‘Here you are, Miss. Just what you need, a nice boiled egg. It’s the breakfast of kings, or so my mother says.’ Sally placed a tray on the dressing table.
‘Thank you,’ Lou said, although she had no intention of touching the food Sally had insisted on bringing up. Her mind too full to sleep she had left her bed in the wee small hours and had sat in the chair in the window, watching the sunrise, pink on the horizon.
‘Would you like me to help you dress?’ Sally asked, straightening out the bedclothes.
‘Not yet. I’d like to sit here awhile.’
‘Are you feeling poorly, Miss? You’re very pale this morning.’
Lou tightened the knot in the belt of her robe. ‘A little off-colour, perhaps.’
‘No dancing practice today, then?’
‘No.’ Lou forced a smile. ‘No dancing practice today.’
Sally excused herself but returned at regular intervals until Lou relented and allowed herself to be dressed. It was almost midday when Sally left, taking the breakfast tray with her. Knowing that, by now, tea would have been served and cleared away, Lou crept down the stairs and let herself into the morning room.
She stood in the window, watching two groundsmen go about the unrelenting task of clearing the drive. As quickly as they could shovel away the snow, more fat flakes fell from the heavy clouds. A movement off to one side caught Lou’s attention. She pulled back the curtain and saw Elliot emerge from the side of the house, leading Ambrose on a short rein. They came to a stop before the front door where they waited. And waited. Elliot stroked Ambrose’s neck as the horse placidly chewed at his bit, steam rising from his warm body.
Eventually, a man dressed in a black jacket and jodhpurs emerged from beneath the portico. Lou couldn’t help curling her lip as, ignoring Elliot, George Caxton placed his foot into the stirrup dangling at Ambrose’s flank. When he failed to mount from a standing start, he snapped his fingers. Dutifully, Elliot took up position beside the horse, knitting his fingers together to create a cup for George’s boot. The groom bore the weight of the much heavier man with no outward sign of strain, but as George swung his leg over the horse’s back, Ambrose shifted, causing him to fall backwards. Somehow, George managed to land with both feet on the ground but clearly furious, waved his whip and barked a few words at Elliot who knitted his fingers together for a second time.
Again, George placed his boot in Elliot’s hands, but this time, he pulled savagely on the reins, yanking Ambrose’s head to one side. As he finally got into the saddle, Ambrose reared on to his hind legs. Through the closed window, Lou heard his pained neigh. Elliot grabbed for the bridle, trying to bring the startled Ambrose under control. Ambrose reared again and this time George lost his grip on the reins. He freed his boot from the stirrup and landed heavily, but still upright, on the ground. His face red, his features contorted, he raised the whip and brought it down with a crack on Ambrose’s behind. Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his front hooves swept at the air. Elliot struggled to keep a grip of the bridle. George raised the whip again. Lou slid the window up, intending to shout at him to stop. She was beaten to it.
‘What in hell’s name are you doing?’ Tom ran from beneath the portico. He grabbed George’s arm, saving poor Ambrose from another vicious blow. Yanking the whip from George’s grasp, Tom threw it to the ground, and with no apparent consideration for his own safety, approached Ambrose’s flailing hooves.
‘Whoa, boy,’ he said, his voice calm. He held his palms out flat, constantly talking to Ambrose until the horse, responding to his voice, began to calm. When all four hooves were down on the ground, his head no longer tossing, Tom was able to take hold of the reins. He rested his forehead against Ambrose’s neck and ran his hand down the horse’s face.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Elliot said. ‘Mr Caxton wanted a ride. Ambrose’ll normally take anyone on his back. I wouldn’t have brought him ‘round the front, only Mr Caxton asked in particular –’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ Tom said. Stepping away from Ambrose, he handed the reins to Elliot. ‘Please take Ambrose back to his stable. Be sure to stay with him until he has calmed.’
Elliot touched his cap and led Ambrose away. With his back to the house, Tom stood and watched them go.
‘“Stay with him until he has calmed,”’ George mocked. ‘It’s a bloody horse, Mandeville. You’re soft, just like the rest of your shower. There’s not a backbone between you.’
Lou stared at Tom’s shoulders, at his hands balled into fists.
‘If that sorry excuse for an animal were mine, I’d see to it that it was properly broken.’ George stooped to pick up his whip and lashed at the air. ‘I’ve a mind to go and teach it a lesson now.’
Tom spun around, his face set in anger. ‘Touch that horse again, and I’ll break that whip on you.’
‘Well, well, well, what have we here? Maybe a few years in the service of His Majesty has finally turned Little Boy Blue from a snitching coward into something that resembles a man. Of sorts.’ George grasped the end of the whip and bent it so that it bowed in the middle, mirroring the shape of his ugly frown.
Tom made to move away.
‘Surely you’ve heard what’s been going on here in your absence,’ George said. ‘That brother of yours, sniffing around the help.’
Tom stopped. His brow creased. Don’t, Lou thought. Don’t let him see you react. Too late.
George grinned. ‘I suppose it was only a matter of time before a Mandeville sank back to the level from where you came. But taking up with a servant.’ He tutted exaggeratedly. ‘Even I didn’t think one of you would stoop quite that low. Oh, sorry, we mustn’t call them servants here, must we? Staff, isn’t that what we say?’
Tom’s fists tightened. It was clearly taking all his willpower to hold back. But his lack of response gave George the chance to press his advantage.
‘Good old Edward, finally dipping his wick,’ he laughed. ‘Mind, it doesn’t say much for his prowess that the little floozy came to her senses and went screaming off into the sunset. And who is that woman you have staying here? I’ve never heard of her people. What is she? Some waif you’ve dragged in to keep your own wick wet?’
Like a clockwork toy wound one too many times, Tom snapped. He grabbed George by the scruff. ‘If I were less of a gentleman, I would whip you,’ he seethed.
George allowed himself to be manhandled. But it was more than that, Lou thought. He actually appeared to be enjoying it; to be feeding off Tom’s anger.
‘If you were more of a gentleman, you would have better control over the household that is to be yours,’ George said. ‘And if you think you can engineer a marriage to my sister to save your pointless family, then you can think again. I’ll make it my life’s work to wipe the name of Mandeville from the history of my family. Forever.’
‘I’d be cold in my grave before I let that happen.’
‘All in good time, Mandeville. All in good time.’
Still holding his cousin by the scruff, Tom pulled back his arm and raised his fist.
‘Go on.’ George offered up his cheek. ‘Show the world that you are the powerful man in that laughable portrait. What are you waiting for? Be sure to leave a nice big bruise. You never know, you might still be in the police cells on the night of your mother’s ridiculous party. Don’t worry, you can thank me for that later.’
Tom’s fist began to shake. Lou willed him to hit his cousin, to beat him until he couldn’t stand. Instead, he pushed George away with such force that he landed on his backside on the ground. He stayed down, looking up at Tom.
‘Trust a Mandeville not to have the balls for a real man’s fight. You prefer to sneak around, telling tales like a schoolgirl, don’t you?’
Tom marched towards the stable yard.
George pulled himself to his feet and brushed the snow from the seat of his trousers. ‘That’s it!’ he called after Tom, ‘Run away and play with your horses, soldier boy.’
Before Tom had turned the corner, Lou was out of the morning room. She flew out of the front door. Without waiting to see whether George was still there, she ran around the side of the house, past the walled gardens and into the stable yard. She slipped, losing her footing, but didn’t stop. Why she was racing to Tom, she had no idea. All she knew was that she had to.