They’d been friends since they were lads. Their fathers had been as close as brothers. They’d done everything together. Learned to ride, learned to hunt, learned to swim. It had been during a swimming expedition when they were but seven years old that Phillip had shown himself to be the most loyal of friends.
They’d begun the day fishing in a lake on Phillip’s father’s property. The fishing expedition had turned into an afternoon of swimming under the hot sun. Ewan and Phillip had each been diving and holding their breath. Even as a child Ewan’s competitive nature had got the best of him. He had to be the one to hold his breath the longest and win. Only he’d dived too deep in an effort to stay under longer and ended up getting his clothing stuck on the branch of a tree that had fallen in the water.
Apparently, Phillip had realized that his friend had been underwater too long and had come after Ewan, ripping at the branch, his own hands bloody and torn by the time it was over. Ewan didn’t remember much after.
Phillip had grabbed him beneath the arm and swam him back to shore where he pushed water out of Ewan’s lungs. Ewan was coughing up the last of it and regaining consciousness when their fathers had ridden up on horseback, alerted by Phillip’s shouts.
His friend had saved his life that day and Ewan had vowed to return the favor if ever he were called upon. Only Ewan hadn’t gone to war as Phillip had. As viscount, Ewan wasn’t in the Army. Instead, he did what he could for the cause of the war and the soldiers from his place in Parliament. Phillip didn’t have a title. He took a position as an officer in the Army and was sent to the Continent.
He’d been wounded in the war, shot in the shoulder and fallen from his horse. They’d found him still alive when combing a battlefield days after the battle. He’d been taken back to a medical camp and eventually returned to England.
Ewan hadn’t been there the day his friend needed him. He hadn’t been by his side on the battlefields of Europe, but the moment Ewan had heard that Phillip was injured, Ewan had gone to Dover and met his ship. He’d brought an extra coach fitted comfortably for an invalid, but when he’d seen Phillip disembark, Ewan realized that it wasn’t his friend’s body that was broken. Of course Phillip was thinner and paler, but it was his mind that was broken. The man could walk, his bruises had healed, but he didn’t say a word that day and he hadn’t spoken since.
Ewan spent several more minutes with his friend recounting boring little tidbits about the estate and some things he’d read in the paper before standing to take his leave. This is how their conversations went every day. Entirely one-sided. But Ewan dutifully arrived and made the effort no matter what. He would not let his friend down.
Ewan passed by the window. He stopped in front of the glass panes and looked down into the paddock where Forrester and one of the stablehands were working with Alabaster. He wished he could show Phillip, but after many long talks with Mr. Forrester, they’d agreed that Phillip needed to be a bit stronger, before they would tell him that Alabaster was waiting for him.
Moments later, Ewan left Phillip’s room feeling less hopeful about his friend’s condition than he had in weeks. Phillip still wouldn’t speak. He still wouldn’t leave his rooms. How in the world would he ever convince him to come out to the stables and ride?
Ewan had spent a small fortune on Alabaster. Had he even done the right thing? Would Alabaster truly be able to help Phillip regain what he had lost? Or was Phillip’s injury more physical than mental? Only time would tell. There was still one thing about Phillip that he knew and that was that the man harbored a secret in his very identity. No one could know he was here.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thea pulled the cap down tightly over her brow before alighting from the small pony she’d ridden through the dark to Lord Clayton’s estate. Thank heavens there was a full moon tonight or she would have been entirely in darkness.
Maggie was the only person who knew where Thea had gone. They’d quarreled at great length both over Thea’s intention to sneak into Clayton’s stables and over Thea’s insistence upon riding to Lord Clayton’s estate alone. At night. In the dark. Dressed as a lad, no less.
But in the end Thea had stubbornly insisted upon her plan. “It makes no sense to take a coach. Why would a lad arrive in a coach? I must be alone and take a pony.”
Of course, Maggie had asked Thea a variety of perfectly reasonable additional questions such as: What if you’re caught? What if you’reshot? And the maid had ended her lecture with the warning, “If you are caught or shot, it will be no more than you deserve.”
“You let me worry about that,” had been Thea’s defiant reply, but now that she was on Clayton’s property, a good bit of apprehension had somehow managed to sneak its way into her mind, making her doubt herself. She shook her head and adjusted the dark cap she was wearing. She’d come this far. She would see it through.
Maggie had spent the better part of the last sennight busily sewing the clothing for Thea’s clandestine journey.
After the clothing was finished, Thea had waited another few days for the moon to be full enough to ride by. The entire plot was dangerous and risky, but nothing was going to keep her from seeing her horse.
She slipped off the pony and tied him to a nearby tree. She’d spent a great deal of time researching Lord Clayton’s estate. To her delight, she’d found a map of the area in her father’s library. The bits that weren’t outlined there, she’d filled in by paying a visit to another neighbor, old Lady Mayfeather. Lady Mayfeather was married to a mean old goat, but the lady knew everyone and everything about Devon and she was willing to talk about it. She’d loved Thea since she was a girl and the very best part was that Lord Mayfeather and Thea’s father had had a falling out some years back and they rarely spoke, which meant Lady Mayfeather would hardly have a chance to tell Thea’s father that she had come around asking a lot of questions about the layout of Lord Clayton’s estate.
Using the map and the information she’d gleaned from Lady Mayfeather, Thea had carefully calculated the distance from the main road to the back of Lord Clayton’s estate. She had ridden the pony onto the grounds but had stayed off the main path by riding through the grass and trees that bordered the northern side of the land.
Sliding off the pony, she left the horse tied up within a copse of trees. She quickly made her way to the tree line and looked out across Lord Clayton’s meadows. She expelled her breath. The stables were precisely where she expected them to be. Thank heavens. By her estimation, she would only have to run less than a mile along the tree line to the stables. She set off at a fast clip, hoping the black clothes she’d asked Maggie to sew for her would keep her from being seen under the moonlight.
It took Thea less than a quarter of an hour to make it to the stables. Once there, she pressed her back against the wood of the enormous building, breathing so heavily she could barely hear any other noises. She waited for her breathing to slow and listened for any sound in the crisp night air. Her ears were met with complete silence. The horses and their caretakers were fast asleep.
She crept along the side of the wall until she came to the first door. It was locked of course. She’d expected that. Glancing around, she found a milk carton made of wood. She picked it up and placed it beneath the window that was next to the door.
She stepped atop the wooden box and pushed at the window as quietly as possible. To her immense relief, the window moved up. It wasn’t locked. She smiled to herself. That was fortunate. Using her height and pushing her legs against the side of the wall, she pulled herself up to the window and was able to perch precariously on the ledge. She stayed there for a few moments allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the stables. When she was finally convinced that it was safe, she jumped to the ground where she landed deftly on the packed earth on bent legs. Straightening her legs slowly, she glanced around. Hopefully, the noise of her entry hadn’t startled any of the horses or awakened any of the stablehands sleeping upstairs.
She waited for what felt like a quarter hour before she decided it was safe to move about. The moon shone through the windows on the far side of the stables, illuminating her path enough for her to make out some of the contents of the grand building. Viscount Clayton’s stables were impressive indeed. They’d clearly been designed by someone who knew a great deal about horses. The tack wall, the blacksmith’s mount, the wide doors, the ropes and pitchforks and water barrels. The soaring wooden ceiling with a second floor where the stablehands slept, according to Lady Mayfeather.
The stables at Blackstone Hall were quite fine, but these, these were stunning. Fresh, fragrant bales of hay lined the walls and hung from the rafters. The stalls were the largest she’d ever seen. Each horse was housed individually in one of the stalls filled with fresh hay and the place was so clean you could probably host a dinner party inside. An enormous tack wall covered an entire side of the huge building. It smelled like leather and hay and clean horses.
Whatever else might be said of Viscount Clayton, the man certainly treated his horses well. There werepeoplewho didn’t live this splendidly.
Thea took a few tentative steps toward the center of the building. Her heart pounded at the thought of being so near her dear Alabaster. He was here somewhere. Where was he? She made her way from stall to stall to find him.
The first stall she came to housed a sorrel mare. A gorgeous girl with markings on her nose and long, soft ears that twitched in the cool night air. The second stall held a thoroughbred. He was dark brown and clearly made for racing. The third housed one of the most gorgeous gray stallions Thea had ever seen. The next three stalls were filled with three more grays, each one as beautiful as the first. They were matching and must have cost Lord Clayton at least as much as he’d paid for Alabaster. The man certainly had money. There was no question about it.
