To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Frances Fowlkes

  “I fear today, I prove an exception to that clause.”

  “You bet against my bay?” she asked.

  “I bet against Amhurst and his unknown jockey.”

  Albina held back a smile. “How unfortunate that you misjudged your competition.”

  The marquess slipped his arm around her shoulder. A hint of cedar and musk tickled her nose as he gripped her upper arm.

  A year she had lusted after the marquess. A full twelve months had been devoted to capturing the man’s attention, of pining for this very moment when he acknowledged her presence and held her close…

  Only it didn’t feel quite how she believed it would. No surge of excitement pulsed through her veins at his touch. Nor did her heart flutter or her stomach flop at his close proximity. Instead, a hollow sort of emptiness seeped through her, replacing the elation of her successful run.

  Albina frowned. She had done what she had set out to do. She had captured Lord Satterfield’s attention, yes. Though she no longer required or wanted it.

  His arms, while thick and strong, were not the pair that had held her at her most vulnerable. Nor were his eyes, while smoldering and gray, the blue set that sent her heart into a palpitating fit.

  The marquess gave her arm a squeeze. He bent his head and lowered his voice. “Had I known your benefactor had placed a woman as his rider—”

  “You would have still bet against me, my lord.” She pried his fingers from her sleeve. “I am, as you have said quite recently, a woman rider who is unable to control her horse as well as her male peers.”

  He dropped his arm and faced her, his full lips pulled into a smile that, not long ago, would have rendered her unconscious. She did not, however, feel in any danger of fainting. Nor were her knees wobbly or her pulse erratic.

  “It takes a thoroughly skilled rider to best Garrington and my stallion,” he said, his voice low. “That you, despite your sex, should—”

  “Despite my sex?” she asked.

  “Well, yes,” he said, oblivious to his offense. “You cannot deny luck played a significant role in your win.”

  Albina pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully. “No. I do not deny luck played a significant role in my achievement.”

  The marquess smiled, surprise at her admission evident on his face. “While I must confess I did not think—”

  “No, I do not believe you did, for you did not allow me to finish, my lord. I have an abundance of good fortune, for I am so very lucky that Mr. Garrington misjudged my riding abilities and the capabilities of my mount. I am lucky that my horse was perfectly selected to match my stature and personality. And I am devastatingly lucky to have an instructor who had the patience, skill, and finesse to impart upon me the technique and confidence required to not only outrun Mr. Garrington, but also identify a worthy competitor.”

  The marquess lifted a brow and, perhaps for the first time, actually studied her person, his gaze roving over her form, much as Garrington had done in the barn prior to the race. “It appears I have misjudged you as well.”

  Albina smiled. “Oh, most indubitably so.”

  His lips curled into a slow smile. He lowered his head, ensuring his words were heard by her alone. “There is something to be said for a woman who races as a man.”

  Albina held back a snort. If she didn’t know any better, she would have believed the marquess was engaging in a bit of flirtation. With her. The woman he had, only moments before, insulted.

  “That there is,” she said. “And I believe it is that she can not only race as a man, but win like one, too.” She turned her head in time to see Edmund through a small break in the crowd. “If you will excuse me, my lord, there is someone with whom I need to speak.” She bowed and shouldered her way past a particularly large gentleman.

  “Amhurst’s jockey,” the marquess called. “Please give me a moment of your time.”

  She continued her trek forward. She had tarried long enough for the marquess; she had no intention of doing so further. Especially not when Edmund lingered.

  Or at least, she thought he waited. With his back still turned, he walked away from the crowd, not toward her. Or the winner’s circle. Or the Duke of Waverly and the earl.

  A hand clamped on her shoulder, the pungent smell of tobacco accompanying it. She spun to see the same man who had grumbled his disfavor at her tarrying in the barn. “The earl requests your presence.”

  The earl. He would wish to speak to her, of course, but she had hoped to do so with Edmund at her side, had hoped, had thought, his presence might lessen the earl’s anger at her defiance and deception.

  Only, Edmund was no longer anywhere to be found, gone in the sea of faces suddenly converging on her person.

  “Sir?” the man repeated.

  Albina bit her lip. The earl. And the Duke of Waverly.

  The time for her charade had ended.

  And she was left standing alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her knuckles white with the same tension that had her heart racing at faster speeds than her mare, Albina clutched the narrow brim of her riding hat. From the inception of her scheme, she had known she would have to face those she had deceived. In particular, the earl.

  She simply had hoped the time would be delayed. Until she was older. Or, quite possibly, dead.

  She was, however, quite alive, if the roar of her pulse in her ear was any indication. Albina stared hard across the width of the Duke of Waverly’s walnut desk at the duke sitting in his chair with the earl standing beside him. The warm breeze that had felt so cool while racing but an hour before now only added to the moisture trickling down her neck.

  Despite her discomfort, she would not allow the harrowing stares of both the duke and earl to unnerve her.

  She had won the Emberton Derby and, in doing so, netted them a significant win, if Edmund had spoken the truth. She no longer knew what to believe where he was concerned, but she would like to think he had not spoken falsehoods in regard to the earl’s confidence in his jockey.

  Who just happened to be his wife’s sister.

  Her gut twisting, she clenched her hands. Had Edmund been dismissed? Was he even now returning to Plumburn to pack his things and leave the property?

  The creak of a chair cut through the silence. She glanced upward as the earl’s gravelly baritone broke through the thick veil of tension.

  “You, no doubt, know why you are here.”

  Albina swallowed and nodded. “I do.” She glanced at her hands splayed neatly on her buckskin-encased thighs. “I claimed first in the derby.”

  Silence once again pervaded the room, the only sound that of her heart as it pounded fast and sure against her rib cage.

  The earl’s voice once again sounded. “I will not pretend any pride in your victory, Albina. Nor will I offer you my congratulations.”

  She sat upright, lifting her head and staring at the pair of men in front of her. Their hardened expressions glared back, the earl’s eye patch removed, his injured eye the only muscle in his face not rigid with contempt.

  Her actions, indeed, would meet with their disapproval, but she had thought her win would bring some measure of tolerance for her disobedience. “But I won, my lord.”

  “By directly going against my orders and deceiving not only myself, but also the groom and the duke.”

  “Yes, but, I—”

  “I am to be proud of your intolerable behavior?” he asked, his voice hard.

  She shook her head. “Well, no, but I had thought—”

  “Did you, Albina? Did you give any thought to your actions? To how your entry into the race might affect this family? Or the duke’s reputation and that of his children?”

  “To a certain degree, I suppose—”

  “Your selfishness may have endangered not only your sister’s chances at securing a good match, but yours as well.”

  Tears sprung to the corners of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. She would not allow the e
arl the pleasure of seeing how his disappointment affected her. What he said was truth. She could not deny his words any more than she would her win in the derby. She had earned his displeasure.

  But damn if she hadn’t earned his praise.

  She dipped her head but pressed her case. “I should not have resorted to deceit. In that, I was wrong. But I only did so because you would not allow me the opportunity to prove my competency. I am a skilled rider, sir.”

  “Who, should her identity be uncovered, will bring shame upon the Amhurst name. I will look the fool for not being able to manage those in my care.”

  “Or mine,” the duke added. “You have, whether you did so willing or not, potentially discredited the derby.”

  “Discredited?” Albina asked with a slight waver in her voice.

  Without an accredited race, her victory was a moot one, discounted and void. The mare would not be able to advance to Newmarket.

  And neither would the other entrants.

  Dear God.

  Her selfishness knew no bounds. She had potentially ruined the other jockeys’ careers, all for a man she no longer wished to marry.

  The duke steepled his fingers. “A woman jockey took the win. Some might question the integrity of the Emberton Derby. And of its judges and, therefore, the results.”

  “I assure you I won fairly. I did not pay off any of your men to further my agenda. I won on my own merit.”

  “And I am to take you at your word, my lady? After you have acknowledged deceiving your benefactor? And your family?” the duke asked.

  She cast her gaze to the plush fibers of the Axminster carpet beneath her feet. “I am sorry for my transgressions, but in this, I tell you the truth. I won through hours of training. Not through any means of deception.” She licked her lips. “At least not other than those already addressed by the earl.”

  The earl snorted. “However you came to win, Albina, your actions have consequences. And they are severe.”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes on the intricate pattern of the rug.

  “Fortunately,” the earl continued, his voice softening, “not all is lost, and your racing has accomplished what you sought.”

  Albina lifted her head. “Indeed?” she asked, wary of the sudden change in his tone.

  “You have succeeded in capturing the interest of the Marquess of Satterfield.”

  Her back stiffened. Lord Satterfield?

  Of course the earl knew of her initial motivation. Had not Henrietta gone to him, asking for his permission to aid Albina in her scheme? Her goals, however, had changed. And the marquess did not maintain the priority he once held.

  “I no longer seek Lord Satterfield’s attentions, my lord.” She sought only one man, and he was not present, his fate unknown.

  A look of disbelief passed over the earl’s scarred features. “We are discussing the Marquess of Satterfield, Lady Albina. The same man you have, on more than one occasion, declared your undying love—”

  “In confidence and to my sisters,” she said, embarrassment heating her face. “A long time past. I can assure you, my lord, my feelings have changed.”

  Exchanging a glance with the duke, the earl furrowed his brow. “Your sisters act on your behalf, your happiness their one wish. Your interest in the marquess has long been public knowledge. That you would suddenly decline your feelings—”

  “I do not decline them. I have simply transferred them to another.”

  “Another?” he asked. His jagged brow lifted over his bad eye.

  “My heart and its desires are my own, my lord. Should I wish to share—”

  “The groom.” His broad hand ran down his face. “This is not to be borne. One does not simply transfer a year’s worth of affections to another man.”

  “But they do, and I have.” Albina was firm in her reply. She did not know many things, but her heart was one of them. Or at least it had been before…before she had seen the back of Edmund’s jacket disappearing into the crowd.

  “Your judgment is misguided. Clouded by your victory and the extra time spent with Mr. White. You need time to refocus, to clear your mind.”

  “My lord,” Albina persisted, but she was silenced by a hard glare from the earl.

  “As your benefactor, indeed, as your family, I must do what is best for both you and our name. You will depart Thornhaven for Rosehurst. Immediately.”

  “Rosehurst?” She sat up, her gaze flicking from one man to the other. “But what of…what of Henrietta?” she asked, grappling on to the first non-Edmund related excuse that came to mind. “She will begin her lying in at Plumburn soon.”

  “She shall. Lady Sarah will stay with her sister. Your mother, however, will return with you. Some of her moral guidance will no doubt benefit you at this time. To perhaps help you remember what you have so quickly forgotten.”

  “I know my mind, my lord.” And she did not need time away from her sisters to find it. Banishing her to Rosehurst without their company when she may possibly need it the most was…well, cruel and unjust.

  “It is possible you do. I think it would behoove you to have some time away from both Plumburn and your sisters’ influence.”

  “My sisters are not responsible for my change of mind.” They had, in fact, little knowledge of her recent revelation.

  “Be that as it may, a return to Rosehurst is in order.”

  The duke nodded in agreement, his jaw as firm and resolved as the earl’s.

  “Am I allowed to say good-bye to Lady Sarah before I depart?” She had to get a message to Edmund, to let him know of the earl’s intentions, of his plans—

  “I believe your ‘illness’ from this morning does not allow for further visits.”

  “But she is my sister,” Albina protested.

  “And one who, no doubt, had a hand in your ruse. I believe time apart from one another is required. For your own well-being, my lady.”

  “My, lord—”

  “It is not a request for your approval, but a command for compliance. There is no room for negotiation, Albina. You will do as I say.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek before asking, “And the groom—Mr. White? What will you say to him, if I am not allowed my farewells? Surely he will inquire after my absence.”

  “The decisions involving my staff are mine alone to make. I shall deal with him accordingly.”

  Her heart sped. Should Edmund be punished for his involvement because of her hand—

  “You must know this was my idea. He had no part—”

  “My staff, my decisions. Are we clear?”

  Her teeth clenched, but she offered her nod of compliance.

  “Excellent. Your things are being readied for your departure as we speak. I shall personally see you to the coach.”

  She had no doubt he would. He didn’t trust her beyond the length of his little finger, and she could not blame him.

  The earl motioned for her to stand. She followed him, numb and unfeeling, toward certain misery and severe disappointment. She didn’t know which was worse—the earl’s displeasure, or the promise of her mother’s wrath to be endured for the next ten hours in a small coach. Without her sisters there to defend her. And without Edmund at her side. All with the intent of discovering what she already knew. Her mind was set. Her decision made. And it did not have anything to do with Lord Satterfield and his sudden interest in her person.

  …

  Albina sat staring out the drawing room’s western window at Rosehurst’s green lawn, the splotch of paint on her canvas a poor resemblance to the usually comforting scene beckoning to her beyond the glass.

  The serenity she often sought in the muted grasses and swaying flowers was not to be found, her thoughts fixated on her present sentence and just how her greatest achievement had yielded an equally great punishment. Her banishment. To Rosehurst. Alone. With her mother. And without Edmund.

  Her thoughts had been consumed with his absence. Had he been banished? Exiled? Forced not only t
o leave Plumburn but England? Was he even now heading to the Continent without a recommendation from the earl?

  Her gut twisted as anxiety and fear for his fate ate at her insides.

  Had he forgotten her? Had he found another? Was he with another paramour? Someone French?

  A sour taste seeped onto her tongue, her stomach roiling. Surely their time together had meant something to him. Or had he simply abandoned her? Their shared intimacy nothing more than a conquest?

  Dear God. She was ruined. Without a future. But it mattered not. She had nothing without Edmund. Without his words of praise and encouragement. His warm hands on her arms…

  “I cannot say that is one of your better paintings, my dear.”

  Albina swiped away an errant tear and sat upright, turning to see her mother standing in the doorway. “Yes, well, it has yet to be finished.”

  Her mother walked toward her and settled a hand on Albina’s shoulder. “I know you. I know you as a mother knows her daughter. You are distracted, detached, and unlike yourself.”

  She shrugged off her mother’s hand. “A natural consequence of my surroundings.”

  “Rosehurst is your home,” her mother stated firmly.

  “Yes, and Sarah and Henrietta are my sisters. But neither are here.” She stretched out her arm to showcase the emptiness of the quaint little room.

  “It is not your sisters’ absence that has you withdrawn.”

  Albina glanced out the window. “It certainly has not helped.”

  “Henrietta is about to begin her lying in, Albina. Traveling is no longer an option in her growing condition.”

  “All the more reason I should be with her at Plumburn.”

  “Your sister is where she needs to be. As is Sarah.”

  She pulled her gaze from the window and focused on her mother’s irritated features. “Yes, away from me.”

  “You brought this on yourself with your—”

  “Direct disobedience, dishonesty, and overall dishonorable behavior. In the two weeks since our return to Rosehurst, you have made certain I am reminded of little else.”

  “Quite so.” Her mother pulled a slender envelope from her sleeve and held it out, the Marquess of Satterfield’s discernable bold script on its surface. “Perhaps this might cheer you up.”