The Ringmaster's Wife (14 page)

It was true, what Colin had said.

Wishes for a new life could come true in a place like this. And Ingénue would be a part of that. She'd not have to be kept shut up in a lonely stable once Rosamund was married and moved away from Easling Park. She'd give enjoyment to countless people. And she'd be able to run as much as she pleased.

Her spirit couldn't be broken in a place like Colin described.

To envision it now felt like a gift.

“You see it, don't you? What it could be.”

She nodded. The image stole her breath away. It needed no grand effort to do so, not when she pictured all that the grounds would become.

“Hendrick would have loved this for our horse. It's more than I imagined,” she whispered aloud. “More than I ever dreamed.”

Colin laughed, a slight chuckle that she'd come to know well.

“And this before you've actually seen anything yet.” He tilted his head toward the old dilapidated stable nearest them. “This way.”

“I have a million questions before I go back home.”

“I know. And we'll answer them all. But first I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

He called out, “Owen!” with cupped hands around his mouth.

Once. Twice.

A dark-skinned man of perhaps fifty years finally popped his head out one of the doors, his face brightening when he saw the two of them.

He spread the stable doors wide.

“Come on,” Colin whispered, guiding her by the elbow.

The man before them had deep charcoal eyes and close-cropped hair that was tinged gray at the temples. He was dressed plainly, in clothes not altogether different from those the stable hands might have worn at Easling Park—a white work shirt rolled to the elbows, canvas work trousers, and plain brown shoes that had a knot holding one of the laces together. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles just peeked out from the top of his shirt pocket.

Colin met the man's hand in a hearty shake.

“So you're back from your travels.” He welcomed them with a warm smile.

“Just today, as a matter of fact.” Colin turned to Rosamund. “This is Owen Thomas, our lead trainer. And this is Lady—”

“Rosamund,” she cut in. “I'm Rosamund Easling. It's very nice to meet you.”

He extended a hand, which Rosamund accepted. She couldn't help thinking that her mother would have fainted dead away at any association with Mr. Thomas, but something about him triggered an instant liking.

An odd sort of wisdom seemed to radiate from him. A quiet manner. Maybe it was the humble dress. Or perhaps the kindness
in the eyes. Either way, Rosamund felt instantly at home with him. What's more, she knew Ingénue would take to him, and that's what mattered most.

“Mr. Keary wired me to meet with you here. Said an Arabian is arriving today. Afraid I've been hoppin' around here like a kid at Christmas, waiting to finally get a look at her.”

“She's already here, Owen. Came in on the train with us this morning.” Colin cocked an eyebrow. “In fact, some of the boys are bringing her over right behind us.”

A horn beeped just then, and they turned round together.

A truck with tall wooden slats lining the bed circled and came to a stop in front of the stable, its black running boards gleaming in the sun. Two men jumped out, tossing a wave in Colin's direction. He returned it with a nod of his head.

“Well, there she is, Owen. Your new protégé.”

Rosamund could see Ingénue's head bobbing just over the slats of the truck. The men let down the back gate and Rosamund let out a gentle sigh of relief as they led the mare out, Ingénue clip-clopping her hooves down the ramp to the ground.

Owen took a step back, hands braced on his hips, and gazed at the horse. “She's magnificent,” he breathed. “And right on time.”

“On time for what?” Rosamund wondered aloud.

Colin said nothing when she sent a questioning glance his way. He just pointed to Owen—a nod to the man in charge of the moment.

“On time for what?” she repeated.

“For you to show us what she can do, Miss Easling.”

“Again.”

Owen's instructions were few, but the words he did say were
carefully chosen, his manner methodical. Colin had long known Owen was a trainer with exceptional skill, but it was encouraging to see him interact with a performer of Rose's unharnessed talent with both patience and precision.

Colin found a perch against a weathered wood rail and leaned against it, absently twirling his watch and chain round his fingers. He'd kept quiet throughout the session thus far, just stood watching the events unfold, checking off boxes of the pair's skill set in his mind.

“Try to stop on a dime next time,” Owen instructed in his baritone voice. “And hold your balance. Concentrate. You're shifting too far forward when she stops. It makes you vulnerable to a fall.”

Rosamund complied and rode Ingénue around the exhibit corral again, just as she'd done for the past hour.

Colin was quite in the habit of watching from the wings of a performance. But this time it felt different. The stakes were higher. If Rose failed, then he did too. The season was but a few short months away, and he hadn't time to go back out on the recruitment road. What's more, he didn't want to.

He needed to be right this time.

Something told Colin this bareback riding pair was the answer to managing the inexplicable problem of Bella Rossi. With every turn he watched them, kicking up dust with the clip-clop of hooves.

Come on, Rose,
Colin muttered under his breath, willing her to show the same flicker of brilliance he'd witnessed at the fields of Easling Park.
Show me I'm right about you . . .

He'd remembered to bring riding clothes, and Rosamund had changed quickly, donning the shirt and men's canvas trousers in an empty stall away from the men. She'd wound her hair in a thick braid that trailed over her shoulder now, swinging about and gleaming in the bright sun with each turn made by horse and rider.

Colin had to remind himself that this vision of the performer
before him—her grit and hard work as well as the sheer beauty Rose didn't know she possessed—was business and nothing more. He was the talent scout on the road, the man who would have to mold her rough talent into that of a polished star. Somewhere deep down, he was certain Rose's will was perfectly crafted for it. He only hoped she could see it in herself.

Colin looked away for a breath. Refocusing his thoughts, lest they drift.

He kicked at a stray rock in his path.

Keep your mind on the show, Keary . . .

“That's enough,” Owen shouted, drawing Colin's attention back.

Owen raised up a hand and Rosamund brought Ingénue to stop in front of him. She tugged wisps of hair behind her ears and swept the back of her hand across the beads of perspiration on her brow. Though the Florida sun could bear down on the corral like the inside of an oven, she didn't complain or comment.

She sat quietly, waiting. Absently running her fingertips over her horse's mane.

“Any experience with Roman riding?” Owen asked.

“I don't know,” she said, drawing in deep breaths of air. “What is it?”

“Riding atop a pair of horses, with one foot on each horse.”

She shook her head. “It's only ever been Ingénue and I, riding together.”

“Aerobatics training?”

Rosamund shook her head again. “Not formally. I've done vaulting, mostly.”

Owen continued, moving from one question to the next without skipping a beat.

“Vaulting. Good. The dance on horseback will be useful. Can you ride Cossack?”

She paused. After an entire training session where they'd not made eye contact, she finally looked to Colin across the corral.

He read uncertainty in her eyes, their cool green questioning him without the necessity of words.

“I've done some Cossack riding . . .,” she said.

Colin hopped up from his perch against the rail. He slid his watch into his pants pocket and strolled in their direction.

“She's being modest,” he countered. “I saw Rose perform a death drag at a fair in England.”

Owen's face lit up. “Did she now?”

Colin nodded.

“So you can ride with a saddle and without?” Owen asked.

Rose nodded, and a tiny ghost of a smile eased onto the trainer's lips. “Good. Very good.”

“And it's more than just riding. She does backsprings. Flying leaps. And she stood up midcanter, flipping off Ingénue's back in front of hundreds. I saw it, Owen. Rose would never tell it herself, but she did it with precision and not an ounce of fear. She landed with her feet planted in that field and—”

Colin stopped a few steps away from her side, connecting his eyes with hers. Wanting her to see the pride in them. Refusing to show he'd had the smallest doubt.

“She won over the entire crowd.”

Owen folded his arms across his chest. “Even you?”

Colin nodded. “Especially me.”

“But riding in the ring is very different from doing it in a field,” she whispered, wary of the praise.

Her caution was well placed. He knew that. But Colin couldn't look into the eyes of this English beauty who'd come so far, at his urging, leaving her entire world behind, and allow her to doubt her own abilities now.

“Rose is a quick learner,” he said. “And she's downplaying her aerobatics. She can do a forward somersault on the horse's back, Owen,” he said, then crossed his arms across his chest and grinned for good measure. “From her
knees
.”

Colin was all too proud to put emphasis on the last word, at which Owen's face broke into an unrestrained smile.

Owen turned to Rose. “Is this true?”

“On our better days,” she answered, a slight tinge of pink painting her cheeks in a telltale blush. “But I didn't know it was that special.”

“Special?” Owen scoffed, looking at her over the glasses now tipped at the end of his nose. “From a kneeling position? Why, I haven't seen anyone else perform that trick in the ring since our own May Wirth debuted it in 1912. Besides, Colin knows it's a favorite of mine.”

“And with all due respect to May,” Colin added, sending Rose an approving glance, “Rose here is better.”

“Is she?” Owen turned, shifting his attention to Ingénue.

He knelt at the horse's side, looking her over in detail. He ran a hand along her side, inspecting each leg.

“Ingénue is older than stock I usually bring in. We like to learn what a horse is good at when it's young. Its mannerisms and areas of ease with performance. It helps to know where to place it in a show.”

“Rose can help with that. They've been riding together for eight years.”

Owen looked up from his kneeling position. “That's quite a long time to have a partnership.”

“Yes,” Rosamund agreed. “My brother sent her to me months before the end of the war. We've been together ever since.”

She paused then and furrowed her brow ever so slightly, as if
squinting in the sun. Something melted over her features. Colin couldn't say what it was exactly. Long-forgotten memories, perhaps? Buried pain?

He fought the desire to know exactly how she felt.

Rosamund slid down from Ingénue's back. She dusted her palms on her trousers and drew in a deep breath, then offered Owen a hard-won smile. It was clear she was trying her best not to cry.

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. I'll remember this day always.”

Owen darted a glance over to Colin, giving him a scowl for good measure.

“And I will as well, Miss Easling,” he said with a voice that was considerably softer than the one he'd used during the training session.

Colin stood by as she leaned in, placing her hands on either side of Ingénue's head. Rose closed her eyes. She murmured quiet words of praise against the horse's light snorts and accepted the nudging of Ingénue's nose against her palm.

She whispered one last thing to the horse before handing the reins to Colin. He took them, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut.

“You can take her,” she whispered. “With my compliments.”

Rose walked away, head held high. She trekked through the field in her riding boots, then disappeared through the dusk-darkened stable.

“Well.” Owen stood and shook his head, easing the reins from Colin's grip. “You want to help her?”

“I do.”

“And help us too, I imagine. Because you know this show needs her.”

Owen never minced words.

“Go after her, you fool.”

“Right.” Colin exhaled, turning in pursuit.

What could he say?

Rose couldn't have known his intentions, but she'd been recruited from the beginning. The task now was to convince her that she wanted to stay.

Colin trotted through the stable and found her standing alone. He slowed his thick-booted stride on instinct, surprised that the sight of her could hush the breath right out of him.