Unbefitting a Lady (2 page)

Chapter Two

C
oming outside was
not
much of an improvement. It meant waiting in a closed carriage.
Waiting was not something Phaedra did well even though she knew Giles would be
as quick about business as he could. The drive between Buxton and home would
take the better part of their afternoon and Giles would want to be back in time
for supper. They’d spent the night at an inn last evening but Giles would not
tolerate another night on the road especially with Warbourne in tow and Lily
waiting for him at journey’s end.

A loud whinny drew her attention outside the carriage window. A
handsome chestnut stallion was giving trouble, rearing up and jerking on the
handler’s rope. No wonder. There was motion all around him, horses and people
and loud voices. Quite a cacophony for the senses if one wasn’t used to it.

Phaedra recognised the handler as Captain Hugh Webster, one of
Samuelson’s cronies. Webster tugged hard on the lead rope but that only served
to make the stallion angrier. He reared higher, his hooves now a dangerous
weapon, his eyes rolling.

Phaedra’s anger rose. Couldn’t Webster see his methods only
infuriated the horse? The rope slipped from his hands and for a moment Phaedra
thought the animal would succeed in breaking free. She held her breath. That
would be calamitous for both the crowd and the horse. A high-strung stallion
could step on a dragging lead rope and trip, doing permanent damage to his legs,
to say nothing of the hazards associated with a panicked horse running through a
panicked crowd. Webster regained the rope and struck the horse with the knotted
end which only served to infuriate the horse more.

That did it.

Phaedra threw open the carriage door and jumped down, striding
towards the scene of the melee purposefully. ‘Lady Phaedra!’ John Coachman
called out from atop the box, but she didn’t stop. She would put an end to this
barbarism.

Before the horse could rear again, she stepped in front of the
rough handler and seized the rope, effectively shoving him out of the way. ‘Easy
now,’ she said in firm tones loud enough to be heard. Slowly, she gathered in
the rope, making it more difficult for the horse to rise up, talking to him all
the while, looking him in the eye. When she was close enough, Phaedra drew an
apple slice from the pocket of her jacket and held it out to the horse. He was
quivering, still unsure, but definitely quieter than he’d been minutes before.
He took the apple and Phaedra reached up to pat his neck, breathing in the scent
of him.

‘Good boy, you’re a good boy,’ she crooned, feeling him settle
beneath her hand. He was a good boy too; he’d merely been startled by something
in his surroundings and Webster’s response had only aggravated him more. She’d
have a few words for the captain in a moment.

‘Well, if it isn’t Lady Phaedra Montague.’ She didn’t have to
look up from the stallion. The snide voice was all too familiar. ‘I should have
known if there was any commotion you’d be at the heart of it.’

Sir Nathan Samuelson strode forward, a sneer of contempt on his
face.

Phaedra kept her hand on the horse’s neck, her gaze meeting Sir
Nathan’s unwaveringly. She would not be cowed by him. ‘And I should have known
if a horse was being mistreated, it would have been yours. The captain is doing
a poor job of introducing this animal to his new life.’ Might made right in Sir
Nathan’s view of the world, a philosophy he exercised quite regularly in his
stables and Phaedra suspected in his personal life as well. He was unmarried,
but not for a lack of trying. Last year he’d tried a suit with her sister, Kate,
and even more recently with Aunt Claire. Both had refused him on grounds of
moral and philosophical differences, to put it politely.

‘Step away, Lady Phaedra. I have miles to go and an order to
pick up from my tailor in town before I can be under way.’ He made an impatient
gesture with his hand and then paused with a smirk. ‘That is, unless you have
more pearls to sell?’ He made the remark sound nasty and a few of the men
gathered around to watch the scene laughed. He came towards her, intentionally
dwarfing her, crowding her with his size and breadth. She had a little height of
her own but Sir Nathan was of hearty country stock. ‘All your pearls are gone
except one.’ His voice was a low sneer. ‘The one right between your legs. Who
knows, for a good rub, I might give you the horse, show all of you Montagues
you’re not too good for the likes of me. We’re fellow peers of realm, after
all.’

Phaedra stiffened, wanting to get away but having no exit. She
was trapped between Sir Nathan and the horse. ‘Having a title doesn’t make you a
peer of the Montagues. You aren’t fit to wipe our boots.’

‘You little bitch.’

Sir Nathan lunged but his body never reached her. A strong hand
at his neck dragged him backwards and spun him around. ‘Didn’t your mother teach
you how to talk to a lady?’

No sooner had Sir Nathan faced the newcomer, than the
newcomer’s fist landed squarely against Sir Nathan’s jaw, sending him staggering
into the assembled crowd. Phaedra had only a quick glimpse of her sudden
protector in the intervening moments, a dark-haired devil in a billowing white
shirt and the face of an avenging angel, handsome and yet raw with power. She
would not soon forget that face.

Her avenger turned towards her, a gallant cavalier from a
storybook, his eyes alight with blue fire when he looked at her. ‘Are you all
right, miss?’

‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ Phaedra managed to find her voice, a
most unusual occurrence to have lost it in the first place. But it wasn’t every
day a handsome stranger leapt to her defence.

‘Shall I punch him again for you?’ the stranger drawled,
watching Sir Nathan right himself with the help of friends.

There was no chance to answer. Giles materialised, parting the
crowd with his broad shoulders. ‘That will do, I think. Get along with all of
you. There’s nothing more to see here.’ The crowd began to dissolve at the voice
of authority. One didn’t have to know he was the son of a duke to decide
obedience was the best option. Giles motioned for someone to take the chestnut
stallion and the throng around them thinned. But her hero remained.

‘This wasn’t the introduction I’d planned,’ Giles began. ‘But I
see the two of you have already met. Bram, this is my sister, Lady Phaedra
Montague. She’s the one I was telling you about. She’s been overseeing the
stables since old Anderson got hurt. Phaedra, this is Bram Basingstoke. He’ll
take over Tom Anderson’s duties until the man recovers.’

Her hero was the new head groom? Phaedra mentally revoked his
hero status and squelched her disappointment. She’d hoped Giles had forgotten
all about the need to hire a replacement. She’d been having far too much fun
taking care of the stables over the winter. ‘I’m sure that’s not necessary,’ she
said in her best haughty but polite tones. ‘The poor man will hardly get
settled, Giles, and Anderson will be up and about. Until then, I can manage. I
don’t mind.’ She did not want any help, no matter how handsome the face that
came with it. The stables were her domain, the one place where she had some
autonomy. She wasn’t about to let a stranger take that away.

Giles gave her a thin warning smile that said he was not to be
crossed on this. ‘Phaedra, you’ll be busy with the colt now.’ What he really
meant was that she owed him. He’d backed her on her ridiculous bid, now it was
time to do things his way.

Phaedra swallowed. ‘You’re right, of course. Warbourne will
take much of my time if he’s to be ready to race in May.’ It was a gutsy gambit,
based on the hope that Giles would not contradict her in front of the newcomer.
They’d not discussed racing Warbourne this year with any specificity and
certainly not in May. But only three-year-olds could race the Epsom Derby. This
was his year if she meant to do it.

Giles looked at her sharply. ‘That remains for another
discussion.’ He flipped open his pocket watch, an effective conversation closer,
and checked the time. ‘Let’s get home and get Warbourne settled before we plan
his racing career.’

The ride was accomplished without mishap. Their home,
Castonbury, was two hours from Buxton, and Warbourne travelled the distance well
with a few rests. Phaedra travelled the distance well too. She was thankful
Giles didn’t take advantage of the carriage’s privacy to berate her for her
behaviour at the fair. She was thankful, too, for the myriad thoughts crowding
her mind, all of which made the time pass quickly. There was Warbourne to
consider, which stall he should have, how she should begin his training, and
then there was the stranger riding up on the box next to John Coachman. He took
up a fair share of those thoughts.

Only he wasn’t really a stranger now that Giles had hired him
on. He had a name and a position and he posed a threat to her autonomy. She
would need to get the rules of their association established early. They were
her
stables and they were going to stay that way
from now on. She was twenty and plenty old enough for some responsibility of her
own.

The carriage turned into the Castonbury parklands, passing
through the wrought-iron gates of the entrance, and began the slow, grand,
winding drive to the house. They travelled past the boathouses and over the
bridge that spanned the river and up to the mansion. Phaedra smiled quietly to
herself as she looked out of the window. Castonbury’s majesty never failed to
impress even her and she’d grown up here her whole life. Bram Basingstoke was
probably sitting atop the carriage, his mouth agape at the wonders of Castonbury
Park and thanking his lucky stars her brother had hired him on. It wasn’t every
day a man got to be head groom at a ducal estate, even temporarily.

The big house came into view but they passed by and headed west
where the stable block lay behind the main house. Phaedra looked across at
Giles, whose eyes had opened when the carriage halted. ‘We’re home.’ She placed
a hand over his. ‘Thank you for everything.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Giles hesitated before asking, ‘Could I leave
you to give our new head groom a tour?’

He wanted to ride down to the vicarage and see Lily, Phaedra
guessed. She smiled. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ A tour would be just the thing
to set the right tone, just the right way to assert herself.

But Bram had other ideas. The moment the carriage halted, he’d
jumped down and taken charge of getting Warbourne untied before Phaedra had
barely set her feet on the ground. Warbourne responded to him without any fuss
and she had to admit that on first impression he had a good way with horses and
with men. The other stable hands leapt to do his bidding. She hastened her pace
to catch up and walk beside him, wanting at least to give the impression he
needed her.

His sense of authority was unnerving, actually. It was almost
lordly in its demeanour, not a quality one found in the average groom or stable
master. And then there was the issue of his boots. She noticed they were awfully
fine. Aunt Wilhelmina was fond of saying a girl could always tell a gentleman by
his shoes. Based on those polished, high boots he wore with only a touch of the
day’s dust about them, one might almost mistake him for a gentleman—except that
he wasn’t.

His dark hair was too long to be fashionably tolerated and his
wardrobe lacked certain necessities. A gentleman wore a waistcoat and a coat in
the presence of a lady. A gentleman didn’t walk around with his shirtsleeves
rolled up and a gentleman most certainly didn’t engage in fisticuffs at a horse
fair. No, Bram Basingstoke was clearly not a gentleman no matter how fine his
boots or lordly his demeanour. Some men were just born to command. He was one of
them, something she’d do well to remember when dealing with him.

Phaedra pointed out the stall she’d decided on for Warbourne.
She slipped a slice of apple to the colt for good behaviour while fresh straw
was laid down. Satisfied the colt was well settled, she turned to Bram.
‘Warbourne has had his tour, now it’s time for yours. I’m sure you’re anxious to
get your bearings.’

The hint of a smile played about his lips. ‘I have my bearings
quite well, but I’ll accept your offer of a tour.’ Humour danced in his
eyes.

Phaedra’s mouth went dry. Giles’s new groom was a flirt. Her
stomach fluttered a bit as it had at the fair. He was the handsome man again,
the daring hero. But that would not do for a Montague servant. In the stables or
in the house, the Montague staff were impeccably trained and impeccably
mannered, except maybe the errand boy, Charlie. The staff certainly did not
flirt
with the ducal family. Except for Monsieur
André, the head chef. He’d wooed and won Aunt Claire. All right, there were
apparently
some
exceptions. But that did not excuse
him
.

* * *

Bram allowed Phaedra to sweep ahead of him. ‘The stable
block is divided up into sections,’ she explained, pride evident as she
continued. ‘This section is dedicated to the saddle horses. We keep twenty
horses for riding purposes. This is Giles’s favourite hunter, Genghis, rescued
him off the battlefield.’ She kept up the introductions, stroking the muzzle of
each horse they passed until she’d shown him all of the animals and given him an
overwhelming history of each.

It was clear she wanted him overwhelmed. She wanted him to be
in awe of his surroundings and he was. Castonbury had one of the finest stables
in the north. Bram had seen several stables owned by men who considered
themselves fine breeders of the thoroughbred, and Castonbury was impressive.
He’d noted the elevated iron hay racks in each of the stalls, eliminating the
need to keep a large feed trough running the length of the aisles and taking up
space. He’d noted, too, that Castonbury had converted the traditional
three-sided stall to the modern-styled loose box stall. The horses looked
healthy and strong, no doubt a result of their excellent housing.