By the time India awoke the sun streamed across her counterpane. She rubbed at her eyes, scratchy and sore from lack of sleep. She’d lain awake half the night, tossing and turning like The Princess and the Pea, consumed by thoughts of Mama and her increasingly strange behaviour, her reaction to Jim and Jefferson’s arrival, her nightly sojourns.
As the sky began to lighten she’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep that had left her head thick and her body heavy. She reached for the small pot of tea on her bedside table. It was cold to the touch. The day for a new beginning and she’d overslept—a fine example of responsible management.
She struggled from the bed, poured cold water into the china bowl on the washstand and splashed her face. Then raked her fingers through her long swathe of hair and pulled it back into a twisted rope that she knotted with a piece of ribbon. As she turned to the mirror she pinched her pale cheeks and smoothed her rumpled eyebrows.
Why pay so much attention to her appearance? She shrugged at her reflection then reached for her clothes. She’d be riding again today. She tossed her skirt aside and pulled on the crumpled gauchos and loose shirt from yesterday. With one last look in the mirror she picked up the tea tray and made her way downstairs.
The empty kitchen proved her tardiness. By now Peggy would be tending her vegetable garden and planning the day’s meals. Jilly would be scrubbing up a storm in the copper and Jim … goodness only knows.
Voices from the mating yards behind the barn drifted across the empty courtyard as she rounded the corner of the stables. The sight of Violet perched on the top bar of the post and rail fence stopped her in her tracks. Dressed in a deep purple riding habit with a small matching hat festooned with a waving peacock feather, she trilled and tweeted her encouragement while Jim ran his hands over the fetlocks of one of the young stallions.
At the sight of the incongruous picture India smothered a groan then slipped through the gate. She rested her hands against the fence next to Violet. ‘Good morning. You’re up early.’
Violet’s face shone, the light sparkling in her eyes and all signs of yesterday’s tantrums passed.
‘Good afternoon. You’ve been missing all the fun.’ She swung her legs up, displaying a matching pair of suede boots laced to the ankles and gave a small kick of excitement. ‘Jim’s putting Maestro through his paces. He cuts a fine figure, doesn’t he?’
Maestro would make a fine sire. ‘He’s well bred. He has his sire’s stamina.’
‘Do you know Jim’s family? I thought he’d answered your advertisement in The Maitland Mercury.’
India snorted and shook her head. What a foolish mistake to imagine Violet would be interested in a horse. ‘I was referring to Maestro.’
Violet covered her rouged lips with her hand. ‘Silly me! Jim is, however, a fine figure of a man. Don’t you think?’ She fluttered her darkened eyelashes. ‘Do we know his family? Are they wealthy?’
Getting Violet away from Sydney had done nothing to distract her from her never-ending search for a mate. ‘I doubt it. Otherwise he’d be running his own stud, not working here.’
‘Hmm. You’re right.’ With a disparaging look Violet dragged her gaze from Jim and blinked, twice. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. ‘What in heaven’s name are you wearing?’
India smoothed her hands down the faded felt encasing her thighs. ‘My gauchos. I’ll be riding again today.’
‘Surely you don’t still wear those laughable things. They belong in the dressing up box with all the other bits of rubbish Mama and Papa brought from the Americas.’
India fingered the well-worn material. The memory of Jim’s raised eyebrows and appreciative stare from yesterday, so at odds with her sister’s look of disdain, made her smile. ‘I find them more practical for working and besides, I chafed my legs yesterday.’ She bit down on the inside of her lip. How foolish to mention that. Next Violet would be asking her when and she couldn’t explain the events of last night. She’d managed so far to keep Mama’s nightly ramblings secret from Violet. Until she had the chance to discuss them at length with Anya no-one need know of her concerns over Mama’s sudden increase in activity.
‘It’s entirely your own fault because you insist on riding astride. It’s so unladylike and very unhealthy. Miss Wetherington would be horrified.’
‘For goodness sake, Violet, we’re not taking the air in Hyde Park. We’re two hundred miles north of Sydney in the middle of a property the size of a small country. We make our own rules here.’
‘You certainly do that.’ Violet rolled her eyes and pulled a face distinctly at odds with her manicured appearance. ‘Thank you for reminding me.’ She slid down from the fence rail with remarkable agility and minced across the yard.
India dropped her head onto her folded arms. No matter how good her intentions she managed to brush Violet the wrong way every time she spoke to her. Her sister would never feel at home here. The prospect of her returning to Sydney filled India with delight—if only she could find a way to arrange it.
Lifting her head she turned her attention to Maestro who stood placidly while Violet ran her hands over his body. No doubt Jim was delighted with the picture of perfection Violet presented.
A high-pitched giggle brought India up sharp. With her feathered hat in her hand Violet waved her arm across the stallion’s line of vision. His eyes rolled in terror. He reared. Violet emitted an ear-piercing shriek as Maestro’s flaying hooves dangled above her head. Jim yanked on the lead rope, turned the animal and wrangled him to the ground. Without a word he led the spooked horse away from the jumble of purple velvet thrashing in the dust.
Violet’s screeches rose to a crescendo. The stallion reared again. India vaulted the fence. This time Maestro’s lashing feet hovered over Jim’s head. She crouched and hauled Violet to her feet and dragged her back to the fence line. Her hand clamped her sister’s gaping mouth then she pushed her between the rails and followed.
‘Let me go!’ Violet’s fists pummelled India’s chest as she scrabbled to find her feet.
Ignoring Violet’s thrashing arms and continued screams India half-dragged half-pulled her across the yard. She deposited the enraged bundle with a thud on the seat outside Jim’s cottage.
‘Sit down and be quiet. You’re not hurt.’ Her heart thumped as though it would jump out of her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, blotting out the picture of Violet lying in a bloody mess in the dirt. ‘Whatever possessed you to get into the yard and wave that outrageous hat in front of Maestro? You know better.’
Violet screamed and embarked on a fresh bout of sobbing.
Folding her arms India drummed her booted foot in the dirt. Past experience told her Violet would settle faster without a sympathetic audience.
Within a few moments her sister’s shoulders relaxed. Her sobbing ceased and her eyes appeared behind her splayed fingers. ‘Where’s Jim?’
‘I have no idea. Repairing the chaos you created with your little display, I expect.’
‘Right here.’
She spun around. A hot flush streaked up her neck. ‘I’m so sorry. My sister … Is Maestro all right? Are you?’
Jim’s mouth quirked and his face broke into his all-encompassing grin. His eyes crinkled and the golden flecks danced. ‘Maestro is fine and so am I. What about the young lady?’ He peered over her shoulder at Violet, tilting his body close to her. His heat radiated against her body and his lovely masculine scent of fresh air and leather enveloped her. His breath fanned her cheek, making her sway. Her hands rose of their own volition and rested on his broad chest. Through his soft shirt the steady rhythm of his heart reverberated against her palms.
As though scalded, colour flooded India’s face. The man would think her a hussy, a wanton flirt, and Violet …
She wrenched her hands away and whipped around to face her sister. As she took a step back to regain her balance, her shoulders came to rest against the firm bulk of Jim’s chest. Her sudden gasp coincided with the touch of his hands against her upper arms as he steadied her. His fingers lingered, sending her heart into the oddest pattern. Every coherent thought vanished and her knees buckled. He held her firm and, incapable of supporting her own weight, for a split second she relaxed against him. A smothered groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her spine.
‘Well, well.’ Violet’s words branded her befuddled senses.
India tottered forwards, attempting to stand without Jim’s support. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she blinked away the haze before her eyes.
Violet’s narrowed gaze raked her from head to toe. ‘It would appear I’ve been pipped at the post, yet again.’
Sucking in a deep breath India drew back her hair. She had to get a hold of her senses and return to some kind of normality. She opened her mouth to speak.
Jim was faster. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Narrowly beaten yet defeated,’ Violet said with a quirk of her lips. ‘I wasn’t aware you two had an understanding.’
India moistened her lips as the implication of Violet’s words sank in. She swallowed. Nor was she. She shot a backwards glance at Jim feeling like a child caught with her fingers in the honey pot. Only the slight reddening of his cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes gave any indication her proximity affected him.
Violet sniggered, a staged noise belonging in the theatre. ‘Does that mean you will be declining Mr Cecil Bryce’s offer?’
India snapped her gaping mouth closed and glared at her sister. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Spinning on her heel she marched across the yard, every nerve ending aflame.
Violet was impossible. Maestro might have kicked her head in and all because she’d behaved like a trollop trying to attract Jim’s attention. Her sister’s involvement in any matters outside the house would be limited and she would arrange for her to return to Sydney as soon as circumstances allowed. She stomped into the kitchen seeking Peggy’s tea and comfort.