Beck decided he was being ridiculous. All of this thinking—about the dream, his father, Gwendolyn—was making him morose. He kicked his horse forward and yet fell back to ride alongside the coach again.
The vehicle began to slow. They turned down a country lane. Beck had no choice but to move forward or else ride in the coach’s dust. They traveled for a mile and then came another turn. A stone post marked the road. Carved into it was the wordColemore.
They had arrived.
A sense of apprehension settled on his shoulders. He didn’t understand it. He was arriving at Colemore disguised by another name. No one here knew him or had even laid eyes on him as far as he knew.
The bay took an anxious step as if picking up on Beck’s uncertainty. He sat deeper in his seat and told himself there was nothing to fear. He was a man of war. Whatever lay ahead, he could manage it.
And he would protect the women in the coach. He’d even watch out for that ridiculous dog.
All was safe.
He kicked the gelding forward.
The road was as rutted as the country lane and meandered through a surprisingly heavy forest. Lady Orpington had leaned out of the coach window to shout to Beck that it was going to be at least an hour more of travel.
“Are we on Colemore property?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Middlebury owns this all the way to the river,” she answered, and then sat back in her seat as overhanging branches threatened to whop her in the face. Beck ducked them and pushed his horse to pick a way along the road using the woods.
He heard Gwendolyn say in that crisp manner of hers, “I’ve heard talk of the magnificence of this estate. It seems more like an untamed wood.”
“Parts of it is,” Lady Orpington answered. “But just wait.”
The window shades were up, and from inside the coach, Gwendolyn looked over to Beck. Then she almost made him laugh when she rolled her eyes heavenward. He understood. The rich were eccentric.
They went around a bend, and the road smoothed out into a well-graded drive, one wide enough to accommodate two coaches. It was better than any post road.
Fifteen minutes later, they came upon a manicured lawn. Green grass stretched out around them to its forest border.
The change was so abrupt that Beck made a sound of surprise, and Lady Orpington chuckled. “More to your liking, eh? The marquess hassome queer notions about privacy. He feels that having an overgrown entrance will keep the common folk at bay. I’ll warn you, he is odd. And his little forest ruse doesn’t fool anyone. Everyone knows that a mile down the way is the true beginning of the estate.”
“He must have a battalion of gardeners,” Beck said.
“Two battalions,” Lady Orpington answered. “The man is as wealthy as Croesus.”
“Is he as vain?” Beck asked. Hubris had been what had destroyed Croesus.
“I shall let you answer that for yourself, Nicholas,” she replied.
Gwendolyn sat forward. “Look,” she said with delight and pointed to a sculpture out on the lawn. A graceful bronze stag was frozen in flight as it leaped into the air. Its hooves shone with gold. “That is lovely.”
“Look close,” Lady Orpington said. “Do you see the dogs?”
Beck trotted ahead so he could see over the coach team. He studied the lawn and the distant line of trees.
Gwendolyn was doing the same, because she called out, “I see them. There, off to the left as if approaching the deer.”
He saw them then, a pack of bronze hounds running as if they could capture their quarry. Several had tongues hanging out, and their ears were flying. Their paws barely touched the ground. They were more of a marvel than the stag.
“The fourth Marquess of Middlebury had them made, the brother of this one. He appreciated art, as did his father, the third marquess,” Lady Orpington explained. “They say the third was inordinately proud of his deer. Then one day, he came riding out, and there was the dog pack. His son, the fourth,” she said helpfully so that they could follow her story, “had them made to tease his father. I’ve heard it said that the fourth had a playful sense of humor, and it must be true. Every time I see those dogs chasing the deer, I smile. Those who knew the fourth admired him greatly. He was very successful at promoting the Whig agenda. So unlike his brother, who doesn’t step a foot into Parliament or anywhere beyond Colemore.”
Beck had fallen into line beside them, interested in the gossip about this family he did not know. Now that he was on their land, their presence, their personalities, took on a stronger meaning.
“Was the older brother much older?” Gwendolyn asked.
“No, just a few years.”
