Barely a Bride Page 6

“You aren’t supposed to be in here, miss.”

  Lady Alyssa Carrollton started at the sound. She dropped the heavy metal fork she’d been using to muck the stall of her favorite hunter and whirled around to find Abrams, the head groom, standing in the door of the stall.

  Abrams doffed his cap.

  “Abrams!” Alyssa gasped, pressing a hand to her breast in an attempt to still the rapid beat of her heart. “You nearly frightened me half out of my wits!”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, miss,” Abrams apologized. “But you aren’t supposed to be here, and certainly not decked out like that.” He nodded at the hem of her girlish riding habit.

  Recognizing the censure in Abrams’s tone, Alyssa glanced down at the skirt of her stained and dusty habit. The garment was at least four years old, threadbare in places and straining at seams in others. She hadn’t wasted a moment worrying about propriety or her appearance until she realized the seams of her bodice were pulled taut and that the hem of her dress barely reached the calves of her oldest pair of riding boots.

  “Your abigail should have retired that habit to the rag bin ages ago,” Abrams replied, his disapproval more than apparent.

  “She did.” Alyssa bent to retrieve her fork. “I recovered it from the rag bin because I needed it.”

  Abrams’s look of disbelief spoke volumes.

  “I had to have something to wear to muck the stalls.” She stared at the groom. “I tried to borrow a pair of trousers from one of the grooms, but he refused.”

  “Of course he refused!” Abrams exclaimed. “Any lad working here would refuse such a shocking request from the young lady of the house. And every lad here should turn his face to keep from seeing you in that.”

  “I know it’s a bit shorter than is completely proper,” Alyssa admitted, “and snug in places, but I can’t very well wear a good dress, now can I? And the fact that this one is old is what makes it perfectly suited for the task at hand.” She reached for the rope handle of the muck bucket and tugged, pulling it closer to the stall door.

  “There is no task at hand for you, miss.” Abrams bent to help her. “Lady Tressingham ordered us to keep you out of the stalls and as far away from the stable as possible.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Alyssa sputtered. “How does she expect me to tack up Joshua if I cannot enter the stalls?”

  Abrams bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at her bluff. “Beg pardon, miss, but your mother expects us to tack up Joshua and bring him to you. Young ladies fortunate enough to employ grooms do not tack up their own horses.”

  “But I always tack up my mount at home,” Alyssa argued.

  “That’s the country, miss. This is London, and the rules are different.” Abrams paused. “As you well know. Besides, Joshua isn’t in his stall, and you weren’t tacking him up with a fork and a muck bucket.” He allowed himself a knowing grin.

  “I intended to ride,” Alyssa bluffed. “But Joshua was gone. And as his stall needed cleaning, I thought I’d lend the stable boys a hand with their chores.”

  “I beg to differ, miss, because I know you weren’t going to ride alone,” Abrams countered. “Or leave the house dressed like that.”

  “Who would notice what I wear at this time of morning?” she challenged.

  “The gentlemen riding along the Row would certainly notice,” Abrams replied. “Your father among them.”

  “My father wouldn’t notice if I paraded down the Row dressed as Lady Godiva.” Alyssa winced. The truth hurt. But Abrams had been in service to the Carrollton family for more years than she had been alive, and there was no point in dissembling or pretending. The truth was that Alyssa doubted her father would recognize her, much less notice her clothing. He had little regard or time for human females. His attention was tuned to the breeding mares in his stables and the bitches in his kennels. Although he appeared to be quite fond of his wife, the Earl of Tressingham barely acknowledged Alyssa, her three older sisters, or their growing families. Not one of his four daughters commanded the attention he devoted to his horses and hounds. With the exception of his wife, females needed hooves or paws to claim Johnny Tressingham’s attention, and Alyssa had neither.

  Abrams cleared his throat. “But others would. So I’d say that it’s a lucky thing that I removed temptation from your path by instructing young Ellis to take Joshua and accompany Lord Tressingham on his jaunt through the park, thereby saving you and Lady Tressingham a heap of embarrassment.” He lifted the muck bucket out of Alyssa’s grasp and hefted the contents onto a wooden cart. “Now, if I could only do that with the stalls.”

  Alyssa shot him a look of wide-eyed innocence.

  He shook his head. “I’m on to you, miss.”

  “On to me?”

  Abrams nodded. “You didn’t come here to ride. You came here to gather Joshua’s leavings to use in the gardens.”

  “Well, how else am I going to get it?” she demanded.

  “I can’t answer that, miss.”

  “Mother forbade the gardeners’ helpers from collecting it from the stables for me, and she forbade the grooms from delivering it to the greenhouse.” Alyssa heaved a sigh of frustration. “She knows I need fertilizer for the garden.”

  Abrams clucked his tongue. “That may be true, miss, but you can’t be in here collecting it.”

  “I’m the only one left who can,” Alyssa answered. “She’s forbidden everyone else.”

  “She’s forbidden you as well,” Abrams reminded her. “Your mother ordered us to keep you out of the stables so long as we’re in London.”

  “What am I supposed to do if I’m invited to go riding?” Alyssa asked.

  “You send word to the stables to have your mount saddled and a groom ready to accompany you at whatever time you wish to depart.” Abrams winked at her. “And none of this crack of dawn stuff…”

  Alyssa frowned.

  The head groom continued. “The early morning hours along Rotten Row are reserved for the gentlemen. Ladies ride the Mile at a more sedate pace and at a later hour.”

  “Why should I have to wait until ten o’clock in the morning to ride when I’m accustomed to riding at daybreak?” Alyssa demanded.

  “Because you’re a young lady, miss, and only the gentlemen ride at that time of morning.”

  “Joshua will be kicking down his stall long before ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “I’ll see that young Ellis attends to Joshua’s exercise before you ride him,” Abrams told her.

  Other than digging in the garden and puttering around in the kitchen, exercising Joshua at the break of dawn when most of the world was still asleep was the thing Alyssa loved best. “I don’t want young Ellis attending to Joshua’s exercise. I don’t want anyone attending to Joshua’s exercise or to his keeping except me,” Alyssa complained.

  “I understand, miss,” Abrams said, “but rules are rules. And a young lady from a fine family must protect her reputation. Riding with the gentlemen during the early morning hours is a surefire way of endangering it.”

  “So, I’m to be denied the pleasure of riding.”

  “Not necessarily.” Abrams eyed her disreputable habit. “But if you ride, you’re to be properly outfitted, properly seated, and accompanied by a groom.”

  Alyssa groaned.

  “Those are Lady Tressingham’s orders, miss. And she ain’t going to brook any opposition. You must be on your best behavior, or you will be forbidden to ride at all.” Abrams softened his gaze. “And attending to your best behavior means that you’re to forget about cleaning stalls and appropriating the horse leavings.”

  “What am I going to do about the gardens?” she asked. “I’ve already designed the new beds and started transplanting the pink rhododendrons—”

  “You’re going to be a most obedient daughter and leave the designing of the new flower beds and the transplanting of the pink rhododendrons to the gardeners employed to perform those tasks.”

  “Mother�
�” Alyssa breathed, recognizing the scent of her mother’s perfume seconds before she heard her voice. Alyssa looked up to find her mother standing in the center aisle of the stable perfectly coiffed and immaculately dressed in a pale blue muslin gown topped with a dark blue pelisse. “You’re awake—I mean—” Alyssa stumbled over her words. “What brings you here?”

  “At this ungodly hour?” Lady Tressingham smiled. “I might ask the same of you.” She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the pungent odor emanating from the wooden cart. “But the smell speaks for itself.”

  “I can explain—”

  “I don’t require an explanation. As I haven’t yet reached my dotage, my eyesight, my hearing, and my sense of smell are quite acute.” Lady Tressingham lifted an eyebrow at her wayward daughter. “However, I do require that my daughter and my servants obey my instructions. Rhododendrons or no rhododendrons.”

  “But, Mother…”

  “Drop the fork, Alyssa.” Lady Tressingham’s softly spoken words were tempered with pure iron will.

  Alyssa swallowed her words of protest and dropped the fork.

  Lady Tressingham unfastened the dark blue pelisse she was wearing and handed it to her daughter. “Put that on.

  Alyssa obeyed without protest, slipping her arms into the pelisse before fastening it over her riding habit.

  “Now, bid Abrams a pleasant good morning, then turn and march out of the stable and back into the house.”

  “Good-bye, Abrams.” Alyssa turned and started out of the stable, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Will you see that the—”

  “Not a another word,” Lady Tressingham cautioned, punctuating her words by waggling her index finger at Alyssa.

  “But, Mother, there’s no sense in letting perfectly good fertilizer go to waste…” Alyssa was fair to bursting with indignation.

  “Fertilizer!” Lady Tressingham’s voice rose an octave and she fought to bring it back down to its normal register before continuing. “I don’t care about fertilizer! I care about you! I care about your future, your reputation, and your prospects. Servants talk, Alyssa. They tattle to other servants. Servants who work for other families. Good families. With sons. Go. Now.” She pointed toward the expansive lawn separating the house from the stables where a small army of gardeners and their assistants clipped the boxwood borders and worked the soil in the spring beds. “Abrams has his instructions. And you have yours. So don’t so much as glance at the gardens or open your mouth again until we reach the safety of your bedchamber.”