Love Finds Lord Davingdale by Anne Gallagher

Chapter One
     
     
    St. John’s Wood
    30 November 1811
     
    Thomas Merrit, the Earl of Davingdale ran his
right hand over the flank of the chestnut mare. “I think she will
be very well within a few weeks, Will, but just the same, I believe
I would like to keep her out of the weather.” He caressed her
withers, while inspecting her cannon and pastern with a critical
eye.
    “Those were my sentiments exactly,” William
Smith, the Duke of Caymore, agreed.
    Thomas rubbed the mare’s muzzle. “You’re a
strong girl, are you not, dearest? Come, Lovely, let us see about
getting you fed.” He tugged on her lead, and led the horse through
the damp grass toward the barn.
    William followed, chuckling. “Damn, if
nothing has changed in all these years. Still finding the company
of horses far outweighs the company of women.”
    Thomas flicked a glance over his shoulder at
his former regimental commander. “I find the breed of women highly
inflexible. You wish to move left, they dart right. You wish for
silence, they chatter like birds. Give me a darling girl, like
Lovely here, any day.” He led the horse to her stall, removed her
halter and lead, and closed the door. Dumping a tuft of hay in her
feed bin, he gazed affectionately at his latest project. “She
smells a damn sight better than half the chits in Society as
well.”
    William laughed. “I certainly agree with you
on that score for some.” He turned and sauntered toward the tack
room. “I have been thinking of moving them down to Westerly before
the storms move in. We have been lucky this year the snow has held
off for as long as it has.”
    “Yes, but that only indicates we shall be
walloped later in the season. I wager by Twelfth Night gales will
be blowing inland.”
    William smiled. “I swear, Thomas, you could
make a decent living predicting the weather.” They reached the
makeshift office and each took a seat by the small wood stove.
    Thomas rubbed his left arm, which trembled at
his side. “’Tis the only good thing that came of the fighting,” he
said with a trace of bitterness.
    “I noticed you using it this morning with
Lovely.” William nodded to the arm in question. “Is it
gaining?”
    “Aye, some, but ‘tis scattered at best. Some
days, it will be well, other’s I could nary pick up a stick.”
Thomas leaned back in his chair, thrusting his worn boots to the
bottom of the stove.
    “Have you seen the surgeon recently?”
William’s question rang with curiosity and hope.
    “A fortnight ago Tuesday.” Thomas slumped
lower in his chair.
    “And?” William leaned forward.
    “Said he was still hopeful, as am I, but it
is in God’s hands now. He said the tingling in my fingers shows
every indication that it may come to rights, but I will never
regain its full capacity. The bullet tore through too much of the
serratus anterior. However, he does think I may achieve partial
motility. And for that I am grateful.”
    “As am I,” William said. “What would I do
without you?”
    Thomas smiled. “Be up to your arse in horse
dung and having your lady wife run from you as soon as you enter
the house.”
    William laughed. “Now there is where you are
wrong, my friend. My wife loves the smell of horse dung.”
    “Yes, I do forget what an unusual woman Lady
Pen is. If I could but find a woman to put up with my equine
passions.”
    “I am afraid I found the only one,” William
said. “Surely, there must be another chit who has caught your eye?”
He snapped his fingers. “What about the bird from Devonshire?
Catalane? Catrain? What was her name? You know, the one who fawned
over you at Robert’s dinner party last month.”
    “Her?” Thomas snorted. “Lady Dorcas Cadoret,
the most boring woman in the Empire. I do not know how your wife
convinced Lady Fiona to invite her, but I dare say Lady Dorcas did
nothing for me. Pen would have been much better off to introduce
her to one of her other eccentricities.”
    William feigned surprise. “Do