arms as he struggled to keep Mrs. Gower from falling flat on her back.

Lady Albright hovered over the downed chaperone. “My goodness, Mrs. Gower, are you all right?”

“Ach, it’s my legs. The wretched things baulk at the wet.”

“Tell them they’re not going in the water,” Snap said.

“They won’t listen,” Mrs. Gower wailed.

“Well then, up we go.” Hugh supported one of the chaperone’s arms while Lord Albright took the other.

Feebly, Mrs. Gower rose from the dock. But the instant her toe touched the gangplank, she backed away again. “No, no! The legs won’t go. They just can’t do it!”

“Nonsense,” barked Lady Davenport. “You can’t leave Miss Ellie to make this trip un-chaperoned.”

Puffed with wounded pride, Mrs. Gower turned on her ladyship. “I will not have the condition of my legs dismissed as nonsense! They are as bad a pair of appendages as can be found when it comes to seawater and the like. But they’ve stood me in good stead all these years, and I’ll not have them lessened by the likes of you.”

“Of all the ridiculous excuses,” Lady Davenport retorted. “Your legs indeed.”

From the ship the captain shouted, “We cannot miss the tide. All on deck immediately.”

“I’ll not go with this sort of punishing attention,” Mrs. Gower cried, near tears. “Nay, I’ll not go at all.”

The large woman started toward the coach.

“Mrs. Gower, what about my daughter?” Lady Albright cried in alarm. But the elderly woman pretended not to hear, she strode away stiff with determination.

“Please, Mrs. Gower!” Claire said. “Try your legs one last time.”

“Yes, come back,” Ellie shouted. But in the next moment, Mrs. Gower stepped into the coach and slammed the door.

“Miss Ellie cannot travel alone with my son,” said Lady Davenport.

Toby stepped up. “I’ll be at her side.”

Lady Davenport shook her head and glowered at Toby until he moved back. “Lord Albright, this is completely inappropriate. The young man is but Sebastian’s bastard. You can’t send your daughter off with such an escort.”

Ellie’s mind scrambled for a solution. Without the trip, Lank wouldn’t be caught in time to spare her family Wadsworth’s accursed debt collection, and Manifesto would have to wait another season to be shown for the champion he was. She looked down at her pretty traveling dress and ran a finger up the smooth brown velvet. Her throat felt tight. “It doesn’t matter,” she said hoarsely.

“On the contrary, dear,” Lady Davenport scolded, “for a young lady’s reputation it matters a great deal.”

“I won’t travel as a young lady.”

Joyless and resolute, Ellie turned to Toby. “Would you be so kind as to lend me an outfit for the sea voyage of a male horse trainer?”

• • •

The day grew increasingly blue and bright as they sailed along the southern coast. Tired as she was, Ellie hadn’t yet visited her berth. Manifesto was too unnerved at sea to leave alone. He whinnied pitifully the moment she closed the half door to the special stall built for him on deck.

“I’m exhausted, ol’ thing,” she cooed. “Are you going to let me rest on this voyage, or are you going to fuss the whole way?”

As if in answer, Manifesto shied when a sail snapped in the wind, bolting to the far side of his stall.

With a sigh, she went back and patted the horse’s sweating neck. When he’d calmed a bit, she took out a curry comb and brushed his dappled coat. The scent of salt and brine blew through the half door. Seagulls cawed and a lazy sun filtered through slats in the walls. Ellie’s mind emptied like sand in an hourglass. Peace lulled her as she ran the curry comb over Manifesto’s muscled haunches. She watched her hands stroke the horse’s coat over and over until she fell into a trance.

A tiny noise brought her back to reality. Hugh sat on a cask lashed to the deck, watching her.

She smiled. “How long have you been there?”

“A while,” he replied, getting up and coming to the stall. “I’d like to hold his head while you finish with the curry comb.”

“He’s quiet, Lord Davenport. There’s no need.”

“It would be good if the horse learned to feel safe with me.”

He’s right
, she thought.
It’s time to let Manifesto go to his rightful owner. No more deception, no more plotting, no more lies
. “Pat him here,” she told Hugh, indicating the horse’s neck.

Hugh entered the stall. Manifesto flicked his ears and moved back a step.

“It’s all right, good horse,” Ellie soothed. A tingle of excitement zigged through her as Hugh drew near.
He doesn’t seem angry with me
, she thought, her cheeks heating with pleasure.

“You’ve got him nicely settled.”

“He’s a smart horse. He stops fussing when he realizes what’s happening.”

“We tried to make him comfortable at Cowick Hill but he’d have none of it.”

“Oh, he would have stopped fretting soon enough, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not. Such a large, despondent animal. Very sad to see.”

“Poor horse … poor … Lord Davenport. And here I am back in pants.”

Hugh looked at her. “Indeed.”

“But in a professional capacity.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry I … ”

“It’s all right, you’ve already apologized.”

“I did?”

“At the fountain and again at Fairland.”

“Oh.” Ellie ran the curry comb down Manifesto’s side. She didn’t know what else to say.

“Are you tired?” Hugh said. “There’s a spot in the stern. Sunny and quiet. You could take a little nap.”

“Oh, I don’t need a nap.”

“No? Ah, well … there’s a sort of platform you could sit on and watch the coast. I’ll take care of Manifesto.”

“If you insist.”

“I don’t insist. But I’d like to show you the spot. Maybe when you do feel like closing your eyes a bit … ”

She stiffened, afraid of leaving Manifesto, afraid of what Hugh thought of her and how she’d treated him. But she was tired – exhausted, in fact. The weeks of toil at Fairland had turned her hair to straw. Her hipbones jutted under the cloth of the breeches Toby’d lent her and her hands were cracked and calloused. Sleep. She had no responsibilities except Manifesto, and the horse was calm now. “Thank you. The stern sounds … pleasant.”

Hugh took her to the spot and settled her comfortably in the curl of a rope tucked in the protected V of the boat. The sun shone high and hot, but a feathery breeze cooled the deck. Waves lapped against the wood, drowning all sound aboard. Watching the sparkle of light on water, Ellie’s eyes grew heavy. She closed them experimentally.

Hours later she woke to the soft gray of dusk and the dinner gong clanging. She unraveled her legs from the bed of rope. Sometime during her nap, Hugh’s jacket had been tucked around her. She put her arms in the sleeves, reveling in the scent of him and the jacket’s warmth.

• • •

Ellie joined Hugh and Toby in the captain’s dining room. A young sailor plunked a plate of fish, sauerkraut, peas, and biscuit in front of her, all to be washed down with a tankard of beer. She couldn’t abide fish, the peas were rubbery, and the biscuit was so hard minutes of gnawing produced only a few crumbs. She watched the captain tap his bread on the table edge. A weevil crawled out. Her stomach lurched and she put the biscuit aside. One look at the film of green scum on her beer made her decide to forego it as well, even if she did long to wash the biscuit down.

“
Mr.
Albright, are you unaccustomed to sea fare?” Hugh asked.

“This would be my first night on the water, Lord Davenport,” Ellie replied, lowering her voice to sound as manly as possible. “My stomach is a bit put out by the experience.”

“And you, Mr. Coopersmith?”

“I’m faring no better,” admitted Toby.

The captain grunted but said nothing. The lad doing the serving looked wistfully at their heaped plates.

“My valet packed me a store of delicacies and some excellent wine for the journey,” Hugh said. “If you’ll indulge me, Captain?”

“Aye,” the captain said, his mutton chops working the bit of biscuit in his mouth.

Hugh tossed the keys to his cabin and the lad scooted out, returning minutes later dragging a man-sized basket laden with food.

For the first time since she’d boarded the ship, Ellie smiled.

• • •

“How is my hair?” Ellie asked the next day, peeking into the tight hallway outside her berth on the ship.

Hugh and Toby stopped on their way to supper. “You’ve got a wisp falling out here,” Hugh said, tucking a loose strand under her floppy hat.

“There’s another, this side,” Toby warned.

Hugh lifted the hat from her head. “Back in the stateroom. Let me help you with those combs.” To Toby, he said, “Hand me her hairbrush, would you?”

Toby slapped the brush into Hugh’s palm. “Sit,” Hugh commanded.

She perched on the side of a narrow slab that masqueraded as her bed. He removed the combs and smoothed her long white locks. The brush pulled gently on her scalp. As the tangles loosened with Hugh’s steady strokes, Ellie closed her eyes. A sweet flood moved through her body and grew with increasing urgency. She tried to crush the sensation, but her skin hummed from his touch.

Toby’s voice cut the mood like a whip through butter. “Finish up there,” he said. “Her hair’s fine.”

With suddenly practical hands, Hugh gathered the strands into a knot and secured them with the combs. “That ought to hold it,” he said, patting her head.

Ellie opened her eyes to find Toby glaring at her. “I’ll do the brushing from now on,” he said.

• • •

After seeing the warning in Toby’s eyes, Ellie tried to tamp down all feelings of attraction to Hugh, repeating over and over in her head,
You’ve chosen a man’s life, now stick to it
. She would not put Toby in a difficult position. She and Hugh would be friends and allies. Nothing more.

Though her body waged a campaign of desire, for the rest of the voyage she avoided Hugh as much as possible. Soon she realized he was doing the same to her. A painful hollowness settled in her gut. Not that Toby ever left them alone now, but Hugh ceased brushing against her, the chocolate warmth of his eyes disappeared behind hooded lids. He turned away when she approached. She longed for any tiny sign of ardor, but the closeness they’d shared that first afternoon on the ship had been replaced by stiff-jawed conversation and swift retreats.

What would a man do?
she thought, slipping her legs into the separate slots of a pair of trousers. He would be a Spartan.
I’ll be Spartan
, she decided,
a man who remains silent while a fox consumes him
.

• • •

Roan Midgeon, a dairy farmer with a discrete property just outside of Doncaster, was delighted to see them when they arrived. After they’d settled Manifesto in a stall, Roan escorted the “three fine gentlemen” to a dormitory. They were ushered into a sizable room with two beds, a washstand, and three spindly chairs.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” the farmer told Hugh, “but I’ve no separate room for you. You’ll all have to make do in here.”

“That’s not possible,” Toby blurted.

“No, we must have another room,” Hugh assured the farmer.

“Ach, I was afraid of this,” Roan lamented. “What can I do, my lord? My own house is full on account of I have six children, and the grooms and such have vacated this for you, so they’re already cramped. There’s a fine inn, but she’s six miles from here in the heart of Doncaster. You’ll be bothering with a lot of travel and visibility. Likely more questions than you want to answer, if you know what I mean.”

Ellie stepped forward. “The room is fine, sir. Lord Davenport is a stalwart fellow who’s used to hardship. I’m sure we’ll all fit nicely here together. Don’t you agree, my lord?”

Hugh looked stunned. “In here … all of us? But where will we sleep?”

“Well, it might be best if Mr. Coopersmith and I took this larger bed, and you had the smaller. There again, I’m a light sleeper. Perhaps if you and Mr. Coopersmith took the big bed and I the single, it would be better for my concentration.” She smiled benignly.

Hugh and Toby looked uncomfortable.

“Very well then.” Roan dusted his hands and backed from the room — probably afraid they’d change their minds.

“Ellie, how could you?” Toby scolded when Hugh followed Roan into the hall to discuss the location of the secret pasture where they’d train Manifesto. “We could have found a better situation. If anyone discovers your true sex, the scandal will ruin you.”

Ellie plopped down on the narrowest bed. “Oh, I’m so tired of the whole thing. I’ve given up my womanhood, what difference does it make where I sleep? No one wants to marry a chit who cares more about breeding horses than breeding her own babes.”

“But you do want a family. You’ve told me as much.”

“Now I have one. Instead of babies weeping, I’ll hear wind wailing past my ears as I gallop across Fairland. Instead of lullabies, I’ll spend my nights with the mares as they birth their foals. It’s what fate has given me.”

She plucked at a thread on the sleeve of the man’s jacket she wore and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s what a man does in his life, isn’t it?” Her vision blurred. “Is that so bad?”

• • •

After unpacking and settling in, they asked Roan to recommend a tavern for their supper. “Twomby’s Eatery has a fine meat pie,” Roan said. So they walked the mile or so to the establishment, deciding it was more discrete if they didn’t rent mounts from the Doncaster livery.