Page 7 of The Major’s Mistake (Intrepid Heroines #7)

Five

S ykes gave a tug at the girth and cinched it in another notch or two. “Riding out alone again, guv?” he inquired. “Must be finding something of interest out there,” he added under his breath, making little attempt to hide his pique at not being invited along.

Julian made a noncommittal sound as he tied a small package at the back of his saddle. “Perhaps you might wish to put that new hunter to the test this afternoon and let me know what you think. See if he takes the fences as well as Squire Paxon claims.”

Sykes pulled a face, only slightly mollified by the generous offer. “Very well, seeing as I don’t seem to be of any use to you in the field.”

The marquess smiled slightly at his valet’s bruised feelings.

“I’ve told you, it is prudent to get people used to our presence here before we appear to be asking too many questions You may rest assured that when the time is right to get on with our mission, you will be involved.

I am merely paying a social call—which I know you cannot abide.

” He mounted and set his spurs to the big stallion.

The aroma of freshly baked shortbread wafted out in their wake, leaving the other man even more puzzled than before.

He knew that it was the marquess who could not abide the tedium of paying social calls, so he couldn’t help but wonder just what had Julian haring off in such a hurry.

And with a package of cakes? He scratched his chin, wondering whether he was cut out for life among the swells.

There looked to be no one about the stable and barn. Julian reined to a halt, debating whether to wait here for a bit or to simply ride on to the main house and fetch the lad. Now that the moment had arrived, he felt butterflies in his stomach.

Surely facing a six-year-old boy was not nearly as intimidating as storming a Spanish artillery position, he reasoned with himself. Nevertheless, his mouth was slightly dry and a trickle of sweat etched a slow path down his spine at the prospect of taking his own son in his arms for the first time.

Miranda stepped out from among the shadowed stalls. “He is helping Angus fetch a lamb down from the upper pasture,” she said curtly, indicating a rocky path leading behind the stone building and up a steep hill. “This way.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and started off at a brisk pace.

Julian hesitated. Common sense warred with pride as he eyed the treacherous footing. It would be difficult going?—

She stopped abruptly. “Are you coming?” she demanded.

“Or are you afraid of getting a speck of mud on Hoby’s latest creations?

” After a fraction of a moment, she added, “Or are you now so puffed up with your own consequence on coming into the title that you expect everyone to bow and scrape before you?”

He slid down from the saddle as Miranda once again turned her back on him and continued up the path. With gritted teeth, he sought to follow at a reasonable pace. The sweat was running freely now, pain knifing through his scarred leg.

If she wished to pay him back for humiliating her the other day, she would be well rewarded at the sight of his stumbling steps, so different from … before. With a slight grimace, he looked up, only to find that she was staring at his polished Hessians.

“Your leg …” she said softly.

His lips curled in a humorless smile. “Yes, as you can see, I’m quite crippled.”

A flicker of emotion passed over her face as their eyes met for a brief moment, then she quickly looked away.

“Wait here. I’ll get him.” The edge was gone from her voice.

When she returned a short while later with Justin, Julian had already returned to the stableyard and was leaning against the paddock fence to ease the strain on his injured limb.

“Major! Major!” cried Justin at the sight of him. He started to run forward. “Mama says I am to take a ride with you! Shall I show you the stream where two swans have built a nest and the bramble patch where a family of rabbits live?”

Julian smiled. “I should like that very much.”

“I have to ride Thistle, who is a slug, but perhaps I might finally have my gallop on Zeus?” continued the lad as he clattered to a breathless halt in front of the Marquess.

Miranda caught up with her son. “Now, Justin,” she said in gentle reminder. “Don’t forget your manners. You wouldn’t want the marquess to think you have been brought up in a barn.”

The little boy looked slightly abashed. “Yes, Mama.” He carefully straightened his jacket and executed a solemn bow. “Good afternoon, Your Lordship.”

Julian reached down and ruffled Justin’s dark locks. “Major is just fine, lad. And I think Zeus would not object to showing off his paces for you.”

Miranda knelt down beside the boy and with a worn handkerchief rubbed a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “Now remember to be on your best behavior for the marquess. You mustn’t wander off or pester him with too many questions?—”

“I’ll be very good, I promise, Mama.”

She gave him a hard hug and pressed her lips to the top of his head. As she slowly released him, her eyes met Julian’s.

“You may rest assured I shall have him back well before supper,” he murmured.

Miranda rose and brushed the dust from the skirts of her gown. “Why, here’s Jem with Thistle,” she announced.

A strapping young man not yet out of his teens led the shaggy little cart horse out from the stable.

“Here ye are, Master Justin.” He bobbed his head to Miranda.

“Good day to ye, Mrs. Ransford.” His gaze shifted to Julian and his eyes narrowed slightly.

Aside from that, he studiously ignored the other man’s presence.

“Come now, bairn, shall I put ye up in the saddle?” With effortless ease, he reached down and tossed the lad up onto the horse’s back.

Miranda moved to take the bridle. “Thank you Jem,” she said with a warm smile.

The groom dipped his head once again, and after fond pat to the lad’s head, ambled back towards the stable.

Julian shifted slightly, uncomfortably aware of being very much the outsider in this little exchange. He searched for something to say.

“So, you know how to ride, lad?” It was rather lame, but the best he could manage under the circumstances.

Justin nodded vigorously. “My Mama taught me.”

“Then you must be very good, for your Mama is an excellent—” His words cut off abruptly. He cleared his throat. “Well, shall we be off?”

As he untied Zeus from the fence, Miranda spoke in a low voice.

“Please be aware that you must go at a slower pace than you are used to. He does not have a firm seat as of yet and might hurt himself if he fell off. And he mustn’t go too close to the riverbank, for the bank is very steep and slippery, and the current quite strong.

And—” She took a deep breath. “I fear you are not very used to small boys,” she blurted out.

“You must keep a careful watch, for they can get in all manner of mischief without trying in the least.”

He gave a wry smile. “I imagine that after handling a platoon of infantry I might be up to managing a six year old lad.”

She looked rather dubious but released her hold on Thistle’s bridle.

“Good bye, Mama!” called Justin.

Miranda waved until he could no longer see her, then she turned and fled towards the house.

This was not so difficult, thought Julian as he listened to the boy’s eager chatter. He nearly chuckled out loud. Why, the lad needed little encouragement to keep up a running commentary on the choicest berry bushes, the tallest oak trees and the best places to look for toads.

“Oh, shall we stop here?” exclaimed Justin. “Then I could show you the robin’s nest. It has three blue eggs. But you have to promise to be very, very careful, so you don’t scare away the mother.”

“You have my word on it.” Julian dismounted, but before he could move towards Justin’s horse, the boy slid down to the ground with a thump. “See?” he called. “I can get down all by myself!”

The marquess looked suitably impressed. “You are quite a bruising rider, lad.”

Justin’s face beamed with pleasure. “Well, I still need help up,” he admitted. “But soon I’ll be tall enough.”

Julian regarded the stirrup iron that hung about level with the little boy’s forehead and repressed a chuckle. “Yes, I can see that.”

Justin’s attention then turned to a copse of mulberry bushes. “Come this way,” he said in a low voice and motioned towards the far end. “It’s over there.” He began to pick his way through the briars and fallen twigs, careful to make as little noise as possible.

The marquess set his teeth, determined not to show to disadvantage. After a slight hesitation, he followed with slow, deliberate steps, taking great pains to move as quietly as he could.

They gained the spot that Justin had indicated without mishap, and the boy slowly parted several of the large branches. “See?” he whispered. “Near the top.”

Indeed, there was a nest of woven twigs and grass, with three pale blue eggs nestled in the middle.

“Very handsome,” murmured Julian.

“I thought you would like them.” Justin continued to regard them for a moment with a proprietary fondness, then let the branches fall back. “We better go now.”

As soon as they were well away from the bushes, his boyish exuberance reasserted itself and he began to scamper off towards where the horses were browsing in the long grass. Just as suddenly he stopped and turned back towards the marquess.

“What happened to your leg?” he asked.

Julian took a sharp breath. Would being a cripple sink him irreparably in his son’s esteem? Well, there was nothing to do for it, he thought bitterly. His limp was never going to disappear, so perhaps it was best to have done with it.

“It was injured during the war,” he replied.

Justin stared at him very solemnly for a moment. “Does it hurt?” he asked in a small voice.

“Sometimes.” A rueful smile came to the Marquess’s lips. “I just can’t move as fast as I used to.”