Cinderella And The Duke. Janice Preston

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       Chapter Three

      Three days later, Leo strode into the local village of Malton, leading one of Lascelles’s hunters, a fine gelding, his coat as black as Leo’s mood. The horse—recommended to him particularly by Lascelles—had thrown a shoe within half an hour of the hunt starting and a swift examination of the animal’s remaining shoes had revealed their sorry states. Leo cursed himself for not examining the horse more thoroughly before they left Halsdon Manor. His cousin was doing a fine job of pushing Leo’s temper to the limit, the bad blood between the two smouldering beneath the surface urbanity.

      This trip to Buckinghamshire had been a mistake. The days were just about acceptable, with outdoor pastimes to occupy them, but the evenings were a trial, the atmosphere fraught. More than once Leo had been within ames ace of leaving and returning to town, but Stanton had arranged to view those ponies the day after tomorrow, and Leo was damned if he would give Lascelles the satisfaction of believing he had driven him away. No. He would stay put and return to London with Vernon and Stanton in a week’s time as previously arranged.

      Disinclined to wait for a fresh horse to be sent from Halsdon, Leo had instead elected to lead Saga the mile and a half to Malton for reshoeing, savouring the solitude. It was a bright morning, with frost still lingering in pockets where the sun had yet to reach and a chilly breeze. As he waited in the February sunshine, Leo felt his irritation dissipate as he watched life in the quiet village of Malton unfold before him. The farrier—Benson by name—chattered nonstop as he worked, calling out greetings to passers-by, regaling Leo with their life histories once they were out of earshot. During a lull in the man’s discourse, Leo’s attention was drawn by a light grey Arabian, complete with side-saddle, tethered a hundred yards or so down the street. The horse had exceptional conformation and a flowing snowy-white mane and tail.

      ‘That is a spectacular animal,’ he said, thinking how much Olivia would love the Arabian.

      Benson peered along the street before fixing his attention once more on Saga’s off fore. ‘Ah, yes, a fine beast, sir, a fine beast indeed.’ He placed the red-hot horseshoe on the animal’s hoof, removed it and deftly pared the scorched areas level before nailing the shoe in place. ‘’E belongs to Mrs Pryce, so he does. Poor young lady. A widder, sir, so they say.’

      Mrs Pryce? Leo kept an eye on the horse and, before long, a figure dressed in a peacock-blue riding habit and matching hat emerged from a nearby doorway, followed by a man who laced his fingers for Mrs Pryce to step on to in order to mount the Arabian. If Benson had not already identified her, Leo would never have recognised her. She looked very different to the shabbily clad woman of a few days before.

      A widow. Anticipation rushed through his veins, stirring his blood...except...so they say? Gossip and conjecture, not fact.

      ‘Has she not long lived here?’

      ‘Only a couple of weeks, sir. She rides in most days to fetch a newspaper and the post, but the others keep themselves to themselves, they do. Living out at Stoney End, they are. That’s a house on the Foxbourne estate, sir, seeing as you’s a stranger yourself to these parts.’

      Foxbourne. That was Rockbeare’s place, where they were due to go on Thursday to inspect that driving pair for Stanton.

      ‘They?’

      ‘She lives with her brother and sister, sir. Or so I’m told—no one’s seen a hair of their heads since they moved in.’ Benson filed the wall of Saga’s hoof, sweat dripping from the end of his nose. ‘There.’ He put the horse’s foot down, and straightened his back, wiping his forehead with one sweep of his beefy forearm. ‘All done.’

      The Arabian stepped daintily down the street in their direction and Leo retreated into the gloom at the rear of the forge as Benson raised his voice in greeting. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Pryce, a fine day it is, is it not?’

      Mrs Pryce responded to Benson with a stunning smile that slammed into Leo with the force of a kick from a horse.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Benson.’

      She cut a graceful figure, her skirts draping elegantly to conceal her legs and feet. Her appearance and manner proclaimed her a lady—unlike her former attire—but she did not move in Leo’s circles. He would not have overlooked such a female, with her clear, direct gaze and her full soft lips. His body responded to the memory of the provocative sway of those rounded hips with the spontaneity of a youth. It was too long since he’d had a woman. A dalliance with a comely widow might be just the remedy for his boredom and help lessen his exasperation with Lascelles.

      Mrs Pryce disappeared from view, and Leo swung up on to Saga and set off in pursuit. Her reaction the other day suggested she might not welcome his company, but he enjoyed a challenge. He recalled his cousin’s words with a twist of disgust. Most definitely not the kind of challenge Lascelles had hinted at. Vernon had been right—Leo could not stomach any kind of coercion, but neither did he particularly relish bedding the readily available widows he came across in society. They had no interest in him as a man. As a person. Their avaricious eyes fixed on his title and his wealth and rendered them oblivious to all else.

      Mrs Pryce presented a rare opportunity. The true identities of the guests at Halsdon Manor had been concealed in an attempt to keep the matchmaking mamas of the county set at bay and Leo was visiting as Mr Boyton, Viscount Boyton being one of his many minor titles. Most parents of marriageable-age daughters were unable to resist the lure of an unmarried duke in their midst and it was easier not to receive invitations to hastily planned balls and parties than to offend the local gentry with refusals. So Mrs Pryce would have no idea of his true identity.

      He could play a part.

      Leo СКАЧАТЬ