The Headmistress of Rosemere by Sarah E Ladd Read Free Book Online

landscape in the county.
    That, too, was gone. Shameful.
    William pulled back the door to the stable. The tension in his back eased. Surrounded by the things that made him comfortable, he finally drew a deep breath. Familiar scents of straw and hay were balanced in the air. In the stall straight ahead, Angus, looking no worse after their early-morning ride, whinnied at William’s entrance, tossing his chestnut mane.
    “There you are.” William stepped closer, propped his hands on his hips, and stared at the animal.
    The gelding puffed air and nudged at William’s pocket.
    The horse knew his master too well.
    “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”
    Angus nudged again, and William reached his gloved fingers into his pocket and extended a carrot.
    Lewis stood at the far end of the stable’s wide center aisle, brushing Slaten’s glossy raven coat. Although a fine specimen of horseflesh, Slaten was far too feisty for his own good. For the safety of the other horses, they kept the stallion separate as much as possible. His lean muscles twitched as he adjusted his footing and swung his striking black head around as William approached.
    “Making him beautiful, are you, Lewis?”
    Lewis stopped the grooming and let the brush hang at his side. “Not hard to do, and this cheeky sweetgoer knows it.”
    William knelt and ran his hand over the career-ending bulge on the horse’s leg—the result of significant scar tissue from the tendon injury. He tried—for the millionth time—to push the memory of that horrific day from his mind. At least the animal survived the tumble, and he could still find hope in the fact that the horse might help him recover from his losses. Yet this would not be a quick fix—or a sure one.
    William stood and patted the horse’s sleek neck, then walked over to the farthest stall to check on the mother. With any luck,Mr. Bley would decide to buy the foal based only on the impressive racing qualifications of its parents. “Is the mare ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “The glow of motherhood suits her,” he joked.
    Lewis did not look up from his task. “Bley should arrive at any time. The letter said he’d leave Bradwell in the morning. Should put them here about ten, weather permitting.”
    William flicked his pocket watch. “Quarter of.” He snapped it closed and heard the sound of hooves on the gravel path outside. William’s heart thudded. The arriving carriage had to be that of Mr. Bley. This was his chance to begin to set things to right. He pulled his hat low over his forehead in an attempt to conceal the marks on his face and straightened his coat. He bent over to brush the dust off his boots.
    As confidently and nonchalantly as he could, William strolled out of the stable and saw a carriage pulled by four magnificent chestnuts rolling to a stop. A door swung open.
    William sucked in a deep breath, reminding himself that he had the advantage. He was not acquainted with Mr. Bley personally, but he knew how men like Mr. Bley—wealthy, carefree, and bored—thought.
    Mr. Bley jumped down, looking every bit as William had expected. He appeared to be about William’s age with a tall, athletic build. He was well-dressed in a caped overcoat of charcoal wool and shiny Hessian boots. A wide red band circled his beaver hat, and a gloved hand gripped an ornately carved cane.
    Mr. Bley would, no doubt, expect to be greeted by a butler—or a footman, at the very least. William had to act as if he happened to be nearby as the carriage rumbled up. No doubt Bley knew William was purse-pinched—everyone did—but William needed to keep the rumors low. This was a game of pretenses, a battle of charades that he intended to win.
    “Ho, there!” he called as Mr. Bley turned to assess Eastmore Hall. “Adrian Bley?”
    The man turned. “Indeed!” He headed toward William. He seemed startled as he drew close enough to see William’s face, and then his eyes crinkled in amusement. He gave a burst of