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?”
