Eighteen
Most of the Atherton household arose rather later than usual the next day. The morning post brought several items that had been forwarded for Melanie and Andrew and a few for other guests as well. Caitlyn was pleased to see that their guests were casual, comfortably reading their mail or newspapers, occasionally sharing tidbits of gossip.
“I see the Princess of Wales has not curbed her behavior at all,” one matron noted.
“That quarrel between the Prince and the Beau seems to be taking on the proportions of a feud,” grumbled a gentleman.
“One has to admire the sheer nerve of Brummel,” another expounded. “Even after his ill-timed remark about Alvanley’s ‘fat friend,’ he continues to place himself in situations where he might encounter the Prince.”
“Who never acknowledges his former friend.”
“Brummel does seem to inspire a greater degree of friendship and loyalty than does George, Prince of Wales.”
This bit of desultory conversation was interrupted by a little squeal of delight from Melanie. Caitlyn lifted her eyes and waited for Melanie to explain. Trevor was less patient.
“Are you planning to share, Mel?”
“Marcus is coming home!”
“Really?” Trevor seemed as delighted as Melanie. “When?”
“It says a month here—but this was written a fortnight ago. He will be in London and then proceed to Timberly. That means he will be there for the Harvest Festival. Oh, Trevor, do say you will be there, too. It will be a marvelous reunion.”
Trevor demurred. “We shall discuss that prospect later.”
Undaunted by his lack of a clear response, Melanie began to regale others of the company about her fabulous diplomat brother whose exploits were apparently second only to those of her fabulous diplomat husband.
Later in the day, she did manage to corner Trevor and drag him into the library, where Caitlyn was stealing a moment to catch up on accounts.
“I have persuaded Drew to keep the gentlemen occupied in the billiards room, and Aunt Gertrude is instructing the ladies on the particulars of raising prize roses,” Melanie announced. “So now we can talk.”
“About what?” Trevor asked with brotherly suspicion.
“About your visiting Timberly for the Harvest Festival.”
“Visit Timberly?” Caitlyn’s voice was weak as a distinct feeling of trepidation overtook her.
“The Harvest Festival is a Jeffries family tradition that goes back nearly two centuries,” Melanie said. She turned to Trevor. “Have you not told her about it?”
He shrugged. “It just never came up.”
“Well, it has now.”
Caitlyn looked at Trevor, then at his sister. “Umm . . . Melanie, dear, has it escaped your notice that we—that is—Trevor and I—are not precisely on the best of terms with all of the Jeffries?”
“Yes, and it is beyond time that that situation was changed.”
“And you plan to change it unilaterally, do you?” Trevor asked.
“Not exactly. I spoke with Father about it, and he truly wants to mend the breach, Trevor.”
“Really? You could have fooled me.”
“You may recall,” Melanie said with an ultra-patient tone, “that it was Father who asked to be presented to your wife at the Prince’s ball.”
“And it was his wife and his heir who made a point of cutting her.” Trevor’s anger was evident. “Why are you urging this now, anyway?”
“I suppose the fact that Marcus is coming home pushed me over the top. However, I fully intended to broach this topic with you before I left.”
“Why?”
“Trevor! It has been six years since we were all able to attend the festival. It is important that we do this.”
Caitlyn could see how very important it was to Melanie, and despite her own reluctance to put herself in the path of Lydia’s and Miranda’s contempt, she felt sympathetic toward the distraught Melanie.
“I do not see why it is so crucial,” Trevor said. “As you say, the family has missed the last six to one degree or another.”
Melanie sighed, and her voice was solemn. “Because this may be the last chance we get to celebrate together.”
Trevor seemed startled. “What do you mean?”
“Surely you noticed that our father is not as robust as he once was?”
“Are you saying the earl is ill?” Caitlyn asked.
“He is very ill,” Melanie answered. “Not even the countess knows how truly serious it is.”
“How did you learn of it?” her brother asked, seemingly stunned by the news.
“Well, I noticed little things, and I kept nagging at him until he told me.”
“You always could get ’round him,” Trevor said with a hint of long-standing sibling rivalry.
Melanie went on. “He has the wasting sickness. The physicians give him a year—perhaps more, perhaps less.”
“My God!” Trevor ran his hand through his hair. “I knew something was amiss. . . .”
“Had you been able to have the longer visit I had, I am sure you would have seen it, too.”
“You say the countess does not know?”
“Not yet.”
“Gerald?”
“He knows, but in his blustery way he ignores the reality of it.” Melanie’s tone became embittered. “However, Miranda is already planning changes she will make in Timberly.”
They all sat in silence for a moment as Trevor and Caitlyn digested this news. Then Melanie spoke again.
“Father wants to try to put things right with you, Trevor. He truly is sorry about how things were handled after the accident and . . . and with your marriage. I know he would very much like you to be there this year.”
Caitlyn could see how affected Trevor was by this news. She spoke softly, but firmly. “I think you must go, Trevor.”
“And leave you and Ashley here in East Anglia? Not for an instant.”
“No. Father was very clear. He wants Caitlyn there, too. And Ashley. He even insisted on Aunt Gertrude’s presence—if she will come.”
“I will not have the countess—nor Gerald and Miranda—belittling my wife and pretending my daughter does not exist.”
Caitlyn was heartened by this affirmation, but would treasure it later.
“I rather think they can be brought around.” Melanie did not explain this enigmatic statement, but went on, “Besides, Marcus and I and Drew—and you, I assume—will be able to forestall and protect as necessary. No one—not even the countess—would dare insult a guest to whom Father had extended a particular invitation.”
“Caitlyn?” Trevor’s gaze clearly told her he would support her view. He was leaving it to her to decide whether she should subject herself to possible censure.
“I think this is something we must do, Trevor. You would never forgive yourself for rejecting such an overture.”
“We shall think on it and discuss it later and let you know,” he said to Melanie, but Caitlyn thought the decision to go had, in truth, been made.
The Jeffries Farms planned to show a number of horses at Newmarket, though attention focused on the grays. The cattle were taken to Newmarket the previous day and installed under canvas awnings that served as temporary stables.
When Trevor and Caitlyn arrived with their entourage of houseguests, they found the normally sleepy little town to be the proverbial “beehive of activity.” On the show grounds there were kiosks offering food and drink and a few souvenirs. Grooms stood around with particular animals, ready to describe their merits to prospective buyers.
Would-be buyers mingled with a multitude of people who seemed to be searching, not for an improved means of transportation, but for adventure and amusement. Trevor noticed many who sported the garb of well-dressed members of the ton. All of the serious buyers and most of the spectators were men, but there was a generous sprinkling of females in the gathering. Trevor had attended only one other such event in his entire life, but he would have known—even if Caitlyn had not passed on her information—that this was an unusual crowd for a country fair.
Small groups of men collected here and there, talking and gesticulating excitedly. Trevor surmised that they were laying bets on various races. He was pleased to see that the track on which the races were to be held was laid in a grassy field. The harness horses were on display in a separate location, and he nervously checked on his, noting that Mason and the boy, Jack, had been assigned to watch out for the grays. Jack, especially, was highly excited to be here.
Trevor examined each of the horses carefully and watched as Mason and Jack hitched them to the vehicle he would drive. It would be some minutes before their race was called.
“Trevor! ”
He turned to see Theo approaching.
“Thought you might need some moral support about now.”
“You know me too well, my friend.”
“Nervous?”
Trevor leaned closer to Theo and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, “Very.” Then in a normal tone, he added, “I took them out yesterday before they were brought here. Just to get used to them. They really are a fine team.”
“Seem to be.”
Trevor’s attention was distracted by Jack’s voice. “What are you doin’?”
“Just checkin’ their feet and legs,” Mason responded.
“Mr. Jeffries already done that.”
“Did he now? Well, never hurts to double check. You wanta remember that, boy.”
“Good luck, Trev.” Theo held out his hand. “I shall make myself available to hold your wife’s hand through this ordeal.”
Trevor grinned. “Better you than Latham or Ratcliff.”
“I am not at all sure you have not just cast aspersions on my reputation as a ladies’ man.”
Trevor grinned even wider at this. Theo was a fine man, a courageous soldier, but hardly the Don Juan type. Theo liked women well enough, and Trevor knew his friend was more sought after than even Theo himself was aware.
“I shall see you after the race.” Trevor climbed into the driver’s seat and took the reins and whip that Jack and Mason offered. “Here we go.” He flicked the whip to urge the team to take their position on the course.
Standing with Melanie, Andrew, and others of her guests, Caitlyn watched nervously as Theo approached.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Looks fine.”
“Is Trevor all right?”
“He is fine, too. You must not worry about Trevor. Any man who can hold off seven or eight Frenchies single-handedly can surely manage a team of fine carriage horses.”
She felt herself relaxing at this sally.
Melanie cut in with, “Seven or eight? Single-handedly? Is that true?”
“Actually, it is, but I doubt Trevor would thank me for bandying it about.”
“Oh. They are starting,” Melanie cried.
With Theo’s and Andrew’s help, the two women moved closer to the rope meant to hold back spectators. Caitlyn saw Harrison standing with some of his cronies several people down the line from her.
“Ah, Mrs. Jeffries.” He tipped his hat to her. “May the best team win.”
She nodded acknowledgment and turned her attention to the race. While there were three teams involved in this race, Caitlyn knew the crowd to be truly interested in only two of them—Harrison’s and Atherton’s. The race would consist of three laps around the track.
Harrison’s blacks were off the mark first, but gradually Trevor maneuvered his vehicle even with theirs. At the beginning of the second lap, the grays shot ahead and there was an excited reaction from the crowd. As some cheered and others groaned, they all watched eagerly as Atherton’s grays established a commanding lead over the other two teams.
Then, as the leading grays rounded the curve ending the second lap, the crowd noise took on a more subdued tone.
“What’s he doing?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Is he forfeiting?” This was a burst of surprised outrage.
Craning her head to see beyond the much larger men who also strained for a view, Caitlyn saw Trevor pulling hard on the reins. Despite his efforts, sheer momentum kept the team going at a furious pace. However, the grays responded to the driver’s commands, and as they approached the area where Caitlyn stood, she saw with a sinking heart both Harrison’s and the other team pass the team from Jeffries Farms.
“What’s going on here?” Harrison sounded both curious and angry. He shot a baleful look at Caitlyn.
She shrugged helplessly even as she tried vainly to see what was going on. Then other snippets of comments registered.
“Look. The left horse.”
“Yea. His front leg.”
“ ’e’s a’ favorin’ it.”
“Something is definitely wrong with that horse’s foreleg.”
This word made its way through the crowd as Caitlyn watched Trevor guide the team off the track.
“Come.” She tugged at Theo’s arm only vaguely aware of the race continuing behind her. Melanie and Andrew followed closely.
When they reached Trevor and the team, they found a number of people had already gathered. Trevor jumped down from the driver’s seat. Jack and Clarence Tanner stood holding the harness at the team’s heads, calming the animals. Trevor was running his hand over the front legs of the left horse. The horse was skittish, obviously distrustful. Clarence crooned comforting works to it as Trevor continued the examination. Caitlyn moved closer.
When he lifted the horse’s right foreleg to examine the hoof, Caitlyn saw it even as Trevor said, “Aha. Here’s the problem.” With his finger, he tried to dislodge the stone they all saw.
“Here.” Someone thrust a small, dull hook into his hand. He popped the stone out with the hook.
Trevor picked up the stone, looked at it, and handed it to Caitlyn. It was small and sharp and must have hurt like the very devil, she thought. She handed it to Clarence, who drew in a long whistling breath. The horse put its foot down gingerly and looked around as though to say “thank you.”
Trevor patted him on the neck. “You are all right now, boy.” Then he turned pain-filled eyes to Caitlyn. “I’m sorry, Caitlyn. I am so very sorry. I wanted to do this for you.” He lifted his arms in a helpless gesture.
Without an instant of hesitation and without consciously considering her actions or their audience—seeing only his need and her need to answer it—she walked into his arms and felt them enfold her tightly.
“Never mind, darling, never mind.” Her arms around his neck, she held his head close, the endearment had come unplanned, unbidden. “You did the right thing in stopping. It would have been unconscionable to do otherwise.”
Suddenly aware of others, she stepped back, but Trevor kept one arm around her waist, as though he were reluctant to break the contact.
Clarence held up the stone for others to see. “Thing like this could do real damage to a horse. Maybe even cripple him permanently. Good job you stopped, sir.”
The horsemen in the crowd agreed.
Trevor’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “I’m wondering where this stone came from. All we see here are smooth round pebbles.”
“That’s right,” someone said in surprise.
“ ’Twas a good race,” someone else said. “Shame it had to be stopped.”
“Couldn’t be helped, though,” another replied.
A large, middle-aged man with a distinguished air about him shouldered his way through the crowd. He handed Trevor a card.
“My name is Nelson, sir. I represent the Duke and Duchess of Blasingstoke.” The man’s tone was authoritative but hearty.
“Yes?” Trevor responded:
“Those are damned fine looking animals. Begging your pardon, ma’am.” Nelson lifted his hat in Caitlyn’s direction. “I like a man who protects his cattle. I am interested in buying this team right now, and I would like to discuss others you may have available now or later.”
Caitlyn listened quietly as Trevor invited Nelson to Atherton to look over other carriage horses. She caught the eye of Ratcliff, who gave her an encouraging grin. Blasingstoke was known to keep one of the finest stables in the realm.
Later, Caitlyn and Trevor shared their carriage with Melanie and Andrew on the return to Atherton.
“I must say,” Melanie observed, “you two seem to have turned a possible disaster into a triumph!”
“That we have,” Trevor replied, but it was Caitlyn’s gaze he held as he turned to her on the seat next him. “Disaster to triumph,” he said softly as he brought his lips soundly down upon hers. She knew he meant far more than the horse race.
“Drew, darling,” Melanie asked in an ultra-casual tone, “do you feel we are perhaps a trifle de trop at the moment?”
The next few days were among the happiest of Caitlyn’s life. Soon all of their guests had departed except for Melanie and her family. Caitlyn and Trevor were rarely out of each other’s sight, though they shared a great many of their daylight hours with the rest of the family.
Perhaps, Caitlyn mused, she had not captured her husband’s heart as Juliet had Romeo’s. Perhaps that kind of love existed only in stories and never—or rarely—in real life. The truth was, he had made a great personal sacrifice in agreeing to run that race for her and for Jeffries Farms. She could not but be grateful to him. She could not help loving him for the man he was.
The work schedules and routine training in the stables continued as before—with one exception. The groom Mason had disappeared. In discussing this strange occurrence, Trevor and Caitlyn recalled that, not only was Mason the last person to examine the grays, he had also been working in the next stall when Tom was injured.
“Do you suppose he deliberately tried to undermine our success?” Caitlyn asked Trevor.
“He had opportunity and he is gone now, but that hardly constitutes proof.”
“So—we may never know the truth.” Wanting the matter brought to a neat, tidy conclusion, Caitlyn was mildly frustrated by their lack of answers.
“Who hired him?” Trevor asked. “Jack said he was new. How new?”
“He came to Atherton after we went to town for the season.”
“But who actually hired him?”
“I suppose Felkins did, but he would have consulted with Jimmy or Mr. Tanner, I am certain.”
“Do we know where he came from? Did he have references we could check?” Trevor persisted.
“References can be forged. I honestly do not know where he came from. Perhaps Mr. Felkins can tell us.”
When Mr. Felkins presented himself, the steward seemed agitated and embarrassed when asked if he knew anything of Mason.
“I think I know more now than I did when he arrived. You know what the sages say of hindsight.”
“I do not understand,” Caitlyn said.
“He came with proper recommendations and all. Seemed good with the stock, though he kept to himself a lot, the others tell me. After he disappeared, it hit me. Don’t know why it did not occur to me earlier.”
“What? What hit you?” Caitlyn’s patience was wearing thin.
“Mason was Mrs. Bassett’s maiden name.”
“They were related?” Trevor asked. Caitlyn had explained earlier about dismissing the housekeeper and the woman’s seemingly idle threats.
“Perhaps her threats were not so idle, after all,” Trevor noted. “We could ask the magistrate to question her—for all the good it might do.”
“That would be difficult,” Felkins said. “She’s gone. Left the area—along with Mason, it seems. Some say she is living with a sister in Sussex. Word is she had a fierce quarrel with her son-in-law. Looks like she will be gone a good long while.”
“As I said, we may never know the truth,” Caitlyn said.
“Perhaps we learned something, though,” Trevor said. When Caitlyn and Mr. Felkins stared at him with curiosity, he continued, “We know now to keep a closer watch on new people until they prove themselves.”
With that, the matter was closed, and Caitlyn concentrated on enjoying the interlude before the journey to Timberly.
She knew she would remember these days as an idyllic time. The two sets of young parents decided to teach their daughters to ride. Trevor found two small ponies on a neighboring farm, and squeals of delight from the little girls mingled with laughter and advice from their parents.
Aunt Gertrude joined them on some of their outings and for most meals. Several times, Caitlyn caught the older woman eyeing her nephew and his wife with a satisfied look. One morning as Caitlyn sat in the sun room idly catching up on gossipy items in the newspaper, Aunt Gertrude came in.
“Caitlyn, my dear, might I have a serious word with you?”
Caitlyn immediately set aside the newspaper. “What is it?”
“Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you.”
Caitlyn relaxed, but waited with anticipation.
“You may remember that when I first came to Atherton, I told you I would stay as long as you needed me?”
“Y-yes . . .” Caitlyn was fearful of where this was leading.
“Well, it occurs to me that you no longer have need of a chaperon—or a companion. It would appear that you and Trevor have resolved the differences between you. In fact, I would wager that you are quite content now.”
“Yes. I am. But while I may have little need of a chaperon, I still very much welcome your company.”
“I know you do, my dear. And I am ever so grateful for that. But I think I should like to spend more time in town.”
“You would leave us?” Caitlyn could not help the wailing note of despair in her tone.
“Not permanently, dear. I know you have little interest in spending more time in the city, but I should like to be there for the little season.”
“You will come back then?”
“But of course.”
Caitlyn rose from her chair to sit next to the older woman on a settee and put her arm around her shoulder. “Aunt Gertrude, you must know that you are precious to me. I went without a mother for so many years—and then there you were.”
“Thank you, love.” Aunt Gertrude had tears in her eyes.
“Very well,” Caitlyn said in a parody of granting permission. “You may go to town, if you must, but you will promise to come back and I will keep your room always ready for you. You must join us for Christmas, though.”
“I should love to. Thank you for understanding, Caitlyn dear.”
“Oh! And you will go to Timberly with us, will you not? I really do not think I could face Trevor’s mother without you by my side.”
Caitlyn and Trevor had agreed to accompany Melanie and Andrew back to Timberly for the all-important Harvest Festival. Caitlyn dreaded the encounter, but she knew it was important for Trevor to make this visit. There was, of course, the matter of his father’s health. But Caitlyn thought he needed this meeting to achieve a sense of completion to a particularly painful aspect of his life. Now she was begging Aunt Gertrude to see her through yet another crisis.
“I would not miss it for the world,” the intrepid Lady Gertrude Hermiston said.