A Difficult Disguise Read Online Free

of the small hill he did not know, but suddenly, without warning, the bright sun was lost behind a cloud, and the rain Henry Luttrell had spoken about so glibly came pouring down, effectively shaking Fletcher from his reverie.
    He gave his horses the office to start and tooled the curricle down the lane, bypassed the drive that led directly to the house, neatly feather-edged the corner of the barn, and headed into the stable yard, preferring the team to be shifted to the dry stable as soon as possible. He, Fletcher thought, had been wet before, and he hadn’t been pulling a curricle all day.
    “You, boy, go to their heads, if you please,” he called out to a slightly built black-haired youth he espied sitting just inside the open door of an empty stall, perched at his ease on an overturned bucket, safely out of the rain. He reined his pair to a halt. “Come on now, a little rain won’t hurt you.”
    The groom shot him a darkling glance and remained where he was, a long piece of straw stuck in the corner of his mouth. “If it won’t hurt me, then it stands to reason it won’t hurt you either. I work for Fletcher Belden—not you.”
    “I am Fletcher Belden, boy,” Fletcher announced, lightly hopping down from the seat and taking hold of the bridle of the gelding closest to hand. “And you’ll be out of a job and sleeping under a sheep if you don’t step lively.”
    “Sure you are,” the groom said with great sarcasm, remaining precisely where he was. “And I’m Napoleon, lately escaped from Elba.”
    “Insolent puppy, aren’t you? Where is Hedge?” Fletcher asked tightly. “I left him in charge of the stables, but I don’t remember giving him office to hire smart-mouthed fools.”
    Fletcher was secretly pleased to see the color drain from the youth’s face as the groom hopped to his feet so quickly the bucket toppled with a hollow crash. A moment later the youth was working at releasing the bays from their harness, droplets of rain running down his freckled, upturned nose.
    Obviously throwing out Hedge’s name had served to prove his own identity. Fletcher’s smile faded as he decided it was rather lowering to think he had been proven legitimate only because of his knowledge of the former jockey whom he had taken in ten years ago. His employees should know him by sight, as he should know them.
    Not only that, but the youth’s insolence had made it evident that, indeed, Fletcher had been away from home too long. It was one thing to leave Lakeview in Beck’s capable hands, but it was quite another to believe that his estate could be run entirely without the guidance of its owner.
    “My traveling coach will be here within the hour,” he told the groom, suddenly eager to get to the house, his mind already on the reception he would receive there. He certainly hoped it would be warmer than the one he had gotten from this cheeky employee. “See that the stables are ready for another six horses, as I’ve brought two riding horses with me.”
    “I’ll tell Hedge, then,” the groom said, walking away, leading the two horses behind him. “If I can find him.”
    Overhearing the groom’s last grumbled remark, Fletcher laughed aloud. Now he knew he was home. “Look inside the large cabinet at the back of the tack room. That’s where Hedge always goes to recover from his bouts with demon liquor.”
    The groom turned his head about swiftly and Fletcher was momentarily taken back by the quick intelligence he saw in the lad’s clear green eyes. “So that’s where he slinks off to. I’ll do that,” he said. “Thank you, sir. I hadn’t thought to look there. And, um, welcome home, sir.”
    “What’s your name, boy?” Fletcher asked abruptly, thinking to begin his campaign to reclaim Lakeview for his own.
    “It’s Billy, Mr. Belden, sir,” the groom said, his small chin lifted almost defiantly.
    “Billy,” Fletcher repeated, wondering how a junior groom had come by such clear, unaccented English.