Chapter Ten
“WE NEED TO FIND out if there is a conservatory or a greenhouse where we can plant your herb cuttings,” Brooke said to Alfreda.
They were on their way to the stable to look for Raston, and Brooke also wanted to make sure Rebel was going to be well cared for. She’d left her bonnet and pelisse in the bedroom since the day was comfortably warm. Her Empire-style pink dress had short capped sleeves and, for modesty during daytime, a matching chemisette that was tucked into the deeply scooped neckline. Brooke had never had occasion to leave off the tucker, though she knew she would have been expected to when she attended evening gatherings in London.
“Those cuttings need to be planted soonest before they wither and die,” she added. “I know you’ve been worried about that.”
“You are my only worry, poppet. You are and always have been my one true focus, since the day they put you in my arms to nurse. The cuttings I can plant in the ground for now, perhaps behind the hedges where no one but the gardeners will notice them. There’s good, fertile soil here. That park behind the house attests to that.”
“Yes, but we can also build our own greenhouse if there isn’t one here. Harriet gave me money for this trip, more’n I needed. Not because she wanted to, but because it would reflect badly on her if she sent me here with empty pockets. You know how she is, always doing what’s ‘expected of her’ whether she wants to or not.”
“She loved you in her own way, poppet.”
“Don’t defend her. I know my mother and I don’t want to think about her now.” To keep that old hurt from joining all of the other unpleasant emotions she was dealing with right now, Brooke quickly changed the subject. “Do you think that’s a greenhouse?”
Alfreda followed Brooke’s gaze to a small building by the tall hedges bordering the park. “Hard to tell what’s in it from here. It could just be the gardeners’ shed.”
“I can’t tell from here if that’s glass on the roof and sides or just light-colored boards.”
Alfreda squinted her eyes at the little rectangular shed. “If it’s glass, it’s very dirty glass. But we’ll have a look after I find Raston.”
As soon as they stepped inside the stable, they heard a loud meow that seemed to come from above them and made both of them laugh. Raston didn’t get up from the long support beam where he was lying; he had just wanted them to know he’d seen them.
An elderly white-haired man approached with a teenage boy beside him and said, “The cat will be fine here, ma’am, actually a welcome addition. I spotted a few mice in the hay pile this morning and I was just thinking of fetching my sister’s cat from the village since our resident mouse-catcher seems to have abandoned us. Can’t have vermin underfoot here spooking the horses. Your cat will likely take care of that problem—if he’s yours?”
“Indeed,” Alfreda replied.
The man’s weathered face creased further when he grinned at Alfreda slightly because he’d guessed correctly, but when he glanced at Brooke, he appeared undecided whether to say anything else. For a moment, she could have sworn his expression turned pitying. But then he seemed to shake off whatever emotion that had been and introduced himself. “I’m Arnold Biscane, head groom here at Rothdale Manor. And this is my youngest son, Peter.”
“You’re related to Gabriel Biscane?” Brooke asked curiously.
“Gabe is my nephew. And Peter has already put your mare out to pasture with the other mares and will fetch her when you need her. She will be well cared for here.”
“Thank you.” Brooke smiled. “Indeed, Rebel is precious to me.”
She didn’t just love her horse. Rebel represented hope for her future. She wanted to breed the mare while Rebel was still young. She hadn’t been allowed to at home because their head groom had orders not to increase the stock. When she was younger, she had devised all sorts of plans to accomplish her goal anyway, even trying at midnight when the grooms were asleep. But she was afraid to get near her father’s stallion that Rebel favored. But Brooke might be allowed to breed Rebel here, if the wolf did indeed breed horses.
She would ask the viscount that when, or rather if, she ever met him. At the moment she was more concerned about Alfreda’s herb cuttings and asked Arnold, “Is that a greenhouse we saw over by the hedges?”
Arnold nodded. “Lady Anna, Viscount Rothdale’s mother, had it built. She loved to garden and didn’t want to mar the design of the house by adding a conservatory. She grew special flowers that were later replanted in the park. Some even survived after she left, though everything inside the greenhouse has long since withered and died.”
“D’you think I could do some gardening in the greenhouse?”
He didn’t answer, probably didn’t know if she would be allowed to, but he did ask instead, “You think you’ll be staying then, m’lady, and marrying his lordship despite the curse?”
She wondered why he suddenly looked so sad and then realized he must believe in that silly curse. She almost giggled at his question though. What a deplorable subject to raise, and she didn’t even know the answer!
So she said, “That’s a very good question, but the answer remains to be seen, since I haven’t even met him yet. Thank you for seeing to my horse. I’d like to meet all of the Rothdale horses when I have more time, but just now I’m going to go check on Rebel out back while my maid has a closer look at the greenhouse. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes, Freda.”
Brooke walked through the large stable and out the open back door. The pasture fence began back there and stretched far to the west. She spotted Rebel grazing in the far field. The male horses were kept in the near pasture. She watched them for a while, noting that no slugs were in the bunch. Prime horseflesh, all of them. One trotted toward her. He was solid black, even his mane and tail, and beautifully sleek even as big as he was. He stuck his head over the fence trying to reach her.
She moved closer to rub his nose gently. “Well, aren’t you pretty. Yes, I know you’re not a mare, so don’t take offense. You’re still pretty.”
“You’re a brave one, aren’t you? Dominic’s stallion isn’t usually friendly to anyone. He’s tried to bite me a time or two.”
The horse galloped off as Brooke swung around to see Gabriel standing behind her. “I love horses. Perhaps they sense that.”
He shook his head. “I love horses, too. Who doesn’t, as handy as they are? But that brute still tries to bite anyone who approaches him, carrot in hand or not. Just be cautious if he comes near you again, or just don’t go too close to his fence. He’s king of the roost.” Gabriel laughed and waved his hand behind him. “Like his owner is of all the rest.”
That didn’t sound like an order, merely friendly advice that she could take or ignore as she pleased, but she nodded. “Have you come to give me a tour of the property?”
“No, he’s ready to see you.” Gabriel extended an arm toward the house.
Her feet might as well have just grown roots. She wasn’t moving. “Why?”
He laughed. “Why? And here I thought you wanted to meet him today.”
The devil she did. That sick feeling was back, churning in her belly. Dread. She ought to be used to it when she had lived most of her life with it for one reason or another.
She still couldn’t seem to move and distracted him from noticing by asking, “What exactly is your post here?”
“I’m a jack-of-all-trades.” He grinned. “I do whatever Dom wants done.”
She was surprised to hear him speak so familiarly of his lord and to refer to him by a nickname. “You care about him?”
“Friends usually do.”
If she hadn’t just met other Biscanes who had claimed Gabriel as a relative, she might have thought he was minor gentry who had latched on to a benefactor. Robert had had one such friend, as hard as it was to believe he had any, who often came home with him and stayed as a guest. Servants, however, didn’t usually consider their employers friends. She’d thought she was unique among the nobility in befriending servants. Her family certainly didn’t. Good grief, did she and Viscount Rothdale have this in common, too?
“So he’s a likable fellow? I’m so—” Her mouth snapped shut when she saw all humor leave his expression. The knot in her belly tightened. And he didn’t answer her!
“I don’t mean to rush you, Lady Whitworth, but he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I’m not moving a step without hearing your answer first.”
Gabriel sighed. “You must know the reason why you are at Rothdale Manor. The hatred for your brother runs deep here.”
“You share it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know?”
“Robert and I don’t speak. I don’t think even my parents know what he did to cause your lord to challenge him to so many duels. Actually, I think Robert fobbed them off by calling it a ‘trifle.’ ”
Gabriel looked angry when he muttered, “Despicable blackguard.”
She wholeheartedly agreed, but she wasn’t going to share that with a servant. Maybe he would tell her what had made the viscount challenge her brother. “What did he do?”
“That isn’t for me to say. I’m sure Dominic will tell you if you ask—actually, you might not want to broach that subject with him, at least not today.”
“So I’m to be tarred with the same feather as my brother?” she demanded. “Is that what I can expect from this meeting with Lord Wolfe?”
“I honestly don’t know what you can expect. But if he sends someone else to find you, neither of us will like the results. Do start walking toward the house, please.”
She did get her feet moving, though slowly, and tried not to dwell on what was about to happen in that house. She turned to Gabriel for distraction. “You have a lot of family that work here.”
“Not a lot. A few cousins, an uncle, my mother. The Cotterills and the Jakemans have more. Our ancestors lived in and around Rothdale village. You can see it from the west tower, or could, before the tower almost burned down. No one goes in there now. My father was the butler here before he died. He wanted me to take over his position, tried to groom me for it when I was a child, but I was too busy having fun with Dominic to want to spend time doing that! So a new butler was hired after my father died.”
“What caused the fire?”
He followed her gaze up to the tower and said solemnly, “Dominic did.”
“Quite the nasty accident. What was he doing up there?”
“Setting the fire.”
She gasped. “Deliberately?”
“Yes. It was his sister’s favorite playroom when she was a child. The year she died, she took to going up there again, but not to play. She would just stand in front of the window for hours at a time. She died that fall.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We all are. Everyone here loved her.”
“Does Lord Wolfe have any other family?”
“His mother and a few distant female cousins, but he’s the last Wolfe to carry the name—and wants to keep it that way.”