Page 61 of Libby's London Merchant
“I—I think it is from the gypsies,” she began. “It appears to be a gift to me.”
The squire let out a crack of laughter that startled Libby and caused the horse to sidestep to the other side of the box. “I wouldn’t have thought a gypsy brat to be worth so much,” he said. “Remind me to tell my son that he has been cheated through countless country visits.”
Libby said nothing, bat she did not back away as the squire came closer and she repeated her earlier pose, draping her arms on the rail.
“I am missing two of my best hunters, Miss Ames,” he said, his words casual, as though he discussed this year’s price for hops.
His voice was not loud; he did not accuse, but as he pursed his lips and peered at her out of the corner of his eye, Libby felt a chill travel up her spine.
“I am sure I know nothing about them, sir,” she said, wishing that her voice was more steady. “I don’t make a habit of horse knavery.” Her chin came up. “And neither does my brother.”
He put the riding crop under her chin gently, but there was a threat in his eyes as he forced her to turn in his direction. “I do not accuse you of thievery, ma’am, or your simple brother. I merely came by as a friendly warning.”
Tunley started forward. “See here now, sir,” he said.
The squire lowered his crop. ‘‘My cousin in Wilverham is missing a horse something like this one. ” He sighed and peered into the gloom. “But it is a mare with a blaze on its forehead and two white stockings. A beautiful animal, trained to a sidesaddle for his wife.”
Before she could protest, the squire vaulted the railing and moved toward the animal, which had retreated against the far wall.
Libby thought to object, but she watched the squire, surprised at his agility in the same way that Anthony Cook, for all his clumsy ways, always brought out her admiration when he rode by on horseback.
Tunley took exception. He began to sputter and protest with dire mutterings about “his stable,” and “wait until Sir William returns.”
Libby touched his sleeve and shook her head. “Let us see what he is about, Tunley,” she said. “I don’t know that we could eject him anyway.”
“I can try, miss,” Tunley replied in a fierce whisper.
“And end up in jail,” she reminded him. “Let us be discreet here.”
They watched as the squire moved closer to the horse, his voice gentle now and coaxing. The mare came toward him and he stroked her nose, talking softly, crooning to the skittish animal.
He reminds me of Joseph, Libby thought, and then put her brother from her mind. It would never do for the squire to know that Joseph had bolted from here in a pelter and was roaming the countryside.
“Miss Ames, toss me a rag, please?”
She wadded up a bit of sacking and threw it in a slow, gentle arc, so as not to upset the animal, which by now nuzzled the squire’s hunting jacket. Traitor horse, she thought mildly.
Still talking in gentle tones to the mare, the squire smoothed out the sacking and began to rub the animal’s face. In a moment, a white streak appeared.
“God love us,” Tunley murmured.
Libby sucked in her breath. The squire looked at her and raised his eyebrows. He ran the sacking down the horse’s forelegs, exposing its perfectly matched stockings.
“This animal appears to have suffered a sea change,” he declared.
As Libby stared at the horse, her mouth open, the squire sauntered across the loose box, rested his arms on the railing and bent down, his face inches from hers.
“Never trust a gift from a gypsy, Miss Ames,” he said. “Lesson Number One for the day.”
Lesson Number Two for the day, she thought as she stood her ground and smiled back at him. I am becoming so well-educated that I will astound myself. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I will remember this lesson.”
“See that you do.” With a light hand, he vaulted back over the railing. “I do hate to see a woman cheated.”
Tunley shook his head. “Well, sir, better send your groom over, or I can return the horse to your cousin, whichever you please, sir.”
“I sacked my groom.”
“Gor, you never did,” exclaimed Tunley in surprise, forgetting himself so far as to add, “And high time, I say.”
