His Lordship's Filly by Nina Coombs Pykare Page A

wonder Durabian had panicked, been frantic to get Bridget safely married and the stallion out of his stables.
    It was Wichersham who held the notes, Wichersham who had no qualms about ruining man, woman, or child. Or animal, as far that went. Well, old Durabian had outfoxed him. It appeared fairly certain that the Irishman had meant for Waterloo to lose the race. But how had he accomplished it?
    Andrew had heard of races in which the rider held the horse back. Bridget! Waterloo loved her. He would obey any command she gave him. Had she kept the horse from winning?
    He supposed it was possible. But it was hard to imagine Bridget being party to any such plan. She was too honest, too proud of the stallion, to resort to trickery.
    He sighed. There was no way to tell for sure. Asking would not assure him the truth, and it might insult her. Besides, even if he found that she had cheated, what good would the knowledge do him? He and Bridget were truly married—in the eyes of the church, and in his own. They’d do better just to make the best of it.
    Besides, he couldn’t believe Bridget had been guilty of anything shady. He shifted in the cold bed. Should he have stayed with her tonight? He’d wanted to, but she’d looked so exhausted that he hadn’t the heart to make any more demands on her. But tomorrow night—
    He smiled and willed himself to relax. Marriage to Bridget might not be half bad. If nothing else, it was sure to be interesting.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Bridget woke the next morning with a sense of apprehension. Something wasn’t right, but at first she was too sleepy to remember what that something was. And then she remembered. Papa! Papa owed that awful amount of money. She jumped from the bed, washed quickly, and hurried into her clothes. She had to see Andrew, to find out what he had done about it.
    The dining room was empty, but there was food, far too much food, of course, on the sideboard. And a footman appeared right away to inquire if she wanted anything else.
    She frowned. “Where is his Lordship?” she asked. “Has he had breakfast yet?”
    “Oh yes, milady,” the footman replied. “He came down early and went out.”
    Good! Bridget slowly filled her plate. Andrew was out keeping his word. When he came back, he’d have Papa’s debts paid. The thought gave her comfort and she enjoyed the food, eating far more than she was used to, but it seemed a shame to waste it—bacon, eggs, ham, kippers, and muffins with butter and apricot marmalade. And a great pot of tea to wash it all down.
    She had just finished when Andrew came striding in. “Good morning,” he said. “You’ll be glad to know your father’s safe. I sent my factor to take care of his debts.Bynow it’s all done.”
    She smiled, her heart feeling a million times lighter. “Good. Then we can ride out to see him.”
    But Andrew frowned, looking very fatherish. “Bridget, I think we’d better wait till tomorrow to go out there. We’ve a lot to do today. You need everything, you know—gowns and petticoats, shoes and stockings, shawls and bonnets, and all the other things ladies wear.”
    “But I don’t need anything,” she protested.“My regular clothes will do fine.”
    “They will not do fine,” he replied, his face turning so stern she knew she’d made a serious mistake. “You’re a lady now,” he went on, “and you must act like one.”
    Why must he be so autocratic? And why must ladies act differently than ordinary people? “But I want to ride.”
    Andrew sighed heavily, like Papa when she wanted to do something he disapproved of. “Bridget, you will ride. We’ll order you a habit. Something in forest green, perhaps, to go with your coloring. And riding boots, new ones. You’ll see. You’ll like having new gowns.”
    She didn’t protest anymore. She knew that look on a man’s face. If he said she would like something, then it was smartest to agree with him, even if she knew she wouldn’t. After all, how long