Chapter 11 — Horse-dealing at Brooks's

It was with a certain trepidation that Percy presented himself at Brooks's the following afternoon for his meeting with Lord Damerel. The baron had been exceedingly civil the previous day, and had even treated him with a degree of cordiality, but Percy was acutely aware that the man was Helena's father, and, on that account, was more than usually anxious for the man's good opinion.

He had timed his arrival so as to be early, but his entry into the foyer coincided, to his great surprise, with his cousin, the Earl of Hendon, preparing to leave, and a few minutes were taken up, unavoidably, by greetings and a brief conversation. As always when Percy encountered the earl, he was struck by the strong resemblance between Simon and his father; in the elder St. Cyr, with his somewhat heavier build and silver hair, he had the disconcerting impression of meeting his friend but aged, overnight, by thirty years. When asked about his exceptional presence at Brooks's, the earl put it down to an inquiry he was pursuing. "And you, I understand," Hendon said, "have an appointment with Damerel."

Percy was taken aback. "How did you…?"

"He mentioned it when I spoke to him just now. You'll find him in the library."

And so, despite his precautions, Percy was late for their appointment and obliged to start off with an apology. Damerel, comfortably seated in a deep, leather armchair, a glass of scotch on the table at his elbow, unhurriedly refolded that morning's Times and, setting it aside, motioned Percy to a chair. "Don't concern yourself. I was well-entertained."

Percy was no sooner seated than a servant appeared to offer refreshment and was dispatched with instructions to bring him whatever Lord Damerel was drinking. When the man had gone, Percy turned to the baron, a smile on his lips, and regarded him expectantly.

The baron returned an affable smile, but did not speak, holding Percy's gaze instead with eyes that were unnervingly keen. It occurred to Percy that, as great a likeness as there existed between Simon and his father, between Helena and Damerel there was, conversely, none at all. The man was dark — dark-haired except at the temples, dark-eyed, and swarthy-complexioned — while Helena was bright and fair. They had no features in common; Helena's eyes were wider, her nose more slender, her lips fuller and more attractively shaped. For a man with such a beautiful daughter, he was not conventionally handsome — his face was too lean and too lined — but he had about him a distinguished air, and was so admirably fit and trim, he could easily pass for younger than his age, which, by Percy's calculation, must be more or less the same as his father's. The duke, by contrast, had let himself grow portly and, at sixty, looked a decade older.

"Your parents are well, I trust," Damerel said, making Percy wonder if the man were a mind-reader. "I had a slight acquaintance with your mother when she was Lady Emma Tyndall. I danced with her at her coming-out ball and on a few other occasions as well. She was remarkably light on her feet." He smiled benignly. "And now, all these years later, our children are dancing together."

Percy could hardly reply that his mother remembered the baron primarily as an outcast and so contented himself with saying, "Ours is a very small world."

"So it is." The servant returned with Percy's scotch, and, seeing him supplied, Damerel took up his own glass and raised it in salute. "To your health!"

"And to yours, sir."

When they'd set down their drinks, Damerel did not, as Percy anticipated, take advantage of the break to turn to business. Instead, he continued casually, "Are you enjoying the Season thus far?"

"On the whole. It's been hectic but entertaining. Miss Damerel, if you'll permit the observation, has been one of the Season's chief ornaments."

The baron's lips curved in a gentle smile. "As a fond parent, I'll allow it. Lady Damerel and I are, of course, extremely proud of Helena and the success she's made of her debut. We have great hopes for her future."

These last words were given such weight and accompanied by so speaking a look, Percy was taken aback. If he was not being overly-sensitive — and he did not think he was — the baron had just subtly warned him off pursuing Helena. The message She is not for you could not have been more clear if said aloud. He was hard-pressed to hide his surprise. He thought he'd been perfectly discreet the previous day, but had he somehow tipped his hand and roused the baron's suspicions? Or was it simply Damerel's practice to discourage any man in Helena's orbit he deemed unworthy?

Percy was too perturbed to frame a reply but apparently none was required for Damerel went on breezily, "But it's not Helena we're here to talk about. As I mentioned, my middle daughter, Cassandra, has requested a horse for her birthday."

Percy recovered his composure as best he could, and inquired, "How old is your daughter?"

"She'll be fourteen next month."

"Ah! This'll be her first horse, then? She's graduating from a pony?"

Damerel barked out a laugh. "I'm sorry. You don't know Cassie, or you'd see the humor. No, she's disdained ponies since she was eight. It's been full-grown horses ever since, and not the docile, well-mannered kind, either! She has a decided preference for spirited horses with lots of heart and personality. Speed, too. She loves nothing better than a neck-or-nothing gallop, and is a bruising rider. I do believe, if she'd been born a boy, she'd be pestering me to let her train as a jockey. As it is, at the Priory, she spends every moment she can steal in the stables, whether it's exercising the horses or helping with their care. Her governess positively despairs of teaching her any of the ladylike arts."

As this was said with a chuckle, Percy gathered the baron did not share his employee's concern. "She sounds a most unusual young lady."

"She is. So much so that, the one time she accompanied me on a visit to the Harebell stables, she quite charmed your uncle. She was knowledgeable enough about thoroughbreds and their breeding to ask intelligent questions, and Sir Gerald was so impressed, he not only indulged her but took her on a personal tour as well. When we were leaving, he invited her to come back any time, which is more than he ever said to me! Unfortunately, he fell ill and died not long after." He allowed a moment of respectful silence to pass, then said, "I think Cassie would be especially tickled to have a horse from the Harebell stud, and I believe I know just the one that will suit her."

"You do?" Over his weeks at the Hall in April, Percy had had occasion to familiarize himself with his stock, and, in preparation for meeting Damerel, had mentally reviewed his selection of mares and come ready with a list of recommendations. As all his candidates had been chosen for their sweet-tempers, it was clear none of them would do. "Which one did you have in mind?"

"If I remember rightly, her name is Vixen. She's another of Vicker's offspring, and has the same dam, too, as Helena's Victress. If she's as sound, intelligent and willing as her sister, she'll fit the bill exactly."

Percy was, momentarily, at a loss for words. For all her outstanding physical qualities, Vixen had been the first mare he'd eliminated from consideration. She lived up to her name, being headstrong to a fault and of so volatile a disposition, only a few of the grooms would work with her. Percy had tried her paces once himself and been subjected to a slew of bad behaviors, including attempts to take the bit between her teeth and efforts to buck him off. She was no mount for a fourteen-year-old.

Damerel, mistaking Percy's chagrin, asked, "Have you already sold her?"

"No, no. It's just that… Vixen's still very young — only four years old — and she's prone to being difficult. She needs a very firm hand on the reins, and, while I don't question your daughter's abilities, I doubt she has the experience to handle her. Vixen's already proven too much for some of my stablehands."

The baron frowned. "Is she vicious?"

"No. She'll snap and kick, but I've never heard of her biting or hurting anyone. She just takes exception to being made to do anything she doesn't want."

Damerel laughed softly. "Is that all!"

They shared a wry smile at the horse's expense, and Percy, happy in the belief that he'd carried his point, was about to propose a more suitable mare when Damerel remarked, "Your staff has made a valiant effort, I don't doubt, to teach the horse her manners but it seems they've fallen short."

Percy could not deny it. "They expect, given time, to break her of her bad habits, but it's true progress has been slow."

"And that must make for a tense atmosphere in the stables." Damerel paused, his expression thoughtful. "Do you know, I think it might be best for all concerned if I take Vixen off your hands."

"What…!" Percy blurted in his shock. "You can't mean it!"

Damerel remained unruffled. "You admit yourself you're having no success in training her, so a fresh approach and a change of scenery might produce better results. Plus, she's causing friction and frustration at Harebell, so there's little advantage to you in keeping her."

"But there's no guarantee you'll succeed where we've failed!"

"I'm aware of the risk, and assume full responsibility. If the gamble doesn't pay, you may be sure I will neither reproach nor blame you. In compensation, you'll appreciate I can't be expected to pay for Vixen what I paid for Victress, who came to us fully-trained and biddable. I'd say half as much would be fair. If you'll take forty pounds for her, we have a deal."

The price was too low, the opening move in a negotiation, no doubt, but Percy refused to be drawn. "I can't in good conscience sell you the horse," he said, regretful but firm. "Not if she's destined for your daughter. It would be irresponsible."

The baron studied him through narrowed eyes. "Fifty pounds."

Percy shook his head. "Price is not the issue. You could offer twice as much, the answer would still be no."

Damerel did not reply at once, his dark gaze fixed on Percy, sharp and assessing. At length, having concluded apparently that Percy was sincere, he said, "Your scruples do you credit, but I assure you they're misplaced. I have every confidence Cassie will have Vixen eating out of her hand inside a month. Her knack with horses is truly exceptional."

"I don't doubt she is all that you say, sir, but I'm not persuaded, even so, that Vixen is the horse for her, or, indeed, for any young person. I'll be willing to sell her once she's better behaved — say, in a year or so — but for the moment, it's out of the question. I'm sorry for it, but there it is. Now, if you'll consider other mares…"

"Would you sell her on a trial basis?" Damerel broke in, maddeningly persistent. "I'll give you my word that if Vixen proves, on trial, to be as ungovernable as you say, I'll not give her to Cassie. I'll have my staff at the Priory do a thorough evaluation and if they share your reservations, I'll sell the mare on."

"Can you afford the time, though? If Vixen disappoints, you'll be left without a gift."

"Ah! Good point." He paused to consider the problem, and in very short order proposed, "Here's what we'll do: you'll send two mares along to the Priory, Vixen and one other who, in your judgment, would be a good match for my daughter. We'll allow my staff a fortnight to make their assessment, and, at the end of that time, based on their recommendation, one of the horses will be delivered to Town and the other returned to Harebell. Now, what do you say? Is that agreeable?"

As his concerns had been fully addressed, Percy felt he could not reasonably refuse. He inclined his head. "I accept on the terms just stated."

"Splendid!" The baron beamed with satisfaction and extended his hand for Percy to shake. "It's settled, then. I'll have my man of business contact yours to arrange payment. How soon do you think the horses can be transferred?"

"By week's end?" Percy speculated. "I'll send my agent notice of the sale by this evening's post. Worse case, he should have his instructions day after next."

"Very good." Damerel rose, and Percy, of necessity, stood as well. "I'm pleased we were able to reach an agreement. You drove a hard bargain, but then, I should have expected no less of Sir Gerald's nephew."

Percy, whose impression was quite the reverse, knew this for a polite, if patronizing, fiction, but was too glad of the meeting's positive outcome to resent it. They parted on cordial terms, the baron promising to inform Percy of the result of Vixen's trial and inviting him to be present at his daughter's birthday fête for the unveiling of his gift.

"Care to wager on which horse it will be?" Damerel asked off-handedly as they emerged from the club. "My money's on Vixen, say, double the sale price or nothing."

"I'm not a betting man, sir."

"A pity, but no doubt wise. Well, good day to you, Claiborne."

"Good day, sir." They went their separate ways, Percy reflecting on the interview as he strolled back to his lodgings. He quite liked the baron, found him congenial and stimulating company, but he was no less aware that, beneath the cultured surface, the man was sharp-eyed, strong-willed and unyielding. If crossed, he would make a formidable enemy. Another reason, if one were needed, for Percy to keep his distance from Helena. The question was, though: could he manage it? Nothing was less certain.