Lyon's Gate, Page 3

  James Sherbrooke, Lord Hammersmith, twenty-eight minutes older than his twin, sat back, aware of his smiling wife’s warm self now pressed close to his right side, and looked toward his brother. He wasn’t surprised Jason looked as natural as could be waltzing around with two small boys in his arms, since James Wyndham had often written about how well Jason handled his own four children. He wondered if James Wyndham had ever told Jason about all the letters he himself had written here to Northcliffe Hall, at first to reassure all of them, then later detailing Jason’s successes on the racetrack, the mares he’d selected for James’s breeding program, the wonderful stallion he’d found for his host that had made him a bloody fortune in stud fees.

  But all the letters didn’t make up for the lost years. He felt his heart fill to bursting. At least his twin had finally begun acknowledging all of them after two years of perfunctory, emotionless letters.

  Little Douglas was right; they were no longer identical. Well, they were, objectively, but anyone who knew the both of them wouldn’t confuse them anymore. Jason was more—what was the word? More spare, maybe that was it, though they were still of a size. The big changes were on the inside. James could see the suffering deep in his twin’s eyes, and it hurt him, even as he understood it.

  They’d never been identical on the inside, but they’d been connected, had known what the other worried about, what the other was feeling at any given moment. Their experiences had made them into vastly different men, the advanced age of thirty not all that far distant. He looked toward his smiling father, nearly sixty, his black and silver hair still thick, as he was always pointing out to his wife.

  James saw that Hollis was stationed near the drawing room door, his foot tapping to the beat of the waltz. He was smiling, and there was such love and relief in that smile that James felt warmed to his soul. He knew how Hollis felt.

  Now James had to find out what was in his twin’s mind. But not tonight. His precious, loud, and demanding little boys had saved the evening from being a silent torture, everyone afraid to say anything that could be taken the wrong way, everyone walking on eggshells around Jason. He said to Corrie, “Have I told you recently that you are very smart indeed?”

  “Not since last May, I believe it was.”

  He rubbed his knuckles on her cheek. “You brought Douglas and Everett into nail-biting silence and look what happened. Jason is waltzing with them.”

  “It seemed the thing to do,” she said.

  James took Corrie’s hand in his. He leaned back, and allowed the warmth of the laughter to flow through him.

  Jason was home. At last he was home and that was all that mattered.

  CHAPTER 4

  The two brothers stood side-by-side on the cliff overlooking the Poe Valley.

  The silence between them was awkward. James finally said, “We spent so many hours here as boys. Remember the time you hurled my book on Huygens off the cliff, you were so mad at me?”

  “I remember throwing the book over the side, laughing when the wind caught it and sent it even farther away, but I don’t remember why I was mad.”

  James laughed. “I don’t either.”

  “I do remember you and Corrie lying on your backs on this hill on clear evenings, staring up at the stars.”

  “We still do that. The boys have heard me talking about the Astrological Society, listened to me whine about how my telescope doesn’t magnify enough. Unfortunately, now they’re demanding to come with their mother and me. Can you imagine? Two three-year-olds holding still for longer than thirty seconds?”

  Jason said, smiling, “No, it won’t happen. Alice Wyndham, James and Jessie’s four-year-old, would be looking up at the stars while sucking her thumb, loudly, and be demanding an apple tart in the next breath. But it won’t be long at all before the four of you are stretched out like logs on the hearth looking at the heavens.”

  They fell silent. Then James couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed his brother, held on tight. “By God, I’ve missed you. It’s like part of myself simply disappeared. I couldn’t bear it, Jason.”

  Jason held himself stiff, utterly rigid—for about three seconds. Then he saw James’s utter relief that he, Jason, who’d nearly cost him his life, was back again. His generosity astounded Jason. Jason couldn’t help himself; he pulled away. He felt self-conscious, clumsy, and so very sorry that he wished for the thousandth time that what had happened could be undone, but of course it couldn’t. Nothing could ever be changed once it happened. He said, voice thick, “Forgive me, James, it’s still difficult for me. I’m so very sorry for what happened. Your acceptance of me now is so very like you.”

  “Don’t you understand? I never didn’t accept you. I never blamed you, nor did anyone else.”

  Jason waved that away. “The truth is the truth. You knew I couldn’t stay here, not after what I did.”

  James accepted the rebuff though it hurt him to his soul. “I knew how you felt and I did understand, but I still couldn’t bear it. Neither could Mother and Father. It’s been difficult without you, Jase.” He paused a moment, drew himself together, and stared out over the green Poe Valley. “You’re staying home now?”

  “Yes. I’ll be looking for my own property. I want to own and operate my own stud farm.”

  James felt a surge of pride. He wanted to tell Jason that James Wyndham had written that Jason was magic with horses, that he would soon be one of the premier breeders in England. He asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, “Where are you interested in buying?”

  “Why, near here of course.”

  James nearly whooped aloud. He let himself breathe again. He gave his brother a fat smile. “You’ll not believe this, Jase, but old Squire Hoverton—remember, we called him the Old Squid, because he always had a hand to catch you no matter how many thieving little varmints there were in his apple orchard? Well, he died. You remember his son, Thomas, don’t you? He and his father were constantly arguing about the money the squire spent?”

  “Yes, I remember. I also remember wanting to throw Thomas in a ditch. What a fool he was.”

  “He’s still a fool. He’s wanted to sell out since the minute after his father’s funeral. There have been no buyers because Thomas is asking too much, probably because he owes an immense amount to his creditors. I’ve heard that he gambles at every hell in London.”

  Jason nodded. “Fortunately Squire Hoverton spent a great deal of money modernizing the stables, the paddocks, and the stalls.”

  James said, “The house is probably moldering on its foundation, but who cares? Well, a wife would care, but since you’re not married, it doesn’t matter. What you’re interested in is the condition of the stables and stalls, the health of the land itself, and the beech and pine forests. I’m not sure of the acreage, but a thousand acres comes to mind. We’ll ask.”

  Jason couldn’t contain his excitement. “What good fortune indeed. Bless the kind Lord for letting such blighters as Thomas appear occasionally. Let’s go now, James, let’s go see it.”

  Thirty minutes later, the twins pulled Bad Boy and Dodger into the lane leading to Lyon’s Gate, once one of the premier stud farms in southern England. Jason said, “I remember Thomas was a bully, and that’s always a disguise for weakness.”

  “I agree. Thomas must be in desperate need of money by now. I’ll wager you’ll be able to buy the property at an excellent price. Father’s solicitor can deal with it for you if you decide you want it.”

  “Wily William Bibber?”

  “Yes, old Wily Willy is still working his magic. Father says he’s like Hollis—he’ll probably be dead six months before he stops working. Now, Thomas immediately sold off all the horses. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold off all the furniture in the house, and all the tack as well. His creditors probably made him sell the silver. But look at the stables, Jason, they look solid even from here—some paint, some horses, new equipment, some excellent grooms, good care and management, and—” James shut
up. He didn’t want to overdo. His blood was surging in his veins. He was praying hard now.

  Jason said, looking about, “It doesn’t look all that bad, does it, given that it’s been sitting here abandoned for what? Over a year, you said?”

  “Nearly two years now.”

  “Thomas is indeed a wastrel and I’m grateful for it,” Jason said in a voice so filled with excitement, James wanted to sing.

  Jason pulled Dodger up in front of the neat redbrick Georgian home, ivy hanging off in clumps, dead bushes surrounding it, glass from broken windows scattered on the barren ground. “I can see Mother rubbing her hands together, picturing how everything will look when she’s finished, ordering around a dozen gardeners, all of them staggering around with buckets of plants.”

  “Think of the flowers,” James said. “She’ll have more color cascading out of the flower beds than you can imagine.”

  Jason rubbed his own hands together. “I hope there’s a retainer here to show us about.”

  “Probably not. I’ll wager the front door isn’t even locked. We’ll show ourselves around.”

  The house was indeed moldering on its foundation. Jason doubted it had been touched after Squire Hoverton’s wife had died trying to birth her sixth child somewhere around the first part of the century. Such a pity that only Thomas had survived. The house was filled with shadows and smelled of damp. Tattered draperies hung askew over long dirty or broken windows.

  “The floors look solid,” James said.

  “Let’s see how bad it is upstairs,” Jason said. “Then we can visit the stables.”

  It was bad, more dank gloom and dirt.

  “Lots of white paint should take care of things, Jason, don’t you think?”

  “Oh aye, at least a half a dozen cans of white paint. Let’s get out of here, James, it’s depressing.”

  James buffeted him on the shoulder. “The price has just gone down a good bit.”

  There were four different paddocks, each fenced with solid oak planks, some needing repair, all needing paint. But the size of the paddocks was perfect and the holding paddock gave directly into the huge main stable. There were a total of three stables, all desperately in need of paint as well, but until two years ago, they’d been prime, and Jason could see that all of them were quite modern. The empty tack room was nicely proportioned, with a goodly sized area set aside for a head groom to work close to the horses. There were half a dozen small rooms for the stable lads.

  “It reminds me of James Wyndham’s main stable,” Jason said.

  There were twenty stalls, ten to a side, in the big main light-filled stable, a wide aisle between them. Beautifully built. Moldy hay and equipment parts were strewn on the floor. Jason stood there, right in the middle, sucking in great gulps of air.

  “If I close my eyes I can see the horses’ heads bobbing over the stall doors, hear them neighing when they know oats are coming. Plenty of breeding and birthing stalls. It’s perfect.” Jason jumped up and clicked his heels together.

  At that moment both Bad Boy and Dodger let out loud whinnies.

  “What’s this?” James said and strode to the stable’s double-door entrance.

  A large raw-boned chestnut stallion was pawing the ground, looking at Bad Boy and Dodger, head thrown back, nostrils flared, ready to take on both of them.

  A girl’s voice called out, “Who are you and what the devil are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 5

  James and Jason Sherbrooke stared from the huge bay stallion, who looked like he chewed nails for breakfast, to the girl astride him, dressed in trousers, a dusty leather vest, full-sleeved white shirt, and an old hat pulled down over her head.

  “Blessed hell,” James said. “It’s Corrie five years ago, down to the fat braid hanging down her back.”

  Jason said slowly, never looking away from her face, “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “Of course you know me, you dolt.”

  Jason’s eyebrow arched a good inch.

  She pulled off the cap. Tendrils of golden hair had pulled free of the braid and hung in lazy curls down the sides of her face.

  “You do look familiar,” he said again. “Oh yes, whoever you are, forgive my ill manners, this is my brother, James Sherbrooke, Lord Hammersmith.”

  “My lord.” Hallie stuffed her hat back down on her head, but didn’t give him her name. “I had heard you were twins, identical in every way. But that isn’t true. Let me say, my lord, that you most certainly appear the more acceptable twin. You don’t really look like this other one at all. Did you know that he would strut down the streets in Baltimore, knowing that every female between the ages of eight and ninety-two would stop and stare at him, dropping fans, parasols, umbrellas, even in the rain, to get his attention?”

  James, enjoying this unusual girl who was making his twin feel like a fool said easily, “Ma’am, a pleasure. No, I didn’t know this about my twin. To the best of my memory I haven’t ever seen him strut. I shall ask him for a demonstration.”

  Hallie said, “Ladies would lurk in doorways, waiting for him to pass by. They’d throw a handkerchief or a reticule or their little sister in his path to gain his attention. You haven’t seen him strut? No wonder, since he ran away from home five years ago, you haven’t had the opportunity to witness the strut in all its glory. Conceited oaf.”

  When Jason didn’t respond to this face-smacking, she went on, “I understand you’re going to be thirty years old next year. Thus it takes your brain longer to function properly. Or is it that your eyesight is already faulty?”

  Jason was more amused than not. He was used to insults after living with Jessie Wyndham for five years, so he didn’t leap on her. He knew he should recognize her, but he simply didn’t. Obviously this was an insult of major proportions to her, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shook his head, still looking at her horse, who appeared quite ready to take a bite out of Bad Boy’s flank. “You’d best pull that beast back before my Dodger breaks his neck.”

  “Ha, I’d like to see that.” Still, she forced Charlemagne back, one unwilling step at a time. It took skill to make the horse obey. Jason gave her silent credit for it. Who the devil was she? That golden hair of hers was spectacular, certainly he should remember a girl with hair that color.

  “I do admire Dodger though. He’s a fine racer. Did you ever manage to beat Jessie Wyndham riding him?”

  So she’d seen him race, had she? Even though she sounded British, she’d obviously lived in Baltimore.

  “No horse stood a chance against Dodger. As for Jessie, that’s another matter. If you were more familiar with Baltimore horse racing, you’d know Dodger was the best, most of the time.”

  Her mouth was opening when James said, “You’re an American? But you sound like a Brit. Why?”

  “I am English actually. My family lives here half the year and the other half in Baltimore. However, four years ago my parents sent me back here to live year round to get me polished up.”

  “When will the polishing begin?” Jason said, looking at her from head to toe.

  “I’ve heard it said that cleverness is in the eye of the beholder, and I must say that I’m not seeing much of anything.”

  “Then how could you see me strut if your eyesight is so bad?”

  She tossed her head and nearly lost her hat. “Another pathetic attempt at a clever remark. I live with my uncle and aunt at Ravensworth Abbey. They provide a marvelous home for me when my parents aren’t here.”

  James said, “Burke and Arielle Drummond, the earl and countess of Ravensworth? You’re their niece?”

  “Yes. My mother was the countess’s sister. She died when I was born.”

  Jason said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “But what are you doing here?” James said. “Here, as on the Hoverton property?”

  The chin went up, as if she expected sarcasm, argument, a fight even. Jason couldn’t wait to see what would come out of her mouth. Sh
e said, “I will be twenty-one in December. I am an adult. I love horses.”

  Jason said slowly, “I remember you now. It was a long time ago, just after I’d arrived in Baltimore. You were that skinny little girl who was forever hanging around the racetracks. There was someone always trying to find you. Jessie brought you home a couple of times, but you stayed with the children. Then I didn’t see you anymore. Ah, yes, I remember Jessie saying that you’d come to England to live. You’re Hallie Carrick. I came home on one of your father’s steamships, The Bold Venture. Yes, I remember. Your father went to America some fifteen years ago to buy a shipyard and ended up marrying the owner’s daughter.”

  “Yes, that’s what happened. I was in Baltimore three years ago, but I believe you and James Wyndham were in New York, buying horses.”

  She had an astounding memory for his brother’s whereabouts, James thought, staring at her. Why?

  “Allow me to correct you. My father and Genny—my stepmother—run the Carrick Shipping Line together now. I believe Genny built The Bold Venture.”

  James arched an eyebrow at that. “Really? That is very impressive. Very well, then, Miss Carrick, what are you doing here? By here, I mean Lyon’s Gate.”

  “That’s easy to answer. I intend to buy Lyon’s Gate. You are very nearly on my property. What are you two doing here?”

  Jason came to instant attention. He stood appalled, disbelieving, staring at this absurd girl who had the golden hair of a princess and had suddenly become the enemy. “What do you mean, you intend to buy Lyon’s Gate?”

  She shot a look at James, who was standing with his back against the stable door, arms crossed over his chest. “Is your brother hard of hearing?”

  “No,” James said. “He is merely astounded. You’re a girl. You shouldn’t even be here alone, much less garbed in clothes many stable lads would despise.”