Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama), Carole Williams [ebook reader 8 inch .TXT] 📗

“You look good … quite the professional rider,” said Richard when they met up a while later in the entrance hall, admiring her trim figure encased in a white silk blouse, jodhpurs and knee-high brown leather boots.  Her blonde hair was in a neat bob under a black velvet hat and she wore gold studs in her ears and a gold cross on a chain around her neck. His heart skipped a beat.  She really did look enchanting.

Ruth grinned.  “Courtesy of Helen Tonbridge actually,” a fellow student who was a keen equestrian.  “I happened to mention we might be riding this weekend and I hadn’t any suitable clothes and she lent me these … very kind of her.”

Richard wrinkled his nose.  He hadn’t much time for Helen who was, in his opinion, a conceited, snobby young woman who thought she was better than anyone else because Mummy was a Member of Parliament and a distant cousin of the Mountbatten’s.

“And anyway, you look pretty good yourself,” Ruth grinned again, thinking what a strikingly handsome man he was.  Delia’s words came back to her.  She was right, Richard would be a good catch and some lucky girl would snap him up one day … but it wouldn’t be her.

They walked down to the stables, Richard linking his arm with hers.  “I know your first night here was a bit dramatic, what with Delia playing up, but have you reached a decision yet?” he asked.

Ruth, enjoying the walk in the sunshine, looked up at him.  “To be honest there is only one, isn’t there?  Mummy will go berserk and probably never speak to me again and Daddy is going to be bitterly disappointed, although he will probably do his best not to show it.  It has been lovely, receiving their attention and respect over the last few years.  With one foul stroke that will all disappear … but I have to do it.  There’s simply no sense in continuing doing something I don’t enjoy and am clearly not cut out for … it’s like being a machine, knowing what to do and doing it but because my heart isn’t in it, my mind wanders.  I’m terrified I’ll blunder and an innocent person will suffer.  It’s simply not right.”

He squeezed her hand, seeing tears were about to fall.  “You need some fresh country air in your lungs my girl, followed by a good lunch.  We’ll spend the morning touring the estate and the beautiful Yorkshire countryside which you’ll love … and then we’ll stop off at the Canleigh Arms.  Their lunches are not to be missed, I can tell you.”

“Sounds lovely,” replied Ruth, grateful for his kindness and understanding.

They continued down the path bordered by rhododendron bushes on one side and lawns on the other until the eighteenth-century stable block came into view.  Ruth was impressed.  A huge square building, with an imposing entrance with columns at each side, massive wrought iron gates fixed back to allow an easy entrance; rows and rows of loose boxes and garages with tiny, square sash windows above.  There was also a shattering din from one of the loose boxes.  A big black horse was throwing his head up and down angrily over the door, screaming as if in terrible pain and kicking the door ferociously.

“Oh, good heavens!” cried Ruth, scared out of her wits and staring with horror at the animal.  “Don’t you think we should call a vet?  There must be something really wrong with it.”

Richard gave a smothered laugh.  “Don’t worry.  Just watch.”

“But Richard ...,” astonished at Richard’s indifference to an animal in obvious distress.  She began to walk towards the horse but Richard pulled her back.  “Just stand still.  Honestly.  There’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

At that moment, Delia, dressed in an old sweater, tatty jeans, and black boots, strode out of the tack room carrying a saddle and bridle and walked towards the horse.  The screaming and banging ceased immediately, and when Delia opened the loose box the stallion walked calmly outside and rubbed his head against her shoulder, pawing the cobbles almost tenderly.

Richard laughed at Ruth’s incredulous expression.  “There.  I told you.  Delia can do anything with Demon but God help anyone else.  Personally, I think he’s bloody dangerous but it wouldn’t be wise to say so to Delia.  She’s besotted with the creature … has been since the day she saw him born.”

Ruth, not taking her eyes off Delia and Demon, tried to hide her shaking hands, more frightened than she would care to admit as the horse stared in their direction with a peculiar, evil glint in his eye.  Ruth looked away and shuddered, wondering if Richard was right and the animal was a lunatic and should be put down before it killed someone.

Richard took her arm and guided her towards another loose box.  “Come and meet Dolly.   You’ll love her, dear old thing.  Father bought her for me when I was young and she took me around and about quite safely for many years.  She won’t frighten you … I promise.”

Perkins, the elderly, wizened stable manager ambled out of the tack room and walked towards them with a smile on his face.  He should have retired long ago but was still sprightly enough not to want to and the Duke had been good enough to allow him to remain in his spacious apartment above the stables for as long as he required it.  He wore a white shirt and green tie beneath a well-worn bottle green sweater, grey jodhpurs, and brown boots.  He was clean shaven and his well-tanned skin was wrinkled and weather-beaten. A head of thinning grey hair was revealed as he doffed his cap to Ruth and Richard.

“Good morning Master Richard … and Miss.  Cobbler and Dolly are ready when you are but it might be a good idea to wait until Lady Delia has