Page 88 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
Edward drew breath carefully, conscious of anything that could give away his inner panic. If his father moved against Tabby, he would find himself in the crypt earlier than otherwise.
“Hrmph,” said the old man, his gaze narrowing.
“Some of these paintings are new, are they not?” asked Edward, hoping to pull the hateful eye of Chasterly from his friend.
The old man looked about his study, as if suddenly recalling where he was. Strange to see his father so aged, in a room that was both familiar and rather changed.
“Don’t attempt to distract me from the matter at hand, boy,” he growled, pulling his eyes away from a particularly gruesome hunt scene. “As my heir, you have responsibilities.”
On the ride over, Edward had catalogued the possibilities for this unexpected summons. He was quite certain that he knew what would come next: like all titled gentlemen, he needed to produce a son, preferably several, of legitimate issue, who could carry on the title. His father would demand that he marry and sire an heir; Edward would play a card his father couldn’t see coming, and he would cackle merrily while the old man roasted in hell, hoisted on his own petard.
Yet that is not what came next.
“You might wish to look out,” said his father, gesturing to a Palladian window overlooking the gardens.
There, in the garden to the west of the stables, was Edward’s horse.
“Tencendor,” Edward whispered, unable to hide how affected he was by the sight of his boy. He catalogued all the marks on his dark coat and was certain this was the real thing before his very eyes.
Which posed a significant problem.
“Yes, my standing order to buy the beast finally paid off a few days ago. I am now the owner of your stallion.”
This was bad. The worst news, truth be told. It was terrible to contemplate life without his beloved companion, but in the hands of a cruel and erratic master like Chasterly? His guts churned watching the massive warhorse step nervously.
“He’s a skittish beast,” said Chasterly, now immediately behind Edward. “I’ve put animals down for less.”
Edward was in hell. Reacting wasn’t an option, but his spine longed to roll under the creeping dread of his father’s words. There was nothing for it: whatever this man demanded, he’d have to capitulate. He could think of only one thing he’d refuse to do to save his boy.
“What do you want?” asked Edward, keeping his voice steady.
“And now he’s ready to bargain!” cried his father. “My prodigal son, home and falling into line at last! I’d call you Netherwallop, but you’re not worthy of the name. Horatio was.”
And Horatio, his elder brother, had drowned alongside his mistress while enjoying a holiday shortly after hiring Edward to service his wife. But dear old papa had Edward’s cods in hand now, and he knew better than to say such a thing aloud, not when Tencendor’s coat rippled anxiously in the marquess’s garden.
“You want that horse back?” asked Chasterly.
Now he was toying with him, teasing Edward about striking a rare spot of vulnerability. His temper broke free of its chain.
“I do, and I suppose I’ll get him back no matter what when you die.”
Edward turned and watched his father’s lips curl into an unnatural smile. “At last. Some honesty between father and son.”
The light from the window made the old man’s eyes glow, their blue irises now clouded. He could have bought the finest of clothing, but he stood before Edward in a suit from the previous century, the black color gone rusty and his boots floppy for want of repair. This close, Edward could smell that the old man had a rotten tooth he needed pulled; would that he delay and expire any day now.
“If you mean to laze about and let me feed the animal, thinking that my death will solve the problem, set those hopes aside,” his father continued. “Should I die with this matter unsatisfied, I’ve given instructions for the horse to be shot forthwith.”
Edward’s blood ran cold, and he fought the urge to look back at Tencendor, now knowing this could be the last time he saw his horse.
“What do you want?” asked Edward, his voice faint and his will broken.
“Your service on the Continent has been the subject of a good deal of talk, even these many years later,” said Chasterly.
This wasn’t the direction he had expected his father to take. What was he on about?
“They say you committed treason.”
Edward knew better than to protest his innocence. It had never worked before and certainly wouldn’t sway the person who hated him most on earth.
