Andrew Lord of Despair(28)

***

“You look like hell.” Gareth led a big bay gelding from a loose box as he offered his brother that cheerful greeting. “Shall I have the lads saddle up a horse for you, or can you manage on your own?”

Andrew raised one sardonic eyebrow, and grabbed a halter and lead shank off a hook near the door. He sauntered out to the individual paddocks behind the stables, his step looking to Gareth off somehow—tired, stiff, or more burdened than a young man’s should be on a pleasant early autumn afternoon. Andrew came back leading a big, rawboned black gelding with a nervous eye.

“In the mood for a challenge?” Gareth asked. “I don’t think anybody’s been on Magic since I had him out last week. He looks full of himself, as usual.”

“We’ll manage,” Andrew replied as he secured the horse in cross ties. He took his time, stroking his hands over the horse’s neck and flanks, picking up each hoof, talking softly the whole time. “You wrote to me about this horse,” Andrew reminded Gareth as he began to brush Magic’s coat. “I’ve been curious to meet him. He’s certainly handsome, for all his size.”

“I bought him in part because I like his size,” Gareth answered. At six feet and a few inches each, both brothers typically favored larger mounts with good bone and wind.

“But,” Andrew replied, speaking to the gelding, “you are too much horse entirely when you take it into that handsome head to be naughty. We must encourage you to behave at all times as the gentleman you are.” The horse flicked his big, daintily pointed ears as if he were listening.

Gareth caught the last comment as well, and wanted to broach the topic of gentlemanly behavior with his brother in the worst way. He held back, lest his brother announce a burning desire to see Cathay and darkest Peru.

As the horses were saddled, then bridled, Andrew continued his soothing commentary to Magic. The groom who had been mucking stalls rolled his eyes at Gareth as this homily went on, but Magic seemed to listen, the anxiety in his eyes all but disappearing by the time Andrew was on his back.

“Damned if he don’t like Master Andrew,” the groom commented, shaking his head.

Gareth swung up onto his own mount, a steady fellow by the name of Orion. “They all like Master Andrew, wretched beasts.”

“Magic,” Andrew replied calmly, “is a fellow of great discernment and sensitivity, aren’t you, boy?” He gave the horse’s shoulder a resounding thwack of approval, which had Magic dancing sideways and capering around the yard. “He is also,” Andrew added as the horse started trying to buck in earnest, “a young man in need of a good romp.” With that, he touched his spurs to the horse’s sides, and Magic shot off down the drive at a thunderous gallop.

When Andrew eventually slowed Magic to the walk, the horse’s coat was lathered, but his neck was relaxed, and the bucks were long forgotten.

“The trouble with that fellow,” Gareth remarked, “is you think because you ran and jumped the mischief out of him today, he might be more willing to listen to reason tomorrow, but he won’t be. I rode him fourteen days straight during wicked summer heat, and he came out full of the devil every time. I never found the end of his fight.”

Andrew patted the horse again, this time gaining much less reaction. “It isn’t fight, Gareth, it’s heart that needs a little more courage. Magic needs somebody to trust.”

Magic, indeed. “You want him, he’s yours. Consider him a homecoming gift.”

When Gareth expected an argument, Andrew saluted with his whip. “My thanks, and his.”

And now, a change in topic was required, lest Gareth bring up a certain kiss he’d walked in on in the library late the previous evening. “How did you fare with Gwen?”

Andrew let the reins go slack while the horse appeared to consider the terrors lurking behind a hedge of honeysuckle. “She will not be joining our little gathering this weekend, if that’s what you’re asking, and she has neither love nor trust for the cousin who has come to toss her and her child out into the streets.”

“She’s prickly.”

Magic snorted, planted all four feet, and raised and lowered his head while Andrew sat relaxed and serene in the saddle. “She’s scared. She’s done an excellent job with Enfield, though everyone is careful to suggest it’s due to the tenants, the dairymaids, or even the damned bullocks. I suspect she was running the place long before Grandpapa died, and he was only too happy to let her.”

“I can believe that.”

Andrew’s horse walked on calmly enough—for now. “And yet, whenever I mentioned having Gwen leave the place, even for a visit, she pokered up like a bishop in a bordello. After I’d paid my respects in the nursery, I asked her if Rose’s father even knows of the child’s existence, and Gwen about skewered me with her rage and contempt. Something there needs to be dealt with.”