“I know, but—”
“Since Drake’s death last year, Dalton has been moodier than ever. He was very close to his brother. I’m afraid that…” The duchess hesitated, her fingers working nervously over the large diamond-and-ruby ring on her finger.
Elizabeth glanced up uneasily. “Afraid of what?”
“That Dalton might leave England and return to that horrid war. I’m afraid that if any pressure is put upon him, he might rejoin his outfit.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “He remains at Havencrest only because of his stallion’s accident.” Her gaze drifted to the acres of green lawn outside the window. “In a way, I’m glad Bashshar was injured. It’s kept my son at Havencrest longer than I ever thought possible.” She regarded the younger woman with a warning look. “As a special favor to me, Elizabeth, I’d like you to be extremely patient with Dalton.”
“But I don’t see why—”
“I want nothing more than to see you and my son wed. Nothing could give me greater pleasure. And believe me, my dear, it will come to pass.”
“Oh, how I want to believe that it will.”
Mildred smiled. “Trust me. One day, you shall be the mistress of Wexton.”
Before Elizabeth could speak, a sharp rap sounded at the door and the butler entered.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but we are unable to find his lordship. The stable master told William that his lordship has gone hunting. He won’t return until later this afternoon. Shall I have Ulger send a groom to the gaming field to find him, your grace?”
Mildred thought a moment, then shook her head. “No, the matter can wait until he returns.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of disappointment. She glared at the dowager. “But the matter can’t wait.”
“That will be all, Henry.” The dowager’s voice betrayed no emotion when she dismissed the butler.
Elizabeth remained silent until the servant had left. “Time is running out, your grace. You must say something to Dalton. If our engagement isn’t announced at the ball this Saturday, I’ll become a laughingstock.”
Mildred gave her a commanding look. Elizabeth shuddered under her scrutiny. After an uncomfortable pause, the dowager spoke. “I know my son better than you. We’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Elizabeth recognized the same stubbornness in the dowager’s calculating blue eyes that she had often seen in Dalton’s.
“Very well, your grace.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes and smiled demurely. Maybe you think that you’ll do nothing, she mused, but I know of something that will change your mind.
Through the natural blind of dense oak leaves, Dalton watched the magnificent stag lift its head from the stream and listen. How many times had Dalton and his brother, Drake, watched the herd as they came to drink at the waterfall? As boys, they had loved the pursuit of the hunt. He and Drake would race each other to see who would first spot their prey. But since the war and Drake’s death, Dalton had lost the stomach to kill any living thing. He even disliked having to read the monthly gamekeeper’s reports that tallied which of the weak trees the workers had cleared from the hunting fields.
The stag nibbled tender shoots from the low brambles. Dalton sighed. He would love to spend the entire afternoon here in the peaceful glen, but he had important work to do. He turned and strode toward the sorrel gelding nearby.
Indeed, the brief respite in the silent woods had restored his good humor. Hopefully, Lady Alicia was in a more receptive mood, too. He needed to talk to her. He had sketched some designs for a round pen that could easily be built away from the stable yard. If Alicia approved the plan, the high-fenced pen would allow her the freedom to work with Bashshar, while protected from the unwelcome stares of his mother’s guests.
When he approached the paddock, Dalton dismounted and walked toward the stable, handing the reins to a waiting groom. He was almost past the corner of the pavilion when he recognized Bashshar’s loud whinny. He stopped and peered through the white-painted fence of the pavilion. Inside, in the center of the ring, Alicia stood like a statue, her arms at her sides. In one hand she held what looked like an old woolen scarf, hanging limply to the ground. A few feet away, Bashshar angrily pawed the earth.
Dalton watched with fascinated interest. She flicked the long scarf. Bashshar watched her warily as he moved along the opposite end of the enclosure, his bright eyes never wavering from her.
Dalton waited for Alicia to react again with the long scarf, to do anything; but instead, she remained immobile, facing the animal. Minutes passed, and Dalton finally realized that she was imitating Bashshar’s movements—while holding the power position of center stage.
Bashshar knew it and didn’t like it. He scratched the dirt, tossing his head in protest at this lovely woman who didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Bashshar refused to settle, his eyes warring with hers.
Whatever was going on, Dalton had no idea, but he couldn’t look away. He watched transfixed as the powerful stallion played into her hand. When the horse appeared ready to rear, Dalton pushed open the gate and rushed inside. “Alicia, back away!”
Bashshar shook his head wildly, then kicked his hind legs in the air.
Alicia stepped back, then whirled to face Dalton. Her face was a study of silent rage as she slapped her hands on her hips. She glanced over her shoulder at the black stallion. As though satisfied the horse was all right, she strode determinedly toward Dalton, then shot past him.
“Wh-where are you going?” he asked as she strode from the ring. He took off after her. When they had left the paddock, she turned around to lock the gate. When she had slid the bolt through the latch, she rounded on him.
“If I am to make any progress with your stallion, you must not interrupt me.”
“Interrupt? I was trying to save your life. See here, you don’t seem to understand how dangerous that horse—”
“I know exactly what I’m doing!”
“No, you don’t!” He found himself glaring down at her, arms akimbo, as she mocked him, exactly as she had done in the stable, the first night she arrived.
“Come, Lady Alicia,” he said, peering around to see if anyone was watching. “I would like a few words with you.” He took a deep, unsteady breath, then took her elbow, leading her to the bench inside the high arbor of roses he knew would be vacant this time of day. Most of the female guests would be napping before dinner, and the men were either at billiards, whist or shooting skeet. The rose garden would be the perfect place to explain the rules to this recalcitrant wench.
Alicia said nothing as he hurried her along and stood while she took a seat on the curved Italian marble bench.
“Well?” She glared up at him in such a fierce attempt to unnerve him, he almost laughed.
“Have you forgotten the orders that I already gave you?”
Alicia took a deep breath. “Your grace, I’ve dealt with injured animals before. But I can’t help Bashshar if I can’t win his confidence. Now if you continue to interfere when I—”
“Bashshar is a high-strung animal. He’s a one-man horse, and to expect to work with him without my presence is simply foolish.”
She took another deep breath, and Dalton was becoming more than a little irritated with his immediate reaction to her. “You are his master,” Alicia said, the sun catching the fiery glints in her hair. She leaned her face into the sun, reminding him of a pink blush tulip opening to the dawn.
“I have no wish to infringe upon your mastery with your horse. But Bashshar must come to trust me. Trust me completely. And it will occur more quickly if I am the only one he sees. Not the stable