Joan Wolf by His Lordship's Mistress Page B

nodded, his face never changing. “Well, let us see how many others have their eyes on her.” The first horse was brought out and the auction was begun.
    Jessica had never seen so many beautiful thoroughbreds for sale. There were mostly yearlings and two-and three-year-olds; the stallions and the best of the brood mares had already been sold privately. Bertram got the bay colt Jessica had recommended and another gray that they all agreed looked likely. Sir Francis was restrained from purchasing a flashy looking black yearling when Jessica said quietly, “Look at his legs.” They all watched intently as the groom ran before the horse, trotting it around the ring. “I don’t see anything,” Sir Francis frowned. “Watch him as he comes toward you,” Jessica said, her eyes still on the colt. “He throws his feet out sideways.”
       “So he does,” said Linton slowly.
       “Well, what about it?” asked Sir Francis.
       “He’ll never be fast,” Linton explained kindly. “I shouldn’t bid if I were you, Rustington.” So Sir Francis had stood quietly and watched another man get the colt for thirty guineas.
    “Thirty guineas!” he complained. “I missed a bargain.”
    “Not with that foot action you didn’t,” Jessica said positively. “There are two Moorrunner colts coming up that will prove to be much better buys in the long run. I should bid on one of them if I were you.” Sir Francis took her advice.
    * * * *
    The sale proved to be extremely satisfactory to all parties. The two young men were delighted with their acquisitions, Linton had gotten the filly he wanted at a surprisingly good price, and Jessica had gotten some experience in what was going to be her future trade. As they were all cold and hungry by the end of the afternoon they repaired to the Sevenoaks Inn for supper. By this time Bertram and Sir Francis regarded Jessica as quite one of their oldest friends, and the party that gathered around the fireside table was merry and comfortable.
    “I didn’t even know you were interested in that filly,” Bertram said to Linton reproachfully. “You never said a word and then you jumped in at the end of the bidding with a fifty-guinea raise in price. You surprised everybody.”
    “I didn’t surprise Jess,” Linton said, his eyes going to her face. She looked very beautiful to him as she sat in front of the fire in her russet wool dress. The leaping flames brought out the copper in her hair, braided so neatly into a coronet on top of her head. She turned to answer Bertram, and Linton thought that she had the most beautiful movements of any woman he had ever seen.
    “Your cousin Philip is an old hand at- buying horses, Bertram. He observes scrupulously the first rule of the game: never let anyone know how interested you are, otherwise the price will go up.”
    “Oh.” Bertram looked thoughtful.
    “I say, Miss 0’Neill,” said Sir Francis admiringly, “you are a regular mine of information. If you ever decide to give up the stage you could always take up selling horses.”
    He spoke jokingly and Bertram laughed readily. At this moment the waiter came over with the bottle of wine they had ordered, so neither of them noticed the stricken look that had come over Jessica’s face at Sir Francis’ words.
    Linton noticed, however and, under cover of Bertram’s tasting the wine, he asked her quietly, “What has happened to distress you?”
    She took refuge behind an expression of mute aloofness. “Nothing,” she replied briefly.
    His eyes, so deeply and changeably blue, remained fixed on her face for what seemed to her a very long time. Then he said, “Very well,” and turned to speak to Bertram.
    He tried to get her to talk about her past during the drive home. It was clear to the meanest intelligence that Jessica’s knowledge of horses was far more extensive than any ordinary person’s, male or female, would be. But all she would repeat was that she had spent some time around