to, and my own
father's not about to turn me off. Especially now that we're getting such good
prices for some of the horses I've trained."
" You've —?" she began, torn between outrage and
amusement. Did he really think his training had anything to do with it? Yes, he
probably did. "I have influence with my father as well, Harold —rather
more than Uncle Mercer does, I imagine."
He leaned over her, and she realized
uncomfortably that he could probably see right down her low bodice. "We're
all family, Tessa. No need to wrangle over influence —or for you to be missish.
I never said I meant to tell anyone about Grandfather, now, did I? Let's be
friends, as we used."
Again he put his hand on her shoulder, then
slid it lower, beneath her collarbone. She twisted away from him and stood up.
"Stop it, Harold. We are cousins, nothing more, and that's all we will
ever be." It was almost a relief to finally have it out in the open.
He blinked, clearly surprised, though she
couldn't imagine why, as it had been a decade or more since she'd shown him
anything but distant politeness. In fact, she thought she'd made it fairly
clear of late that she didn't even like him. Remembering the snippet of conversation she'd overheard out
at the stables last week, she wondered what Uncle Mercer had been telling him.
"I'm sorry, Harold, but—"
Abruptly, his face took on the bullying
expression he wore so often when "training" the horses, and he moved
close to her again. "Oh, you'll be sorry, that's certain. I'll—"
"Is there a problem, Miss Seaton?"
came Lord Anthony's voice from the parlor door.
Stepping away from Harold, she turned with a
distinct sense of relief —and embarrassment at being seen in so awkward a
position. "No, my lord. My cousin and I were simply debating our different
views on horse training."
As he'd done during his first visit to the
house, Lord Anthony looked Harold up and down, consideringly. "I
see," he said, in a tone that implied he saw far more than she'd
explained. Then, to Harold, "Having observed Miss Seaton's excellent
horsemanship, I'd recommend you heed whatever advice she might deign to give
you, Emery."
Harold scowled, clearly ready to argue, but
just then a commotion in the hallway heralded the arrival of the others. Tessa
took the opportunity to put more distance between Harold and herself, though
she was careful not to move too near Lord Anthony, either.
Why had she felt such relief at his entrance,
she wondered as she took a seat near the fire. Harold would never have harmed
her, for all he'd tried to bully her with words. She should instead have been
annoyed that she had not been able to finish her confrontation with her cousin
on the spot, for now they would doubtless end up having this conversation
again.
Sir George and the rest of his guests entered
the parlor, deep in a discussion of famous foxhunts of the past. Tessa looked
searchingly at her father as he wheeled himself in, alert for any sign of
fatigue, but at the moment he seemed animated and happy— though of course that
could be a mere facade. Even if it wasn't, she was certain that once their
guests were gone, he would realize how much the evening had tired him.
"Papa," she said when he paused in
his recounting of one hunt he recalled, "come join me by the fire, do.
You'll be more comfortable here, I'm sure."
For a moment his face lost its eagerness and
she thought he would do as she asked, but then he shook his head.
"Nonsense. This whole room is quite warm. In fact, I was just going to
suggest some whist, as we have enough for two tables. It's been ages since
we've played, and you know how I enjoy it."
He glanced around the room, clearly counting up
those present. "Ah, Harold, I see you've decided to join us at last.
Gentlemen, most of you have met my nephew, Harold Emery, who does such a
splendid job with the horses."
Tessa waited until greetings were exchanged
before saying, "I'm sure these gentlemen have other things to do
father's not about to turn me off. Especially now that we're getting such good
prices for some of the horses I've trained."
" You've —?" she began, torn between outrage and
amusement. Did he really think his training had anything to do with it? Yes, he
probably did. "I have influence with my father as well, Harold —rather
more than Uncle Mercer does, I imagine."
He leaned over her, and she realized
uncomfortably that he could probably see right down her low bodice. "We're
all family, Tessa. No need to wrangle over influence —or for you to be missish.
I never said I meant to tell anyone about Grandfather, now, did I? Let's be
friends, as we used."
Again he put his hand on her shoulder, then
slid it lower, beneath her collarbone. She twisted away from him and stood up.
"Stop it, Harold. We are cousins, nothing more, and that's all we will
ever be." It was almost a relief to finally have it out in the open.
He blinked, clearly surprised, though she
couldn't imagine why, as it had been a decade or more since she'd shown him
anything but distant politeness. In fact, she thought she'd made it fairly
clear of late that she didn't even like him. Remembering the snippet of conversation she'd overheard out
at the stables last week, she wondered what Uncle Mercer had been telling him.
"I'm sorry, Harold, but—"
Abruptly, his face took on the bullying
expression he wore so often when "training" the horses, and he moved
close to her again. "Oh, you'll be sorry, that's certain. I'll—"
"Is there a problem, Miss Seaton?"
came Lord Anthony's voice from the parlor door.
Stepping away from Harold, she turned with a
distinct sense of relief —and embarrassment at being seen in so awkward a
position. "No, my lord. My cousin and I were simply debating our different
views on horse training."
As he'd done during his first visit to the
house, Lord Anthony looked Harold up and down, consideringly. "I
see," he said, in a tone that implied he saw far more than she'd
explained. Then, to Harold, "Having observed Miss Seaton's excellent
horsemanship, I'd recommend you heed whatever advice she might deign to give
you, Emery."
Harold scowled, clearly ready to argue, but
just then a commotion in the hallway heralded the arrival of the others. Tessa
took the opportunity to put more distance between Harold and herself, though
she was careful not to move too near Lord Anthony, either.
Why had she felt such relief at his entrance,
she wondered as she took a seat near the fire. Harold would never have harmed
her, for all he'd tried to bully her with words. She should instead have been
annoyed that she had not been able to finish her confrontation with her cousin
on the spot, for now they would doubtless end up having this conversation
again.
Sir George and the rest of his guests entered
the parlor, deep in a discussion of famous foxhunts of the past. Tessa looked
searchingly at her father as he wheeled himself in, alert for any sign of
fatigue, but at the moment he seemed animated and happy— though of course that
could be a mere facade. Even if it wasn't, she was certain that once their
guests were gone, he would realize how much the evening had tired him.
"Papa," she said when he paused in
his recounting of one hunt he recalled, "come join me by the fire, do.
You'll be more comfortable here, I'm sure."
For a moment his face lost its eagerness and
she thought he would do as she asked, but then he shook his head.
"Nonsense. This whole room is quite warm. In fact, I was just going to
suggest some whist, as we have enough for two tables. It's been ages since
we've played, and you know how I enjoy it."
He glanced around the room, clearly counting up
those present. "Ah, Harold, I see you've decided to join us at last.
Gentlemen, most of you have met my nephew, Harold Emery, who does such a
splendid job with the horses."
Tessa waited until greetings were exchanged
before saying, "I'm sure these gentlemen have other things to do
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