The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley

by Aileen Fish

  When David and Lady Joanna pulled up in front of her home, David hopped out and signaled to a boy on the street to watch his horses. Handing Lady Joanna down, he led her up the steps and inside. The butler appeared from deep in the house. Lady Joanna asked, “Is Lord Northcotte at home? Mr. Lumley wishes to speak with him.”

  “I shall enquire, my lady.”

  As the butler walked away carrying his card, David’s hands shook. He’d assumed he could leave his card and work up the nerve to return. His mouth was bone dry. There was no air in the entryway, and his cravat had shrunk even more. He cleared his throat.

  “He’s my brother, not my father,” Lady Joanna said softly. She waited beside him, looking up into his eyes with a trust that hit him hard. She had faith in him, in his ability to provide for her and make her happy for the rest of her life.

  David was not sure he could live up to her dreams. “He is your guardian, and at the moment, he has the power to destroy my future.” He combed his hair back with one hand. He couldn’t recall any situation where another man held his life in the balance. The feeling made him ill.

  The butler returned. “His lordship is in his study. This way.”

  David squeezed Lady Joanna’s fingers before following. Northcotte’s study was a dark, cool room, not at all welcoming. The air smelled somewhat stale. The curtains were closed, and the only light came from an oil lamp on the large desk.

  Northcotte rose. “Lumley. To what do I owe this visit?”

  David bowed and remained standing. He decided not to belabor the painfully uncomfortable meeting. “I wish to marry your sister.”

  Northcotte showed no reaction. After an unbearable pause, he motioned to a chair. “Pardon me. Please, sit.” He lowered himself into the chair behind the desk.

  David sat, his thighs tense, his hands clenching his knees. The cheese he’d eaten at the park was curdling in his gut. Just say yes so we can get past this.

  “I’m surprised, I must say. Lady Joanna mentioned you were chaperoning your sister, but she didn’t imply there was any stronger attachment between you.”

  Wishing for a drink to wet his throat, David nodded. “That is how it began. We find we both enjoy the horses quite well.” He closed his eyes. There was the weakest excuse for marriage he’d ever heard.

  “Yes, of course. That’s important to her.” The crease between Northcotte’s brows softened. Something hidden beneath his rigid posture told David he really cared about his sister.

  “She is an enjoyable companion, and she gets on well with my family. My mother, especially, likes her. I haven’t spoken to my father yet. I understand there is a concern about Lady Joanna marrying soon, so I came to you straight away.”

  Northcotte broke eye contact. He reached for the whiskey decanter and poured two glasses. When he replaced the crystal stopper, it rattled against the bottle. He handed a glass to David. “Yes. I’ve been putting pressure on her.”

  “Do you approve then? I leave tomorrow for home and will speak to my father. He can have his solicitor meet with yours at your convenience.”

  Frowning, Northcotte took another drink. “You haven’t said anything about your feelings toward her. Do you love her, or is this some scheme your father has cooked up?”

  “Bridgethorpe has come to terms with whatever happened between our fathers years ago. He doesn’t even know I’m close to your sister, but he wouldn’t object to our marriage.”

  “Are you certain? When Zephyr died Bridgethorpe accused my father of the crime.”

  Bollocks. David couldn’t deny it. “Your father’s name did come up in the investigation. They inquired about anyone who might wish Bridgethorpe ill.”

  The earl’s voice rose. “And my name came up last year when more of your horses took ill at a race meeting.”

  “We were merely trying to help solve the crime. Many names came up. Well, a few. My father doesn’t have many enemies.”

  “Neither did my father. Yet your family continues to defame him two years after he was buried.”

  “We answered the questions the constable asked, that is all.” David tried to keep his voice down, to keep the conversation calm, but it was not working. He was torn between wishing he’d never brought up the Northcotte name in the investigation, and defending their natural inclination for doing so.

  “And what of the accusation you and Knightwick made to the investigators of my groom’s death? Did you honestly assume I was behind that, too? You don’t need to answer. The constable grilled me about that incident, too.”

  “At the time, I believed you could have killed the boy, I won’t deny it.”

  A loud crash came from the hallway. David looked toward the door, but it remained closed. He used the distraction to gather his wits. “I couldn’t understand why you would have done so, but in my stubborn way, I needed someone to blame. You were a convenient target. I only know that horses from both Fernleigh and Northcotte were entered in the race meetings where anything untoward has happened. I feel confident that no one from our stables would have killed Zephyr nor made the others unfit to compete. My family has discussed the evidence, and lack thereof, repeatedly, and pushed the constables to find the culprit. And it was all for naught.”

  David rose, unable to sit with the emotions battling inside, but he kept his voice down. “This battle between our fathers has stolen every ounce of joy from Bridgethorpe. He can’t find pleasure in the horses, in his family. He sits and stares out the window, searching for I know not what. I don’t know what disagreement they had. Whatever it was, your father is no longer here to resolve the matter.” He quickly held up his hand. “I am not saying he was at fault, only that they cannot mend their differences when only one remains living.”

  He stopped, pushing his hair off his forehead, and eyed the whiskey on his side of the desk. Giving in, he downed it in three swallows. It burned its way down, but the wetness allowed him to swallow again. Setting down the glass, he sat once more.

  Northcotte cleared his throat. “I’ve a suspicion why they fought, although Father never spoke of it. Bridgethorpe’s name was never mentioned in our house. The goal of our trainers was to give Father a horse that would beat anything Fernleigh raced.”

  David wondered again if that drive had caused the elder Northcotte to do something foolish, something dangerous, to Zephyr. His hands knotted into fists. He hated himself for not being able to let it go. And he began to realize his obsession was no more justified than the elder earl’s had been.

  Northcotte reached for the decanter and poured a splash in both glasses. He took a swallow and held the glass aloft, his elbow resting on the desk. “However, my father would not allow the use of a whip or a crop in training. He loved those horses. At times when I was a boy, I felt he loved them more than me. When I came home from Cambridge, there were signs my father had slipped into madness. They were subtle at first, but grew more obvious over the next few years.”

  He paused, swirling the liquid in his glass. “He bought and sold horses, over-bred a few of our mares so that I feared for their health. It was not until after he’d taken his own life that I discovered he’d used the services of several money-lenders to pay the stud fees.”

  David shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He hadn’t heard it was suicide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  Northcotte nodded. “It was at our home in Hampshire. The local doctor agreed to call it an accidental shooting, to save Mother and Joanna from disgrace.”

  Acid burned in David’s stomach. Was his father’s melancholia a blessing, not a curse? He could just as easily have become rabid in his pursuit of wins. David was grateful for the way his life had gone. “I realize I’ve no right to ask, and you may disregard the question if you wish. How were you able to pay off the money-lenders without selling everything but the entailed property?”

  Northcotte’s lips thinned and pulled into a smile on one side. “There’s the irony. Some of those foals Father was so madly breeding pr
oved to be fast runners. By selling some horses, I added to the winnings and was able to forestall some of the creditors, and pay some off completely. There is one, however, who has become impossible to put off any longer.”

  David waited to see if he would add to the story.

  “This man has given me the ultimatum of paying him in full, or allowing him to marry my sister. The debt would be considered her dowry.”

  Those words wrapped like a fist around David’s heart. “Sir Frederick Ardwen?”

  “The same.”

  “Lady Joanna told me he’d spoken to you. Does she know you owe him money?”

  “Thus far I’ve been able to keep my mother and sister unaware of our debt. I told Lady Joanna she must find another suitor if she wished to avoid Sir Frederick, but she only has until the end of the Season.”

  David offered a slight smile. “She has accomplished that.”

  “There is still the issue of the debt to Sir Frederick if she marries someone else. He will call in the balance due, and I’m not yet in the position to pay it.”

  For the first time since he’d come into the room, fear crept into David’s thoughts. “I am not a wealthy man, but would gladly give what I have to keep her from marrying him. Regardless of whether you allow her to marry me.”

  Northcotte shook his head. “I don’t want something like that hanging over Lady Joanna when she marries. I can’t accept your offer. I’ve posted notices in Newmarket that I’ve horses to sell. If worst comes to worst, I can auction some at Tattersall’s, and hope I can raise enough in the next few weeks. I’ve already spoken to the auction house, just to learn if I might raise enough that way so Joanna doesn’t have to marry until she is ready.”

  “And?”

  Northcotte shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing how much people might bid on the horses. All the good runners are gone, except Patriot. He’s the only one with a strong record, but if I sold him, I would have to explain to my sister what Father did to the estate’s finances. I’ve been fighting to preserve my father’s memory in the eyes of my sister and mother. Mother hasn’t taken his loss well.”

  “It would kill Lady Joanna to lose that horse. Don’t you think she has a right to know the truth about her father? Surely she suspects he was not making completely sound decisions, if the situation grew as serious as you say.”

  “My father was a proud man. Well-respected by many. I want Joanna to continue to be proud to be his daughter.”

  David locked eyes with the man across the desk, realizing he could be looking at a reflection of himself. He’d spent the past five years trying to bring back the man his family remembered their father to be. Trying to maintain the pride of his family. In the process, he’d blamed all his problems on a son who’d been doing the same thing. He was no better than the elder earl, whom he’d blamed for his father’s misery. “I understand. I won’t speak of this to her.”

  He’d not received an answer to his request for Lady Joanna’s hand. “Do you approve of my marrying your sister?”

  “You have a lot of nerve. You don’t deny you’ve been trying to ruin Northcotte Stud, and you think I’ll turn my sister over to you?”

  “I was not trying to ruin you. I wanted to find the culprit and see him prosecuted, and was fixated about who that person might be. I admit to being overzealous in that. We had no reason to suspect anyone else.”

  “You had no reason to suspect me or my father.”

  “If you’d been in our shoes, you’d have done the same. Tell me our names didn’t cross your mind when your groom was found dead.”

  “His death was ruled accidental.”

  “Before the ruling. It never crossed your mind someone might have killed him?”

  Northcotte took another drink. Setting down the glass, he tapped a fingernail against the rim. “If I thought anyone wished me harm, your family is one of the last I’d name. I had a creditor in mind when I first heard Peter was dead.”

  David leaned his hands on the edge of the desk. “Sir Frederick? And you’re considering letting your sister marry him?”

  “No, I’m not considering it. I’m considering letting her marry the man who thought me capable of killing. And wondering what kind of fool I am for thinking it. Yet the alternative sends cold chills down my spine.”

  Holding his breath, David nearly pleaded. “You know I’d never let harm come to her.”

  “I believe you would work as hard to keep her safe as I’ve tried to do. Yet I don’t know if I’m a big enough man to set aside the slander your family has spewed on mine.”

  “You can count on me keeping her safe. What will you do about Sir Frederick?” David asked.

  “Well, if you marry quickly, there is nothing he can do about it. I can request a special license. If he sends me to the workhouse, at least Joanna and Mother will have a home with you.”

  “No, that won’t do. She’d question the rush, and I don’t think she’s naïve enough to believe I couldn’t bear to wait for the banns to be read.”

  “We can’t wait that long,” Northcotte said. “Once Sir Frederick saw the first announcement, he would call in the debt. I don’t think I can set up the auction by then.”

  “What if I buy Patriot?”

  “You?”

  David spread his arms. “After all this, you can’t say you don’t wish for any Northcotte horses to race for Fernleigh. You sold a mare to my cousin.”

  Northcotte smirked. “Actually, I wondered if you wanted to retire Patriot so Triton would have a chance at a win.”

  Grinning, David nodded, the tension draining slowly from his body. “There were times I might have considered it. I had another use for him in mind. I wish to give him to Lady Joanna as a wedding gift. The Jockey Club won’t register her as owner, but she would know he was hers alone.”

  Her brother stared in silence. David began to sweat, wondering what the problem was at this late stage in their negotiations. Finally, Northcotte reached for a drawer and removed a sheet of paper. He scribbled madly, then slid the paper to David.

  David read the sheet. He reached for the pen. “Agreed. I’ll have the funds sent to you. But let’s not tell Lady Joanna about it just yet. I would prefer to surprise her on our wedding day.” He signed the bill of sale transferring ownership of Patriot to David at a price only slightly higher than he might have bargained for. It was a small price to pay for Lady Joanna’s happiness.

  They shook hands, and Northcotte agreed not to discuss their conversation with his sister. As David left the study, he was surprised that Lady Joanna was nowhere in sight.

  A servant swept up pieces of broken porcelain opposite the study door. As David walked toward the entry, Starley appeared. David said, “I wish to speak with Lady Joanna before I take my leave.”

  “She is not at home.” Starley held out David’s hat and gloves.

  David hesitated in confusion, then took his items and went out on the street. The urchin he’d spoken to still stood with his horses, he was relieved to see. Shadows stretched onto the street, telling him just how long he’d been with Northcotte. David tossed the boy a coin.

  He didn’t understand where Lady Joanna had gone. He’d assumed she would wait for him, as eager as she was to know what Northcotte said. She hadn’t mentioned having another engagement, and he couldn’t imagine anything more important than their betrothal.

  He drove to the mews to stable his horses, then walked the block to his home. He needed to send a letter to Knightwick advising him he’d agreed to purchase Patriot and would explain when he saw his brother. Then he’d send a note to Lady Joanna saying he’d call on her in the morning.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joanna lay on the chaise in Aunt Ophelia’s morning room, cradling her foot while tears poured down her cheeks. Her toes felt broken, but she was reasonably certain they were not. Her heart was another matter.

  Mr. Lumley hadn’t cared for her one iota. He’d merely been looking for another way to seek reve
nge against her family name. Win at all costs must be the Bridgethorpe motto. To think she came close to marrying a man who thought her brother was capable of murder. Believed her father would harm a horse, no matter who it belonged to.

  She’d suddenly lost all desire to marry and have a family. Aunt Ophelia would allow her to stay indefinitely in Bath, regardless what Robert said on the matter. Her aunt had guests at this late hour, but as soon as the visitor left, Joanna would speak to her. If she could speak around the painful lump threatening to block all air as she tried to breathe.

  He must have befriended her with the intention of hurting her brother. With no regard to how much he might hurt her in the process. Not only was she facing the loss of what she thought was the love of her life, she could no longer consider Lady Hannah and Trey as friends.

  They had nothing to do with their brother’s scheme, but she couldn’t see them and not think of Mr. Lumley. Lady Hannah was such a dear friend, too, one of the few she’d met who shared her love for horses.

  She drew in a shaky breath and blotted her handkerchief beneath her eyes again. She could cry later, when she went to bed. For now, she must be strong and tell her aunt what had befallen her. When she placed her feet on the floor, the toes on her right foot ached. She took off her slipper and rubbed them though her stocking. Who would imagine a porcelain vase would cause so much pain? She hadn’t meant to kick it when she ran away from what she heard beyond the closed doors of Robert’s study. She’d just wanted to escape.

  Escape the reach of their voices. Escape the hateful words they flung at each other. Pain stabbed in her chest when she remembered their accusations. Her father a killer? It couldn’t be. He loved his horses more than he did any of his family. He lived for those horses. He would never do anything to cause any animal injury or illness.

  Bridgethorpe must be mad to have accused her father, to suggest he was responsible for Zephyr’s death. Bridgethorpe had instilled in his sons his hatred for her father and now they carried on that vile disease.

  How could he have pretended to love her? He’d kissed her…he probably had much practice kissing ladies and making them swoon. She had been naïve enough to believe there was emotion behind the tender touch of his lips. That emotion had probably been nothing more than restrained laughter at her innocence.