The Husband Campaign. Regina Scott

obviously been passed to his daughter.

      Yet as John checked with his head groom and learned that Contessa was still missing, he could not seem to forget the woman he’d found sleeping in the straw. Perhaps that was why he hurried out of the stables at the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel.

      A lavish landau sat on the yard, brass appointments gleaming in the morning light. The four matched grays pulling it had the sleek, well-kept look of carriage horses. He would not have allowed one in his stable, and he was none too sure the same might not be said of the lady perched on the leather-upholstered seats of the open carriage. Lady Wesworth’s back was ramrod straight in her serpentine pelisse, the peacock feather in her bonnet waving in the breeze.

      Most of his grooms were still out searching for Contessa, but his veterinarian, Marcus Fletcher, must have heard the carriage as well, for he came out of the opposite stable block. A tall, gangly fellow with a riot of curly red hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, he was generally good with people for all he’d chosen to be a horse doctor instead of a physician. By the imperious frown on Lady Wesworth’s face, however, John thought even Fletcher’s good nature might not be sufficient.

      “Lord Hascot,” she said as John approached, Fletcher falling into step beside him. “What have you done with my daughter?”

      She made it sound as if John had stolen Amelia from her home. Luckily, he was spared an answer by the opening of the rear door of the house and the entrance of the lady herself, followed by the maid John had requested from Rotherford Grange.

      “Amelia!” Lady Wesworth cried as her daughter drew closer. “Are you hurt?”

      A reasonable question, but it was said with a note of accusation, as if only injury would allow her mother to condone her actions.

      “Good morning, Mother,” Lady Amelia answered pleasantly, as if she usually started the day in a strange house. “I’m very sorry if I concerned you. I’m fine.”

      Indeed, she looked quite fine. The maid had done an excellent job of smoothing her platinum hair, brushing out the plum habit. Her blue eyes sparkling, Lady Amelia was nothing short of perfection.

      Unfortunately, her mother did not appear to agree. Her chilly gaze swept over her daughter, as if seeking any fault.

      “Of course you concerned me,” she all but scolded. “You are my daughter, our only child.” She affixed her gaze on John and held out her hand in a clear order to help her from the carriage.

      He ignored her and turned to Lady Amelia. He had done his duty and delivered her safely back to her family. Surely that would silence the nagging voice in his head that he should do more.

      “I trust the rest of your visit to Dovecote Dale will be unmarred by further unpleasantries, your ladyship,” he said with a bow. “Safe travels.”

      Was it his imagination, or did her smile warm at his gesture? “Thank you, Lord Hascot. I hope you find your missing horse.”

      Despite everything that had happened, she remembered Contessa. That alone made her remarkable in John’s eyes. As his head groom brought out a brushed and watered Belle, her smile only grew.

      So did her mother’s frown. Indeed, she had turned an unbecoming shade of red.

      “Lord Hascot,” she said, eyes narrowed, “my husband will expect you in London within the week. Come along, Amelia.”

      Lady Wesworth obviously expected not only instant obedience but humble gratitude for being given the benefit of her exalted command. John knew a sprightly mare generally resulted in a sprightly colt, but he found it difficult to believe Lady Amelia shared much in common with her mother.

      And he no longer danced to anyone’s tune.

      He bowed to Lady Amelia, then turned his back on her mother and strode to the stables. The Jacoby women no doubt had a social calendar filled with appointments, and he had work to do. But he had only reached the door of the main stables before Fletcher caught up to him.

      “She’ll have to pay for this, I fear,” he said.

      John eyed his veterinarian. Marcus Fletcher had been in his employ since John had first bought Hollyoak Farm and started raising horses. He very nearly hadn’t hired the fellow, for Fletcher did not exude confidence. His hands, however, were large and capable, his smile generous and his good nature without limit. Now, by the way he kept glancing back toward the house, he was concerned for their departing guest.

      “I’ve no doubt she’s well acquainted with her parents’ strictures,” John said, pulling open the door and heading inside. As always, the cool air of the stable welcomed him, brought him the scent of fresh hay, clean water and well-cared-for horses. Most of his stock had already been let out to pasture, and his footsteps rang against the cobbles as he made his way down the center aisle.

      “Oh, assuredly,” Fletcher agreed, following him. “She seems a very obedient daughter. But you didn’t see her face as they left. It was as if she’d lost her last friend.”

      Something was tugging at him again, but he pushed it down. He’d been chivalrous enough where Lady Amelia was concerned. He had no reason to go haring off to London to fight the lady’s dragon parents. And nothing to be gained by it. Lady Amelia, like other women of her class, married for position and power, and he was certain her father would agree that John as a baron had too little of either.

      He glanced at the empty stall partway down the row. Where could Contessa have gotten to this time? “We have more important matters at hand,” he told his veterinarian. “Send word to the village—a one hundred pound reward for Contessa’s safe return.”

      Fletcher’s red-gold brows rose. “Generous. You do realize, however, that the last horse you sold went for a thousand pounds. There is money in a Hascot horse.”

      “Only if you can prove it’s a Hascot horse,” John countered, heading for the rear of the stables. “No more than a few know her bloodlines. And with that game leg, she can’t have gone far. I’ll take Magnum out again. They generally find each other in the fields.”

      “And what of Lady Amelia?” Fletcher pressed, following him. “I suspect some would say you owe her a duty, as well.”

      Magnum nickered in greeting. John stroked his horse’s nose and nodded to the groom who had hurried up with the tooled leather saddle. “I offered, she refused. That’s all that need concern you.”

      Magnum shook his head as if he quite disagreed. Fletcher went so far as to jerk to a stop on the cobbles. “You offered?”

      John crossed his arms over his chest as the groom laid on the saddle that had been made especially for the broad-backed horse and set about cinching it in place. “It was expected.”

      “If I may,” Fletcher said, pausing to clear his throat, “you are not known for doing the expected.”

      John dropped his arms, put a foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. “Then be glad.”

      “She is lovely,” Fletcher ventured, looking up at him.

      She was beautiful—a porcelain princess and apparently nearly as fragile. John didn’t answer as he took the reins from his groom.

      “Sweet natured,” Fletcher continued as if to encourage him. “And accomplished, too, I hear.”

      “So are half the mares in my stable,” John replied, “and you don’t see me running to court them.”

      Fletcher made a face as he stepped back out of Magnum’s way. “Certainly not! But, my lord, you must admit you could do far worse than Lady Amelia.”

      John gathered the reins. “And you must admit that she could do far better. I’ll start in the east and work my way west. Send word if you find Contessa.”

      “But, my lord,” Fletcher protested.

      John didn’t wait to hear another word. He’d already