Stella reached the gardens. From a distance, they had looked like pictures of impeccable tidiness and tranquility. But as Stella passed through them, she noticed dandelion weeds sprouting between stones in the path; clusters of last years’ roses, which needed to be deadheaded or pulled out altogether; and branches of yew that jutted haphazardly from the hedge, which needed to be clipped. The fountain, an algae-covered marble statue of a cherub holding a basket of round fruit, spurted out a peaceful trickle of water, but brown leaves clung to the bottom of the pool. A bit of disorderliness she hadn’t expected. She didn’t like it.
When she arrived at the stables, Stella caught Tully’s eye as a stableboy led the horse off the wagon. The horse’s ears flicked back and forth. Orson and Tupper were already in their box stalls, munching hay. The stables were as impressive up close as they had been from the lane. Nothing slipshod here. A formidable, sprawling two-story stone building with well-swept cobblestone floors, she would soon learn that the stables contained spacious mahogany box stalls for more than two dozen horses, a hayloft, an ample coach house, a washing yard, and rooms for the stable hands to live in. The scent of fresh hay filled the air. It smelled like home.
She approached Tully and patted her horse on the shoulder. “You’re going to enjoy your stay here, Tully, girl,” Stella cooed. The luxurious stables were all the testimony she needed that the otherwise disapproving Searlwyns would take good care of her beloved horse. “I wish I could say the same.”
Tully’s muscles rippled beneath her hand. Stella rested her forehead against the dapple gray’s sleek shoulder. Daddy had said they’d be welcomed guests. He’d insisted that the Searlwyns didn’t care how he’d made his money, that this time it was going to be different. She’d been excited to come. She should’ve known better.
The disdain showed her by the Searlwyn family was nothing new. English nobles had nothing on the American elite, though here the servants snickered at her too. Thank goodness, she wasn’t staying long. In a few days’ time, when the wedding was over, she and Tully would go home to Kentucky. In the meantime, Stella would do as she’d always done when Daddy attempted to force his way into society: spend as much time in the stables and on horseback as possible. But she had dared to hope for more. Maybe next time.
“Oi!” the stableboy yelled. “Mind your step.”
She looked down. Clutched in her hand, the hem of her lavender walking-suit skirt was in no danger of dragging on the ground. But her heel was inches from a pile of fresh manure. She chuckled. That would be from Orson. He always liked to leave his mark whenever he descended from a horse box.
She stepped around the pile and reached out to Tully again, tracing the blaze from the filly’s forehead all the way down to her muzzle. Tully nuzzled against Stella’s hand, hoping for a treat.
“Do you have any apples?” she asked the stableboy who was holding Tully’s lead.
“Oi! You, boy, get that horse inside,” a man called. He wore tan trousers, a white shirt, and suspenders. A groom without his coat, no doubt.
The stableboy yanked on the lead. Tully pinned back her ears and tossed her head. The boy tugged again and tried to pull the resistant Tully with him.
“Go easy,” Stella said. “You’re upsetting her.” Tully was a gentle creature, but after everything she’d been through, Stella wouldn’t blame her if she was a little stubborn.
“Ah, miss,” the groom said, pointing at Stella with the dandy brush in his hand. “Does Lord Lyndhurst know you’re here? The stables are no place for a lady.”
“I’m Stella Kendrick. These are my horses, until Lord Lyndhurst is married, that is.”
“You say you’re the master’s fiancée?” The groom scoffed, pointing to her kid-leather button boots. His mop of curly black hair bobbed as he unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. Despite her best efforts, Stella had stepped in something, anyway. “All the more reason to let us bring the horses to you, miss,” the groom said, composing himself, “and for you to stay out of the stables.”
With his gaze, the man took in the stableboys, who had gathered like pedestrians at a carriage wreck. “Aren’t I right, boys?”
No one dared say a word.
The familiar burn stung the tips of Stella’s ears. Nothing had gone right since the moment she stepped onto the estate. She’d been embarrassed, belittled, and now mocked. She had sought solace here, as she had often done at home, among the horses and the hay. Was she to be denied even that? She kept her calm. Her father had taught her well to take ridicule with aplomb.
“You are mistaken. I am not . . . ,” Stella began. She patted Tully once more for reassurance. The horse lowered her head and nibbled on Stella’s fingers, hoping for a treat. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Herbert!” A stocky, fair-haired man, his skin taut as a drum but for the wrinkles spreading from the corners of his eyes, rounded the corner. With his top hat under his arm, the coachman who had taken charge when she and Daddy arrived led a beautiful Cleveland bay toward them. “Pray what are you doing? Don’t you know who this is?”
“Yes, Mr. Gates. I do. I was reminding her how the stables aren’t suited for a lady.”
“I won’t tolerate such insolence.” Mr. Gates, a head shorter than the groom, smacked him in the back of the head while retaining his grip on the bay’s lead. “Apologize, or you’ll be packing your bags.”
“What?”
“Now, Herbert!”
The groom flashed a scowl at Stella and then at Mr. Gates before hurling the dandy brush to the ground. “Pardon me, miss,” Herbert said sarcastically before storming off.
“Please accept my most humble apologies, Miss Kendrick,” Mr. Gates said. “Herbert’s behavior is inexcusable. He will be off the estate by daybreak.”
“No, no. Mr. Gates is it? You don’t have to do that on my account. I’ve lived around stable hands my whole life. Some don’t take kindly to a woman invading their realm.”
“You are too kind, Miss Kendrick. I won’t soon forget it. As Lord Atherly’s stable manager and head coachman, I can assure you, neither will Herbert.”
“It’s nothing. I do have horse manure on my heel, after all.” Mr. Gates scrunched his eyebrows. Had her self-deprecating jest offended him? Had she made another faux pas? Then the coachman chuckled. The stableboys let out a collective giggle.
“Let this be a lesson for you, lads!” Mr. Gates said, nodding in approval. “Not all ladies shun the honest smell of the stables. Close your mouth, Charlie. She isn’t a horse with two tails.” The boy who was gawking at her snapped his mouth shut. “But don’t for a moment think that means she doesn’t deserve your respect. Quite the opposite, if you ask me.” Mr. Gates smiled.
She gladly returned the favor.
The boys as one bobbed their heads and said, “Aye, Mr. Gates.”
“Now get back to work.”
Stella patted Tully on the back as the boy led the filly away. She’d change and go riding as soon as she could slip away.
“I appreciate your allowing me access to your stables, Mr. Gates. I do, as you put it, like the ‘honest smell.’ I grew up around horses. I dare say I’ve spent almost as much time in a stable as you have.”
Mr. Gates scratched a bushy eyebrow. He didn’t believe her.
“I raised Tully from a foal myself,” Stella said. “I fed her and groomed her. I trained her myself too.”
“That is impressive.” Highly irregular or highly unladylike was more like it. But he didn’t say that, and she didn’t care. She loved this horse. Even Daddy, who was oblivious to Stella’s desires and wishes, knew how