The Stable Master's Son, page 1
ALSO BY MINDY BURBIDGE STRUNK
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Unmasking Lady Caroline
Mistaken Identity
Miss Marleigh’s Pirate Lord
Mistaken Identity
Reforming the Gambler
Rake on the Run
The Secrets of a Scoundrel
Saving Anna- Novella
An American in Duke’s Clothing
The Baron’s Rose
A Princess for the Gentleman
Mysteries of Hawthorn Hall
The Treasure of Owl’s Roost Abbey
The Stable Master’s Son
Engaging the Earl
Lying to a Lord
Just As You Are- Novella
Charming the Recluse
Contemporary Romance and Romcom
Bear
Mustang
The Problem with Princes
Jingle Bell Jilt
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Copyright © 2021 by Mindy Burbidge Strunk
Cover design by Ashtyn Newbold
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Most names, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes, but any resemblance to actual people-living or dead, to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locals are coincidental.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Keep reading the next in the series
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Philip Jenkins was a handsome enough man. He could admit as much. He was no Lord Byron, but there were ladies enough seeking his attention. Not Dorothea, but plenty of others—if he were so inclined to want a lady’s attention. Which he was not.
He turned his head from one side to the other, examining his reflection in the mirror as he tied his cravat. Dorothea had thought him handsome. She had said he was. But then, that had simply been a ploy of hers. He had learned too late that there was always a motive in what Dorothea did. What her motive in calling him handsome had been, Philip had no idea. But that was years ago. And he thought of her no more.
He frowned and amended the thought. He thought of her rarely.
“Sir?” A quiet knock sounded on his door.
Philip stepped away and pulled open the door.
Anne stood in the corridor.
“Yes?” Philip looked down at the girl of no more than twelve.
“Your mother sent me to tell you that breakfast is ready.”
Philip nodded. “Thank you, Anne. I will be down shortly.”
Philip let out a quiet grunt as he shut the door and turned back toward the mirror, giving himself one last glance. He looked presentable enough for a cricket match, especially when he was playing with the workers. The gentlemen would surely turn up their noses at him, but Philip was used to such reactions.
It was not as if he were after the affections of the likes of Lady Dorothea any longer. Or any other woman, for that fact. Women were troublesome. He had learned that lesson quickly and painfully.
Besides, there was too much work to do. And his horses surely did not care what knot he chose or if he cut his hair in a fashionable style. As long as he had some oats in his hand or an apple in his pocket, they were happy. Which made Philip happy.
He raised a brow. He would surely need to change into something more suitable for his meeting after the match. But he could worry about that later.
Philip turned away from the mirror and headed out of his bedroom. Striding down the corridor, his smile widened. It was bound to be a good day. The sun was shining, and his future awaited him.
He was looking forward to the match this morning at Briarwood. But even more, he looked forward to his meeting with the Duke of Larmont later this afternoon. The man had his eye on Philip’s racer, Black Thunder.
A tingle ran up his spine. The duke was surely Philip’s means of gaining notoriety as a breeder outside of Somerset. If the duke liked what he saw, he would surely pass along Philip’s name to others of the duke’s rank and status.
Philip rubbed his hands together. This was how it would all begin. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for since coming to Somerset almost eight years ago.
He sighed as he paused at the top of the stairs and looked down into the entryway below. His house was not Blenheim or Chatsworth by any stretch of the imagination. It was not even habitable in some areas. But Greystone Manor was home. And it was his. The only good thing to come out of the incident with Lady Dorothea.
“Good morning, sir. Are you ready for breakfast?” Mrs. Heaton, their housekeeper, cook, and Anne’s mother, stood below, looking up. “Your parents are already in the breakfast room.”
Philip smiled. “My sister is still abed?”
Mrs. Heaton shrugged. “I have not checked in on her, so I cannot say. I only know that Miss Jenkins has not come down to eat.”
Philip shook his head. “You need not worry. I know Grace well enough to know she is certainly still watching the inside of her eyelids.”
"I do not think you know me as well as you think, Brother. For here I am, already dressed for the day.” Grace smirked at him.
Philip raised a brow. “Gracie, what raised you out of bed at this early hour?”
She sashayed past him. “I can sleep later. The cricket game only happens once each year. I can think of nothing that should keep me away from it.”
Philip raised a knowing brow and nodded. “And just whom are you hoping to see?”
Grace shrugged. “No one in particular.”
Philip shook his head at his sister. That was a bouncer if ever he heard one. But he held out his arm to her, anyway. “As you are up, perhaps you would allow me to escort you to the breakfast room?”
She smiled prettily at him. “Why, thank you, Philip.”
He sighed. Grace was not long under his roof; of that he was certain. It would be a bittersweet moment when Gracie married. He had grown accustomed to having her around again after her return from Mrs. Bootle’s School for Young Ladies last year.
Philip only hoped it was all worth it and that Grace would marry well. Although, all the refinement in the world could not overcome Grace’s upbringing. At least in the eyes of the ton. But the ton is not where he was looking to find Gracie a match. He would be perfectly content if she could secure the affections of a vicar or a well-respected solicitor. Someone not so high in society as to look down on Grace.
She had already turned the eyes of several of the men in town. It could not be much longer before she accepted one of them.
They stepped onto the entry hall floor, and he motioned Grace forward. All he wished was for her to make an advantageous match. But the longer it took to get the horses profitable, the less likely that seemed.
He had made a name for himself in Somerset, but he would never truly feel successful until he was known throughout England. But if he could win the approval of an influential duke, Greystone’s reputation would surely gain the notoriety Philip wanted.
He looked at the papered walls and the painted wainscoting. No one walking this corridor would know what lay behind each of the closed doors they passed. Peeling paint and chipped plaster were common in most of the rooms of Greystone—those that were not charred and burned. He had only had funds to repair a few public rooms. The rest had to wait until they were on sturdier financial ground.
He needed to make this house, this land, into a proper estate. But there was little money to do it with. He had thought himself fortunate when Lord Downings had granted the estate to him. But sometimes he thought that perhaps the old Earl had merely wished to be rid of the place.
The fire—which Downings had failed to mention—had done significant damage to the west wing. From the front and south side, it was not so noticeable. But from the north and back, the charred remains were obvious. Many of the bedchambers in that wing were lost, as well as the ballroom and several parlors. The extensive funds needed to repair the rooms the fire had not touched made it hard to imagine rebuilding the fire-damaged section of the house.
A deep breath pushed out Philip’s lips.
But his meeting today could change all that. His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of meeting with His
But the opposite was also true. If it did not go well, it could spell disaster. Philip could not afford to keep this place without a viable income. The paltry amount of land that could be farmed belonged to his tenants.
His small herds of sheep and cattle would not pay the bills, at least not until they grew significantly. If he could just find the money to repair the tenant cottages, the rent might help with revenue until the other sources of money came through. But Philip could not place his whole future on the tenants.
The pressure was on his horses. On him. Black Thunder’s inclusion in the General Stud book did not guarantee success. Philip needed to keep pushing forward and keep expanding the stables with the finest horses in England.
He helped Grace into her seat before sliding into a chair next to his mother.
She smiled at him and patted his hand. “Morning, Son.”
He leaned to the side and placed a kiss on her cheek. His mother had had a more troublesome time than the rest of them, embracing the life of an estate owner. Her speech was still coarser than that of Philip and Grace’s. Even his father sounded more like the upper classes than did his mother. But she claimed she was too old to change her ways, but at barely nine and forty, Philip thought her trouble had more to do with stubbornness. She could change her ways. She just didn’t want to. “Good morning, Mother. How did you sleep?”
She spooned her porridge into her mouth and swallowed it quickly. “You know me; I always sleep well. It’s in my nature.”
Mrs. Heaton brought in a bowl of porridge for Philip and one for Grace. She placed the sugar bowl on the table between the two of them and motioned with her head to the corridor, her eyes wider than normal.
Philip tilted his head to the side. Did she wish to speak to him in the corridor? What could she have to speak with him about privately?
“Oh, it looks as though I forgot my . . .” Philip paused. What did he forget? He could not think of anything that he might need to fetch. “My handkerchief.” Yes, that would do.
“Can you not wait until after breakfast to fetch it?” Grace asked.
“But I remember it now.” He tilted his head to the side. “Is it not best to retrieve it while I am thinking of it?” He moved toward the door. “You should try it, Grace. Perhaps then you would not forget so much.” He winked at his sister playfully. “I will return in a moment.”
“Don’t take too long or your porridge will be cold.” His mother sighed.
Philip moved out into the corridor where he found Mrs. Heaton waiting. “I apologize for pulling you away from the table, sir. But that is the last of the sugar. I do not have enough to make the cakes you requested for this afternoon.”
He rubbed his fingers over his brows before withdrawing two coins from his pocket. “Will this be enough? I am afraid it is all I have on me.” He need not tell her it was all he had entirely. He thought a little prayer in his mind, asking that money would not be needed for something else. At least nothing urgent. At Greystone, there was always something in need of money.
She took the coins and nodded. “Oh, yes. This is quite enough.” She dropped her shoulders, telling Philip she had lost at least a bit of confidence in him. Did she suspect how bad things currently were?
He smiled, hoping she would not see the concern in his eyes.
He moved back into the breakfast room and sat down, not missing the mounded spoonful of sugar Grace poured into her bowl. She pushed the bowl toward him, but he left it alone.
“Philip, might we leave for Briarwood a little early? I had thought to stop in at the milliners on the way. There is a bonnet in the window that I simply must have.”
A dull pain traveled up the back of his neck and settled in his head behind his eyes. “No. We do not have the funds for extravagances, Grace. You will simply have to wear a bonnet you already have.”
Besides learning to act and speak as a lady while at Mrs. Bootle’s, Grace had also come home with a new appreciation for fine things—things Philip could not afford.
“But Philip, I have not had a new bonnet since autumn.” She pushed her lip out in a pout. “I told Miss Martindale I would wear that bonnet to the match today. What will she think if I attend wearing the same old bonnet she has seen numerous times?”
Philip shoved his spoon into his mouth, even though his stomach roiled. The sugarless porridge tasted like sawdust. He swallowed hard and pushed the rest of the bowl away. “I have no idea what Miss Martindale will say, Grace. But there is no money for new bonnets. Not just yet. If my meeting this afternoon goes well, then we may discuss the issue further.”
Grace let out a huff. “But it will surely be sold before then. And then what shall I do?”
“Why don’t we set one of your other bonnets to pieces? Miss Martindale will surely never know it is not new.” His mother glanced over at him and the tension in his neck eased.
“Oh, very well.” Grace folded her arms across her chest, looking anything but compliant.
His mother pushed his bowl toward him, a concerned look on her face. “Why are you not eating? You need to eat if you are to have the stamina to last the whole of the match.”
He pushed the bowl away again. “I am well, Mother. Stop worrying over me.”
She raised a brow.
Grudgingly, he pulled the bowl toward him and put several more spoonfuls into his mouth, swallowing before he could taste the plainness.
Pushing out his chair, he stepped to the side as Mrs. Heaton gathered his bowl and moved out into the corridor. Philip jumped up and followed her out of the room.
“Mrs. Heaton?”
The woman pulled up short and looked over her shoulder.
“Will you have time to make it into the village for the sugar?” If not, perhaps he should get the money back. If she would not have time to make the cakes, there was surely something else he could use the money for.
She quirked one side of her lips up. “I will send Anne before the whole of the village shuts down for the cricket match. Everyone is talking of it.”
Philip nodded and rubbed his hands together, allowing the excitement of the match to push aside his concerns. “Yes, it should prove an equally matched game.” He glanced out the window at the end of the corridor, half expecting the skies to have grayed and rain to be imminent. But was happily surprised to see the sun instead.
“It does look as if the weather might actually cooperate with us.” He smiled at her again, but whether to bolster her confidence in him or his own, he was not certain.
Philip moved toward his study but paused and turned back. “And you will have time to make the cakes?”
Mrs. Heaton nodded. “Yes, sir. I will see they are ready for you.”
“Thank you.” Philip’s shoulders sagged.
Before coming to Greystone, he had never assumed it would be so difficult to keep an estate running. Although, he had not expected the house to need extensive repairs either. But maintaining the house was not the only thing proving more difficult than he had anticipated.
Perhaps it would have been better if his family had stayed on at Severdale Hall in the employ of Lord Downings. At least until Philip had secured his reputation and restored the house. The thought of doing this alone—without the help of his father and the support of his mother—made Philip’s stomach sink. No, as hard as this was, he was glad his family was here with him.
Philip dipped his head. He knew he should go over the ledgers. Surely there was some money to find somewhere—although, he had yet to discover where. But he could not bring himself to continue on to his study. Instead, he ducked out the front door and headed for the stable yard. He could get in a quick ride if he hurried.
