Carla Kelly (23 page)

He smiled at her and reached in his pocket, pulling out a sale's receipt. “Very well! Enter this and send it to the bank.” He grinned at the astonishment on her face as she absorbed the amount. “I can afford it, so don't you dare scold, Emma!”

She shook her head, thinking that Lord Ragsdale's indulgence in two horses could feed small cities. She stared at the amount. Or build new cottages for all his crofters and the neighbors besides.
I hope he is so generous in another day, when he's inspecting thatching and rafters.

And so it goes,
she thought, as she took a last look at the beautiful horses and started from the stable. Lord Ragsdale fell in step beside her, shortening his stride to hers.

“Of course, I need to exercise both horses. Emma, could I convince you to ride with me tomorrow on our way to Norfolk? I am assuming that you are a rider.”

A very good one, my lord,
she told herself.
There was a time when I could match my brothers mile for mile across the whole of County Wick-low. You’ d have thought we owned it, or at least, part of it. And so we did, but that seems like someone else's life, and not my own.

“I would like that, my lord, but I don't have a riding habit,” she temporized, grateful for an excuse and wondering why at the same time.

“That's no difficulty,” he assured her. “I am certain my mother has a habit you can wear. She doesn't ride anymore, and it may be a trifle outmoded, but I fail to think that would bother you overmuch. Ride with me, Emma?” he asked again.

It wasn't a command. She knew she could say no. Emma hesitated.

“Of course, if you would prefer to ride in the carriage with Mama and Sally and Acton, I will understand,” he continued smoothly.

Acton. The thought of riding for a day and a half in a carriage with that harpy glaring at her made her flinch. “No, no,” she said hastily. “I'll ride with you, Lord Ragsdale.”

Lady Ragsdale's habit was not a perfect fit, but her boots were, Emma decided, as Lord Ragsdale threw her into the sidesaddle the following morning. She settled herself comfortably and accepted a crop from him, enjoying the feel of the saddle and the particular pleasure of good boots. She tapped the leather with the riding crop, thoroughly satisfied, for all that she would have to think of something to say to Lord Ragsdale through a whole day of riding.

Leading out in front of the carriage, they negotiated London's early-morning traffic and soon left it behind, riding into the morning sun, which struggled to get away from the low clouds and fog that seemed part of London's perennial landscape. They rode steadily to the north and east, and soon the breeze blowing toward the Channel cleared the air of haze, presenting them with a blue sky of surpassing loveliness.

To Emma's relief, Lord Ragsdale chose not to converse. They rode side by side, but he was silent, and she wondered if he was already regretting his decision to go to Norfolk. Lady Ragsdale had confided in her last night as Emma was helping with the packing that he had not been at Staples Hall since his father was laid to rest in the family cemetery there.

“And even then he was brought in to the chapel on a stretcher,” she said. “He has never been back since.” She sighed and looked down at the petticoat in her hands. “And we do not talk about it.”

Emma looked at Lord Ragsdale's profile.
At least you know where your father is buried,
she thought.
You don't lie awake at nights, wondering if he is alive or dead, as I do.

“Yes, Emma?”

His question came out of the blue, and she glanced at him, startled. “I … I didn't say anything, my lord,” she stammered.

“But you looked as though you wanted to,” he offered.

She shook her head. “You must be mistaken, my lord.”

“I must be,” he agreed serenely and said no more.

As they rode along, mile after mile, she discovered it was not an uncomfortable silence.
I could almost like this,
she reflected,
even though I suspect I am boring company. This is a peer used to card rooms, and clubs, and teas, and drawing rooms, and levees, and balls. I hope he will not fall asleep because I am so dull, and dump himself off his horse.
She smiled at the thought.

“Yes?” Lord Ragsdale asked.

She laughed in surprise. “You must have eyes in the back of your head,” she protested.

“Nope. Just one on the left, but it does yeoman's duty. What's so amusing?”

Obviously there was no point in holding back. “I was just picturing you ejected from your horse and supine on the ground, bored into sleep because I am a dull conversationalist.”

He shook his head. “On the contrary, Emma, I was about to congratulate you on the pleasure of your silence. Do you know that just since the beginning of this interminable Season, I have heard every stupid conversation that people such as myself utter? I am sure that the things we say over and over, thinking ourselves so witty, must be written somewhere on clay tablets.” He looked her in the eye then. “You may reform me too completely, Emma. Suppose I become addicted to long silences and rational conversation that leads somewhere? Imagine the shock to my friends.”

He joined in her laughter. “Seriously, Emma, we are halfway to luncheon, and you have not made one single remark about the weather, fashion, or the latest gossip.”

“What would you like to talk about, my lord?” she asked finally. “Weather, fashion, or gossip?”

He reined in his horse, and she was compelled to stop too. “My father, Emma. Please.”

UT … BUT … YOUR MOTHER TELLS ME … I thought you did not wish to speak of him,” she stammered. The mare sensed her sudden agitation and stepped in a dainty half circle. She patted the animal into control, searching for the right words,. “I mean, your mother, your banker, David Breedlow even—they all warned me not to bring up the subject.”

He spoke to his horse, and they continued. “They are wrong,” he said finally when they were some distance in front of the carriage, and he could slow the pace slightly. “It may have been my choice at one time, but I find now that avoiding the topic breaks my heart.”

His words were so simple and so full of feeling that they went straight to her own heart. As she rode beside Lord Ragsdale, Emma realized that she would never be able to look at him in the same way again. It was powerful knowledge and left her almost breathless.
What do I say to this man?
she wondered. He was looking at her, as though expecting something, and as she searched her mind for something to say, she thought of her mother, that woman of few words and much heart.

“Tell me, my lord,” she said simply, remembering with an ache those calm words spoken to her so many times.

“I think he must have been the best man who ever lived, Emma,” Lord Ragsdale said, with a glance over his shoulder as though he feared his mother could hear him. The carriage was only a speck in the distance. He cleared his throat and smiled ruefully down at his saddle. “But I suppose that is part of the problem.” He reached over and touched her arm. “Have you ever tried to measure up to an impossible ideal?”

She considered his question and understood him for the first time. She smiled at him and shook her head. “We were all so human in the Costello household, my lord. I … I was the only daughter, and my brothers either ignored me or were happy I was nothing like them.”

He nodded. “I imagine it was a lively household, Emma. Perhaps you will tell me about it some time.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, trying to keep the doubt from her voice. “But we are speaking of you and your father, sir, are we not?”

“We are. He was all goodness, all manners, impeccable in character and possessing every virtue, I think. I was a younger son for much of my early years, thank goodness, so the onus of perfection rested on my brother. Claude was very much like Father.”

He paused then, and she had the good sense not to rush into the silence.
Perhaps I am learning wisdom,
she thought as she watched Lord Ragsdale struggle within himself.

“Claude died when I was at Harrow, and then Father transferred his entire interest to me.”

Again there was a long silence.
Quiet, Emma,
she told herself as they rode along, side by side.

“I don't mean to say he wasn't interested in me before, Emma, but this was different.” He shook his head. “I am probably not making much sense, but that's how it was. Claude died of a sudden fever, and overnight, I was the family hope.”

He looked at her. “There are some things that the heir learns that I never learned. I suppose it becomes a way of life. Too bad I was a poor student.”

Two weeks ago—a week ago even—she would have agreed with him.
This is odd,
she thought as they rode along.
I want to defend him from himself, and he is someone I do not even like.
She looked at the sky; it was still overcast. She could not blame her strange thoughts on too much sun. Her next deliberation came unwillingly, but she considered it honestly as Lord Ragsdale rode beside her in silence.
Can it be that I have nourished myself so long on hatred that I do not recognize an attempt at friendship? I cannot even remember my last friend.

It was a shocking thought, almost, but instead of dismissing it, as she would have done only recently, she allowed herself the luxury of considering it.
That is what I will do, she thought. I will leave myself open to a change of feeling.
She nodded.
It is a prudent measure, taking into allowance the plain fact that I must serve this man until he considers my debt paid.

“Emma, what on earth are you thinking?”

It was a quiet question, coming almost from nowhere, so wrapped up in her own thoughts was she. Emma knew she did not have to answer it, but as she looked at Lord Ragsdale again, took in his seriousness where earlier there had only been a certain irritating vapidity, she felt that she owed him an answer. She reined in the mare and turned to face him.

“I am thinking, sir, that I would like to be your friend.”

The impudence of her words caught her breath away,
Emma, you nincompoop,
she scolded herself as Lord Ragsdale stared at her.
You're hardly in a position to recommend yourself to a marquess. When will you ever learn to keep your mouth shut?

“I … I'm sorry,” she apologized when he continued to say nothing. “That was probably not good form, my lord. Forgive it.”

I will die of embarrassment if he just stares at me,
she thought, her mind in a panic now.
Suppose he turns his back and rides ahead? Or worse yet, makes me dismount and get in the carriage with the others and that witch Acton?
“I'm sorry,” she mumbled again.

“Well, I'm not,” Lord Ragsdale said. “Emma, let's shake on this. It's nice to have a friend.”

She looked at him in amazement, well aware that her face was flaming red. He was holding out his hand to her and sidling his horse next to the mare. Instinctively, she held out her hand. They shook hands, Emma holding her breath and looking him in the eye. She took a deep breath then and plunged ahead. “Since we are resolved to be friends, my lord, you can rest assured that no matter what you tell me about you and your father, I will not judge.”