Page 15 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)

It seemed today that William’s study was not the comforting haven it generally was.

In fact, he found the silence and order a little grating.

The idyllic blue skies from earlier had faded away, replaced by heavy, bruised-grey clouds, hanging low and threatening rain. There was a great deal of talk about if the weather was about to take a turn, and what could be done about the planning of a hunting excursion and upcoming picnic if it did.

Frankly, William could not have cared less. He was thoroughly sick of smiling and mincing around his mother’s guests, hearing the same platitudes repeated over and over again, not a stitch of meaning in any of them.

“Goodness, look at those clouds! Shall we have rain do you think?”

“We are lucky the weather held for our trip through the Park. Don’t you think so, your Grace?”

“I hope the rain will not ruin our picnic.”

And so on. He’d heard all of the comments, over and over again. Mostly they had come from Miss Bainbridge.

Oh, that wretched girl. William was beginning to feel distinctly ungentlemanly towards her. Her forthrightness and cool, steady logic, which he’d so admired in the early stages of their acquaintance, had been swept away and replaced with nonsense and smooth Society manners. He knew the cause.

She’s no longer certain of me, he thought, biting his lip. Even with the agreement between us. Confident as she is, she sees Miss Brookford as a threat and thinks that she must now work hard to secure me. I’m not a sure affair anymore.

Indeed, that was nonsense. Miss Brookford had been pleasant to him, that was for sure, but that meant nothing. But Miss Bainbridge clearly believed it and acted accordingly.

What sort of man must I be, to make my betrothed feel so insecure? I agreed to the match, and there will be no turning back.

It had taken him a full hour to shake her off once he returned home. What on earth would things be like once they were married?

A tap on the door made him jump. William cleared his throat, trying to compose himself.

None of the work on his desk had been looked at, of course. Soon he would have to think about dressing for dinner. How could a whole afternoon slip away?

“Who is it?”

“Only me, your Grace,” came the butler’s familiar voice. “I have brought tea.”

“Oh, excellent. Thank you.”

The butler came in, carrying the tea-things on a highly polished silver tray, bright enough to hurt William’s eyes. He wished, not for the first time, that not everything around him had to be polished to a shine, cleaned and scrubbed and shined until it gleamed.

“I thought I should tell you, your Grace, that one of the young lady guests has been seen heading towards the stables,” the butler said, disapproval heavy in his voice. “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess, remarked upon it. Shall I fetch her back? I am not sure she was chaperoned, your Grace.”

“I’m sure she won’t come to harm in the stables.”

The butler made a little sound. “That is hardly the point, your Grace.”

“Do tell me you aren’t one of those chaps who think ladies can’t be interested in horses,” William remarked, lifting an eyebrow. The butler said nothing, only poured out a cup of tea. William took a sip. He was hungry. He’d barely touched his bun, despite the rest of their guests digging in eagerly. Frankly, he found the confectioneries too sweet.

The butler straightened, hesitating. There was clearly more.

“It’s just that…”

“What?” William asked, taking another sip of too-hot tea. He was getting a headache. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s just that a particular horse is out in the paddocks, your Grace. The lady might see it.”

“What does that matter?”

The butler pressed his lips together. “A particular horse, your Grace.”

There was a heartbeat of time before William understood. When he did, a wave of panic flooded through him.

What if that creature hurts someone else? People will wonder why I let it live after it threw my father, or why I didn’t at least give it away.

I won’t have a suitable answer.

He flew over to the window, through which he could see the fields behind the house, as well as the stable block and the paddocks around it.

And there, quite clearly, without the slightest mistake of what it could be, he saw that wretched black stallion in the paddock closest to the stables.

A lady had half-climbed up the fence, and was leaning over, holding out a hand. There appeared to be something in her palm. As he was watching, horrified, the stallion delicately took the treat, nose snuffling at her hand, as demure as anything.

“I thought I made it clear that horse was meant to be kept away,” William said, voice wobbling. “Imagine if one of the guests chose to ride it, or believed it was a suitable mount for the hunting party, of all things.”

The butler cleared his throat. “Yes, your Grace. I am not sure why the horse would be in the paddock, but the grooms insist that the horse requires exercise and fresh air. They say the creature is tamer than it once was.”

“That’ll count for nothing, if Society finds out that I kept the horse that killed my father!”

William could hear his voice pitching, childishly hysterical. He squeezed his eyes closed, biting his lower lip hard.

It doesn’t matter. Just send somebody out to bring her back, put the horse back in the stables, and have a word with her mamma. The girl really shouldn’t be out unchaperoned at a party so full of gentlemen, it’s generally not very…

His thoughts cut off abruptly when the lady turned around, glancing back towards the house as if her attention was caught by something, hand lifted to prevent her bonnet from flying off her head.

It was, of course, Miss Lavinia Brookford.

William felt that he ought to have guessed that right away. Naturally, only a lady like Miss Brookford would go out alone to investigate the stables, only to find what was likely the only man-killing horse in Bath.

William acted before he knew what he was doing. Wrenching open the window, he stuck out his head, the cool air taking his breath away after the stuffiness of the study.

“What on earth are you doing, you foolish girl? Whatever you do, don’t touch that horse! Don’t touch that horse!”

Perhaps, in hindsight, it was not the most polite thing to shout. The butler drew in a sharp, surprised breath, but William could not have cared less.

She’d heard him, he knew she’d heard him, but she only stared blankly at the house, baffled, clearly with no idea who was shouting at her and why.

Biting back a curse, William withdrew back into the study.

“I will deal with this,” he told the butler shortly, and then broke into a run.

He managed to race through the house without being seen, except by some baffled footmen. William shot out into the cool air, realizing to his chagrin that he had left his jacket up in his study, and was in fact in his shirtsleeves.

It was too late now to do anything about it, of course. Clenching his teeth, he ran faster, crossing the courtyard.

He could now see the stables up ahead, with the paddock to one side. Miss Brookford was still perched up on the fence, her back to him. The horse was close enough to her now that it could nudge her shoulder with its nose, which it did when she did not produce another piece of carrot quickly enough.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the horse bucking, his father flying forward out of the saddle. He saw the widening of the old duke’s eyes, the first glimmer of fear that William had ever seen on his father’s face.

What sort of creature could make a man like that feel afraid?

“Miss Brookford!” he bellowed. “ Miss Brookford !”

She turned to look at him, aghast, as any woman would when confronted with a madman running at full speed towards her. It occurred to him briefly that he had to look like an absolute sight, in his shirtsleeves, hair a mess, eyes wild, racing towards her, yelling.

“Your Grace?” she managed, dropping down from the fence. “What on earth is the matter?”

The horse put back its ears and huffed, jerking its head up and down. What did that mean? William had never liked horses, even before the incident, and he had no idea what those movements were supposed to mean. He supposed that the horse was upset. Somebody had once said that when horses put back their ears, it meant they were angry.

Panic spiked in his chest.

“Get away, you simpleton! Get away!”

Miss Brookford began to look wary instead of confused. William’s lungs were on fire. He skidded to a halt, gripping Miss Brookford’s shoulders and hauling her bodily away from the fence.

The horse snorted again, lowering its head like a bull about to charge. William tried to drag the woman further away, but she struggled, attempting to yank her arm free from his grip.

“William, what are you doing ?” she gasped.

She succeeded in pulling her arm free, only to lose her balance, slipping on the uneven ground. She would have fallen heavily if William had not snatched desperately at her, winding one arm around her waist and pulling her close with a thud that knocked the breath out of both of their bodies.

Then clarity seemed to trickle in, and it occurred to William just how much of a raving fool he had been. And, of course, that he now had his arm around a woman’s waist and was holding her close.

He released her at once. She stepped back, red-faced, and drew in a deep, fortifying breath.

“What,” she said carefully, “are you doing, your Grace? Have you gone mad? You are acting as if you are.”

She called me William.

The thought came from nowhere, burrowing its way through William’s head and making a home at the front of his mind. He swallowed hard. No doubt her slip-up was due to surprise, or perhaps stress. He could hardly complain about her informality when he had come rushing towards her at full speed, yelling like a fool.

“My apologies,” he said, breathless, “but I saw you feeding that horse from my study window.”

“Are you the one who called me a foolish girl?” Miss Brookford asked at once, eyebrows lifting.

He flushed. “I… I did not think. I just reacted… I hope you can forgive me.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed, shaking her head. “You’re our host. I suppose I must forgive you.”

“That’s not the case at all, Miss Brookford. I should never have… I did not mean to… oh, heavens. I’m making a mess of this. The thing is, that horse is dangerous. Quite dangerous. You shouldn’t go near it. Did none of the grooms tell you?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t see a groom. I didn’t see anyone. I came to find my horse, Stepper, but I saw this beautiful creature, and I thought… oh, he can’t be dangerous. He’s as sweet as anything. Didn’t you see him taking carrots from my hand? He was so gentle.”

William bit his lip. “Miss Brookford, you have no idea of the danger.”

“Tell me, then. What is the danger?”

He missed a beat. “None of your concern.”

“ None of my concern ?” Miss Brookford repeated, folding her arms tight across her chest. “You shout at me from a window, come racing out like a madman in your shirtsleeves – my mother would have an apoplexy if she saw you talking to me now, by the way – and then you grab me and all but tackle me to the ground. You ramble on about danger but do not offer any explanations. And you tell me it’s none of my concern? I beg to differ, your Grace.”

William bit his lip. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed that the horse was looking at him critically, too.

Perhaps I deserve it.

He closed his eyes briefly. “The situation is complicated, Miss Brookford.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that so? I’m sure a clever man like you can summarise it. Do try and explain.”

William drew in a deep, shaky breath. He found his gaze drawn over Miss Brookford’s shoulder to where the horse stood, entirely still, dark eyes fixed on him.

“That horse killed my father, Miss Brookford.”

There was a long, taut silence after that. Miss Brookford blinked up at him, disbelief, horror, and understanding crossing her face in rapid succession.

“Oh,” she said at last, voice small. “Oh, I did not… I didn’t know that.”

William smiled wryly. “So you see what I mean when I say that the horse is dangerous, Miss Brookford. He had not been ridden much before my father bought him, and not at all afterwards. He might harm you, and I should be responsible for that.”

She swallowed. “I had no idea, your Grace. Truly. I…” she trailed off, her gaze darting over his shoulder. He turned to see the butler huffing and puffing his way towards them, clutching one of William’s jackets.

He bit back a smile.

“Your jacket, your Grace,” the butler gasped, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. “It is entirely too cold, and not… not proper for you to be out of doors without it.”

The man’s meaning was plain, even without the pointed look he shot at Miss Brookford.

Grimacing, William took the jacket and slid it on. “Thank you.”

“Shall I escort Miss Brookford back to the house?”

William glanced at her, waiting for her to answer. Miss Brookford met his gaze and held it, the instant seeming to drag out forever before she spoke.

“No, thank you,” she said at last. “I can find my way back.”

The butler pursed his lips, glancing at William for confirmation. He gave a short nod, and the butler barely repressed a sigh, turning and heading back towards the house.

At that moment, the horse seemed to take offence at the butler’s tone, giving a sharp whinny and half rearing up onto its back hooves.

William gave a yelp of fear before he could stop himself, backing away at once.

“It’s alright, your Grace,” Miss Brookford said at once, laying a hand on his arm. It was as if she were trying to soothe him, rather than the horse. “This fellow is just a little uncertain around new people. You said he had not been ridden much?”

William swallowed hard, shaking his head. “No. Not at all. He… he has never been aggressive towards anyone else. He doesn’t bite, or kick, although I can’t help but worry that he might. I am sorry, I should not have dragged you into all this. It’s not your concern. I… I would be grateful if you didn’t mention the horse. People may think I ought to have had him killed, after he threw my father.”

Miss Brookford tilted her head. “I’m inclined to blame the rider, rather than the horse. I hope that doesn’t offend you, by the way.”

He allowed himself a small smile. “No, you would be right. My father… well, he believed that horses must be broken. He employed whips and spurs and so on, and he expected me to do the same. I… I have never been much good at horse riding. I never had a taste for it, even before…” he swallowed reflexively, eyeing the horse. “Certainly not after.”

Miss Brookford nodded slowly, following his gaze. She took a careful step towards the fence, reaching out a hand to the horse. William stiffened, fighting back his urge to grab her and haul her back out of danger.

She laid her hand on the horse’s nose. The creature only snorted, lipping at her fingers in hopes of more carrots. When it was clear that there were none, it only flicked its ears in disappointment.

“It’s a sweet animal,” she said quietly. “I bet I could ride this horse. I bet you could, your Grace. Horses like this don’t allow themselves to be forced. One must persuade .”

“I would rather die than ride that horse. Or any horse, for that matter.”

She gave a chuckle at that. “Well, that really is none of my concern, I suppose. But riding is such excellent exercise, you know.”

“I’m sure you are correct but I prefer to get my exercise elsewhere.”

Seeing that there were no more carrots to be had, the horse gave another whinny, tossed his head, and turned to gallop back across the paddock, beginning a wide circuit of the field. His glossy mane rippled in the wind, and William felt a flash of guilt.

How often is this creature exercised? Did I ever bother to find out?

“I expect you’re shocked that I kept the horse after it killed my father,” he said aloud. “I haven’t an excuse for you, if that’s what you want to hear. I simply couldn’t bear to get rid of it. It didn’t seem fair.”

She tilted her head, looking up at him. “I was thinking nothing of the sort. It’s your business, and if your father was as cruel towards his horses as you say, I’m not surprised that one of them threw him.”

William swallowed hard, watching the horse gallop. “It was meant to be me riding him, you know. I wouldn’t, because I saw that the horse was nervy. It was more than that, though. I was afraid, frankly. I often wonder whether I would have died instead, if I’d gotten into that saddle.”

“Perhaps you might have been hurt,” she acknowledged. “But you are a very different man to your father. I think things would have been different.”

He glanced sharply at her. “Some people think that I am very much like him.”

She held his gaze. “I think differently. Do you want to be like him?”

“No!” the word was out, bitten off and angry, before William could stop himself. Miss Brookford did not flinch. She only nodded, as if he had confirmed something for her.

“There you are, then. I think you should ride again, if you want my opinion. We could ride together.”

He swallowed. “Perhaps.”

Distantly, the dressing gong rang in the house, a sign that it was time for the guests to prepare for dinner. Sighing, she turned as if to leave, but paused, glancing back.

“What is his name?”

“Hm?”

“The horse,” she nodded at the creature still galloping around the field. “What is his name?”

“Oh. Do you know, I cannot remember? He must have had one, but I can’t recall it. Perhaps you could name him.”

He wasn’t sure what made him add the last part, but it was worth it. Miss Brookford’s face lit up.

“Can I?”

He nodded, smiling. “Take your time and choose a good one. Let me know what you have decided.”

Still beaming, she turned and began to hurry across towards the house. William watched her go, his heart hammering against the inside of his ribcage.

A movement at one of the windows caught his eye, and he glanced up in time to see a figure shift out of view. A female figure, and he could guess who it was. A cold chill ran down his spine.

In all the excitement, he’d almost forgotten about his betrothal.

Don’t be a fool, William. Don’t. Miss Brookford is not for you.

He glanced over at the field and found that the horse had stopped dead in the middle of the paddock, and was staring at him. Reddening, William turned on his heel and hurried back towards the house.