Hallie wasn’t so sure. All she knew was she had to give up her wonderful britches. She sighed deeply. “I don’t know what clever can do about this. Oh, all right, I’ll go change into one of my ancient gowns.”
She sighed again and strode like a young man from the breakfast room, eyes down, shoulders slumped, which meant, he supposed, that her lower lip was still scraping the floor.
He heard Petrie gasp and choke, a gurgling sound from deep in his throat, which meant he was in extreme distress.
Jason looked upward. Thank God for Angela. What was she going to do? Whatever it was, he couldn’t imagine it would make Hallie happy. But then again, wasn’t Angela now his grandmother’s cohort? Surely even the good Lord couldn’t have predicted that miracle. Indeed, they visited together at least three times a week.
He saw Hallie’s britches again in his mind’s eye and nearly groaned. Didn’t she realize she was going to have enough trouble gaining acceptance without adding her quite lovely bottom to the mix?
Lord Brinkley from Trowbridge Manor in Inchbury, Sussex, brought his mare Delilah the following morning.
Petrie, elegant in full black regalia, showed him ceremoniously into the drawing room, announcing him in a low, mellifluous voice Hallie had never heard before. She supposed it was because he was more in control of his vocal cords when Martha wasn’t around.
“Miss Carrick, is it? Delightful to meet you.” Lord Brinkley, a man her father’s age, who could have passed for her father’s father, bowed, quite gracefully for such a portly man.
“Hello, Lord Brinkley. Welcome to Lyon ’s Gate.”
He smiled at her, thinking she looked quite dashing in her full skirt, blouse, and lovely vest. Rather exotic, actually. He pulled his eyes from the vest. “I knew old Hoverton before he passed on. Fine stables, a bit of corruption I heard at the racetrack, but so long as it doesn’t happen to my Delilah, I’ll live and let live.”
Hallie, who doubted that horse racing would ever be free of corruption, said, “Delilah is a wonderful mare. I saw her last spring in a race near Spalding, one I might add that all the owners agreed to run fairly.”
“Did you now? Delilah didn’t win that one, lost out to the most beautiful mare I’ve ever seen, truth be told. I don’t remember her name.”
Hallie grinned from ear to ear, showing beautiful white teeth that Lord Brinkley envied to his boots. “Her name is Piccola and she belongs to me. That’s why I was at the race.”
“Well, now, is that a fact? I don’t remember you voting for an honest race.”
“I voted in absentia.”
“Ah, probably a good thing to have a man dealing with such things since you’re a female. Is Mr. Sherbrooke here?”
“I believe so. He’s probably at the stables tending to Delilah. Would you care for tea, Lord Brinkley, or would you like to meet Dodger?”
“Did you know it was Lord Ravensworth-your uncle I believe-who told me I couldn’t do better than a foal off Dodger? He said Mr. Sherbrooke raced him in Baltimore for five years and he rarely lost.”
Hallie nodded. She wasn’t about to tell him that Dodger, with Jason on his back, couldn’t ever beat Jessie Wyndham. “Come with me, my lord.”
“Er, you are coming with me, Miss Carrick?”
“Of course. I am Mr. Sherbrooke’s partner, you know. Didn’t my uncle tell you that?”
“Well, yes, but I thought it was all an uncle’s pride, didn’t really take him all that seriously, you know.”
“He was quite serious, as am I. Come, Lord Brinkley.”
She actually heard him debating with himself as he trailed after her. “-damndest thing, a girl, nothing but a young girl-yes, she’d fill a man’s dreams and really she looks striking, lovely vest-but here she thinks she knows about breeding racehorses? Well, that Piccola of hers won, now didn’t she? Maybe all Miss Carrick did was wave her ribbons around the mare to encourage her. It just isn’t right for a young girl to see horses mate. So blatant it all is, so immensely intimate, so disgusting actually. Oh dear.”
Hallie didn’t know whether to laugh or scream as she listened, striding fiercely ahead of Lord Brinkley, forcing his lordship to take some double steps. Jason looked up from reassuring Delilah to see Lord Brinkley trailing Hallie, his head shaking, seemingly talking to himself. She’d already argued with him? Jason had been expecting this. He quickly gave over Delilah’s reins to Henry, their head stable lad, former head stable lad of Squire Hoverton. Henry stood back from Delilah, told her what a purty girl she was, his voice soft as silk, then finally, he lightly stroked the base of her neck, scratching gently here and there, always speaking quietly to her. He slipped her a lovely fresh carrot, a donation from Cook.
“Aye, would ye look at that, I’ve got me a friend for life, I do. Mr. Sherbrooke, ain’t she a lovely one? Jest look at them ears o’ hers, all turned forward.”
Jason turned and smiled. “Yes, she’s alert and interested.” Jason was grateful for Henry. He and Hallie had found him living with his widowed sister in Eastbourne, drinking too much ale because he suffered from melancholia. Jason couldn’t recall any individual ever being so excited before at an offer of a job. He had rubbed his hands together, grinning like a loon. Henry indeed had magic hands and a soft country voice that made every horse in the stable whinny and come trotting to him. He’d discovered four additional stable lads for Lyon ’s Gate. He gave a quick bow to Lord Brinkley, told him not to worry, and turned back to Delilah. “Here now, beautiful girl, ye just come with Henry, he’ll feed ye all right ’n’ proper, let yer munch on another carrot or two. Jest ain’t ye a fine, fine girl. Yer going to like ole Dodger, he’s going to make a fine pa for yer baby.”
“Lord Brinkley,” Jason called, as he strided to the elderly man. “I am Jason Sherbrooke.” As he shook Lord Brinkley’s hand he continued. “I see you’ve met Miss Hallie Carrick. Henry will settle Delilah. We will continue with Dodger tomorrow morning.”
“Ah, may I see the stables, and Dodger?”
“Certainly. In a while Henry will turn her loose in this small paddock, and you can see how she likes her temporary home.”
Hallie let Jason give Lord Brinkley the stable tour. Well, she’d nearly gotten through her first dealing with a gentleman whole hide, or almost. It hadn’t been too bad. At least not yet. She was forced to laugh now, thinking back over his monologue. She wondered which one of him had won the argument. Probably the outraged one. She wondered if Lord Brinkley was staying for the mating tomorrow if he found it so disgusting. She knew if he did, he would be embarrassed to his toes if she were also present.
When the two men emerged, Henry had just loosed Delilah, a lovely chestnut Thoroughbred of perfect size and proportion, only fifteen hands tall. She had a refined head, a long arched neck, sloping shoulders and a deep chest. The only thing she didn’t have was hard legs. They were on the thin side and that was why Piccola had beaten her. She didn’t have the endurance in those too-skinny legs. Naturally, Hallie wasn’t about to say that to Lord Brinkley. Then, to her surprise, Jason said, “You saw that Dodger is immensely strong. His ancestry goes back to the Byerley Turk. Dodger’s endurance is legendary in America. He has dominant characteristics that appear in all of his foals-the most important one for Delilah’s foal is his thick muscled hindquarters and his hard legs. Dodger is bold and spirited, his will to win is unmatched.”
“Well, he hasn’t won here in England,” said Lord Brinkley. “Hmm, that does make his stud fee cheaper, and that is a good thing.”
Hallie nodded. “That is true. You are lucky, sir, for as soon as Dodger begins winning races here in England, his stud fee will rise quickly.”
After a moment Lord Brinkley announced, “Her legs look hard enough to me.” Neither Jason nor Hallie said anything to that, and after a pitiable sigh, Lord Brinkley admitted, “I heard someone say her legs were too skinny, but I ignored it, put it down to spite and ignorance. Her dam was crossed with Sultan, but her beautiful legs didn’t breed true. Still, I’ve always thought her legs quite elegant.”