Page 16 of The Lord Meets His Lady
This was…cozy.
He dragged himself into the entry hall where Samuel was sliding his arm into a blue frock coat.
“You want to go outside,” Marcus said mutinously.
“Yes.” Samuel put on his hat and opened the door, blasting Marcus with night air. “Out here I’ll have your full attention.”
Marcus jammed on his hat and donned his redingote as he stepped through the doorway. Waning moonlight washed the Beckworth barn. Holes gaped on its timbered roof. Great swaths of land rolled everywhere, vacant save clumps of trees. Head down, Samuel trod a straight line, pebbles crunching underfoot. They halted at the narrow road edging the front drive, their breaths puffing miniature clouds. Samuel slowly pivoted, tense lines framing his mouth.
Marcus stomped his feet for warmth and tried for levity. “Going to tell me why we’re out here? Or do you plan to freeze my bollocks off?”
Samuel ignored the play for humor, and inhaling deeply, he stretched his arm, marking a spot on the north horizon. “You can’t see it from here, but Coldstream Bridge crosses the River Tweed. Right there.” His hand dropped to his side. “That bridge is gold.”
Gold?
Samuel looked east. “Over there, Baron Atal’s estate. With all his sheep, he devours land. I had to sell a parcel to him last spring.”
The words rolled bitterly off Samuel’s tongue. They heralded loss and news of a cornered man. Marcus understood this and the seed of envy when another man’s prosperity slapped someone in the face. The Atal estate spread as far as the eye could see. On childhood visits to Pallinsburn, he and Samuel hadn’t cared about annual incomes and properties. They’d roved meadows and climbed stone walls because it was fun.
A neat stone fence drew a line between Beckworth land and the grand Atal estate. The baron’s square medieval castle rose in the distance, a formidable black shape.
Marcus scanned the fields in between. “And you’re telling me all this because?”
“Because I want you to join me in a business venture.” Samuel faced him. “I want to breed horses and sell them. You’d be the perfect partner.Ifyou stay.”
“You want to sell racehorses?”
“No,” Samuel scoffed. “Be practical. I don’t have that kind of blunt. I’m talking about horses for hostelries. With the new bridge and all the coaches passing through, no one can keep up with the demand for fresh horses.”
“A business venture.” He let the idea sink in.
“Before you say no, look there.” Samuel pointed west. “We’ve the perfect arrangement with Pallinsburn lands abutting mine.”
Tumbled-down stone implied a property line. The fence could be toy blocks someone had knocked over and never tidied. Marcus followed the fence line to a wooden gate sagging like an old sentry past his prime. His mother’s childhood home had fallen to neglect, left empty for too long. The Duke of Marlborough had got his hands on it, and somehow Pallinsburn had become a pawn in a game between the duke and his brother. The marchioness was all too glad when the deed had been recently restored to her, but the damage was done. The property was in shambles, save the barn.
“Let the horses graze your land and live in your barn,” Samuel said. “My brothers and I will take care of them.”
“I’m only here until North finds a wealthy bride.”
“You don’t have to stay. The land and barn are what’s needed.”
“Then you don’t need me,” he said coolly.
“Of course it’d be better if you stayed. Think of it, man.” Samuel’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm. “Between your knowledge of horseflesh and my connections, we’d have the perfect partnership. Given time, we’d do well.”
“But the fences, the gates. They’re all in bad repair. How do we pay for that?”
Samuel’s head tipped from laughter. “We don’t. We fix them ourselves.” His big hands went up. “With these.”
“Amusing, but I haven’t lived in the rough since we bivouacked in the army.”
“Then getting your hands dirty will be a lively change for you.” Samuel slapped Marcus’s shoulder. “Come. There’s something else you need to see.”
Cornhill-on-Tweedandlivelydidn’t intersect in Marcus’s mind, but his friend was a rustic born and bred. Northumberland was in his blood, heaven on earth for Samuel.
“The Pallinsburn barn is in excellent repair. Big enough to house all the brood mares with room to spare.” Samuel opened the barn door, speaking over his shoulder. “Be assured, we’d do this right. No bone-setter nags.”
Scents of hay and earth and horses lured Marcus, the aromas headier than a woman’s perfume. Inside, moonlight poured from holes overhead. He followed with cautious steps. Horses poked curious noses over their stalls, snickering at the intrusion.
