Out of the Blue
Part 1
The
fact that an elder brother can seldom see things from a younger brother's
perspective will not prevent the younger brother from arguing his case, no
matter how hopeless.
"I
should have won! It wasn't my fault - that beer cart came out of nowhere! It
had no business being there in the first place!"
"On a
public road, in broad daylight?"
"I've
raced plenty of times on that road; it's rarely used. And had I won..."
"I'm
only glad Father is not alive to see this day."
"Honestly,
you are making too much of this, Mark. Besides, you know Father approved of
racing."
"As a
necessary part of the business, Paul, to show the quality of our steeds against
the competition, not to wager our best stock away. Ares was to be a foundation
for our future; I just invested a fortune in a number of mares for the beast,
for heaven's sake!"
"Had
I won we would have had Rushfield's Marauder in our stables -- even you've said
that horse has the best lines in four counties."
"But
to bet one of our best stallions away on a whim was foolhardy and
irresponsible! A horse likes Ares comes once in a lifetime. You've put all
Father's work and mine back twenty years!"
"Come
now, Rushfield is a good sort, always up for a rematch. I'm sure I will be able
to win Ares back without too much trouble."
"You've
already brought us too much trouble! This isn't the first time you've put the
business at risk -- don't think I've forgotten the two colts you lost us last
year."
"No,
but you've obviously forgotten the superior gelding I brought home the summer
before."
"Which,
need I remind you, was useless as breeding stock. When are you going to grow up
and take some responsibility for the legacy Father left us? Whittier stables
has a reputation for supplying superior mounts to His Majesty's cavalry and I
will not allow you to jeopardize our good name. If you can not start conducting
yourself like a productive member of this family perhaps you would do better to
take yourself off with the next shipment of mounts we send to the Army; maybe
you can make something of yourself on the Peninsula. Lord knows nothing has
come of you here!"
"You'd
like that, wouldn't you? Maybe get me out of the way once and for all? You've
made it perfectly clear that you share Father's opinion of me, that I'm a
wastrel and a disgrace to the family. Well, forgive me if I don't stay around
to hear it yet again!"
"Just
where do you think you're going?"
"Out
for air -- and don't worry about me endangering any of the precious Whittier
steeds -- I plan on getting as far away from the stables as my own two legs can
carry me!"
With
that Paul stalked out of his brother's study, out of the house and across the
south lawn, which as he said, was in the opposite direction of the estate's
stables. He walked for some time along the edge of the property, making use of
the afternoon shade from the nearby tree line.
"Pompous,
self-righteous stick-in-the mud," he muttered about his brother. "Granted I've
made a mess of things, but they never stay muddled -- I know I can get that
blasted horse back; Rushfield is always up for a rematch, especially if he
thinks things are in his favor."
Thus
occupied with his thoughts, Paul did not notice the rumble of thunder in the
distance, or perhaps he did, but as the sky was a clear blue with barely a
cloud in sight, he chose to disregard it. He did, however, notice an odd
tingling on his skin and the feeling of his hair standing on end.
"What
the blazes..." he began, but was never able to finish. In an instant he was
simultaneously overcome by blazing light, a deafening roar, a tremendous force
which blasted him into the air and then, nothing.
When
Paul next came to his senses, he wished he hadn't. He had pain over his entire
body with the exception of his right arm and leg. They were numb, as if he had
lain on them too long and they were asleep. He opened his eyes a crack, then
with a moan clamped them shut again as the light of the room sent an intense
pain into his brain.
"Paul?"
he heard a voice gently urge, "Paul, wake up."
"Mark?"
He tried his eyes again with little more success.
"Simmons,
draw the blinds, and tell the doctor he's awake," Mark ordered, then in a
softer tone: "Praise the Lord, brother, I thought I'd lost you."
Had
he actually heard Mark's voice crack? Was this the same brother who had
suggested that he get off the estate - out of the country in fact - in their
last conversation? Had the world turned upside down?
"Mark,"
Paul squinted to see his brother, "What's happ...?"
"Lightning,"
Mark replied before his brother finished the question. "One of the gardeners
saw it himself."
"Lightning?"
Paul whispered in bemusement.
"Brockway
said a bolt of lightning struck a tree not twenty feet from where you were
walking, then threw you at least ten yards. It singed your shirt and blew your
left boot clean off! You've been out cold ever since -- nearly 20 hours. You had
me worried, Paul. Despite our differences, you are the only brother I've got!"
The
doctor came in then to examine his patient. He pronounced the younger Mr.
Whittier to be very lucky indeed. Although it felt like he had been burned all
over, Paul had suffered mostly superficial burns on his skin, the worst being
on his left foot where his boot had been blown off. The more worrisome after
effects of his shocking encounter were his sensitivity to light and the
numbness of the right side of his body. The doctor hoped that after time both
would return to normal.
And
they did, for the most part. In two days Paul could tolerate room light, after
a week daylight no longer gave him headaches. The numbness faded too, with the
exception of the outer edge of his right hand, and as that only affected his
lesser two fingers, Paul barely noticed their lack of sensation after a few
days. He was up and walking, although slowly and with a limp, sooner than the
doctor or his brother liked. The limp too faded within a few weeks. His right
arm, however, was left somewhat weaker than it had been before the incident.
Although he knew it was futile, Paul often found himself rubbing his right
shoulder or arm in an effort to put it right, especially when he was troubled.
"It's
barely been three weeks since the accident," said Mark, "You shouldn't rush
things, Paul. I will be going to Ascot myself next week with our best runners. Wait
till then, it will give you an extra week's rest, then we can go down
together."
"I'd
like that, Mark, truly, but I need to go now; I have my reasons. Don't worry,
I'll be fine. Since you've thrust Simmons on me I can't lift a finger if he
thinks it will tire me. And I know," he added with a smile, "that he
will be sending you periodic reports, so you know I will have to stay in
line."
"Very
well then, brother, God-speed. I'll see you Monday next."
Mark
had pressed Paul to stay at home to finish his recovery. Apparently he had
forgiven and forgotten about the loss of Ares, but Paul had not. His brother
had been right, he had not done anything to help further the family's business
since their father's death two years ago, preferring to go through the motions
of "scouting out new prospects" at the various racing meets. In
reality he was enjoying himself gaming and carousing with other n'er-do-wells
like himself. He had lost Ares to Sir Howard Rushfield, a bored aristocrat that
frequented the races, in what Paul had thought was a sure thing, Ares against
the less tried Marauder. But nothing in life was sure; his recent painful
encounter was proof enough of that.
Well,
it wasn't too late. Paul would change his ways; it was the least he could do
after being given such a divine second chance - and he would - right after he
restored Ares to his brother.
He
hadn't come to Ascot this time for the gaming; he had been told Rushfield would
be here. He spotted two mutual friends, Adam Miller and Scott Highcastle,
gaming companions since University.
"Hullo,
Whit, over here," Miller hailed him.
"Paul,
didn't I hear you had been laid-up?" queried Highcastle, "Ill or
injured? The information was a bit sketchy."
"Nothing
to speak of, a minor mishap," Paul assured them as Simmons looked on
incredulously, "And as you see, I am not much worse for wear."
"Who
do you like for the next race?" asked Miller.
"Who's
running?"
"Barton
has Twilight and Snowquest entered; Quincy's put in that mare of his, Lady
Jane."
Paul
cringed. He had felt a tingling in his right arm that for an instant reminded
him of how it had felt right before it had happened. He rubbed his arm
and asked, "Anyone else?"
Miller
named of a half dozen horses, most of which Paul had heard of but was not impressed
with, ending with "Oh, and Trevor De Canne just put in a lanky three year
old named Lightning Bolt."
Paul
couldn't believe his luck, it had to be fate. "Put me down for Lightning
Bolt."
"Done."
Paul
was dumbstruck when Lady Jane edge past Lightning Bolt to win by half a head -
so much for omens.
The
next race had eight horses entered. Miller named the horses off; when the last
horse, Troubadour, was named Paul again felt that odd tingle in his right arm.
On a whim he bet a modest amount on Troubadour. The horse won by two lengths.
When
he next felt the tingle, a horse called Bravado just being named, Paul barely
attended to the rest of the list, betting a goodly sum on Bravado. He won by a
nose. Paul was definitely on to something; obviously the tingling was a good
thing, wasn't it?
He
walked back to the inn pondering this strange phenomenon. Nothing this odd had
ever happened to him before the lightning strike. He paused in the lane leading
to the inn as the wind picked up. Inexplicably he felt the tingling again, this
time stronger -- but why? Instinctively he stepped back and looked to the sky
for signs of danger; it was clear of clouds but that did nothing to lessen
Paul's apprehension. He felt something gently hit his boot and looked down to
find a white bonnet with blue ribbons had blown into his boot. He picked it up
and looked to see where it might have come from.
A
young lady hurried over from a carriage stopped in front of the inn. Although
she was wearing a bonnet, with pretty brown curls peeking out from beneath it,
she obviously was about to make a claim for this one as well.
"Pardon
me, sir. I'm afraid the wind took my sister's bonnet." She indicated a
younger woman waiting expectantly, her black hair bonnetless, near the carriage.
Behind her with his back to them was a gentleman assisting a third woman down.
"Thelma
would have come for it herself," continued the young lady, "but she
is a bit shy - she's just come out you see."
Paul
smiled and handed the bonnet to the woman who barely looked old enough to be
out herself. "Think nothing of it, Miss...?"
"Rushfield,"
she answered with a curtsy. "Perhaps you know my brother?"
Paul
just realized that the gentleman at the carriage was indeed the man he had come
to see. His luck apparently was holding. Rushfield obviously was the cause of
his last sensation.
"Yes,"
he replied after a pause, "I am acquainted with Sir Howard."
"He
was kind enough to bring us down for the ball tomorrow night. It will be my
sister's first."
"I
am sure she will enjoy it. The balls at the Assembly house are always a
success."
Rushfield
approached with the other two ladies.
"Whittier,
I see you've already met my sister, Dorothy. May I present two more of my
sisters, Ruth," the older of the two curtsied, " and Thelma."
The younger curtsied and blushed. "Ruth is to marry De Canne next
month."
"Congratulations,
Miss Rushfield. De Canne is an excellent chap. I am sure you will be very
happy."
"Thank
you, Mr. Whittier. Are you attending the Assembly tomorrow?"
"As
a matter of fact, yes," said Paul. He noticed Dorothy was smiling at him
significantly and jerking her head slightly towards her younger sister. The
younger Miss Rushfield apparently had at least one very indulgent older sister.
He hadn't planned on dancing, but if it put him in a better position with
Rushfield, he thought he could manage.
"If
I am not being too forward, Miss Thelma, may I solicit your hand for a
dance?" Thelma blushed an even deeper shade of red but nodded an
acceptance.
"And
you, too, Miss Dorothy?"
"You
are very kind to ask, sir, but I do not ..." she was cut off in
mid-refusal by the elder Miss Rushfield giving her a less than discreet nudge.
He also noticed Sir Howard fling a reprimanding look her way. Sibling coercion
seemed to be rampant in this family. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Whittier,"
Dorothy said with a guilty smile, "I would love to."
That
settled, the elder Miss Rushfield rallied her sisters to order. "Come
girls, let us get settled in our rooms." As her sisters walked off,
Dorothy looked back at Paul.
"Thank
you again, Mr. Whittier. Good afternoon." With a parting curtsy she
hurried after her sisters. Paul continued watching her until she disappeared
inside the inn. Paul realized with a start that he had been rubbing his arm.
"It
was kind of you to engage my sisters, Whittier," said Sir Howard.
"But take care with Dorothy," he warned, "She has had some ...
disappointments ... of late."
"Oh?"
"Yes.
If it were not for Thelma's coming-out I doubt she would have joined us this
season - she swore off most gatherings last year. She is on the verge of being
in company again, please tread lightly."
Paul
bowed his head, "I shall keep that in mind." After a moment of
reflection he added, "By the by, Rushfield, how is that stallion you won
off me recently? I'd love a chance to win the beast back. Are you game?"
"I'm
always game, Whittier. Unfortunately I am no longer the owner of that
animal."
"You've
sold him already? To whom? I'd fancy a chance to get him back, if you could just
make me an introduction..."
"I
didn't say that I'd sold him,"
Great, thought Paul, Now he's gambled Ares
away. What have I started? Have I cursed the poor horse?
"However,"
Rushfield continued, "I shall pass your desires on to the new owner."
"Yes,
do."
Rushfield tipped his head, "Till later, Whittier."
Part 2
With
so much on his mind - upcoming dances with various Miss Rushfields, Ares and
Sir Howard's non-ownership, and especially his arm's new found talent of
tingling to advantage - Paul did not find sleep until late in the night.
Simmons, acting on orders from the elder Mr. Whittier, allowed the younger to
sleep until he awoke late in the morning. Paul's hope of cornering Rushfield at
breakfast to learn the whereabouts of Ares was dashed; he was told the
Rushfield family had accompanied Mr. De Canne to the races some time ago.
Hurrying
to the site of the meet, Paul looked about for the Rushfield party, finding
instead Highcastle and Barton. They exchanged greetings, Paul then inquired if
either had seen Rushfield. Barton acknowledged that he had.
"De
Canne was showing the ladies his beasties. They are nothing to my beauties,
wait 'till you see them run..."
"We
saw a few yesterday," commented Highcastle. "I believe your best
placed third."
"They
were just warming up. Mark my words, they will turn a few heads today,"
Barton assured them.
Highcastle
shrugged, apparently not in agreement, then caught sight of something beyond
Barton. "I say, Paul, isn't that Rushfield over there?" He pointed across
the yard to Sir Howard and another man escorting three ladies across the lawn.
"Did
he bring all his sisters?" Barton asked.
"All
but eldest, she is married to Lord Alistair Glendale," remarked Highcastle
"Have
you met them?" asked Barton
"No,
just Lady Therese at Glendale's last fall, but I'd fancy an introduction to the
one with the darker hair. Pretty little thing, looks a tad lost, though."
"That
is Miss Thelma. It is her first season, she's just come out," Paul
commented. "I met her and her sisters Miss Rushfield and Miss Dorothy
yesterday. I understand De Canne is to marry Miss Rushfield."
"That
would make sense. I heard the next sister down is the one to stay away from,"
commented Barton knowingly. "De Canne is too bright a man to get involved with her."
"Miss
Dorothy? Why do you say that? She's a pleasant young lady."
"Pleasant
she may be, but if there is any truth to the rumors going about, I would not be
taking a fancy to her -- or if you do, don't be making too many plans for the
future," Barton laughed snidely, entirely too pleased with his own private
joke.
"Meaning?"
asked Highcastle.
"She's
bad news -- three or four dead, another one narrowly escaped."
"What
are you implying? That she kills people?"
"Not
people, just suitors."
"And
we are supposed to believe that someone as young as Miss Dorothy has not only
had five suitors," Paul asked, angry at the man's gall to insult a lady, "But
has also been responsible for their deaths?"
"Not
all, I said one got away," replied Barton, becoming offended in turn. "Don't
believe me; ask anyone who was in Town a few seasons ago; they will tell you
the same. If I were you, Whittier, I'd be careful around her. That lucky streak
you had yesterday won't last forever." He stalked off toward the stables.
"I
haven't heard anything of it, Paul," said Highcastle after Barton was out of
sight, "Not that I'm in Town much during the season; I generally avoid it like
the plague. Mother is a bit too keen to have me there, if you know what I
mean."
Paul
looked across the lawn at the Rushfields. Dorothy caught his eye, smiled and
waved a greeting.
Barton
is a fool, thought Paul.
Anyone who could think that such an innocent girl would be the cause of so
many deaths belongs in Bedlam.
He
returned her wave. On joining the party, the ladies curtsied, the gentleman
nodded, Miss Thelma blushed and said not a word while Paul exchanged
pleasantries with Miss Dorothy. De Canne continued his discussion with
Rushfield.
"Sir
Howard, before I commit to the purchase, I would love to get your opinion - and
Ruthie's too," De Canne bowed his head to his future wife, "on Irish Rogue."
"Of
course, De Canne. No, Thelma, you stay with Dorothy," Rushfield added when his
youngest sister made to accompany them.
"But
I want to see the horses that are for sale," she begged, apparently forgetting
her shyness; it was the first time Paul had heard her speak. "If Dorothy can
have one for her birthday, why can't I? You know I love horses ever so much
more than she. And my birthday is only two weeks away!"
"Dorothy
is nearly four years older than you, my dear, and has some grasp of the
responsibility entailed with the gift. I won't hear another word about it. The
next race is about to begin and I know you don't want to miss that." Rushfield
turned to Paul. "Whittier, would you mind staying with my sisters until we
return?"
"It
would be my pleasure, Sir Howard. And perhaps later I could have a word with
you on a matter of business?" asked Paul. Rushfield nodded his assent. Happy
that his questions would soon be answered, Paul held out his arms to both young
women. "Ladies, perhaps you'd like a better view..."
He
escorted the two Miss Rushfields, one of which was slightly miffed, to a bench
with an optimal view of the end of the course. They were barely seated when
Adam Miller approached.
"Whittier,
good to see you again. Ladies," he bowed. Paul made the introductions.
"Think
your luck will hold today, Whit? You did quite well yesterday. Fancy a wager on
the next race?"
Paul
did not have a chance to answer, Miss Thelma spoke first.
"May
I, Dorothy? Howard said we might. We don't have to wait for him to return, do
we?"
"No,
Thelma, you may make some wagers," Dorothy replied indulgently, "But try not to
lose all you've brought at once." Aside to Paul she said, "It is the first time
our brother has let her accompany us to a meet."
"Is
it? I don't recall seeing you at previous meets with Sir Howard."
"I'm
afraid the last one I attended was nearly three years ago, but I used to go
quite often with he and my cousin; mostly to those near our home in Lincoln."
Miller
was listing the horses for the next race for Thelma.
"I
can't decide between Swaggler and Heath Rose. What do you think, Mr. Whittier?"
the girl asked.
"Personally,
I would go with Swaggler, but that is just my opinion."
"Well,
it's as good a reason as any; I choose him."
"And
you, Miss Dorothy, Whit?"
"Not
this race, thank you," responded the lady. Paul also declined, although he
already knew what the outcome would be.
As he
expected, Swaggler won. The next two races passed the same, with Thelma taking
advice from Paul, who only placed a bet for one. When Dorothy gave him an odd
look after the third race, Paul thought it best to decline to comment on the
next entries. She herself bet on one of De Canne's horses, Maximus, who came in
second to Thelma's own choice, a horse called Yorkshire Dancer, a horse owned
by Barton.
"Well
done, Miss Thelma, well done," praised Miller, just as Rushfield returned.
"Oh
Howard, we have had such a good time. I won every race!" exclaimed Thelma.
"With
a little help," put in Dorothy.
"Yes,
but I picked the last winner all by myself. I can't wait to tell Ruth! Where is
she?"
"She
and De Canne were returning to the inn after that last race to prepare for
tonight's ball. As should we."
Before
they departed, Miller engaged Miss Thelma for a dance at the ball. Paul
accompanied the Rushfields back to the inn.
"I
expect your sister will have a full dance card once Miller tells about the
afternoon she's had," he confided to Dorothy.
"Thanks
to you, Mr. Whittier, for all your excellent advice. I wonder that you didn't
wager more yourself."
"I
believe I bet as frequently as you, Miss Dorothy. We both had some success."
"A
rare occasion for me, I assure you."
Paul
thought he detected a note of sadness in her voice. Hoping to cheer her he
said, "I am sure you and your sister will have even greater success at the
ball. I look forward to our dance."
"Thank
you, as do I." By this time they had entered the inn. Dorothy curtsied her
farewell and followed her sisters up the stair. It wasn't until they were out
of sight that Paul realized he had forgotten to inquire after Ares' new owner.
No matter, he thought, he would be seeing the Rushfields at the Assembly; there
would be plenty of time to talk.
"So gentlemen, who do you wager will take Ascot by storm this year?" asked Barton. "What lady will steal the most hearts?"
"I
should think it is not something a gentleman would wager on," remarked
Highcastle. Paul silently agreed.
"I
thought we gentlemen wagered on everything," replied Miller with a laugh.
Some
of the men began discussing among themselves a number of the debutantes they
had met at the meet and their odds of being one above the rest. Paul was not
attending the conversation; he had just seen the Rushfields enter the hall. All
three sisters looked well, but Dorothy was stunning! He was so taken with her
that he barely noticed the tingle in his arm, though he rubbed it absently.
"So
Whittier, can I put you down in favor of young Miss Rushfield?" asked Barton.
"You haven't taken your eyes from them since they've come in."
"What?
Yes?" asked Paul, not hearing the question.
"Excellent.
Whittier's for Miss Thelma Rushfield. I'll put you down for our standard
amount. Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen."
"What
was that all about?" asked Paul as Barton moved off.
"You
just bet Rushfield's sister will be this year's Belle of Ascot," replied
Highcastle, "Weren't you paying attention?"
"Oh,
no! Barton is such a fool that I don't listen to half of what he says. I did
not mean to bet; perhaps I should catch him..." Paul did not think Rushfield
would look kindly on him making bets on his sisters, and he still needed
information from the man.
"Why?
What harm can it do?" Miller asked, "I think it is a complement to bet on a
woman's success. Besides, who's to know?"
Who
indeed, thought Paul, if his luck held.
What
had begun as a slight tingle in his right arm had built to a nearly painful
throb by the time Paul lined up in the dance across from Miss Dorothy. He did
his best to hide his discomfort, for in truth he had been looking forward to
this dance all evening.
As
their hands touched for the first turn, the pain ceased and was replaced by a
warmth Paul had never known before; it seemed to touch his very soul. He looked
up in amazement, wondering if the lady had felt something, too. His eyes met
the most artless and beautiful smile he had every beheld. What, if anything,
Dorothy felt, he could not tell, but she seemed content to be with him in the
dance, and for now that was enough for him. He met her eye again and realized
he had not spoken a word to her since the dance began. That would not do.
"Are
you enjoying your time at Ascot, Miss Dorothy?"
"Yes,
I believe I am."
"You
sound surprised."
"I am
actually. I normally avoid gatherings as large as this, but I wanted to see
Thelma successfully launched, which thanks to you and your friends, she is. You
were right about your friend Mr. Miller -- her dance card is quite full."
"I
hope yours is not. If you are available and willing I should like another dance
with you."
"I am
sure I can find an open slot for you, Mr. Whittier. Later in the evening,
perhaps?" Paul readily agreed.
He
danced the next with Miss Thelma, after which he spent some time off his feet,
knowing Simmons would detect even the slightest limp should he overdo. As he
made conversation with the Rushfields, he watched in amusement as a number of
his racing acquaintances came over to collect Miss Thelma for their dance;
Miller had definitely spread the word. Paul did note that besides himself, Miss
Dorothy had only danced with her brother and De Canne, and that she seemed
content to keep it that way.
Throughout
the evening that warm comfortable feeling in Paul rekindled every time he
looked at Dorothy. All thoughts of Ares faded as Paul began to yearn for
something more valuable coming his way through the Rushfields, something he had
never given much thought to before. The idea of settling down in one place had
never held much appeal for him. Staying anywhere for more than a few weeks,
even home, grew stale and stifling; he had always felt the need to move.
Tonight, the more he spoke with Dorothy, the more thoughts of home and hearth crept
into his head. Barton had been right about the girl being dangerous, but only
to his wanderlust, and that was something Paul had already determined to do
away with himself.
The
time for their second dance finally arrived, Paul took her arm and led Dorothy
to the dance floor. Oddly, he noticed a number of heads turning their way,
followed by whispers. He even caught his name mentioned once or twice, mixed
with snippets of "...got another one I see..." or "...wonder how long he'll
last..." Dorothy apparently had noticed it, too, for she stiffened
considerably as the dance progressed and a mask of indifference replaced the
smile she had begun with. Paul could almost feel her mood darken.
"Are
you unwell, Miss Rushfield?" he asked.
"No
sir, I am not. Would you mind returning me to my family?"
"Certainly."
Paul escorted her back to her sister Ruth, who was sitting with De Canne and
Sir Howard; Thelma was still dancing.
"Dorothy,
what's wrong?" asked Rushfield, full of concern.
"It's
started again. Howard, can you take me back to the inn, please."
"Of
course, we'll just collect Thelma..."
"Oh
please, don't ruin her first ball. Can't she stay?" Dorothy implored.
"Howard,
why don't you and I take Dorothy back," suggested Ruth. "Thelma will be fine
with Trevor until you return. You will only be gone a short while."
Rushfield
agreed. Fighting back tears, Dorothy nodded a quick thank you to Paul for the
dance, then hurried out with her brother, leaving Paul anxious and bewildered.
Ruth
quickly whispered something to her fiancé, then turned to Paul and said, "You
have been so kind, Mr. Whittier, you deserve an explanation. I'm sorry to end
the evening this way. Trevor will tell you everything."
Most
of the night had been like a dream to Paul; now for some reason unbeknownst to
him, the object of that dream was in distress. Paul turned to the man he'd been
told would give him some answers, a man who did not appear to be at all
comfortable with that task.
"De
Canne, what's the story on Miss Dorothy? Rushfield warned me to watch my step
with her, said she had had disappointments. What has upset her? Tell me, I need
to know."
Being
evasive, De Canne replied, "All you need to know is that Dorothy is a
remarkable, caring young woman, very attentive to those she loves, and not one
to be toyed with - considering that besides Rushfield, she is soon to have me
as an extremely protective and, might I add, good looking brother, who will be
looking after her best interests."
"De
Canne..." Paul urged impatiently.
"If
you must know, she has been crossed in love a few times. Dorothy was engaged to
a favorite cousin as soon as she was old enough to be out, a midshipman in the
Navy. Unfortunately he was killed in a skirmish off Portugal a few months
later. The poor girl was completely devastated, mourned for nearly a year. Her
oldest sister, Lady Therese, was afraid she would lose too many ... opportunities
... if she waited any longer, so she had her in Town for the next season."
"Rather
pushy of her."
"Dorothy
bore it well, considering. A number of what her sisters call eligibles
attempted some flirtations with her, nothing too serious. Then Foxworth took a
fancy to her, he nearly swept her off her feet.
"Foxworth?
There was a Lawrence Foxworth three years ahead of me at University. I heard he
died some time ago?"
"Two
years last January. He had informed Rushfield that he intended on making
Dorothy an offer after the New Year. He took ill at the end of December and was
dead within a fortnight. Pneumonia."
"How
awful!"
De
Canne shrugged, "I never cared for the man myself, but poor Dorothy ... The
rumors that she was bad luck started after that. As she hadn't officially been
engaged, Therese and - I am sorry to say - my Ruth dragged her back to Town for
the last part of that season, too soon in my opinion. Despite her being out of
spirits, a young man by the name of Greenly took an active interest in the
girl."
"Did
he end up dead, too?"
"No,
but his mother worried he would if his attentions toward Dorothy continued, so
she dragged the pup off by the lead-strings to the family's country estate.
Before she left she let it be known among her friends that her son would not be
repeating his addresses."
"I'm
sure Miss Dorothy was better off for it. But what tragedy -- and none of it her
fault!"
"Granted,
but once the tongues start wagging, they seldom stop. Besides all she'd gone
through, Dorothy was upset by the gossip; she decided she could do with out
fine society, claiming to be content to stay home and keep house for her
brother until he should marry. She refused to go to Town or even local
assemblies last year. This year Thelma begged her to come with her for moral
support; that is the only reason she is here."
"I
don't blame her. No wonder she left so distraught! Thank you, De Canne, I appreciate
your candor."
"I
haven't scared you off, have I?"
"No, I'm not worried. I've nothing to fear from Miss Dorothy; I've had more than my share of good fortunate lately, there is more than enough for two."
Part 3
Paul
spent the next morning in front of the inn waiting for the Rushfields to
appear; they finally did, shortly before noon. He wasted no time inviting Miss
Dorothy to walk. Dorothy was quiet and appeared guarded, but she accepted under
the chaperonage of her elder sister, who followed at a discreet distance.
They
walked in silence for some time before Paul opened with: "I wanted to be sure
you were all right today, after what happened last night."
"I am
fine, sir, accept for feeling a bit foolish. I should have known there would be
talk if I was seen favoring any gentleman. I am sorry, Mr. Whittier, that you
were involved."
"I am
not."
She
turned and looked at him skeptically.
"I am
flattered to have my name connected with yours, Miss Dorothy," he said
sincerely. "Especially as your suitor, for that is what I desire to be, with
your permission."
"Even
after the talk last night?"
"Yes."
"Some
of it is true, you know. I did love someone ... once. And he is dead."
"I
know."
"And
there was another who I cared for..."
"And
do you care for me?"
Dorothy
turned to face him. "I like you a great deal, Mr. Whittier. I cannot deny that
I feel something for you; our first dance last night was ... almost magical. I
have never felt so, so..."
"Alive?
Happy? Perfectly placed?" asked Paul, taking her hands in his. "For that is how
I felt, how I feel."
"As
do I, but I can not call it love - not yet. That is not how it was for me
before."
"I do
not expect you to feel for me, or even love me, the same way you have another.
Love between two people is as different as the people themselves. But I know
what I feel for you. All I ask of you is to give me -- give us -- a chance."
"You
have no doubt heard that with me your safety can not be assured."
"As
intimidating as you are, Miss Rushfield," he said so seriously as to be
comical, "I am willing to take that risk. Are you?"
She
looked at her hands, then into his eyes; she smiled and nodded. That warm
feeling of the previous night hit Paul full force. At that moment he was sure a
blizzard could engulf them and he would not even feel a chill.
By
the time they arrived back at the inn, Rushfield had gone ahead of them to the
meet, leaving De Canne to escort the sisters to the races, and to give Paul
leave to join them.
As
they neared the gate, a rider on a lively black mare sauntered up beside them.
"Ho
there, Paul!"
"Mark!
What the devil! I didn't expect you for some days yet. Splendid mount. I don't
recognize her. Is she one of ours?"
"She
is now, arrived the day you left," he managed to say while trying to keep the
fidgety horse beneath him still. He dismounted and more easily led the animal
to his brother. "May I present Aphrodite, the latest addition to Whittier
Stables, where her half-sisters Thracia, and Cyrene now reside."
"Aphrodite?
Thracia? Oh, Mark, you don't mean you bought them for..."
"No
matter," Mark cut him short, "I've no regrets; they are an excellent investment
in their own right."
"She's
magnificent." Mark turned at the sound of the female voice. A girl with hair as
dark as Aphrodite's was standing slightly behind Paul, staring admirably at the
mare. As she approached the horse to backed away.
"Careful,
Miss. She's still a bit skittish in crowds," warned Mark. Noting two more women
and a man nearby, he cast his brother an inquiring look.
"Where
are my manners? Excuse me, ladies," Paul apologized. "Miss Ruth, Dorothy, and
Thelma Rushfield, I am honored to introduce to you my brother, Mr. Mark
Whittier. Mark, I believe you know Mr. De Canne. He and Miss Rushfield are to
be married soon."
"It
is my pleasure, ladies," Mark bowed, then nodded to the gentleman. "De Canne,
congratulations."
"Thank
you, Whittier. And Miss Thelma is correct; this horse is magnificent. Is she
racing today?"
"No.
As I said, we have only just acquired her and have not had time to work with
her yet. In a few months perhaps."
"Whittier!"
shouted Sir Howard angrily. The man was approaching them quickly from the
direction of the stables. "Ah, both Whittiers, I see. Have you come to make
bets on my sisters as your brother has?" he asked Mark. The ladies gasped while
Paul blushed.
"Rushfield,"
replied Mark calmly, "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"I
suspected the cad might be hanging about my family with a mind on getting that
horse back, but I never thought he would sink so low as to bandy about a
woman's good name and reputation."
"Sir
Howard, if you would let me explain," began Paul.
"There
is nothing to explain, I have Barton's word, and he's keeping the book on this
little wager. I tolerated your presence, despite your annoying questions about
a horse I no longer own, because my sisters have enjoyed your company. But I
draw the line at toying with their names and affections."
Realization
crept into Dorothy's face. "What horse?" she asked suspiciously.
"The
bet was a misunderstanding on Barton's part," Paul tried to explain. "Ask
Hightower, he was there."
"You
would do anything to get that horse back, even pay court my sister."
"I
assure you, my intentions toward Miss Dorothy are honorable."
"Tell
me you didn't know she owns Ares?"
"She
what?" It was Paul's turn to be dumbfounded. He turned to Dorothy, "You have
Ares?"
She
looked between him and her brother, not sure who to believe. Ruth moved closer
and wrapped an arm around her protectively.
"You've
been playing her up sweet just to win the upper hand on a piece of horseflesh,"
continued Rushfield, "And I was too dense to see it -- until Barton was good
enough to show me your true colors!"
"Paul
would never stoop to such tactics," Mark said with certainty. "It is obvious he
had no idea your sister owned the horse,"
"Dorothy,
truly, I didn't."
"Don't
listen to him, Dorothy. He's worse than Greenly."
"So
far all I have heard my brother guilty of is paying court to a pretty girl,"
Dorothy blushed at the remark, but kept her head down, "and not being able to
get you to agree to a rematch."
"Nor
will he. I won that horse fairly when my Marauder bested him; that's the end of
it. Move on and leave my family alone.
"Rushfield,
you know as well as I there was interference in that race," Mark accused. "If
it had been run on a private course, Marauder would have no chance against
Ares." It was then that Mark noticed his brother rubbing his arm.
"Marauder
against Ares," he whispered.
"Is
something wrong, Paul?" Mark asked with some concern.
After
a pause, the younger man shook his head and said, "Nothing." However the
statement was not in response to his brother, but a reference to the lack of
feedback from his arm; contenders for a race had been named, with no indication
of a winner. Paul reflected how quickly he had grown accustom to the telltale
feeling in his arm, so much so that he noted its absence -- ironically, at a
critical time.
"You
have to admit, there is no merit for me in a rematch," said Rushfield. "Both
Ares and Marauder reside in my stable; I've nothing to gain by it."
"Aphrodite,"
said Thelma eagerly, her eyes were still on the horse Mark held. Paul's left
hand gripped tighter as a tingle verging on pain shot through his right arm.
"Done,"
replied Mark and Rushfield simultaneously.
"No!"
shouted Paul. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he didn't know what. All
eyes turned to him, expecting an explanation for his outburst. "You can't do
this, Mark. You said yourself she was an asset in her own right. You can not
risk Aphrodite on a ... a ... whim!"
"There
is no risk, Paul. Ares is unbeatable. It was a fluke that he lost before."
"Ares
is not ours, nor Sir Howard's, to wager with," he said stubbornly. Paul looked
at Dorothy, still held by her elder sister; she appeared so vulnerable. "The
decision belongs to Miss Dorothy. And it is she who has nothing to gain by the
race."
"Thank
you, Mr. Whittier, for remembering that. The horse was given to me as a token
of my brother's regard, but I need no token to assure me of his love."
As their eyes met, they conveyed another meaning to Paul, one which said she
did need assurance of love - but not from Sir Howard. "If it could right a
wrong done to you and your brother, Ares will race."
Paul's arm went cold. He knew he had more to lose from this race than the mare; and regardless of the winner, he dreaded the outcome.
©2005 Copyright held by the
author.