Dominic (Books We Love historical romance)

by Hazel Statham

  Both riders were called to the starting point and instructed that the course consisted of two complete circuits of the downs and, after a brief handshake, they waited under starters orders. The flag was raised and everyone stood with bated breath until the adjudicator dropped his arm and the two horses sprang forward, the chestnut taking the lead almost immediately with Thor hard on his heels. The lady in the chaise instructed her driver to move forward toward the finishing point but to remain as unobtrusive as possible, not wishing to be recognized. News of the race had come to her via a family friend the previous evening and she was eager to know the outcome.

  Vale and Fitzwilliam appeared almost inseparable as they passed from view and into the coppice on the further side of the downs. Both riders urged their mounts to even greater effort as, to complete the first circuit, they raced once more towards the waiting throng. It was seen that Vale was marginally in the lead as, leaning low over Thor’s withers, he passed what would be the finishing line. Fitzwilliam thundered almost immediately after him, but it was obvious that his mount’s breathing had become agonizingly labored.

  Once more, they entered the coppice and everyone waited expectantly, eager to see which would be the first to emerge, but the delay seemed interminable. The crowd became restless as the minutes passed by and still no riders came into view. The occupant of the chaise ordered her groom toward the distant trees, anxious to know what had become of the opponents. As she neared the copse, Thor appeared from between the trees, riderless and extremely lame and it became only too obvious that there was something seriously amiss.

  Painfully aware that Thor’s nearside foreleg hung at an odd angle, Wroxham urged his mount to a gallop and raced toward the injured horse. Drawing rein, he threw himself from the saddle and took hold of Thor’s bridle to try to calm him. It took but a cursory examination to confirm his belief that the leg was broken.

  The chaise halted just a few yards from the trees and without waiting for any assistance the Duchess of Lear thrust open the door and hastily alighted, catching her skirts and running toward the scene of the accident. Desperate to know what had befallen her son.

  As those on foot neared the coppice, it was seen that a youth in a shabby coat that appeared far too big for him started out from the crowd and would have run toward the trees but, seeing the duchess alight, turned, and with dragging step, retreated into the converging throng. Those witnessing his departure would have been surprised as he gave an unmanly sniff and found it necessary to wipe his eyes with his grimy sleeve. However he did not immediately quit the scene but stood anxiously waiting for news of the competitors.

  Entering the coppice the duchess looked desperately amongst the trees for her son and Fitzwilliam and it was a moment before she could comprehend the scene that presented itself. As her eyes became accustomed to the defused light she saw that Fitzwilliam, his horse lying horribly still some yards away, was kneeling over the inert figure of the earl.

  “Dominic,” she cried running forward to cast herself onto her knees and gently took her son’s head into her lap. Seeing the paleness of his countenance she feared the worst.

  “He breathes,” stated Fitzwilliam, visibly shaking and with blood streaming from a head wound. “I know not what happened only that as we rounded the trees I was slightly in the lead but my horse collapsed and Vale’s mount pitched into him and was brought down. Vale was trapped beneath. I managed to pull him free and he recovered consciousness momentarily, but that was all. I know not what his injuries might be; I have not dared to move him again.”

  “Call my man,” said the duchess, attempting to keep her calm. “Dominic must be removed to my carriage immediately. Send someone for the doctor to meet us at Blake House; he must be attended to at once. My husband is at Stovely and must be recalled.”

  As Fitzwilliam rose to do her bidding they heard a shot fired on the downs as Wroxham, confirmed that it would have been his friend’s wish, ended Thor’s misery.

  *****

  The Duke of Lear returned from Stovely in the early hours of the morning, having driven his team through the night at news of his son’s accident.

  “What the deuce has he been at now?” he demanded of his wife on his arrival in the hall of Blake House, his bluff manner acting as a blind for his true concern. He was a large man who, despite his years, retained his imposing frame and arresting countenance, his dark hair graying at the temples but remaining as thick and vigorous as ever.

  “Thank God you have come, Marcel,” she cried in much agitation. “I have been at my wits end. The physician has come and gone and returns at first light. It was a wager, a race and there was an accident. Dominic was pinned beneath his horse, his ribs are broken and there is much bruising.”

  “His injuries are not life-threatening?”

  “Thank God, they are not.”

  “Then he is lucky it is no worse,” growled the duke. “He could have broken his neck, the stupid boy.” Taking his wife’s hand, he led her into the drawing room and there poured himself a glass of reviving spirits, allowing some of the tension to seep from his weary frame. The drive had taken its toll on his reserves and only now did he feel the effects.

  “He is so pale, Marcel,” said the duchess, with much concern. “And although he will not admit it, he is in much discomfort. Will you not go to him?”

  “If you assure me that he is in no danger, then no, I will not. He will not welcome my intrusion at this hour. It will be better that I should see him in the morning when he is rested and more himself. Now come, tell me of this wager for which he might have killed himself. Has he no sense? Must he forever be in some broil or other; is it not possible that he could lead a more sensible life?”

  “Did you at four and twenty, my love?” asked the duchess reprovingly.

  “Pon faith I did not, and that you well know,” replied the duke reluctantly, taking her hand to his lips as he seated himself at her side on the couch. “Forswear, Julie, I know not what I would have become without your influence, but that does not mean I can condone such wild ways in my son and heir. He has a name to uphold.”

  “And a reputation to compete with,” reproached the duchess. “Whatever wildness that can be perceived in him you cannot blame him for, he but follows in your footsteps, my love.”

  “You and your precious son,” countered the duke. “You can never see any wrong in him. Indeed, you dote overmuch on all the children. Now tell me of this wager that so obviously could not be ignored.”

  “It was a ten mile race with Fitzwilliam on the downs.”

  “And the stakes?”

  “Five thousand guineas.”

  The duke, raising his brows, gave a silent whistle, and for a moment forgetting his anger asked with some interest, “Who was he astride?”

  “Thor—though I know not how to tell him that he had to be destroyed.”

  “A damned waste of good horse flesh,” he replied impatiently.

  “Fitzwilliam’s horse failed in its tracks. It was that which brought Thor down. Nothing could be done.”

  “Why the deuce did he accept such a wager and put both himself and the stallion at risk? Even he must have seen it was too much to expect of the animal?”

  The duchess hesitated slightly, uncertain how her husband would take what she had to tell him. “I have heard rumors that Dominic has had heavy gaming losses, I think possibly it was his way of trying to come about. Please, Marcel, don’t look like that,” she pleaded, as her husband’s countenance darkened. “He does no worse than many other young men of his acquaintance. Indeed, it is the first time I have known him to have been in such straits.”

  “Maybe so, but it will be the last,” snapped the duke. “I will not tolerate his gaming. It will be the ruin of him and I will not bail him out. It’s as well that his legacy from Augusta is in trust until he should marry, though one would have supposed the dividend from it would have been more than adequate to support him until that event. Evidently not! Its time h
e looked for a wife; that at least should have a settling effect on his life style if nothing else.”

  “Not necessarily, my love. She would have to be of a strong character to even attract his attention and you know Dominic is not easily swayed. He has shown no inclination toward any of the young ladies who so eagerly attempt to court his affections. Indeed, he says they bore him and he goes out of his way to avoid them.”

  “Mores the pity. Surely there must be one amongst his acquaintance who could tame him?”

  “Would you want him tamed?”

  The duke paused momentarily as if contemplating the matter then grimaced ruefully. “If truth be told, it would be a sin. He has considerable spirit and to see it subdued would be intolerable. Shall we say it should be channeled in a different direction, one conducive to a more fitting life-style! No, I would hate to see his spirit cowed. In some ways it has much to recommend it and in many aspects I am proud of the boy, though it would not do to admit it. Even so, he will feel my tongue for this escapade. This I cannot and will not condone.”

  “You must beware, he is no longer a child, Marcel,” reproved the duchess. “He will not welcome your interference in his life.”

  “He is my son, and will conduct himself as such, regardless of age,” he replied in a manner which discouraged any further discussion on the matter.

  *****

  The interview between father and son was not pleasant. Both being of the same forceful character did not bode well, both being powerful men saw that neither gave way to the other. The fact that Vale lay abed in considerable discomfort mattered not at all. The duchess stood outside the bedroom door listening to the raised voices, finding it difficult not to intercede on her son’s behalf. She knew that her husband was right in all that he said, lamenting his son’s life-style and deploring his foolhardy scheme, but she could not condone his onslaught at such a time. Dominic had paid the price of his stupidity. None witnessing his stricken countenance when she had told him of Thor’s death could doubt it. She even forgave him the oaths that sprang from his lips, realizing the affection he had for the horse and the pain he felt at his loss.

  Suddenly the door to the bedchamber came open and the duke strode into the corridor slamming it shut behind him.

  “He goes to Stovely,” he snapped as he pushed past her. “He must await his half-yearly dividends before he returns.”

  “Marcel...” she began, starting forward, her hand held out in supplication.

  “Do not take it upon yourself to plead for him, madam,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze. He was already regretting the interview but he would not relent, the relief he had felt at finding his son not to be in mortal danger had turned itself around into anger at putting his wife through so much anxiety. He deplored anything that would cause her pain and the fact that his son had given it no thought only served to inflame his anger. “Go to him now,” he said in a slightly calmer tone. “Make sure that he is more comfortable. I doubt he will be in a very compliant mood, but I think he has seen the sense of going to Stovely. Not only will it give his finances a chance to come about but it will also allow his bones to heal.” Then giving a reluctant smile, “Though perhaps not his temper, that I believe to be beyond redemption.”

  “Come, my love, do not look at me in that reproving way,” he said, placing a conciliatory arm about Julie’s shoulders and drawing her to him. “You know I only have a care for the boy and hate to see him so done up. We can but hope that this will serve to enlighten him to the errors of his ways, though in truth I doubt it. As you say, my dear, we are too much alike he and I and the same blood courses through both our veins.”

  Julie allowed herself to rest against his frame for just a moment but it was long enough for an unspoken understanding to exist between them, it needed no more, so much in agreement was each being with the other. She knew his heart well and understood his motives, no more need be said, and leaving his side she gave him a brief smile before entering the bedchamber to attend to their son.

  *****

  After the first few days abed, Vale found the enforced inactivity irksome to the extreme and when Wroxham was issued into his presence made no secret of his desire to be away from Blake House.

  “I’ve had enough of this damned coddling,” he snapped. “There’s someone or other forever in and out of my room to see how I do. I shall do very well if I am but left alone.”

  “Hate having your wings clipped eh? Quite understandable,” sympathized Wroxham, drawing up a chair to sit at his friend’s bedside. “How fare you? I tried to gain entry two days since but was told you were not up to receiving visitors. Said you were completely done up, and I must admit, you don’t look in top rig even now.”

  “Nonsense, nothing a few days rest won’t put to rights,” continued Vale impatiently, his countenance remaining as white as the pillows against which he lay. “Too much made of the whole episode. If it wasn’t for my mother—well—she seems to think I need taking care of and will not hear of my intention of returning to my own establishment. I have upset her enough by the whole affair and must allow her the need to be assured that I recover.”

  Thinking it wise to change tack, Wroxham asked, “Do you intend to go to Stovely after all?”

  “Devil a bit,” replied Vale, grimacing ruefully. “Doesn’t seem any option at present, though the place is deuced dull at this time of year, but at least I shall get some peace.”

  Wroxham grinned. “Never known you to be in need of peace. Thought it would be the last thing you would want; quite the opposite in fact.”

  “Exactly, but what other option do I have? It is either that or kick my heels here in penury until the next half- year. No, at least at Stovely I can be my own man without any interference from the family; they remain in town for the rest of the season. At Stovely I shall not be answerable to anyone.”

  “Not even his grace?”

  “Especially not his grace! He will leave me to my own devices; he has made it perfectly clear that he wishes nothing to do with me, a fact for which I am eternally grateful. I shall do well at Stovely, I have made my mind up to it.”

  “When do you go?”

  “As soon as they let me out of this accursed bed. I will give them one day more and then I rise of my own accord. I will have done with this pampering.” Then dropping his tone Vale’s countenance was seen to alter. “By-the-bye, I believe I have reason to thank you.”

  “Whatever for?” asked Wroxham perplexed.

  “Thor!”

  “Aye, least I could do. Thought it was what you would wish. No sense in prolonging his agony.”

  “Exactly! You acted very promptly and I am grateful. He deserved better.”

  “No more need be said,” replied Wroxham, rising to take his leave. Then as he gained the door, “What say you that when you are more the thing I drive down to Stovely and bear you company for a few days? Perhaps you will let me know when you feel up to it?”

  “An excellent idea,” smiled Vale. “Though I must warn you, the place can be cursed tedious this time of year, but there is some good blood in the stables. One thing I will say for my sire, he has a knowing eye for horseflesh, never known him to buy a plug.”

  “Something I believe you to have inherited, Dominic, nothing on your yard to be ashamed of.”

  “That is indeed praise coming from such a noted whip as you,” bowed Vale from his pillows.

  “No need to be sardonic,” snapped Wroxham, as ever disconcerted by his friend’s tone, never quite sure of his meaning.

  “Oh, take a damper,” laughed Vale. “I intended no slight on your driving ability, I assure you. I am glad you approve of my choice. Indeed I have a prime young filly at Stovely who is ripe for bringing on. We shall school her.”

  Wroxham grinned reluctantly. “I will look forward to it, nothing I enjoy more. What is her lineage?”

  “Firefly out of Genevieve.”

  “Ho, she should prove a sweet goer, what have you called her?
”

  “Sonnet! Do you approve?”

  “Aye, ‘tis fair enough,” agreed Wroxham, letting himself out into the corridor and with a brief adieu he was gone.

  Left alone the earl eased himself to a more comfortable position. As he had avowed, he longed to be away from Blake House but if truth were told, every bone in his body ached interminably. Although he was reluctant to admit it, the accident had left him weaker than he would have supposed. However, it needed only a visit from Regina, one of his younger sisters, to strengthen his resolve to travel to Stovely at the first opportunity. She was a lively girl of eighteen who chattered incessantly and drove him to distraction with recounts of the social events she had attended in the last week. Though he feigned interest for a short while, he found it quite necessary to bring their discourse to an abrupt and unceremonious end, which had the effect of sending her out of his company in high dudgeon whilst he took refuge in sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Stovely Hall was at its most splendid in summer, though Vale did not altogether appreciate its beauty. In his present mood, the magnificent house of varying antiquity with Palladian frontage, set amongst velvet lawns and bountiful foliage, meant nothing to him. Instead, now that his health was somewhat recovered, he confined his interests to the stables and whatever sport could be found within Stovely’s boundaries. That at least afforded him some pleasure. It was the first London season he had missed since entering society and it irked him to forgo the pleasures it afforded. He had never attempted to sample country society, finding the mere contemplation of it dull to the extreme. It was then with some surprise, that upon receiving a visit from Squire Murray, he found himself agreeing to attend the monthly ball held at the local assembly rooms. Regretting his decision as soon as the squire had quitted his company, he was unable to believe that his desire for some, indeed any, diversion should have driven him to accept the invitation. For was not such an outing beneath his notice?