Spring Blossom Page 2

  Hunter waited and listened as she darted from view. When he heard no sound of the door opening, he looked over his shoulder to see her hesitating, one hand on the doorknob.

  “May I ask you one question, Mr. Maguire?”

  He sighed for dramatic effect then turned so she would not see his smile. “Quickly, then.”

  “Papa said you have recently traveled in Europe. Will you tell me about the places you have seen?”

  “I shall give the matter some thought, Miss Downing.”

  “Will you tell Papa I was here?” she asked quietly.

  “That, too, will require some thought,” he said softly. “Now scoot!”

  With a giggle she was gone.

  CHAPTER 2

  Dressed in a fresh white shirt, a dark green coat, and buff trousers, Hunter returned, refreshed, to the main floor of the house. The color of the coat complemented his dark hair and eyes and he cut such a tall, elegant figure that no one would have dreamed he did not consider a fine house and fine clothes his natural state. Some considered him confident almost to the point of arrogance, casual almost to the point of appearing aloof, intelligent almost to the point of genius and complementing all these traits was a fine sense of humor. In fact, he was a man of strength and fortitude who was also comfortable displaying his gentler side.

  Tonight he was shown to the wide parlor doors by the frowning Anna. Stepping inside the large, airy room, Hunter’s attention was immediately drawn to a life-sized portrait hanging above the elegant marble mantel over the fireplace. The subject was a woman gowned in soft blue, with eyes to match and hair so fair as to be almost white. The glorious curls cascaded over one shoulder and covered one breast as if to protect it from artist and viewer alike.

  She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  “My wife, Margaret,” Alastair offered.

  Only then did Hunter realize that the man had stepped to his side. He glanced briefly at his host before his gaze drifted back to the portrait. “She was lovely, Alastair.”

  “Aye,” the man said. “I miss her.” Then, as if shaking off a morose mood, Alastair Downing clapped a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Come and meet my girls,” he said lightly. “They are anxiously awaiting you.”

  Hunter smiled then, lowering his gaze to the area before the wide fireplace. Two plump upholstered sofas faced each other across a low, rectangular table and three well-groomed young women sat quietly, staring in his direction. When they noticed Hunter’s attention focused on them all three rose in well-rehearsed unison to stand perfectly still, lacing their fingers together before them. Hunter felt as if he was expected to inspect the king’s guard.

  “Come along,” Alastair took a few steps across the room. “Jennifer, my youngest, is only six. She is with her nanny, but I would like to present my older girls,” he said, with considerable pride.

  Extending his hand, Alastair acknowledged the first girl who dipped into a respectful curtsy. “This is Florence,” he said, frowning as the timid girl seemed to wilt under the scrutiny of the two men.

  Smiling, Hunter repeated her name but the girl ducked her head and refused to look at him. Alastair gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  Turning then, the men faced the two oldest girls; the first Alastair introduced as Denise, a pretty girl of perhaps thirteen or so who possessed the same creamy, ivory skin that all three of these children seemed to have inherited.

  And then his bedroom visitor was dropping into a low, graceful curtsy before rising to smile up at him with a slight tilt to her head; as if they shared a confidence.

  "And Maggie is my eldest,” Alastair proclaimed.

  It was clear to Hunter that this daughter was a miniature of her mother. Although her skirts were not yet full length, Maggie’s appearance, highlighted by the soft blue of her adolescent gown, hinted at the woman yet to come and it was obvious to Hunter, as it must be to Alastair, the girl would undoubtedly be a beauty.

  A heart-beat later, Hunter found it difficult not to laugh, knowing this elegant young woman hid a distinct mischievous streak. “Maggie, is it?” he said softly.

  Maggie looked a bit concerned when he failed to smile.

  “We have met before, of course,” Hunter continued. Alastair looked startled, and the girl’s complexion seemed to warm as she took a deep breath, obviously fearing the worst. “Perhaps not,” he added thoughtfully and then chuckled when Maggie breathed a soft sigh. “I believe I saw you on the landing when I first arrived?”

  Maggie gladly grasped at that. “Yes. On the landing.”

  But Hunter knew exactly what she was thinking and laughed softly as he reached out and lightly touched her cheek before turning away. “Your daughters are lovely, Alastair,” he said, facing his host once again and giving Maggie a much needed moment to recover.

  Alastair nodded, bowing slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Off to your supper now, girls,” he said, then smiled as they obediently filed out of the room. When he turned back to his guest, Alastair offered, “A light libation, perhaps?”

  Hunter caught a last pleading look from Maggie as she whirled in preparation of closing the parlor doors before joining her sisters. He smiled and nodded, reassuring her that he would keep her secret.

  Alastair took the nod as assent and asked, “Brandy or wine?”

  “Brandy. Thank you.” Seating himself in a large wing-backed chair, Hunter asked, “Your daughters don’t join you for suppers?”

  Firmly shaking his head, Alastair turned from the rose-wood table in the corner and handed his guest a snifter of brandy before taking a chair. “They are a bit young yet for formal dinners but I did promise Maggie she could serve as hostess for her birthday supper in a few months time.”

  Hunter was not surprised by this. Seldom had his own father allowed the younger children to join him for meals in his own formal dining room. But while Hunter was aware of this custom, he was not particularly in favor of it. If a child possessed the rudiments of polite behavior, why excluded them? Besides, he liked children. But to his host he merely held the brandy snifter aloft in a silent toast before inhaling its fragrant bouquet.

  *

  Maggie could hear the distant drone of male voices and thought her father and Hunter Maguire were surely going to talk in the parlor all night. Meanwhile she could detect the fragrant odors of their supper from the far side of the dining room doors and was dying of starvation! If the men did not soon make a move she just knew she would swoon and they would find her in a heap on the floor outside the doors to the dining room. It was true that nervous flutters, as well as hunger, were causing funny feelings in her tummy, but she was determined to see this through. It was time she played hostess and Hunter Maguire would admire the way she carried out the task. Why she craved his admiration, she did not question.

  Maggie had longed for years to take her mother’s place as the hostess of Treemont and had long thought she was ready. Tonight she would prove it to her father and to that handsome devil, Hunter Maguire. And he certainly was handsome…beautiful as Florence would have said. And Maggie liked his manner, for while he appeared to be a gentleman, she felt he was also quite daring. After all, how many men would have sat quietly in a tub and talked to a woman? Her behavior had not been at all proper and the memory of her afternoon visit stirred Maggie’s sense of adventure. She should never have entered his room but being naughty was a bit breathtaking, like sneaking out of the house in the middle of night to gaze at the stars. The fact that it was forbidden only enhanced the experience.

  Leaning her head against the doorframe, Maggie closed her eyes, listening for any sound that might indicate the men were finished with their drinks. She was famished! Only the thought of seeing Hunter Maguire’s brilliant, devastating smile seemed to be keeping her upright. And then she heard the near murmur of male voices as they moved into the dining room. Maggie straightened, smoothing her gown in concern for her appearance. Normal
ly she was more interested in running and riding free and unhindered but when the situation warranted it, she would fret over her appearance as she fretted over the condition of her room. Tonight her best blue dress was crisp and clean and every strand of hair was in place. She had brushed out her braids and left her hair to flow down her back in a very bold move toward adulthood. She prayed her father would not scold her for her daring and wished she were old enough to possess a sophisticated ankle-length gown. But that would come in a few months time when she became, officially, sixteen.

  Taking a deep breath and forming her pink lips into a brave smile, Maggie quietly pushed the double doors aside, pausing in the opening only briefly as two sets of startled male eyes turned in her direction.

  Gratified when the two men rose to greet her, Maggie swished into the room and stepped to the place to the right of her father.

  “Daughter?” he questioned.

  Maggie chose to ignore his confusion as she frowned at the table in feigned surprise. “Father,” she said softly, “you really must speak to Anna. She has forgotten to set my place.”

  Hunter stifled laugh behind a subtle cough while Alastair drew himself up in shock.

  “Now see here, Margaret….”

  Maggie merely smiled brilliantly in the face of his obvious desire to reprimand. “Don’t worry, Papa. I shall fetch my own place setting.” She turned and raced into the pantry before her father had time to voice his objection.

  “Perhaps it’s not my place,” Hunter offered quietly as both men continued to stand and await her return, “but would it be unforgiveable of me to suggest that we enjoy her company? You did say that in a few months…”

  Stymied, Alastair could only shake his head in dismay as he plopped down onto his chair. A moment later Maggie happily raced back into the room, plate and utensils in hand and he found he could not deny her.

  “Very well,” he muttered to no one in particular, and Maggie’s heart lurched as she set down her burden and graced their guest with a beaming smile.

  Enjoying her daring, Hunter moved around the table and held the back of her chair while Maggie sat in a motion so well practiced he was amazed by its grace. And when he returned to his own chair and sat smiling across the table at her, Maggie knew without doubt that she had truly found her first love.

  “Now we shall engage in some engrossing conversation,” she said.

  Alastair stared at her, perplexed and fell to shaking his head yet again.

  Hunter coughed suspiciously.

  In fact, Maggie proved herself to be an engaging conversationalist. Although she was still somewhere between childhood and womanhood, she was nevertheless an interesting table companion and a credit to her parents.

  For her own part, Maggie found the strain of maintaining an adult mien quite draining and was feeling wilted by the time dessert was served. In truth, she would have preferred being in her bed to struggling through more conversation. She had already slipped a time or two and said something outrageous. The last time, her father had scowled in her direction and she had fallen silent until the men had been served coffee.

  That was her cue.

  “Well, it has been delightful,” she said, rising to her feet and feeling gratified as both men rose in unison. “I shall leave you to your brandy and cigars.” Seeing a strange and unreadable expression in her father’s eyes, Maggie experienced a moment of doubt “Am I not correct, Papa?” she asked and knew instantly that she had spoiled her exit. Her eyes darted to their guest. Then Maggie’s heart seemed to stop, missing only a single beat before it began to thunder as Hunter Maguire bowed slightly, and smiled.

  “Good evening, Miss Downing,” he said in his deep, resonant voice. “And I thank you for the pleasure of your charming company this evening.”

  Maggie was not certain how to respond to that and felt it best not to respond at all. And so, blushing madly, she curtsied and fled the room.

  CHAPTER 3

  Maggie Downing slept little that night and what sleep she did manage to get was fitful at best. In the morning she had no desire for food and fussed over her appearance during the time she would normally have spent eating breakfast.

  Deciding she had best not push her luck, Maggie plaited her hair into a single braid. The style was practical and more adult than the twin braids she normally wore, yet not adult enough to earn her a scolding. Satisfied that her hair would do, she donned an emerald-blue day dress that she had been told flattered the light blue of her eyes, wishing once again that she could wear full-length skirts. But wishing was fruitless when it came to her father’s strict code and, feeling she passed muster as she exited her room, made her way quietly down the corridor toward the guest room.

  And just in time!

  Anna was ascending the back stairs, tray in hand, and walking toward her. Ducking back into her own room, Maggie closed the door all but a crack and watched as the housekeeper knocked once on the door to Hunter’s room before leaving the breakfast tray on the floor in the corridor. Maggie thought it rude that their guest would not be served properly in his room, but the priggish Anna would never enter a room occupied by a male guest. Later she would straighten the bed but not until Hunter Maguire was well away.

  Maggie eased her head around the doorframe and watched until the top of Ann’s head disappeared from sight.

  Once she was certain the corridor was deserted, she darted the few paces to Hunter’s room, knocked on the door vigorously and stooped to pick up the tray of coffee and warm cinnamon rolls.

  *

  Hunter groaned softly, his face half buried in his pillow as he became aware of a knocking at the door. Normally he was up and cheerfully greeting the dawn, the best time of the day. But this morning he was reluctant. He cautiously opened one eye to stare out the French doors. The sun was already high and bright. He must have been more tired from his journeys than he realized.

  The sound came again.

  No help for it; he could not lie abed all day. Reluctantly, he turned over, propping a pillow behind his back even as he called, “Come!”

  The door opened partway and a round, smiling face framed by wisps of white-blond hair appeared. “Are you decent?” she asked and he laughed shortly as he ran his long lean fingers through his hair.

  “I never seem to be when you come skulking about.”

  “I am not skulking,” Maggie returned indignantly as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Anna left your tray and you took so long waking up that the coffee was growing cold.” She stopped short a few steps from the bed. “Oh! You don’t wear a night shirt!”

  “No, I don’t wear a nightshirt,” he returned wryly as he made certain the blankets covered his torso to the waist. “You really are shameless.”

  “I know,” Maggie agreed, before placing the tray across his lap. “Are you going to look at the horses today?” she asked as she plopped herself down on the bed beside his right hip.

  Pouring coffee from the small silver pot, he smiled, nodding his head as he steadied the try with his free hand. “I am.”

  “I could help you choose,” she offered and reached out to take the small piece of roll he offered.

  “You fancy yourself a good judge of horseflesh, do you?”

  Maggie nodded, chewing on the roll. “There is a prime little mare that is in foal and I don’t believe Papa knows.” She reached for another piece of roll. “You could have two for the price of one!”

  Hunter stared at her in amazement. “Now, that’s disloyal of you, Miss Downing,” he said sternly. “And how is it you know that the mare is in foal and your father does not?”

  “I was there when Salamander mounted her, that is how,” she informed him with absolutely no hint of embarrassment. “I just happened to be in the loft.”

  While Hunter believed that young people should be aware of the act of procreation, he somehow did not think Alastair would share his views. “Is your father aware that you’ve witnessed such things?”
he asked softly.

  Maggie brows arched upward. “Good heavens, no! Papa would be scandalized.”

  “And you’re not?”

  Shaking her head, Maggie said, “The breeding was a mistake, actually. The stable boys let Salamander get away from them and, of course, once he smelled the mare, they could not keep him away. They would have been injured if they had interfered. Still, Papa wouldn’t be happy to know about their blunder.”

  Hunter could visualize this sprite witnessing the particular event; it was a wonder she had not fallen headlong from the loft while she straining to see! “I don’t think it would be fair of me to dupe your father, do you?” he asked.

  Maggie shrugged her shoulders, licking a sticky finger. “You would be saving the stable boys from a scolding,” she returned. “Unless, of course, the breeding didn’t take and the mare is not in foal. Then Papa would never know what happened.”

  Hunter chuckled; she was such a delightful minx. “You had best get out of here, Miss Downing,” he said a moment later. “I do believe you're corrupting me.”

  Maggie merely shrugged.

  “I’m serious, Maggie. I am about to get out of this bed.”

  Maggie flew into action then, knowing she had over-stepped the bounds of propriety again. At the door, she turned back. “You won’t tell Papa I was here?”

  Hunter shot her a good impression of a frown. “I’ll have to give the matter some thought.”

  “You won’t!” She laughed and raced from the room.

  *

  The day was bright and sunny and not overly humid, considering the time of year. It was mild with the smell of freshly cut grass and hay in the air mingled with the headier odors of animals.

  Hunter propped one booted foot on the lower fence rail while his forearms rested on the upper rail of the corral. Several mares were paraded by for his inspection. Treemont boasted some extremely fine animals and, as a result, he was having a difficult time choosing.