"Snowfall catches Lady Arabella and her horse away from home"
Reviewed by Clare O'Beara
Posted January 1, 2014
Holiday | Romance Historical
This lively short story has a gorgeous cover. The tale
begins in wealthy Sussex in 1819. Lady Arabella looks
forward to riding out even in December, but answers her
brother's summons to be told that he has chosen a husband
for her. This man is an Earl, aged thirty-four - which
seems very old to this young lady in her early twenties.
Oliver Westwyck is to spend Christmas with them, and then
they will marry. She feels as though she's being sold as
breeding stock, but has no real say in her life.
THE EARL'S CHRISTMAS COLT takes an impish turn as
Arabella's mare goes lame and she leads her to the nearest
stable, a coaching inn. Riding on her own family's land
she had no escort, and now assumes that the man she meets
in the stables, informally dressed, is the ostler. In fact
he's her future husband, but as they haven't been formally
introduced he decides not to say so, expecting the lady to
go in out of the weather. Instead she stands around
dripping in her long riding skirt, giving directions as to
how to care for her mare. Oliver smiles and proceeds with
skill. He's a horse breeder, and Arabella is struck with
admiration for the handsome colt he's brought along.
Arabella thinks of staying for the night, but she's not
chaperoned, and realises she cannot risk censure for
hoydenish behaviour - which would give the earl every
reason to refuse the wedding. The evening's rain is turning
to snow.
I enjoyed the tale and both the characters and the horses
came across very well. The only niggle I have with the
writing is that the term sorrel is not in use in Britain;
this colour horse would be called chestnut. The cover
picture shows a woman riding astride, with long skirts on
the right side of the horse when a lady at this time rode
side-saddle with the legs and skirt on the left side, as
the author described in the story. This horse also isn't in
a double bridle, just a pelham bit. But the discrepancy
isn't the author's fault, and it's still a gorgeous, eye-
catching photo. Rebecca Thomas clearly loves horses and I
hope to read more by her; THE EARL'S CHRISTMAS COLT isn't
nearly long enough.
SUMMARY
Lady Arabella Sutton is stunned to learn her brother has
betrothed her to a stranger despite his promises for a
season in London. Although she is the first to admit no man
would suit, since she’s more interested in horses than
marriage, the last thing she wants is to become a brood mare
to a stuffy old earl. Facing a future she cannot abide, she
takes an impetuous ride to clear her head and ends up
tending her injured mare instead. Oliver Westwyck, the Earl of Marsdale, can’t believe his
luck when he stops at an inn the night before he’s to meet
his fiancée. In the stable, while tending the colt he
intends to give to his future wife, he happens upon
her—rain-drenched but beautiful. She assumes he’s a stable
hand, a fine joke he means to end...until Lady Arabella
declares all noblemen are egotistical, conceited, and
arrogant. How can he reveal his true identity before he’s
managed to change her mind and win her heart?
ExcerptChapter One
SUSSEX COUNTY, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 1819 Thunder grumbled in the distance, corresponding in
perfect harmony with the uncertainty simmering in Lady
Arabella’s belly.
Why had Will summoned her to the library? Meeting there
was never a good sign, because only matters of great
importance were broached in that room. Regardless of what
her brother wished to discuss, she was going riding
afterward. Her maid helped her secure the green fitted
jacket over her long skirt and bodice. “Thank you, Millie.
Did you ask Basil to ready my mare?”
“Yes, my lady. Although he grumbled about the weather and
the appropriateness of a woman riding alone.”
The fresh scent of lemon oil on the banister filled the
air as Arabella descended the curved staircase with Millie
on her heels. “Must a head groom always verbalize his
misgivings over my actions?”
“Yes, my lady.”
At the bottom, Arabella paused. “You may go now. I won’t
require further assistance until I return.”
“Yes, my lady.” Millie scurried past without making eye
contact.
Millie was usually quite chatty and always met her gaze.
Arabella frowned. Servants and maids knew everything that
happened inside their master’s home, oftentimes sooner than
the masters themselves. Something was definitely amiss.
On edge, she glanced toward the oak-paneled double doors
and clutched her riding gloves. Five years ago when she’d
learned of her father’s illness, it was in the library. Her
mother’s passing and subsequent funeral arrangements had
been discussed in the dreaded room, too. She took a deep
breath and nodded to the footman manning the entrance.
Must she always expect the worst? Mayhap Will had good
news to share. Or, mayhap it was the afternoon’s gray clouds
that inspired such dismal thoughts.
Inside the large room, she took in the hundreds of
volumes of books on shelves covering three walls, and
imagined her father sitting with a leather-bound book in his
lap, a glass of brandy on the end table, and a cigar in his
hand. If she inhaled deeply enough, she still caught the
tiniest hint of tobacco.
At the scuff of boots, she glanced toward the fireplace
and found Will staring at the flames. After a moment he
turned. “Thank you for coming.”
Arabella fidgeted with the high-ruffed collar of her
riding habit. “Why have you summoned me?”
“Never one to mince words are you, sister? Fine. Won’t
you sit down?” He gestured toward the mahogany gilded chaise
lounge with fraying blue damask fabric.
“No, I’d rather stand.”
“All right then. No sense in waiting to tell you.” Will
strode around the sofa, closer to her. “I’ve arranged a
match for you.”
Incredulous, Arabella glared at her brother. He’d chosen
her husband without her consent? Without considering it
necessary to ask her? “I thought I was going to attend the
season. I thought I would have a choice.”
“I gave you a choice last season and you wouldn’t select
anyone, so now it’s up to me. The London season doesn’t suit
you, I understand that. I do. You’d rather be in the stable
with your precious horses than in a ballroom dancing.”
“Perhaps that’s true but—”
“Let me finish. You’re well past a debutante’s age, need
I tell you? I’ve not pushed the issue because of Father’s
death, but he’s been gone over two years now. It’s time you
marry. Trust me, Arabella,” he said, his tone softening. “I
would only select someone whom I believe you would be
compatible with.” With a hopeful smile, he extended his hand.
Decorum insisted she take it, while the stubborn part of
her recognized his action for what it was—coercion. With a
few words and a touch, he expected her to give up her dreams
and instead follow the path he’d chosen. She’d found little
interest in the season, and knew this day was coming, but
she just didn’t expect it today.
“He needs to be a fine horseman,” she said, “or you know
we won’t get on well.”
Irritation flashed in his eyes. “I know what kind of
person suits you. Give me some credit. He’s an earl, holds
several other titles, and he’s next in his line to inherit a
dukedom.” Arrogance curved his smile. “You should thank me.
You’re engaged to a future duke.”
Any normal noblewoman would be thrilled at the prospect
of marrying a duke, but all Arabella could imagine was how
her freedoms would be taken from her.
“I’ve never met a single duke I liked.” She crossed her
arms over her chest.
Will gazed skyward, snorted, and shot her a look of
disgust. “My beloved sister—more concerned whether her
future husband is good with horses, than his pedigree,
title, or fortunes.”
“Why has this duke agreed to marry me?”
Will straightened his coat. “He isn’t a duke yet, but
he’s a good man, Bella.”
Her suspicions grew. Bella? The shortened form of her
name Will used only when he tried to get his way. “If he is
such a catch, then why isn’t he selecting a young debutante
in London?”
“He’s not the type to go courting debutantes. He’s a very
private man, and an old friend of mine.”
Annoyance churned within her. An old friend, which
equaled some deplorable scheme. Or something was wrong with
the man. “How old is he?”
“Four and thirty.”
The image of a bloated, decrepit man who drank in excess
came to mind. She wanted to strangle her brother. “He’s
nearly three feet from the grave.”
“If that’s your opinion, then I’m two feet from the grave.”
Perhaps he’d slip and fall in. Inwardly chastising her
errant thoughts, she asked, “He’ll be requiring heirs?”
“Isn’t that why every man marries?” her brother replied
too smoothly. “At least a man of his rank. You haven’t even
met him yet. Don’t judge him so harshly.”
“Don’t judge him so harshly? You decide to step in and
dictate my life and expect me to thank you? To offer no
judgment? Tell me,” Arabella said, all thoughts of easing
her brother’s burden forgotten and her anger building, “did
this almost duke find my lineage up to his standards?”
“Bella—”
“Don’t Bella me. Blast it, I feel like breeding stock.”
Her mind spun with outrage. “And he’s agreed to marry me
without having met me?”
“Yes. It isn’t so unusual.”
His mild tone grated on her further. She didn’t want to
discuss this right now; she needed time to think, to sort
everything out. Arabella turned and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out…riding. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Don’t be glib with me. I can see your intention to ride,
but it’s going to rain and it’s cold enough to turn to snow.”
“And now you care? Tell me, is it because I am your
sister, or for what you will receive through this arrangement?”
His face reddened. “You’re being difficult.”
“No,” she said without apology, “I’m a woman who just
learned she’s to marry a stranger, nearly an old man, and
leave behind everything she knows, without her permission.”
She yanked on her riding gloves. “Do you remember when we
were children and we’d play pirates?”
“Yes.”
Sadness and fear gripped her heart. She wasn’t good with
change; she liked her life steady and predictable. Tears
pricked the back of her eyes. “I wish one of those pirates
would capture me now and steal away with me.”
“Bella,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you
can’t escape this.”
She drew a deep breath and stood up taller. “I know my
place. I don’t intend to.”
His gaze darkened with empathy. “Don’t you want to know
his name?”
Without glancing back, she padded to the entry, and
stopped without turning. “Of course, what is his name?”
“Oliver Westwyck. The Earl of Marsdale.”
She mouthed the name. She supposed she should get used to
it. In her mind, the name Oliver conjured an image of
strength, not a drunken old man. Mayhap some credit should
be given to Will, but she wasn’t feeling particularly
obliging at this moment.
Her brother’s footsteps echoed behind her. “He’ll be here
in time for our Christmas party tomorrow.”
She gasped and spun around. “Tomorrow?”
Will nodded. “He’ll spend Christmas with us, then you’ll
be married on the twenty-seventh.”
The air she’d sucked into her lungs moments ago burned in
her chest and her knees wobbled. This was all happening too
fast. “Millie,” she yelled. “I need my riding crop.”
“Confound it all. Why do you have to be so difficult?”
Her brother’s hand settled on her shoulders.
“How am I being difficult? I didn’t say anything.”
“That’s precisely my point. He wants to marry you.” He
held up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t leave yet. We
need to speak more on this subject.” At her frown he said,
“If you insist on leaving, let me send one of the grooms
with you. It’s not safe riding by yourself, especially as
the weather might turn at any moment.”
She couldn’t accept his affection or concern for her
safety. It was easier to be angry with him. Easier to argue
with him. “I’m plenty safe on Sutton lands. Or are you
thinking I might injure myself…what would your friend say
then? He wouldn’t want an injured bride, because he needs a
healthy woman to produce heirs for his future dukedom.”
Will’s mouth tightened. “Do you know how many women would
wish to be in your position?”
Producing heirs—in her position? Forced to the altar
with a man she’d never met? Was that all she’d ever be to a
man, a means of producing heirs?
She longed for something more. Longed for the freedom to
do as she pleased without having to answer to a stranger who
was to become her husband.
In her free time, she galloped across the countryside,
over jumps and hedges, through rivers and forests. When she
rode, a rush of happiness swept through her that she’d never
experienced in any other way. Her brother, like her father
before him, allowed her the freedom to be outdoors with the
animals she loved. But what of her future husband?
“My lady.” Millie shot Will a fearful glance before
presenting Arabella with her riding crop.
“Thank you,” Arabella replied, haunted by the
constricting image of running a household and chasing after
children, with no occasion to be with her horses. Her mind
racing with ideas, she stepped outside, ignoring the chill
in the air.
There must be a way to escape her conundrum. Oliver
Westwyck, the Earl of Marsdale, was due to arrive at Black
Pine Hall tomorrow. If she couldn’t convince her brother not
to marry her off, maybe she could convince Marsdale he
didn’t want to marry her.
She marched across the stable yard and considered the
best way to make a man not want her.
At her approach, Basil held Andromeda ready for her.
Stepping on the mounting block, she climbed into the
sidesaddle. “My thanks.” She unhooked the loop holding her
skirt in place for walking. With her ankles appropriately
covered, she turned her mare and kicked her into a trot.
Once past the long winding gravel road and outbuildings,
she let Andromeda have her head.
The breeze blew off her riding cap and pins came loose from
her hair. Enjoying the thrill, the freedom of racing across
the countryside, she leaned against the withers and urged
her horse faster.
Her steed’s mane whipped across her face as they sped
over the rugged, hard-packed road, the steady sound of
hoofbeats thumping the ground in a heartening rhythm.
Nerves tightly wound began to ease, and a smile tugged at
her mouth. Riding always provided a temporary respite from
her worries; if only it could solve this marriage problem as
well.
The farther she rode away from Black Pine Hall, the
darker the afternoon clouds became, but she refused to let
the gloomy weather besiege her already-troubled heart. She
concentrated on the power and brawn of the animal beneath
her, but Andromeda’s stride faltered, and before Arabella
could recognize what was happening, her mare’s head went
down. Arabella pitched forward. Gasping for breath and
gripping the mane, she managed to stay on.
Her mare trembled as she dismounted. “Steady girl.” She
patted her shoulder.
With expertise, Arabella rubbed her hand over each of
Andromeda’s legs searching for an injury. Discovering no
warm spots in the fetlocks, she lifted each hoof and
grimaced at the sharp stone wedged in the spongy mass of the
mare’s front right hoof. The culprit. Guilt swept through
Arabella as she quickly removed the stone. “I shouldn’t have
pushed you so hard.”
Taking in her surroundings, she recognized the forested
area ahead that bordered the Sutton estate’s hunting
grounds. She had bigger problems than whom she was going to
marry right now. With her mare’s hoof injured, she was too
far from home to make it back by dark and she needed shelter
for the night. Although an unoccupied tenant cottage they
sometimes used during hunting season lay beyond the ridge,
she must seek help at Brighton. Her mare needed proper
treatment. Once there, she would send a missive to Will.
A raindrop plopped on her nose, followed closely by
another pelting her cheek. She glanced up. Curls of
dark-gray clouds melded with black in ominous swirls.
Without warning, lightning cut across the sky, followed by
the sharp blast of thunder.
Her mare’s eyes widened and she stamped the ground.
Arabella patted the animal’s neck. “We will be out of the
weather soon.” Taking the reins, she strode toward the
Brighton coaching route.
Intermittent raindrops transitioned into oppressive
sheets. Wind slapped at her heavy skirts and battered her
face, but she pressed onward through the mud-entrenched road
to shelter.
“It seems that even the weather conspires against me.”
Arabella rubbed the velvety softness of Andromeda’s nose and
sighed. “Listen to me, feeling sorry for myself while you’re
suffering a hurt foot. This storm is like the troubles of
life, and it, too, shall pass and you’ll heal given some
time to rest.” And she prayed it was true. Andromeda’s
injury would heal and somehow she had to find a way to
reconcile this idea of marriage to a would-be duke.
Shielding her eyes, she peered through the cutting rain
and her spirits dipped. Mayhap the storm was God’s way of
informing her it was time to quit fighting the role society
had deemed appropriate for her, let her brother sculpt her
life, and succumb to the confines of matrimony as a good
lady ought to. She should have selected a suitor last
season, but truly no one interested her. Then again, if she
was being completely honest, she hadn’t tried very hard to
find someone. She had given a halfhearted attempt, and look
what it had gotten her.
With grim steps, she pushed on through the slash of rain
until the coaching inn and stables came into view. Thank
goodness. With a sigh of relief, Arabella gathered what
little strength she had and trudged toward her sanctuary.
The scent of worn leather, moist hay, and horses welcomed
her inside the blessed dryness of the stables. Exhaustion
seeped through her shivering limbs as she searched for a
groom. Frustrated, she glanced down the stable’s corridor
lit by a single lantern. “Anyone here?”
From a stall several paces away, a man emerged. Rough
trousers outlined long, muscular legs. Wet chocolate-brown
hair, a little longer than was fashionable, curled against
the top of his tweed coat. Caught in the shadows, the strong
cut of his face left her unsure if she should be thankful
for his presence or if she should run.
A shiver swept through her. With his authoritative
stance, surely he wasn’t a groom? Except, if he was a
gentleman, why was he caring for the horses? Whatever the
scenario, it mattered little as she was wet, her horse
needed attention, and a missive must be sent to Will.
“Excuse me, I’ve traveled quite a long way and could use
some assistance. Are you the stable master?"
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy