The Sleeping Beauty

“The damned beast almost broke a leg on those rocks.”

“Gotta stay off of them rocks,” the man agreed. “Gotta go south to get to the good hunting grounds. That’s where the master goes.”

“Hunts, does he?” Adam was interested. “Where exactly does he go?”

“The woods that stretch from here to Strathmere, then all the way to the castle.” Seeing from his expression that Adam didn’t know about the castle, the man explained, “Where the duke lives. You’ll see it when you get near. It’s a huge old place, sits way up high on a big hill. The woods whip around it and go all the way up to the cliffs, and there’s lots of game in those woods. The duke don’t like you hunting the deer, though. Got a cousin what comes up once in a while, and he and the master have a rout, getting the foxes off the farmers’ lands and rabbit hunting.”

“Keep me informed when the fellow arrives, if I’m about. I fancy a good fox chase. What’s your name, fellow?”

“Kepper, sir.”

“Glad to know you, Kepper,” Adam said amicably. He noticed the man’s surprise at his familiarity. There were certainly many things that had changed about him in the years since he was himself touching his forelock to members of the aristocracy, but he’d be dead and rotted through before he’d neglect a courtesy because of his newfound status. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll need a carriage or curricle to go into the village tomorrow. I’ll be taking Lady Helena with me, so something not too rough, man.”

“Lady…? Lady Helena, you say? She’s going into the village?”

“That’s what I said.” Adam’s good-natured smile sagged at the man’s apoplectic expression. “Is there something wrong with that, Kepper?”

“She don’t see nobody, sir. Don’t go out none, either.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged his wide, bony shoulders. He had the wiry build of a man whose frame held a deceptive amount of strength. There was an air of competence about Kepper, as if he’d seen a lot in his life and knew how to keep it locked up tight behind closed lips. “Don’t want to, I guess.”

“Yes.” Adam knew Kepper wasn’t going to gossip, so he took his leave and mulled over the latest titillating bit of strangeness about his betrothed.

He was losing count of them.

One of the few advantages Rathford Manor could boast was its good cook. Her name was Maddie, and last night’s herbed roast beef had been perfection, complemented with a delicate sauce and mashed turnips. Mashed turnips had hardly been chief on Adam’s list of favorite delicacies, but this dish was incredible, as was the delicious cake soaked in rum served for dessert, with steaming hot coffee strong enough to make the roots of his teeth ache. Just how he liked it.

He feared he would grow quite fat and lazy here at Rathford Manor. As he sat down this evening and surveyed the dressed fowl and glazed carrots on the sideboard, ready to be served, he considered this a definite possibility. That thought reminded him of the necessity of daily exercise, which in turn put him in mind of the possibility of hunting with Lord Rathford.

“I was told you are fond of the hunt, sir,” Adam said.

Lord Rathford was seated at his customary seat. He cocked his eyebrows. “Indeed I am, sir.”

“I fancy a good run in the woods myself. I was told you sometimes go out with a fellow from a nearby castle.”

“Yes, when he is visiting his cousin, the duke. The, ah, Duke of Strathmere is an old family friend.” The glance he cast Helena was nothing short of conspiratorial.

Adam frowned. What was this, another secret?

“Do you keep hounds, Lord Rathford?”

“Used to have a fine pack, but I don’t get out as much as I used to and they turned bad, most of them. Lost the scent, or ran off.” He waved his hand in the air.

Adam was now truly perplexed. A good hound was as valuable in hunting circles as an excellent mount. One did not simply neglect them, or allow them to “run off.”

“I don’t understand.” Leaning on his elbow, Adam took up his wineglass, which had just been filled. “How do you hunt without the hounds?”

“There’s a bitch in the stables that’s still good, and a dog or two who’ll be up for a romp occasionally, but they’re too lazy to run for long.”

“They need training, that is all. And steady exercise to build up their endurance.” Looking to Helena, who had maintained a decorous quiet during this entire exchange, he asked, “Do you hunt, my lady?”

Her lowered lashes lifted lazily. “No, Mr. Mannion, I do not have the slightest interest in chasing poor, defenseless animals. There seems to me to be no good reason for this exercise other than to experience a rush of pleasure at having demonstrated superiority over a hare.”

“You put it so cheerfully,” he countered as a servant came to proffer a plate loaded with pheasant, “that it makes me absolutely champ at the bit to get out there and track the wretched beasts. I believe it my most profound duty to drive them down into the ground, where they belong.”

She tried to appear cool, but her lips twitched before she lowered her gaze back to her plate. When the servant came to her, Helena selected a few morsels.

“Excuse me…Bissel, is it?” Adam asked. “Ah, then, Bissel, if you would place a few more slices of the fowl on your mistress’s plate, it would please me.”

“Excuse me,” Helena interrupted archly. “You are not presuming to select my food for me, are you?”

“Indeed, I am. I am concerned about your health, Helena. You skip meals and eat sparingly whenever you do take a meal.”

“Let me guess.” Her smirk was childish, but it actually looked good on her. She was angry, and the emotion gave color to her cheeks and made those blue-green eyes sparkle radiantly in the candlelight. “You prefer your women plump.”

“I enjoy many things in a woman, not the least of which is a pleasant disposition, but I am not aiming to please myself. I simply thought that since you were to be fitted for some new dresses, you might want to see to filling them out a bit.”

She reacted as if he had slapped her. “How dare you make reference to my garments and their…fit.”

“I was merely observing that it must get damned tiresome being so scrawny.”

The look in her eyes was murderous. “Did you hear that, Father?”

“Yes,” Rathford agreed mildly, not at all offended on his daughter’s behalf. “The man has appalling manners, I agree, my dear. Nevertheless, he is correct. You look like an urchin. It’s about time someone told you so.”

“Father!” She sprang to her feet, clearly devastated. “I cannot believe you would take sides against me.”

Leveling a serious look at her, Rathford said solemnly, “Never, Daughter. That I’d not do. And if you listen closely, you’ll not hear a disparaging word in what I said. It is merely the unfortunate truth.”

“Sit down, Helena,” Adam interjected. “I am getting tired of you running out of a room every time you realize you cannot win an argument.”

She waited a long time before she did anything. Adam was half-afraid she’d dismiss his taunt and run, anyway.

“Will it help if I ask nicely?” he said, wanting to offer something in return when she slowly sank back down in her seat. “Please eat your pheasant. There. And have the carrots, too.”

“I will eat what I wish, and you can be damned.”

Adam merely smiled back at her. “Did you hear that, Lord Rathford?”

“Indeed, and I agree with her. Now shut up and eat before I resort to paddling the pair of you and sending you off to bed without dessert.”

Adam addressed the contents of his plate with gusto, pretending not to notice how Helena ate. He would not have put it past her to deny herself out of defiance against him. But she didn’t. She consumed a healthy portion at dinner and had a slice of iced sweetroll for dessert. He even detected her stirring more cream into her coffee than he had seen her use last night.

He couldn’t keep from crowing to himself at his victory. This marriage might just be fine, after all. All he had to do is refer to his wife as “scrawny” and she’d do his will.

God, that thought—of Helena doing his will—brought up images no man should have about a woman while sitting in the presence of her father.