Thunder and Roses by Mary Jo Putney

completed, the trail widened so that they could travel side by side. Nicholas said, “You ride better than I would have expected for someone who learned on that old slug of your father’s. The beast had a mouth like granite.”                          
     
    She smiled. “If I seem competent, Rhonda must get the credit. It’s pleasant to ride an animal that’s so responsive and has such smooth gaits. Willow had his points, though. My father was an absent-minded horseman, and he never had to worry that Willow would bolt if neglected.”
     
    “Small chance of that. More likely Willow stopped and grazed whenever your father’s mind wandered.” Without a change in tone, he continued, “I’m curious about how bad my local reputation is. What do people in Penreith say about the melodramatic events of four years ago?”
     
    Rhonda stopped and tossed her head unhappily as Clare’s hands tightened on the reins. Forcing herself to relax, she said, “It’s believed that after years of trying to break your grandfather’s heart, you finally succeeded by seducing his wife. When he found you in bed together, he suffered a fit of apoplexy that killed him. Your own wife, Lady Tregar , was horrorstruck when she discovered what had happened. Terrified that you would injure her, she fled Aberdare. The night was stormy and she died when her carriage went off the road and crashed into the river.”
     
    When she fell silent, he said lightly, “Is that all?”
     
    “Isn’t that enough?” she said, her tone edged. “Perhaps you’ll be gratified to know that there was speculation that your grandfather really died of Gypsy poison, and that your wife’s death may have been less accidental than it appeared. The fact that you left Aberdare that night and never came back was fuel for the fire. However, the magistrate’s inquiry found no evidence of criminal conduct.”
     
    Voice laced with irony, he said, “Surely there are those who believe that Old Nick was capable of bribing a country magistrate to conceal the truth.”
     
    “It was suggested, but the magistrate was much respected. Also, Lady Tregar’s coachman swore that it was a genuine accident that resulted from her insisting that he go faster, against his better judgment.”
     
    “Did the coachman ever mention where Caroline was going in such a tearing hurry? I’ve sometimes wondered.”
     
    Clare thought a moment, then shook her head. “Not that I know of. Does it matter?”
     
    He shrugged. “Probably not. I was merely curious. As you know, I left in a hurry, without learning all the details. Still … does the coachman live in the valley?”
     
    “No. When you left, most of the servants were dismissed and had to go elsewhere.” She was unable to resist adding, “At least thirty people lost their jobs when the house was closed. Did you ever think of that when you went storming out?”
     
    After a long silence, he said, “To be honest, no.”
     
    As she studied his profile, she saw a tightness that belied his casual manner. She had wanted to prick his conscience, yet now that she had, she found herself needing to ease his expression. “You had supporters as well as detractors. My father never believed that you could have behaved so badly.”
     
    Like her father, Clare had not wanted to believe the worst. She hoped that Nicholas would take this opportunity to deny the charges, offer some plausible explanation for what seemed like vicious immorality. Instead, he only said dryly, “Your father was a saint. I, however, am a sinner.”
     
    “You take great pride in that, don’t you?” she said, disappointment sharpening her voice.
     
    “Of course.” His expressive brows arched. “One must have pride in something.”
     
    “Why not pride in your integrity, or your charity, or your learning?” she asked with exasperation. “The virtues of adults instead of the vices of small boys.”
     
    For a moment he looked startled