Fifteen
Trevor had been alternately impressed and confused much of the day. Clearly, it had been a stroke of genius to have Atherton’s tenant farmers diversify their crops and livestock. The greater variety and cooperation brought the people together in a working, profitable interdependence. But simple farmers did not have the wherewithal to initiate such changes themselves. Families who lived hand-to-mouth could not afford the capital investment needed to make such drastic changes.
Trevor congratulated himself on not being fooled for a moment about precisely who had really orchestrated the success of these new endeavors. Caitlyn might make a great show of deferring to Mr. Felkins, but it was apparent to anyone with eyes in his head where the real authority lay. That Felkins and the individual farmers knew this, too, was obvious in the way they all waited for Caitlyn’s views and suggestions.
Hardworking farmers, descendants of stubborn Anglo-Saxon forbears, might harbor some misgivings about such a role for a woman, but Trevor sensed grudging admiration and pride in them for Atherton’s eccentric mistress. He also observed genuine affection for her both in the men’s deference and in their wives’ eagerness to share their produce and pass along gossipy tidbits to the lady of the manor.
Still—how had she done it? The answer was clear once they drove into those elaborate stables. The alliance between Atherton and Ratcliff was obvious. Caitlyn had not only been carrying on with the man, but apparently she had agreed to allow Atherton to become an extension of Ratcliff Farms.
Now that the truth had so clearly manifested itself, Trevor was furious.
He told himself that his anger stemmed from the fact that she had pursued the one activity he would deplore: raising blooded horses for pleasure and sport. However, he was honest enough to admit that beneath this anger was a molten stream of fury that had nothing to do with the horses.
Now as he followed his wife to the house, he saw her own flare of temper in her determined pace and her tight grip on the small packet from the mercantile shop. And in the not-so-gentle sway of her skirt as she walked. Despite the seriousness of the situation and his own anger, he had to smile in appreciation of that trim female form in front of him.
“The library,” she said tersely, charging through the kitchen and the hallway beyond. She put the packet on a hall table and removed her bonnet with abrupt gestures. Several servants looked surprised and wary. Trevor followed as she swept into the library. He closed the door firmly.
“All right,” he demanded. “I want an explanation—and a full accounting.”
She whirled around. Bright spots of anger shone on her cheeks. “And just what is it you would like explained? Why I chose to make this estate a paying proposition? Someone had to do so when you so willingly ignored your responsibilities.”
“ ‘Ignored my—’ You go too far, madam.” He knew that any semblance of control was slipping away from him. “Having been tricked into an unsavory marriage, I could hardly be labeled irresponsible in leaving such a wife firmly established on my property and in control of over half my own income.”
“ ‘Unsavory—’ ”
He went on, ignoring her shocked response, “The army certainly never considered me ‘irresponsible.’ ”
“You did not desert the army!”
They both stilled, each seemingly aware of the dangerous territory these invectives opened.
“So that’s it,” he said in a quieter tone. “Your revenge was this horse farm.”
She, too, calmed down. “Revenge? Trevor, I have no idea what you are talking about. East Anglia is horse country. Newmarket is only a few miles away. It seemed a likely endeavor for Atherton.”
“Ratcliff’s principal farm is also in the area—what? Five miles away?”
“Seven.” She gave him a questioning look.
“I suppose that is merely a happy coincidence.”
“I . . . Yes. It has been fortunate.” Her voice was hesitant.
“ ‘Fortunate.’ ” He deliberately mocked her.
“Will—Sir Willard—has been most helpful to us. A good friend.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet he has. ‘Will’ says it all. You have allowed your ‘friend’ to turn Atherton into an extension of his own farms, have you not?”
“What are you implying?” Her tone was dangerously quiet.
“Even an ignorant soldier knows that one does not—willy-nilly—decide to raise horses without a considerable outlay of funds, dear wife. I imagine Ratcliff thought this a fine investment from his standpoint. Especially if the soldier failed to return.”
“ ‘Imagine.’ Yes. Precisely the right term.” Her eyes blazed.
“The money for breeding stock—not to mention improvements on tenant farms—had to come from somewhere. I know my family did not support this project. And I seriously doubt that your loving Uncle Fiske parted with any of the ready.”
“And you assume it came from Sir Willard Ratcliff.” Her voice held a note of curiosity along with barely controlled rage.
He shrugged. “Latham had no access to his fortune yet. Of course, there is always Graham. Lord knows he has been equally attentive.”
“What you are suggesting is entirely despicable.”
“Isn’t it just? Adds a nice touch to your revenge—for surely you cannot expect me to believe you truly thought I would approve establishing a horse farm.”
She turned to give the bellpull a hard jerk. When she turned back to him, her voice sounded bleak, defeated. “Trevor, I no longer harbor any expectations or hope of your believing in me.”
With a knock, Merrill came in answer to her summons.
“Please ask Lady Hermiston to come in here,” Caitlyn said to the butler.
“Why are you dragging Aunt Gertrude into this?”
“You shall see.”
A few minutes later Aunt Gertrude entered. She apparently sensed that something was terribly wrong, for she kept glancing nervously from one to the other.
“You wanted something?” she asked Caitlyn.
“Trevor is quite concerned about where I obtained financing for our breeding stock,” Caitlyn explained.
Aunt Gertrude perched on the edge of a settee. “Did you not tell him?”
“I thought it would be better if he heard it from you.”
Trevor began to get a sick feeling about what Aunt Gertrude would say.
The older woman looked up, her face reflecting concern. “I sold my townhouse and some other properties to invest in this venture.”
“You allowed her to involve you in this risky business?”
“I persuaded Caitlyn to allow me to invest in it. It was all very legal and very formal. And I am beginning to realize a return on my investment, so it has not proved so very risky.”
“But—” Trevor began.
Ignoring his attempt to speak, Aunt Gertrude continued, “I had—and still have—great faith in Caitlyn.”
Caitlyn went to the huge oaken desk that dominated one wall of the library. Late afternoon sun from a window behind it glinted off a brass lamp and desk accessories. She pulled open a drawer and slammed a ledger on the desk.
“Here is your detailed accounting for Atherton,” she said coldly. “You will find Aunt Gertrude’s investment fully documented there—along with measures for repayment.”
She gestured to the book and the chair behind the desk. He felt compelled to see the physical reality, but he also dreaded having to face his own misconceptions in front of her and his aunt.
Caitlyn, whose pacing seemed dictated by her emotions, made several circles of the room as she gave him the full accounting he had demanded. Her voice was clipped, formal, and impersonal.
“You see there precisely where the funding was spent. Several of our mares we purchased from Ratcliff Farms where they were bred. You will also see that Sir Willard has continued to offer such services of his farm in exchange for our training certain of his carriage teams, for he is much more interested in purely racing stock.”
She pulled a folder from a drawer in another cabinet and thrust it at Trevor. He took it silently.
“Here is the document formalizing the business relationship between Atherton and Ratcliff Farms.”
“I think you had best tell him about the first years of rents on the tenant farms,” Aunt Gertrude said.
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Aunt Gertrude. For the first two years, we—I—did not collect rents at all, with the understanding that each of our farmers would use that money to make improvements on his own holding. At the end of the two years, they would resume their rents as a percentage of their profits.”
“And . . . ?” he prompted.
“It was hard at first. We missed that income. But, as you can see, almost all of them are paying a smaller share of their own earnings in rent, but our revenue is greater than it was before.”
“In other words—” He looked up from the document he held, but she refused to meet his gaze.
“In other words,” she finished, “almost all our tenant farmers are on a more profitable footing than in the past.”
Trevor sat staring, unseeing, at the documentation laid out before him. “Caitlyn—Aunt Gertrude—I . . . I hardly know what to say.”
“An apology would be a nice way to start,” Aunt Gertrude said, but her voice was gentle.
“Of course. And I do most sincerely extend my apologies. Forgive me, Caitlyn.”
But he knew he did not deserve her forgiveness. Not since Terrence and Jason had died had he been so thoroughly filled with disgust at himself.
Still refusing to meet his gaze, Caitlyn said only, “I accept your apology.”
However, he suspected it was not going to be that easy to reestablish rapport between them. His suspicion was confirmed when she politely but coldly excused herself and left the room.
Trevor gazed at his aunt, who gave him a look filled with both exasperation and sympathy. He ran his hand through his hair in nervous distraction.
“Oh, Lord! I have fairly done it now, have I not?”
“Yes, you have.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but it softened as she added, “But Caitlyn is a very giving and forgiving person—although right now she is very hurt.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I should never have—”
She rose to leave. “But you did. And you deserve to stew in your own juices for a bit.” Her smile took the sting out of this rebuke. “Give her time, Trevor. She will come around.”
Several days later, Trevor was sure Aunt Gertrude’s customary insight had failed her this time, for Caitlyn had not “come around.” She avoided being alone with him as much as possible. She was scrupulous about ensuring that he was informed on all matters of the estate, but these sessions always took place with Felkins in attendance. Caitlyn even made a point of deferring to her husband on many matters, especially if others—servants or tenants—were present.
When he met with Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude for meals, the conversation was likely to be formal, reserved—and meaningless. Only when they were with Ashley did Caitlyn allow him a glimpse of the warm woman behind the demeanor of cool formality.
Caitlyn continued to ride every morning, though the black gelding, he learned, had been sold before they left London. In fact, he was told, the black had been sold several weeks before, but Caitlyn insisted on refining its training. He thought she often drove her mounts too rashly.
Trevor tramped miles over the lands belonging to Atherton, sometimes carrying his lunch with him in a haversack. He discovered the lake—an artificially devised body of water, to be sure, but large enough to afford great sport in swimming or fishing. It was fed by the same creek that ran between certain tenant farms. Local boys could be found splashing around in it in the afternoons, but Trevor found he had it all to himself in the mornings.
Frequently as he returned from an invigorating swim, he would see Caitlyn with a groom returning from her morning ride. He thought nostalgically of such rides he once enjoyed with Terrence, Jason, and Melanie. Well, those days were over.
Still, he was drawn to the stables. On his first visit, the men working there greeted him with reservation and even suspicion. Obviously, word of his antipathy to horses had traveled rapidly along that mysteriously efficient route of communication among servants.
He watched with interest but without comment as trainers put young horses through their paces. He walked through the stables and noticed they were clean and smelled of fresh hay. A large chestnut with a white blaze on its head gazed at him over the half-door of a stall. A young groom worked nearby putting fresh straw in empty stalls.
Trevor approached the horse, allowing it to smell his hand, then caressed its nose. “So what did you do, my fine fellow, that you are being punished by having to stay in your room whilst everyone else is working or playing?”
The young groom—who could not have had more than twelve years—came over and patted the horse’s cheek.
“This here’s Chief,” the boy said. “Actually, the mistress named him Warrior Chieftain of Araby, but we calls him Chief on account of his bein’ so proud, you see.”
“Aha,” Trevor responded in a musing tone.
“An’ he ain’t being punished.”
“No?”
“Nah. Jimmy—he’s the head groom, you know—Jimmy said he got Chief all prettied up an not to let ‘im get mussed ’cause some lord was comin’ for ’im today.”
“Ah, I see. A gentleman must not offend his valet.” Trevor gave the horse another pat and turned to the boy and asked conversationally, “What is your name, young man?”
“Jackie . . . uh, that is . . . Jack.” The boy squared his shoulders. “Me pa’s Clarence Tanner, the head trainer here at Jeffries Farms.” There was a note of pride in the boy’s voice.
“I am pleased to meet you, Jack Tanner.” Trevor solemnly offered the boy his hand, which Jack took after first wiping his own hand on his pants leg.
“Likewise, Mr. Jeffries, sir.”
Trevor felt the boy’s gaze follow him from the stable. He hung around the stables and paddocks for some time, observing and occasionally asking a question. Gradually, he felt the reservations of the stable employees melt away.
He overheard one of them say, “The man knows horses.”
“Wonder why he don’t ride,” another asked, but Trevor did not listen for the response.
Thereafter, he was often to be seen in and around the stables, though he put himself in the saddle only on rare occasions—to visit a distant farm or perform a similar duty. Even for these errands, he usually took the gig or had John Coachman drive him in a carriage. He often took Ashley along on such excursions.
Caitlyn knew Trevor visited the stables, though the two of them were rarely there at the same time. At first she had feared that, in his anger, Trevor would insist on their selling all the horses and returning the home farm to what it once was. He had not done so. Though he did not take an active role in management of the animals, he had gained a favorable reputation among Atherton’s stable hands and trainers for his expertise.
Feeling that both she and the horse farm were in a state of limbo, Caitlyn tried to carry on as usual with training schedules and sales of blooded stock.
“I do wish I knew what Trevor intended to do,” she complained to Aunt Gertrude. They sat in the drawing room one afternoon after the vicar and his wife, among others, had departed.
“You could ask him.”
Caitlyn emitted an unamused little laugh. “I learned some time ago not to ask questions to which the answer might be unpalatable.”
“I should think that not knowing would be quite . . . well, painful. I must admit I find the situation between the two of you rather disconcerting.”
Caitlyn shrugged. “It is that.” Then she posed a question she had actually wanted to ask Trevor. “Have you any idea why Trevor holds this attitude he has toward horses?”
Aunt Gertrude gave her a surprised look. “He did not tell you? I assumed you knew.”
“Knew what?” Caitlyn felt a tingling of apprehension feather through her.
“Caitlyn, darling, I was so sure you did know.”
“Know what?” Caitlyn’s voice rose slightly.
“About Terrence and Jason.”
“I know they died in some sort of carriage accident a few months before our marriage, but no one has ever spoken of the details.”
So Aunt Gertrude told her—to Caitlyn’s growing wonder and chagrin. She told of the young Trevor and his love of horses and the young man who eagerly embraced life’s adventures. She also related what she knew of his devastation and guilt over that accident.
“I honestly thought he would get over forswearing the pleasure he once got from just being around and working with horses.”
“He forswore it? Why did I not know? No wonder he was so very angry.”
“Oh, my. This is my fault.” Aunt Gertrude was clearly distressed. “I assumed this was something you and Trevor planned together before . . . that is, before he went to the Peninsula.”
“No. It was not.” Caitlyn leaned forward to pat the older woman’s hand. “However, you must not burden yourself with such. The fact that Trevor and I have never communicated well is certainly not your fault.”
“But I was so sure. Sure you knew. And sure it did not matter so much anymore to Trevor.”
“Well, now we both know.” Caitlyn sighed. “I am not sure, given my anger when he left, that his wishes—had I even known them—would have been of major concern to me.”
“Oh, dear.”
“However, this does explain his comment about revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Trevor accused me of using the horses as revenge. It must look that way to him.”
“Revenge?” Aunt Gertrude repeated with a ladylike snort.
“What a preposterous idea.”
“Not so very preposterous. I freely admit that a great deal of pride was the basis of wanting to make Atherton a success.”
“Understandable, my dear.”
“And we all know ‘pride goeth before a fall.’ ”
“Actually, the line is ‘before destruction,’ and you are not destroyed, love.”
“I hope not,” Caitlyn said, but privately she thought that perhaps the fragile relationship between her and Trevor had been damaged beyond hope.
“Now—about Melanie’s visit . . .” Aunt Gertrude said brightly, shifting the subject.
It had long been planned that Melanie would bring her husband and children to visit Atherton after she had paid a brief visit to her father’s chief estate.
Earlier, Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude had planned to use the occasion of Melanie’s visit to host their most ambitious social affair yet, a ball in Melanie’s honor to which half the notable families in East Anglia would be invited. It was to be a very grand undertaking with a house party of some duration for faraway guests.
It was late afternoon when Melanie’s carriages arrived. By the time she and Andrew had been properly welcomed and the children settled into the nursery, it was growing dark and the visitors barely had time to change for dinner.
Trevor had looked forward with eager anticipation to his sister’s arrival. Perhaps Melanie’s ebullient cheerfulness—along with the presence of additional guests at an extended house party—would ease the subtle tension that was a constant at Atherton these days. He may have cringed inwardly at seeing Latham’s, Graham’s, and Ratcliff’s names on invitations, but their presence would be offset by the company of Theo, Moore, and Jenkins.
The next morning, Melanie and Andrew joined Caitlyn, Aunt Gertrude, and Trevor in the breakfast room. Melanie had come in from a walk in the gardens, unconcerned in the least about her wet shoes and damp hem.
“Caitlyn, those roses are marvelous. You must tell me your secret, for as soon as this business in Vienna is over, Drew promises me we will settle on his property in Kent, and I want roses as lovely as yours.”
“I shall happily share my limited expertise,” Caitlyn replied.
“I spied those stables, Trevor. I do want to see them up close. From the little I could see from this distance, there are some fine animals out there.”
Trevor swallowed uncomfortably. “That is Caitlyn’s concern,” he mumbled.
“I beg your pardon?” Melanie said.
“The horses are Caitlyn’s project.” Trevor hoped his tone was dismissive enough to divert his sister’s attention.
He should have known better.
“Caitlyn’s? And you have nothing to do with it? My brother, the consummate horseman, has a marvelous stable and numerous animals and dismisses his association with them?”
“Umm . . . Mel,” her husband interjected, apparently attuned to Trevor’s discomfort, “perhaps we should discuss this later, my dear.”
She readily agreed. “Of course, Drew. We shall save it till Caitlyn and Trevor give us a proper tour of their facility.”
Andrew sighed aloud and shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture. Trevor groaned inwardly. Aunt Gertrude redirected the breakfast table conversation, but Trevor knew very well that his misgivings about the morning were not misplaced.
Nor were they.
Aunt Gertrude begged off, but the two couples made their way to the stables. Caitlyn and Melanie had stopped in the kitchen to fortify themselves with apples, carrots, and chunks of sugar for the horses. Trevor smiled on seeing their bulging pockets. Watching indulgently as the two women eagerly greeted the animals and the stable hands, he nevertheless felt some apprehension about his own presence here. It occurred to him that he did not feel such discomfort when he came on his own.
The four of them found few animals in the stalls, for most of them were roaming freely in the pastures or being put through training paces. They watched a harness race in progress as Clarence Tanner explained the merits of the horses involved.
Caught up in the trainer’s comments, Trevor asked some penetrating questions. Tanner took these queries as a matter of course from the master of Atherton, but Trevor observed that the discussion brought a speculative gaze from Caitlyn. However, she made no comment.
“Oh, Trevor,” Melanie said later, impulsively taking his arm and thus leaving Andrew to offer Caitlyn a supporting arm. The four of them were alone in the middle of the stableyard. “This is so wonderful! I am so happy to see you at home among horses again. I have worried about you so much.”
Distinctly uncomfortable, he stopped short to face his sister. The other two were forced to be onlookers.
“Melanie,” he said, “you do not understand. I had nothing to do with these stables.”
“But these are such splendid animals . . .” Melanie replied with a sweeping gesture.
Trevor gave an equally sweeping wave of his hand. “This is all Caitlyn’s doing. None of mine.” His voice held a note of bitter regret which he tried to hide. Melanie caught it nonetheless.
“Are you telling me you will have nothing to do with this splendid horse farm?”
“Nothing.”
“Unbelievable.” She turned to Caitlyn. “Can this be true?”
“More or less,” Caitlyn said, sounding rather hesitant.
“But why? ” Melanie demanded of Trevor.
“Melanie,” her diplomat husband admonished, “perhaps this is a subject best left to Trevor and Caitlyn?”
“No! He is my brother, and I want to know precisely why he is taking such an idiotic course!”
Andrew gave Trevor a shrug as much as to say “I tried.” Knowing Melanie to be as persevering as the proverbial dog with a bone, Trevor grimaced at him sympathetically.
“Why, Trevor?” Melanie demanded again.
“You know why, Mel,” he said in a sad voice. “These are fine animals, but they are bred to race and show. It was my pursuit of such that killed Terrence and Jason.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Trevor! That was—what?—six years ago. And you are still wallowing in self-pity?”
Caitlyn and Andrew gasped. Trevor felt himself blanching.
“Mel—” her husband started.
“I don’t care,” Melanie said. “That is what it is. Terrence and Jason died in an unfortunate accident.” She turned to Trevor. “An accident, you hear?”
“Yes, but—” he began.
She rushed on. “And if Terrence could see what you have done to yourself over an accident, he would be for taking you behind that stable and thrashing some sense into you.” She gestured to a nearby structure. “As for Jason, he is probably laughing himself silly over your self-absorbed behavior.”
“I think you have said quite enough.” Trevor’s words sounded tight, forced.
“Oh, Trevor,” Melanie cried, tears in her eyes and in her voice, “do you not realize how they loved you? I love you. Terrence and Jason never would have made such an untoward demand of you. Why? Why must you do this to yourself?”
Too shocked by her words to make a coherent reply, he simply stared at her, unbelieving, for a moment. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
“What have I done?” Melanie cried, slumping against her husband.
He patted her shoulder. “Ah, Melanie. My sweet, wonderful, impetuous Melanie. How could I help loving you?” He kissed the top of her head.
“Well, I doubt Trevor is feeling very loving toward me at the moment.” Melanie sniffed rather indecorously.
“No, but perhaps he is thinking,” Caitlyn said.