Rexanne Becnel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Augusta chattering about who would be attending the horse races, while Olivia daydreamed of a long quiet autumn in Scotland.
    It was a two-day journey and they arrived at the Cummingses’ sprawling residence a scant mile outside of Doncaster just as the sun settled over the allee of lime trees. A three-story red brick structure, the Cummings family seat had begun life as a fortified house. But in the ensuing centuries
two wings and a central tower had been added, so that it now appeared an ungainly sprawl, vast, to be sure, but without a smidgen of grace.
    Five days, Olivia told herself as the housekeeper ushered them upstairs to the adjoining chambers she and her mother would occupy. She had but five days to endure. Then it was on to Byrde Manor and the exhilaration of the Scottish countryside. She could hardly wait.
    The casual summer supper had already been served to the other guests, so Olivia and her mother were served a tray in their rooms while a maid unpacked for them. Olivia would have preferred to turn in early with Emma, the new novel she’d brought with her, for she’d much enjoyed the author’s previous books. But her mother was not of a mind to miss any opportunity. According to the maid, Lord Holdsworth was already in residence, along with several other of the Cummingses’ guests.
    “You never know whom you may meet,” Augusta told Olivia as she donned a pair of gold earbobs with aqua stones that perfectly matched her eyes. “A horsewoman such as yourself should be quite at home here.” She dabbed oil of roses behind her ears. “You’ve had more than your share of marriage offers. By rights you should be wed with one child in your arms and another on the way.”
    “Since when do you long to become a grandmother?”
    Augusta ignored that. “Let us go down, shall we? The butler said they would be gathered in the rear drawing room by now.”
    The first thing Olivia noticed when they entered the Cummingses’ drawing room was that there were no other female guests. Penny Cummings made the introductions, fluttering her hands and her eyelashes in the affected manner she sometimes displayed. Mr. Cummings was half asleep in his chair, but he managed a creditable greeting. The other three gentlemen rose at the entrance of two attractive women to their party. Mr. Clive Garret was up from Devon for the races and the Honorable Mr. Harry Harrington had come up from Bury St. Ed-monds in Suffolk, here to replenish his own stables.

    As for Lord Holdsworth, he was as charming as ever. But it was plain to Olivia that he was presently more interested in horses than he was in marriage. After greeting Augusta with no more intimacy than he greeted Olivia, he turned back to his host.
    “Are you familiar with the bloodlines of the horses Hawke is planning to run?”
    Mr. Cummings held up his glass for a servant to refill. “I only know the one. A tall Scottish animal, I’m told. Sired by that big black stallion of his, out of the same mare as begot Chieftain. Remember Chieftain? Now there was a horse. ’Bout five years ago. Took Ascot, as I recall.”
    “I hear he’s also got a filly that can run,” Mr. Harrington put in.
    “So when is Hawke to arrive?” Holdsworth asked. “I’m eager to meet him and see his stock.”
    “Should’ve been here by now,” Mr. Cummings replied. “Don’t know what could be holding him up.”
    “Whom are they speaking of?” Augusta asked Penny.
    “Neville Hawke. He’s the last of our party.”
    “Hawke. That name sounds familiar,” Augusta said.
    Penny’s hands fluttered again. “Perhaps you’ve heard of his exploits. He’s a war hero, they say. Now he breeds racing stock—with some success, it would seem. I’ve yet to meet him myself, but the men all speak highly of him.” She turned to her husband. “Mr. Cummings, is he bringing his wife?”
    He gave a shrug. “Don’t know as he has one.”
    Penny slanted a look at Olivia and leaned nearer. “Did you hear