“Precisely. Well, I know what to do with it, and if Abberley don’t like it, may Heaven protect him.”
Three days passed before Margaret could discover whether Abberley liked the arrangement or not, and she lived in daily expectation of an explosion of some sort or other. But when he rode up to the front entrance of the manor early in the afternoon of the third day, leading a small black pony, he did not appear to be in a temper. Margaret, observing his arrival from the drawing-room window with a surge of pleasure that seemed disproportionate to the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman dismounting from a large bay horse, thought it remarkable that he should look cheerful. In view of the fact that Lady Celeste had been very busy indeed during those three days, his smile when he turned both horse and pony over to an accommodating stableboy seemed nothing short of miraculous.
Margaret was alone when he was announced, but she had scarcely finished welcoming him when her nephew burst into the room.
“Whose pony is that?” he demanded, skidding to a halt with one of the Oriental carpets bunched between his feet.
Abberley’s bushy eyebrows shot upward and Margaret’s hands flew to her hips. “Young man,” she said in a dangerously calm voice, “you will leave this room at once, and you will not return until you can do so in the manner of a gentleman.”
Timothy’s mouth opened and words of sputtering protest tumbled over one another as he looked to Abberley for assistance.
“Straighten the carpet on your way out,” the earl advised with a smile.
Outraged but left without a choice, Timothy turned, dragged the carpet back into place with his heel, and left the room. Neither Margaret nor Abberley spoke. They merely waited. A moment later, the boy reappeared, containing his emotions with difficulty but managing nonetheless to present an appearance of civility.
“How do you do, sir?” he inquired politely, facing Abberley.
“I am well, thank you,” replied the earl, straight-faced, “but you should greet your aunt first, you know.”
“Good afternoon, Aunt Marget,” Timothy said with more haste than sincerity, turning back to Abberley before the last word was out. “Please, sir, I-I saw a pony, a black pony, being led to the stables.”
“Did you, indeed?”
“I did, sir. Is he … that is, will he live here, sir?” Timothy seemed scarcely able to breathe.
“He will,” the earl replied, his eyes beginning to dance.
Timothy released his breath in a long sigh. “He’s mine?”
“He is. You may go and see him, if you like.”
The boy turned on his heel, ready to race for the door, but he stopped himself with a huge effort and turned back, blushing fiercely, to say, “Thank you, sir. Thank you!” He turned again, took a step, then looked back over his shoulder. “Has he got a name, sir?”
“Not yet. I thought perhaps you might be able to think of one.”
“Yes, I believe I’ll call him Theodore.” With that he was gone.
Margaret grinned at the earl. “Whatever possessed you? Now, we’ll never know where he is.”
“Yes, you will because you will give orders both to Timothy and to your stable people that the pony is not to be saddled unless there is a groom to go with him. And that his lessons must be finished before he rides.”
“My, you’re very paternal today,” she said, teasing him.
He frowned. “I know Michael meant to get him a pony long ago. Somehow he just never got around to it. I learned that this one was for sale and decided the time had come for the boy to have his own. I hope you are not distressed.”
“Of course not. I think it was a fine idea.” She paused, watching him, then said carefully, “You seem to be in excellent spirits today.”
“Why not? Spring is in the air.”
She realized then that he could not yet know of Lady Celeste’s activities. He was too relaxed, too amiable, and she knew from past experience that he would not welcome the
Three days passed before Margaret could discover whether Abberley liked the arrangement or not, and she lived in daily expectation of an explosion of some sort or other. But when he rode up to the front entrance of the manor early in the afternoon of the third day, leading a small black pony, he did not appear to be in a temper. Margaret, observing his arrival from the drawing-room window with a surge of pleasure that seemed disproportionate to the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman dismounting from a large bay horse, thought it remarkable that he should look cheerful. In view of the fact that Lady Celeste had been very busy indeed during those three days, his smile when he turned both horse and pony over to an accommodating stableboy seemed nothing short of miraculous.
Margaret was alone when he was announced, but she had scarcely finished welcoming him when her nephew burst into the room.
“Whose pony is that?” he demanded, skidding to a halt with one of the Oriental carpets bunched between his feet.
Abberley’s bushy eyebrows shot upward and Margaret’s hands flew to her hips. “Young man,” she said in a dangerously calm voice, “you will leave this room at once, and you will not return until you can do so in the manner of a gentleman.”
Timothy’s mouth opened and words of sputtering protest tumbled over one another as he looked to Abberley for assistance.
“Straighten the carpet on your way out,” the earl advised with a smile.
Outraged but left without a choice, Timothy turned, dragged the carpet back into place with his heel, and left the room. Neither Margaret nor Abberley spoke. They merely waited. A moment later, the boy reappeared, containing his emotions with difficulty but managing nonetheless to present an appearance of civility.
“How do you do, sir?” he inquired politely, facing Abberley.
“I am well, thank you,” replied the earl, straight-faced, “but you should greet your aunt first, you know.”
“Good afternoon, Aunt Marget,” Timothy said with more haste than sincerity, turning back to Abberley before the last word was out. “Please, sir, I-I saw a pony, a black pony, being led to the stables.”
“Did you, indeed?”
“I did, sir. Is he … that is, will he live here, sir?” Timothy seemed scarcely able to breathe.
“He will,” the earl replied, his eyes beginning to dance.
Timothy released his breath in a long sigh. “He’s mine?”
“He is. You may go and see him, if you like.”
The boy turned on his heel, ready to race for the door, but he stopped himself with a huge effort and turned back, blushing fiercely, to say, “Thank you, sir. Thank you!” He turned again, took a step, then looked back over his shoulder. “Has he got a name, sir?”
“Not yet. I thought perhaps you might be able to think of one.”
“Yes, I believe I’ll call him Theodore.” With that he was gone.
Margaret grinned at the earl. “Whatever possessed you? Now, we’ll never know where he is.”
“Yes, you will because you will give orders both to Timothy and to your stable people that the pony is not to be saddled unless there is a groom to go with him. And that his lessons must be finished before he rides.”
“My, you’re very paternal today,” she said, teasing him.
He frowned. “I know Michael meant to get him a pony long ago. Somehow he just never got around to it. I learned that this one was for sale and decided the time had come for the boy to have his own. I hope you are not distressed.”
“Of course not. I think it was a fine idea.” She paused, watching him, then said carefully, “You seem to be in excellent spirits today.”
“Why not? Spring is in the air.”
She realized then that he could not yet know of Lady Celeste’s activities. He was too relaxed, too amiable, and she knew from past experience that he would not welcome the
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