“Ach. Course not. Somehow I think the bairn missed you.”
She found the flashy colt lying in the straw, his dam, as ever, munching hay and swishing her tail at the few flies that escaped Fergus’s watchful eye. Eugenia went in, grinning as the colt peered up at her blinking his huge eyes. “My, my, what long eyelashes you have,” she whispered.
Either through laziness or complete trust, the colt did not get up as she sank to the straw beside him. “Are you not the cutest baby in the entire world?” she asked him, rubbing his neck.
The colt bobbed his head up and down, making her laugh. “I think so, too.”
When he lay flat to take a nap, Eugenia made sure his head lay in her lap. Singing a soft lullaby under her breath, she stroked his neck down to his shoulder and ribs, over and over. His fuzzy coat felt so soft under her fingers, his short mane as curly as his tail. Though she could not be certain, she thought his crooked fetlock had straightened a bit.
He rose after his nap, shook straw dust from his small body and went to nurse. Eugenia rose also, thinking it time to visit some of the other babies. She left the stall and walked down the impeccably clean aisle, often caressing warm noses in passing. She reached the end of the row and turned the corner.
Across the stable building, a horse screamed. All around in the stalls, horses raised their voices in sharp whinnies, stamping about, kicking the wooden walls with hollow booms. Eugenia hesitated then looked back over her shoulder as grooms also ran toward them, shouting at one another, trying to soothe the valuable animals. She finished her turn around the corner, not looking where she was going. The thunder of hooves on the brick floor barely registered before she glanced up, her eyes widening in panic.
The black horse struck her full on throwing her hard against the wall before his hooves crashed into her and dragged her down.
Chapter 16
Maximilian tried very hard to be nice to Lady Helena. Between the Duchess’s and the Countess’s machinations, he was constantly placed next to her, forced into smiles and small talk with her. He tried to not observe her red hair or green eyes and decided to focus on her smiles, as that was her only feature that did not remind him of Sophia. Despite his attempts, he could not find it in him to like her, however hard he tried.
Lady Helena, however, reveled in the small amount of attention he paid her, stuck to his side like a burr and talked to him nonstop. He quickly grew bored with her chatter of London, the court, the Prince Regent, the upcoming ball, her friends and who they married.
She is nice enough, I suppose, but as empty in the head as a kitten.
He never cared much to know who married who, or what the latest fashions at the royal court were and wondered if he might escape her by ducking into a tavern.
“Of course, you know the Baron of Worely,” she said, nattering on. “Well, his wife has such poor taste in gowns. Do you know she actually wore a –”
“Excuse me, Lady Helena,” he said quickly. “I see someone I must talk to.”
Under Augusta’s disapproving frown, he hurried away into the market, breathing a quick sigh of relief. “God help me,” he muttered, “if I marry her, I swear I will run screaming to the whiskey bottle.”
Giving himself about thirty minutes of freedom amidst the peasants and merchants walking about the market in York, he breathed deeply before returning to the carriage. He roamed among the market stalls that were selling everything from thread to horses. Naturally, he paused at the horse pens and ran a critical eye over legs and rounded necks.
He discovered the others waiting for him as the footmen loaded packages, and Maximilian offered an insincere apology to the three sets of condemning female eyes. The Earl of Whitington merely whistled under his breath and smiled to himself.
“Forgive me, all,” Maximilian said, expansive. “I met a man I had a most interesting conversation with –”
“We are leaving, Maximilian,” Augusta’s tone was frigid.
“Oh. Well, then. I returned just in time.”
Forced to sit between Lady Helena and her mother, the Countess of Whitington, Maximilian actually found the ride back to the Bromenville castle quite relaxing. None of the women spoke and chose to stare out the window at the passing scenery. No doubt, he would hear about his abominable behavior from Augusta once they arrived home. The Earl dozed off, occasionally waking himself with a snore, which thinned Augusta’s lips even further.
Trying to be a gentleman, after all, Maximilian assisted all three ladies down from the carriage in the castle drive. Though Lady Helena had recovered her smile by the time they reached the estate, Augusta had not.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she muttered as he handed her down.
“Actually,” he said, grinning. “I am not.”
Augusta sniffed, then huffed her way across the gravel to the castle’s doors. The footmen followed her, bearing the weight of the packages. The Earl and Countess of Whitington, her arm through his, made their way in her wake more slowly. Lady Helena, clearly wanting to linger and perhaps talk with him, abruptly changed her mind and followed her parents
Thinking he would change clothes, then visit the stable, Maximilian trailed behind the others, loosening his cravat as he went. His thoughts bobbing between Eugenia and the horses; he paid little heed to much going on around him as he walked up the steps and into the castle. Yet, Nigel stood in the entryway, watching him stride in. He bowed.
“Your Grace,” he began.
“Yes? Can you make it quick? I want to visit the stables before supper.”
Something in Nigel’s face caught his attention. The man’s expression was wary, careful – even pained. In all his life, Maximilian had never seen such on the man’s face before. Nigel started to speak, then turned his head away, his throat bobbing up and down.
