Page 86 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
It had been a long time since he’d felt so free.
* * *
Thomas limped into the stables and asked for the head stableman.
A grizzled man came forward; when he saw who waited for him, the man’s face creased in a smile. “Ah—Mr. Carrick, sir! I’m Jenks.” Jenks bobbed his head respectfully. “I suspect you’ve come to take a look at your horse. Lovely animal.”
Jenks waved Thomas toward the stalls further down the long stable. “Yon Sean said as how the beast’s name is Phantom. Nice conformation, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Not at all.” Thomas glanced at the older man, who had slowed to keep pace with his own halting gait. “I’m rather partial to his points, myself.”
Jenks laughed. From that promising beginning, it was an easy step to discussing the finer points of horseflesh. Phantom looked quite pleased with his new digs; after admiring the big gray and trading tales of horses they had known, Jenks invited Thomas to look at some of the other horses under his care.
“Right lucky, we are, with Mr. Cynster’s cousin being a trainer of Thoroughbreds and all. He—Mr. Demon Cynster, that is—picks all the family’s horses, so we get some gems. Like this little beauty.” Jenks stopped and leaned on a stall door. Thomas joined him in looking at Lucilla’s black mare.
Jenks sighed. “So elegant, she is.”
Just like her mistress. Rather than saying anything so revealing out aloud, Thomas said, “I recall when last I saw Miss Cynster riding—years ago, now—she had a black mare then, too. Does she always ride blacks?”
Jenks pursed his lips, thought, then admitted, “Now you mention it, all her horses have been blacks, but I’m not sure as that’s been deliberate.” He arched his brows. “Must remember to ask her, when I next see her, if she really is partial to blacks, or if that’s just been an accident.”
They chatted about the riding in the area, Thomas drawing on his memories, and from there the talk veered into hunting and the other horses in the stable. Eventually, Thomas perched on a bench to ease the pressure on his leg and happily watched as various grooms, all of whom Jenks had introduced, paraded some of the most superb horseflesh Thomas had ever laid eyes on.
“Aye—when it comes to hunters, it’s Miss Prudence—Mr. Demon’s daughter—who has the best eye. Even better than her father, she is, although he’ll never admit that!”
Thomas grinned. With his cane, he pointed to a heavy dappled gray. “Whose is he?”
“That’s Mr. Marcus’s favorite, Edward—better known as Ned.”
“Ned?”
Jenks shrugged. “He was named after the king, Edward the Third, but he’s so fractious, Mr. Marcus said he was more obstreperous Ned than kingly Edward.”
That, Thomas thought, sounded like Marcus.
The talk meandered this way and that, over horses and the various eccentricities of the Cynsters, both those of the local branch and the more far-flung members, who, Thomas gathered, frequently visited.
“They’ll likely be back once the Season in London is over with and the master and mistress come on home. The duke and duchess and the other couples—always together, that lot, and they keep an eye on each other’s broods as needed, too.”
That was said with approval, and Thomas didn’t disagree.
An hour and more flew past, then Jenks excused himself to see to some ponies in the farther fields, and Thomas made his halting way back to the house, taking the same roundabout route he’d come out by. The path ran around the side of the manor above a set of terraced gardens stepping down to a burbling burn. It was a lovely sight, with a profusion of plants and flowers brought to vigorous life by the warmth reflected off the manor’s high stone walls; nothing else could account for such lush and vibrant growth.
The beds were edged with stone, the nearer walls at the perfect height to sit and look down over the colorful carpet to the rippling, rushing waters. Thomas grasped the opportunity to rest his leg—and rest his soul in the peace and tranquility that rose with the perfume of the flowers and, like their scent, wreathed through his mind.
The view was simply lovely—and made lovelier still when, between the bobbing flower heads, he saw Lucilla further down the slope. She was working in the garden; he realized it must be the source of all her herbs. Two other young women of much the same age worked alongside her, presumably her apprentices.
He sat and watched and let the peace claim him. For today, at least for this morning, there was nothing more he needed to do—he could rest and enjoy this strange sense of freedom. The time and space to commune with others on subjects he enjoyed, and the opportunity to let his eyes feast on the cynosure of his desire.
* * *
After luncheon, once again taken in the Great Hall with the cheery bustle of the household all around, Thomas told himself that he couldn’t waste all day on country pleasures. He needed to remind himself of who he truly was—Carrick of Carrick Enterprises.
He repaired to the library. After chatting with him over a tasty soup, followed by a cold collation, Lucilla had excused herself to return to the gardens; she was, she had told him, harvesting the first flush of herbs.
Marcus hadn’t appeared at luncheon; from what he’d said at breakfast, Thomas had assumed he would be out for most of the day.
The library proved to be another enormous room, this one longer than it was wide. The windows weren’t large—the winters were too cold—but in this room they were frequent enough that, with the long velvet curtains drawn back as they presently were, the room was filled with light.
