“Did you ever raise your voice?” Imogen asked, unable to stop herself.
Lady Ardmore gave a little chuckle. “Now, what do you think, lass?” Then she stomped her stick again. “Not for at least a month. Mayhap even six months.”
Imogen thought it had likely been about a week.
“Ardmore and I found a way to talk to each other, though he was none too fond of words. Ewan’s like his grandfather; he waited until he found your sister, and now there’ll be no other for him, not in this lifetime.”
Imogen swallowed away the lump in her throat. “Annabel will come to know that,” she said. “I’m afraid that our father was not always loving towards her, and she has little understanding of her worth.”
Lady Ardmore snorted. “Then she’s the first yellow-haired beauty I’ve found to be so.”
“That’s just it,” Imogen said. “Her own beauty has made it hard for her to believe in Lord Ardmore.”
“There’s many a woman would like to share that problem!”
“Yes,” Imogen admitted with a flash of disloyalty. “But she does feel it, all the same.”
“ ’Tis easy to solve,” Lady Ardmore said, with a briskness that reminded Imogen, rather unnervingly, of Josie. “I shall do so myself.”
“What?” Imogen asked, startled.
The countess stopped Imogen’s question with a raised hand. “You’ll have to trust me, young woman. Do you know, I only met my husband once before we were married.”
“Really?” Imogen asked. Of course she knew that arranged marriages were common among the great families, but: “You had seen him, hadn’t you?”
Lady Ardmore shook her head. “Young ladies were kept to themselves in those days. I was perhaps kept more closely than others, since I was destined to be a countess from the age of five.”
“That’s—” Imogen said, swallowing the word awful.
“The first time I saw Ardmore was two days before our wedding. His younger brothers were up to a lark. They thought to blacken me. Do you know what that is?”
Imogen shook her head.
“ ’Tis akin to tarring and feathering but with treacle,” Lady Ardmore said with a scowl. “Terrible custom, more observed in the breach than the observance, if you follow me.”
Imogen didn’t.
“That’s a line from Hamlet,” the countess said. “In other words, it’s an ancient tradition in Aberdeenshire, but even back then, it wasn’t practiced overmuch, and certainly not on future countesses. Well, these two young boys had got their dander up and determined to make a May’s game of their brother’s bride. Lord knows, they were wild enough for anything. One of them ran off to India and was never heard from again.”
“Did they manage to do it?” Imogen asked, intrigued at the very notion of boys wild enough to lay a finger—or a feather—on this particular countess.
“No, no,” Lady Ardmore said, waving her hand again. “My future husband saved me. Quite a thrilling scene it was.” She nodded and looked to Imogen. “Quite exciting.”
“No!” Imogen said.
“Yes,” Lady Ardmore said with quiet satisfaction. “Yes, I think that will work nicely.”
Thirty-three
When Josie found him, Mayne was sprawled in a chair in Ardmore’s library. He was holding a copy of Weatherby’s General Stud Book, but it looked to Josie as if he were just staring into the distance.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.“Thinking about my mortality,” Mayne said, raising his heavy-lidded eyes.
Josie felt herself turning slightly pink, which wasn’t a normal reaction for her. But there was something so thrillingly wolfish about Mayne that it was impossible not to react to the man. How embarrassing. What sort of woman blushed at the sight of her own sister’s lover, not to put too fine a point on it?
“Why do you bother thinking about mortality?” she asked, wandering around the study so that it didn’t look as if she’d come looking specifically for him. “You’re old, but not quite that old yet.”
“God knows,” he said. “Does Imogen have a request of me?”
She came over and sat on the arm of his chair. “I do. I need you to help me,” she said. “Help me help Annabel.”
“I’m tired of helping Annabel,” he said, and the lines of weariness around his eyes deepened. He had beautiful eyes; Josie could certainly see why all those hundreds of women had made fools of themselves over him.
“You have no choice,” Joise said firmly. “And don’t fuss. You’ll exhaust what little energy you have, and I need you to come with me.”
“I have plenty of energy!” he said, looking a bit more alive.
“Good. Because I want to go to Ardmore’s stables.”
She saw a spark of interest in his eyes. “All right.”
“We’re going riding. With Annabel and Ardmore.”
He was far too intelligent for his own good. “There’s something here you’re not telling me.”
“What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” Josie said. “Do you have riding clothes?”
“You know I don’t!” Mayne snapped.
“Perhaps you can wear some of Ardmore’s.”
“The man’s a bloody tree trunk. I’ve never seen muscles like those outside of bargemen.”
“You are a bit willowy,” Josie said consideringly. “Exercise will do you a world of good. Maybe Ardmore can give you some riding tips.”
“That’s enough insults from you,” Mayne said, standing up. “I already said I’d come with you, for God’s sake. Just give me a moment to wrestle some clothing from our host.”
“And make him join us. I’ll bring Annabel to the hallway in a half hour,” Josie said.
She ran off to her room and fetched her satchel of medicines. For a moment she was afraid that she’d forgotten to bring it—but no! She always loathed it when Papa asked for that particular salve, but she’d dutifully made it for him anyway. And carried a small pot of it all the way to England, and now back again to Scotland.
When Annabel walked down the stairs dressed in a habit a half hour later, she expected Josie, but she was mildly surprised to find Mayne there as well. Ewan came out of the breakfast room dressed in riding breeches.
“This is a true party!” Josie cried rather shrilly, herding them all out the door so quickly that Annabel didn’t even exchange a greeting with Ewan.
Her own horse, Sweetpea, was waiting for her, all saddled and ready to go. He arched his great head, blowing into her hand, and Annabel thought with a pulse of shame that he had traveled all the way from Rafe’s estate, and she hadn’t even visited him to see whether he liked his new quarters.
“Annabel!” Josie called. She was standing beside a squat Welsh pony. It was one of the mysteries of their family that Josie, who fearlessly treated the most irritable injured animal, was terrified to ride on them. “Sweetpea looks as if she might have some saddle tenderness.”
“Really?” Annabel ran a finger around the sidesaddle. Sweetpea didn’t react.