Unbefitting a Lady Read Online Free Page B

man looked sixty at least, with a
shock of white hair and weathered face. But he was sturdy in build with the
stocky frame of a Yorkshire man.
    He shifted his cane to his left side and shook hands. ‘Tom
Anderson I am.’
    ‘I’m Bram Basingstoke. Have a seat. I’d like to talk to you
about the horses.’ Bram belatedly glanced around the tiny room to realise the
only place to sit was the bed.
    ‘Why don’t you come down to my rooms once you’re settled. We’ll
talk more comfortably there.’
    ‘I’m ready now. I didn’t have much to unpack.’ Bram gestured
towards the door. ‘I am hoping you can recommend a place in the village I can
get work clothes,’ he said as they made the short trip towards Anderson’s rooms
on the first floor.
    Anderson waved his cane. ‘Don’t bother. I’ve got a trunk of
shirts and trousers left over from the last fellow who was here. He was tall
like you, they should fit well enough.’
    Anderson’s rooms were slightly larger as befitted his status as
the stable manager, and furnished comfortably with well-worn pieces. A fire was
going in the hearth, a definite improvement over Bram’s cold chamber.
    ‘The last fellow?’ Bram enquired, taking a seat near the
fire.
    Anderson chuckled. ‘You don’t think you’re the first man Lord
Giles has hired to help out, do you?’ He pulled out a jug of whisky and poured
two pewter cups.
    ‘I hadn’t thought either way on it,’ Bram said honestly. He’d
been too busy thinking about Phaedra and the colt to contemplate the nuances of
his position.
    ‘You’re about the fourth in as many months.’ Anderson passed
him a cup. ‘Winter hasn’t been kind to this old man. I’ve been down with one
thing or another since November and now my hip is giving me trouble. I can’t
work the horses with a bad hip.’ Anderson paused and raised his cup in a toast.
‘Here’s hoping you’ll last longer than the rest.’
    Bram studied Anderson over the rim of his cup. Bram could see
the age around Anderson’s eyes, his face tanned and wrinkled from a life lived
outdoors. Anderson reminded him of the old groom at his family home. His father
still hadn’t found a way to pension him off without hurting his pride. ‘The
stables are well-kept and the quarters are decent. What drove them off?’
    It was Anderson’s turn to eye him over a swallow of whiskey.
‘It wasn’t a “what”. It was a “who”. Some men don’t like taking orders from a
lady.’
    Ah. Phaedra Montague. He should have guessed. She’d been far
from pleased with her brother’s announcement at the fair. ‘She makes life
difficult?’ Bram asked. Did she plant frogs in their beds? He couldn’t envisage
her stooping to such juvenile levels.
    Anderson wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘Nah. She doesn’t do it
on purpose. It’s not her fault she knows more about horses than they do. She
doesn’t mean to drive them away.’
    The first thing that struck Bram was that he doubted it. She
probably did hope they would move along. She had not
hidden her disapproval at the horse fair. The second was that she had the old
groom wrapped around her finger. He was clearly defending her.
    ‘She’s that good?’ Bram took another swallow, trying to
cultivate an attitude of nonchalance while he probed for information. It was
always best to know one’s quarry before one began the hunt.
    ‘She’s that good. Lord Giles is a bruising rider but she holds
equal to him. It’s not just the riding though. It’s everything else. It’s like
she can look in their souls, that she can reach them on a level no one else
can.’ Anderson poured himself a second drink. ‘I’ll tell you something crazy if
you want to hear it and if it won’t send you packing.’
    Bram was all ears. This part of the country was known for its
superstitions and ghost tales and Anderson had the makings of a fine
storyteller.
    ‘Two years ago last June we had a white stallion named
Troubadour. He belonged to her