Chapter Nine
Whitney threw herself from the saddle and stalked toward the marquess, leaving her horse behind for the eager groom to take away to the stables. “My lord,” she called out.
Kit smiled. “Ah, you’re back at last.”
“Indeed.” She glanced beyond the marquess to where Christopher rode atop a different horse now. He looked happy, and as she had no wish to upset him, she strove to calm her temper. She had hoped the boy had gone in to his tutor by now. “More riding lessons?”
“Another gift from Acton,” Kit murmured. “He sent the old boy over earlier today.”
Whitney snorted. “Buying the boy’s affections with horseflesh, is he?”
“That’s it. Keep your heels down,” the marquess called out to his son as a groom led the boy and tall horse around the enclosed paddock. The marquess glanced her way. “Noble is quite old. Long past the age of riding to hunt or galloping or any other nonsense. Acton was kind to consider that having Lion to ride might help Christopher become accustomed to being so high off the ground. He is a little timid yet around the taller higher-strung horses I have stabled. This one, though, Chris could crawl under him and he’d barely twitch.”
Whitney watched the pair and conceded the older mount was a very good idea. Sensible. Safe. She remembered her first ride on a larger mount quite vividly still. Her first horse had belonged to Uncle Isaac. He’d won the beast at cards, and he had not been calm or as steady as this one appeared to be. She’d had the devil of a time controlling him, and her reaction to being so high for the first time hadn’t helped. She was lucky she hadn’t been thrown, and it had taken her a while to feel confident enough to remount that same horse again. “He seems comfortable up there,” she conceded reluctantly.
“Acton is a good judge of horseflesh.” The marquess nodded. “Between our two stables, I think there will be enough variety for Chris to learn upon without needing to visit the horse markets. Acton has been quite generous.”
She narrowed her eyes. Was it guilt driving the earl? “Does Acton own many horses?”
“A dozen hunters, and another dozen older ones are eating their heads off in his stables and fields. It’s high time he did something about them, but he can barely part with any. It’s about time they earned their keep, in my opinion. He’s a bit too sentimental about some.”
“That’s surprising,” she grumbled.
“Not really. You don’t know him like I do,” the marquess told her. “He’s a good friend.”
“Not to Miranda,” she complained.
The marquess straightened, and then scowled at her fiercely. “That is no one’s business but theirs.”
Scolded, Whitney could only nod. Kit would learn soon enough that his so-called friend wasn’t to be entirely trusted with the truth, or his family’s happiness. But with Christopher drawing near, perhaps now was not the best time to mention what she had discovered that morning.
She looked away, and her eyes landed on the Dowager Marchioness of Taverham on the other side of the stable yard. The older woman was watching her grandson from the shade of a beech tree, making no move to come closer to the marquess or her grandson. The dowager rested with her two hands on the head of her cane and appeared to be leaning upon it as she watched the lesson.
“Your mother is here,” she whispered to the marquess.
He kept his attention on his son. “Yes, I know.”
Whitney nodded politely to the older woman and then regarded the marquess with suspicion. “How long has she been standing there alone?”
His jaw firmed. “An hour or so.”
An hour? “Why are you not standing together?”
“I have my reasons.”
Whitney glanced between the pair again. The older woman wasn’t exactly the warmest, but as she had learned earlier that day, family was extremely important to Christopher. If his father was rude to his own mother, might he not notice and do the same one day to Miranda when they disagreed? “You risk setting a bad example for your son by ignoring her,” Whitney murmured. “Christopher looks up to you.”
The marquess pursed his lips and said nothing to her criticism. But as he glanced toward his mother, a frown line appeared between his eyes. At least he appeared to be thinking about what she had said.
Whitney bid him goodbye to let him stew on her words a while.
She strode toward the dowager quickly, and dipped a curtsy. “Good morning, my lady. I was just on my way to see you this morning.”
The dowager spared her the briefest glance. Her attention was fixed on her grandson. “It’s nearly noon.”
She smiled. For all the dowager’s prickly nature, Whitney admired her consistency. She had never been one for small talk. “I imagine it must be. I’ve been out riding for hours.”
“Yes, I saw your return, and that you rode astride, too,” she huffed indignantly, her eyes flicking over Whitney’s cleverly made gown.
Whitney had found the most ingenious dressmaker who understood Whitney’s needs perfectly. This gown was in fact wide-legged trousers, concealed by an overskirt split up each side. She was perfectly covered when mounted astride, and when standing, her attire gave no hint that she was wearing anything out of the ordinary.
Whitney turned to view Christopher as he rode now at a slow trot. A groom was still leading him, but he looked very happy with his new horse. “I prefer to be careful when in the country, and particularly when riding unfamiliar fields.”
The dowager, unconsciously perhaps, swayed forward on her cane as her grandson spoke to the marquess. She smiled briefly and sighed. Whitney couldn’t hear them and she wondered if the old woman could read lips.
“Where did you ride to?” the dowager asked.
“Christopher took me to the peak,” she admitted.
“The peak, you say?” The older woman glanced her way again as Whitney nodded. “My grandson came back alone some time ago.”
“Hardly alone. He had a groom with him.”
“And you had but one with you, and no proper chaperone, either.”
“I tried to send Mr. Landry back too, but he refused to leave me when I rode down the other side of the peak,” Whitney confessed. She met the dowager’s gaze directly. The groom had hinted the dowager was aware that Acton was keeping his sister at that cottage. The dowager would know what views Whitney would have seen from up there, too. “I have never enjoyed being coddled. I also do not appreciate being deliberately kept in the dark about certain risks to my friends. I wished to ride farther and investigate all the hidden mysteries of the district, so I did.”
The old woman swallowed. “And were there many mysteries to be found to the south?”
“One,” Whitney said, and then said no more. She would let the old woman decide if they would discuss Lady Brighthurst or not today.
At her side, the marchioness stirred, finally giving Whitney her full attention. Lady Taverham hobbled around with the use of her cane and stood before her. “And,” the dowager demanded irritably.
Whitney met the woman’s gaze and saw anger in her old eyes. The dowager had been much around Lady Brighthurst in past years. Learning the woman had tried to harm her grandson must have angered.
Whitney nodded slowly. “I spoke to her.”
The dowager exhaled sharply. “You saw her.”
“No,” Whitney said as she noted Christopher was dismounting. “I only spoke to her through the wall, but she does not sound at all well. Have you not visited her?”
“No, and if you value your friendship with my son and his wife you will not do so again,” the dowager warned. The older woman took a few steps toward the distant dower house and then turned back slightly. “I believe it will rain soon, Miss Crewe. Good day.”
“My lady,” Whitney said. At the sound of running feet, Whitney turned and discovered Christopher racing toward her, hat in hand. She smiled at the boy’s happiness. “How was your lesson?”
“Smashing,” the boy said as he grasped her hand. “He is so tall I was afraid I’d fall off at first.”
“Most horses are tall. But you didn’t fall and you will get used to him soon enough.”
“He will indeed.” The marquess agreed as he joined them.
Christopher tugged on her sleeve urgently. “Did you ask?”
For a moment, she hadn’t a clue what the boy meant. She was still thinking of Acton’s deception.
“Not yet.” Whitney ruffled Christopher’s hair. “Shall I ask now?”
He nodded.
She faced the marquess. “Forgive the impertinence, my lord, but I was wondering if you might consider inviting the Carrington children to visit in the near future. Perhaps next month.”
“Can they come, Father? Please. I’d very much like to see them all again.”
The marquess frowned at Whitney, but then leaned down to his son’s level. “Next month sounds like a long time to wait. How about they come now instead?”
The boy whooped. “Tomorrow?”
“Not quite tomorrow. In the next few days perhaps.” The marquess nodded. “I have already invited the Carringtons to visit for the next month, and also some other friends of ours. Your mother and I thought to surprise you, but the first guests arrive soon.”
“It is still a surprise. The best one.” Christopher threw himself around his father and the pair hugged for a long moment. “Thank you, Father. I cannot wait to see them. I have to tell her.”
Christopher bolted after his grandmother, who hadn’t gone very far at all on her cane.
The dowager turned at the sound of his approach. Christopher stopped at the dowager’s side, and clearly told her his news in great excitement, given the way he waved his arms about. She smiled too, which was nice to see. But by the way the dowager suddenly looked back at the marquess, and then shook her head, Whitney knew that she’d been excluded from any discussion of guests coming to the estate.
How much of what went on here was now hidden from the older woman out of spite? That did not seem fair when she lived here, too. “He’s fond of her.”
Kit shrugged. “He’s fond of everyone.”
“No, he’s not,” Whitney disagreed. “Your son is very selective about who he befriends.”
“You are right, he is careful,” the marquess conceded. “More careful than I ever was. What did my mother have to say for herself today?”
She glanced up at Kit to see him watching his mother and son make their way slowly toward the dower house just as the rain began to fall lightly over them. The dowager leaned heavily on her cane and the boy slipped under her other arm to support her, helping her along at a quicker pace. Judging by the frown he wore, Kit was concerned about his mother too, but would not admit it.
“Families should not squabble. Time together is short and should be treasured,” Whitney murmured, thinking of her own parents. They had died when she’d been too young to understand how great their loss would be. “If you want to know how your mother does, you should ask her directly.”
Kit frowned at her. “It’s complicated.”
“For Christopher’s sake and happiness, perhaps you should un-complicate things before it is too late. She’s not a young woman anymore. Traipsing about the estate in all kinds of weather just to see her grandson will wear her out.”
“She’s as fit as a fiddle,” he protested.
“How could you possibly know that is still true when you won’t talk to her anymore? You could hardly expect her to confide in you if she wasn’t feeling her best when you keep secrets,” Whitney argued, as the rain came down harder. “If I still had my mother around, or my father, I would never let a day pass without speaking to them. No matter how angry I was with them. Excuse me.”
Whitney hitched up her skirts and made a dash for the nearest shelter. She had meant to say something about Acton’s lies and Emily’s location, but decided against it for now.
If Kit and his mother had been talking, would the dowager have brought the matter up on her own? But then Kit would have even more reason to be displeased with the dowager for keeping Emily’s location a secret from him.
She bit her lip, debating with herself. What Whitney knew could cause further trouble between the pair, but she decided there and then to stay out of the situation.
However, when it came to Acton, she was not ready to let his actions slide so completely. She would give him a piece of her mind the next time she saw him, and give him a chance to volunteer to set the record straight himself.