It didn’t excite her overmuch, but she didn’t mind.
And if it made Mrs. Snowley wonder once more if Bianca was going to marry in a way that let her outrank her sister, that was an added benefit.
“It would be my honor to, well, save your brother from himself, I suppose.”
The smile she got in return was sweet and perfectly proportioned.
The chambermaid opened the door for the two ladies and gave Bianca a pitying smile that did nothing to boost her confidence.
She stuck close to Lady Rebecca’s side, knowing that she would be as good a deterrent as any to whomever else her stepmother thought to send.
“I found you a partner for the waltz, brother.”
Bianca winced. Her only saving grace was that Lady Rebecca had said the words softly enough that no one heard them besides Bianca and Lord Brimsbane.
Her brother turned with a sigh. “I don’t need you to—oh.” His forbearing expression slid into a smile. “Miss Snowley.”
Bianca gave a small curtsy. “My lord.”
“I hope my sister didn’t put too much pressure on you to accept her invitation on my behalf.”
“No.” Bianca glanced at Lady Rebecca before pressing on. If these social gatherings were going to be a disaster anyway, she might as well be herself while being miserable. “It is a favor among ladies, you know, to distract the older brothers long enough for a woman to enjoy a waltz.”
Lord Brimsbane had no reaction, but Lady Rebecca suddenly found the floor immensely interesting as her shoulders gave a slight shake.
“And here I thought I was being of assistance by managing the hordes.”
“You are,” Lady Rebecca said, “but my next waltz is with Lord Stildon, so I think you can relax for a while.”
“Hmmm.”
Bianca was thankful neither of them seemed to expect her to say more as the music started and the couples formed. Lord Stildon collected Lady Rebecca and sent a strange look in Bianca’s direction before leading his future wife away.
Even the prospect of riding Hades didn’t lessen the impact of that view.
Lord Brimsbane offered his arm, and she took it. Soon they had joined the crush of couples whirling about the room.
“Have you been riding lately?”
He nodded. “I ride every morning.”
“Even yesterday? Did you get caught in the rain?”
He nodded again. “My horse, Uzziah, doesn’t care for storms, so it took me a while to get back, but I dried out well enough. Were you out in it?”
“No, it was raining before I could leave the house.”
“What about this morning?”
Something was off about Lord Brimsbane’s tone. Had Bianca become suspected of some crime she didn’t know about? If Lord Brimsbane were the local magistrate, she’d wonder if Mrs. Snowley hadn’t decided to try to get Bianca out of her life another way.
“Er, I rode one of my father’s horses this morning.”
He tilted his head and watched Bianca as he guided her around. “You didn’t go riding with Lord Stildon?”
“No.” She swallowed. She’d thought that her known presence at Hawksworth would temper the gossip about her and Lord Stildon. Was she wrong? Had Lady Rebecca arranged this dance because she was worried about the relationship between her and Hudson?
Bianca swallowed, wondering how she could defend herself while still maintaining her dignity. “Hawksworth has always generously allowed me the use of their horses, as my father’s stock is somewhat lacking.”
“Hmmm.”
They danced in silence, but the tension seemed somewhat less. Had she convinced him that she wasn’t a threat? Because she wasn’t. Hudson had made that abundantly clear.
Eventually, his gaze wandered the floor until he located his sister. It was quite masterful that he was able to guide Bianca while watching Lady Rebecca, but she had promised to do the girl a favor, so she attempted another distraction. “Have you decided which horses to enter into the races this year?”
His attention dropped back to her. “I believe Ahab has another year in him, though Father disagrees. We might be running Jehu. And Solomon, of course.”
“Perhaps you could alternate the two, enter multiple races in a day.”
He nodded and snuck another quick glance in Lady Rebecca’s direction before answering. “If we do, it’s likely I will sponsor one and Father will sponsor the other. The idea of family rivalry will likely draw people to enter so the purse will be larger.”
“That’s rather brilliant.” People would want to be part of a friendly feud between father and son, even if the reality was that they both hailed from the same stable and the same money. It was well known that the earl was proud of his son, who’d taken two firsts at Cambridge and was never mentioned in the scandal sheets, except in a most exemplary manner.
“Do you attend the races?” he asked.
“Of course. Every one, if I can manage it. I love watching them.”
“You should join us. The duke won’t make many of them this year, and he gave Father free usage of his stand.”
Air backed up in Bianca’s lungs at the invitation. She wanted to ask if he meant it, but that would be insulting. The stand was big, but not so big that he could hand out invitations to it without care. This was truly a privilege that he was seeming to bestow with nonchalance. “I would be honored to join you in the stands.”
Unless Hudson and the new Lady Stildon were there. And they likely would be. Perhaps they wouldn’t marry until after the October meeting and she could enjoy at least one set of races before voluntarily extracting herself.
Another smile came her way. “Excellent.”
They spoke of nothing of consequence for the remainder of the dance, but he managed to focus on her for the most part. At the end of the waltz, he seemed genuine as he thanked her for the dance.
Bianca was confused all over again. Was that manners or interest?
She couldn’t return to the retiring room, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to participate in the next dance either, so she moved straight to the refreshment table, eyes glued to the punch bowl to deter anyone from interrupting her.
“Is there a prize if I get there first?”
Bianca turned her head to identify the speaker and nearly stumbled. “Lord Rigsby! I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’m not surprised, giving how much time you spent . . . indisposed.”
There was no denying the heat in Bianca’s cheeks—no, her face, perhaps her entire body. Pleasure warred with embarrassment over the fact that Lord Rigsby had noticed her enough to pay attention to her whereabouts. “I was . . . fixing my hair.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows rose. “Not avoiding people?”
“Perhaps that too.”
“As you didn’t know I was here, I am going to assume I was not one of the people you were avoiding.” He gave her an exaggerated frown. “Don’t correct me if I’m wrong.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Obviously I was not avoiding you.”
“I’m also going to assume you won’t start avoiding me now that you know I’m here. May I escort you the remainder of the way to the refreshments, or shall we choose a different marker and race there?”
She took his offered arm, knowing that once more her stepmother would be stewing. Bianca hadn’t worked up the nerve yet to admit she didn’t know who Lord Rigsby was, but she’d heard enough snippets of gossip to know that he was well sought after. A grin spread across her face.
“That looks like quite the smile. I don’t think the mushrooms inspired it.”
The last thing she could do was tell him what she’d been thinking, so she fell back on her normal favorite topic of conversation. “Will you tell me more about your horses, Lord Rigsby?”
“If that’s your required topic of conversation, I shall tell you anything you wish to know.”
Bianca’s cheeks heated again, but she also couldn’t prevent a smile. Lor
d Rigsby didn’t make her feel fuzzy, she didn’t think about him when he wasn’t there, but the man was entertaining, even if she was forever feeling embarrassed around him. “It is not a requirement, but it is a favorite topic of mine.”
“You’ve seen one of them. I’ve others, though. I hope to set up a base here in October. From what I’ve seen of Newmarket thus far, I can’t imagine why my father never chose to bring his horses here.” He handed her a cup of punch. “I saw you riding several days ago. Do you ride often?”
“Whenever I can. Lord Stildon generously allows me to exercise some of his horses.”
“Have you a favorite area of the Heath to ride?”
“Oh yes.” Bianca smiled just thinking about her favorite path to run.
“Shall we find a corner so you can tell me about it?”
Bianca looked at him, steadily meeting his gaze. She didn’t know much about this man, where he came from, who his family was, or if he even had horses beyond that truly exemplary specimen she’d seen him riding last week.
She enjoyed his company, though, and the more knowledgeable ladies wouldn’t be trying to catch his eye if he wasn’t respectable. Was that enough?
As the conversation continued, part of her mind wandered. Lord Rigsby? Lord Brimsbane? Did either of them want to marry her? Did she want to marry one of them? Did what she wanted even matter? She wasn’t in a position to turn down an offer from a man whom she could tolerate or even like.
She’d once thought she wanted nothing in life but peace and access to horses. Now it would seem that she was discovering, possibly too late, that there might be something in her life more important than riding.
And that something just might be herself.
Twenty-Six
Hudson considered staying home on Sunday instead of going to church and sitting alone in his grandfather’s pew, but he went, dragging himself through the door at the last possible moment to still be considered polite.
Lady Rebecca’s family sat across the aisle and one box forward. She didn’t turn around, but he stared at the back of her head the whole time.
Would she soon be sitting next to him?
The thought didn’t excite him very much, so instead he pictured Hestia carrying a colt that was the envy of everyone in Newmarket.
Even that thought didn’t excite him like it once did.
What was wrong with him?
As soon as the service was over, Hudson slunk out and made his way home. He wrapped himself up in his study with a book, but the novel lay forgotten in his lap as he stared at the fire he’d had the staff stoke to a normal level.
It was time to admit the truth to himself.
He didn’t like England.
The problem was he couldn’t go back, even if he wanted to. Yes, he could physically return to India. He could get on a ship and suffer six months of torment and be back in the town where he’d grown up before the next monsoon season.
But he wouldn’t belong there. He would know all of this was here. Aaron, Hades, Odysseus, even the tenants. No matter what sort of care he left them all in, he would know he’d left them.
Knowing that would make him not like India either.
So where did that leave him?
No home. No father. No grandfather. Only an uncle who hadn’t been happy to learn about his existence, and even now might decide to cause trouble. And a house that had been designed by a madman.
And he was all alone in it.
Or was he?
He looked down at the novel in his hand, tossed it on his desk, and went to the corner where he’d set the trunk containing his pitifully small collection of books. He’d yet to find the time to add to the shelves, but it shouldn’t take long to find what he was looking for.
He moved his books aside to reveal the contents on the bottom of the chest. Most of it had been there since he’d cleaned out his father’s room after he died. Three tied bundles of letters sat neatly next to a large Bible.
He untied one of the strings and found letters from his grandfather, the counterparts to the ones he’d found in his grandfather’s personal study. There were sure to be answers to his curiosity in there, but at the moment he was interested in resolution for his future more than his past.
Setting the letters aside, he took the heavy Bible back to the desk. Hudson flipped it open for the first time in eight years. They’d gone to church every week when he’d been growing up, and his father had always admonished him to listen to the sermon with open ears. He’d heard the man pray and heard him mention doing things the Christian way, and Hudson had thought that was all there was to it.
Yet there’d been this Bible beneath his father’s pillow.
It hadn’t been there when Hudson had been a child. He knew because he’d frequently hide in his father’s bed to get away from his ayah since it was the one room in the house she refused to enter.
When had he put it there, and why hadn’t Hudson ever wondered that before now?
Some of the pages were more wrinkled than others, and a few were even slightly torn at the corners. A single red ribbon marked one of the pages.
Hudson turned to it and found the ribbon was attached to a thin medallion of woven hair. The rich blond hair of his mother. He had no idea his father had kept any of her hair, much less had mourning jewelry made from it. A folded paper sat between the marked pages. Hudson set it aside to look over the pages.
One verse had been underlined. If God be for us, who can be against us?
Hudson ran a thumb over the ribbon and read the underlined words over and over, then started at the top of the page and read all the way down.
Was this why his father had always lived the way he had? With boldness and determination and more confidence than one would have thought he should have?
He picked up the folded paper. The creases were worn from so much folding and unfolding that he had to handle it carefully or risk tearing it as he flattened it onto the desk. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but a letter to himself wasn’t it.
Hudson,
As I write this, you are sleeping on the sofa in my office. You fall asleep there most nights since your mother died. Though you are too big now for me to carry upstairs, I won’t stop you from staying in here. I understand the need to know you’re safe.
I like knowing you are safe too.
He remembered falling asleep in his father’s study. Most evenings he would arrive with a book in hand and then inevitably nod off, only to be led up the stairs when his father decided to retire.
What he didn’t remember was the habit being tied to the death of his mother. Nor could he remember when he’d stopped doing it, but it had been sometime after the death of his father.
You’ll be fifteen this year. I should take you to England, but I can’t. Perhaps it is cowardice that keeps me here, but I couldn’t bear walking this earth without you, particularly if your demise came at the hand of my own blood.
Hudson shook his head, smiling at his father’s direct words, even as a fresh sense of loss filled him.
I didn’t want to come to India. It was your mother who insisted all those years ago, but I’ve learned to love God here, and I’ve been able to see His hand in my life so clearly. I can scarcely remember what it was to live anywhere else now.
Would Hudson one day feel like that in England? Had his parents felt utterly alone those first weeks in India? It was little wonder that his father had entrusted his wife’s hair to the Lord after her death. She’d likely been the one thing to keep him from complete despondency when he’d moved to a new land.
What I remember of England probably isn’t enough to ease your way. I think my father knows this. I received a letter from him today, angry that once again I’ve delayed your voyage to England, this time until you turn eighteen. He and I disagree about how to raise you, and he has threatened to disown the product of my decisions.
Since his other potential heir is truly insane, I think you’ve nothin
g to worry about on that front.
Hudson ran a hand over his face. That had been his greatest fear, the one that had him obeying his grandfather’s request that he stay in India. He’d been terrified that his grandfather would meet him and be disappointed.
It didn’t feel uplifting to know his fear was justified.
What I have learned here is how important it is to be a better man of God than I am an Englishman. To seek God’s approval instead of man’s. Goodness knows we’re a fickle lot anyway.
This letter is for me, son. Not you. It is a promise that I am making to raise you to understand what I have learned. I don’t always find the right words, but I pray I can at least live my life as an example.
This world is not our home, but while we are in it we prepare ourselves to one day arrive there.
Your mother is home now. I miss her everyday, but one day I’ll join her. Before I do, I need to prepare you for what is to come. I need to face my own fears of returning to England.
God is with us. May I remember that. My promise to you, son, is that I will keep searching God for the courage to leave what has become familiar and to face what must be.
There was another note at the bottom of the paper, still in his father’s scrawl, but obviously added at a later date.
You barely fit on the sofa anymore. You will be eighteen in two months. Will you hate me for not taking you to England? Will you be angry at how much you don’t know?
I read this promise every night. I haven’t found the courage yet. God willing, I’m one step closer.
Maybe one more year.
Hudson set the letter aside and braced his elbows on the desk before laying his head in his hands. So many things his father had said over the years, particularly in those last years, suddenly made sense.
Was it possible Hudson had been relying on the wrong interpretations of his father’s teaching? Had he missed the point?
He looked back to the open Bible on the desk.
If God be for us, who can be against us?
Who indeed?
A small voice in Hudson’s heart whispered that it just might be himself.
Vying for the Viscount Page 22
