Fortunate Wager (Newmarket Regency Book 3)

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Fortunate Wager (Newmarket Regency Book 3) Page 4

by Jan Jones


  A well-spring of happiness had nearly unmanned her. “Oh yes, Bertrand. Yes, please. I’ve never wanted anything else.”

  He’d looked relieved. “That’s all right, then. I’ll sell out once we’ve seen off Boney. Don’t much fancy the army in peace-time. Those brats are making a hash of flying the kite, aren’t they? Shall we give them a hand?”

  Reviewing the conversation now, Caroline could see it lacked a certain something as far as romantic declarations went, but Bertrand Penfold had always been more at home with jokes than with deep feelings, and to a girl who had idolised him since he first put her up on a pony when she was an adventurous three-year-old and he a good-natured twelve, the unspoken understanding between them had been all she’d needed. Oh Bertrand, if only you hadn’t...

  “What the devil are you doing here alone?”

  Caroline’s eyes flew open. The children and their nursemaid were gone. Instead Lord Rothwell towered in front of her, his eyebrows drawn together in a fearsome scowl. “I am not alone. I’m with my brother and Miss Taylor.”

  His lordship looked around in sarcastic disbelief. “Who are where exactly?”

  Caroline stood, furious with him for jerking her out of her memories. “Not that it is any of your business,” she snapped, “but Harry and Louisa have applied to see the abbey ruins. I felt a little fatigued so said I would wait here for them.”

  “You’ve been crying,” he said abruptly.

  “I have not.” She turned away from him and sat down again, trembling. “Pray do not let me keep you from your promenade.”

  To her rage, she felt the bench shift under his weight. “I had the ruins in mind myself, but must also admit to feeling a little fatigued. I daresay it was the drive. I shall contemplate the scene for a while, the better to armour myself against any ghostly Franciscans.”

  “They were Benedictine monks, not Franciscans, and I wish you would have the goodness to armour yourself somewhere else.”

  “Oh no, this position suits me very well. But please do not feel obliged to make conversation. Handsome architecture of the sort I see before me is far better appreciated in silence.”

  “Insufferable,” muttered Caroline.

  “How strange. That was always my sister’s opinion when constrained to accept a companion. You are out of luck. I have first-hand experience of the bacon-brained notions young ladies get in their heads if they are carelessly chaperoned and their thoughts not given a proper direction.”

  Caroline swung around. “How dare you. Miss Taylor is with my brother and it is not only his sense of honour and the esteem he bears her which prevents their behaving scandalously. She herself knows perfectly well what is owed to her father and his position in society.”

  He looked startled. “What the devil has Miss Taylor to do with anything? I have never even met her. I was referring to you. It is perfectly obvious from your countenance that you either have a clandestine appointment and your companion has missed it, or he kept it and you quarrelled.”

  Caroline could hardly speak she was so incensed. “Lord Rothwell, you overstep the mark indeed. Even if what you suppose were true - which it isn’t and I take considerable umbrage at you even thinking it might be - you barely know me. Do you commonly walk around prosperous market towns dealing out scolds to chance-met acquaintances? I should not be surprised at anything your sister does if you are the arbiter of her conduct.”

  “If I had been, I should not be here now,” he fired back cryptically. He seemed to recollect himself. “No young lady should be sitting on a public bench alone.”

  “I have told you, I am not alone. Also this is Bury St Edmunds, not a fashionable London trysting place. I assure you that even if some disreputable character was so misinformed as to think it worth his while making me the object of his gallantry, I am perfectly capable of administering a set-down.”

  “Now I know you are too young to be out alone. How the devil do you imagine that an untaught female could... Good God...”

  This last was said in so altered a tone that Caroline followed his gaze. Fierce satisfaction swept through her at the sight of Harry and Louisa emerging with perfect propriety through the Abbey Gate. “An apology would seem to be in order, don’t you think?” she said icily.

  But Lord Rothwell was feeling for his quizzing glass. “What a diamond,” he murmured.

  Caroline swallowed down her chagrin. She was familiar with gentlemen being struck dumb by Louisa’s fair beauty and cheerful countenance. There was no reason why the surrender of Lord Rothwell’s senses should be so particularly bitter.

  Harry widened his eyes at the sight of her companion and looked a query at her. She shrugged to make it plain that his being here was none of her doing.

  “Lord Rothwell,” said Harry. “How pleasant to see you. Miss Taylor, may I present Lord Alexander Rothwell. He is the owner of the spirited grey mare I was telling you about.”

  Louisa flashed a delighted smile and held out her hand. “I am sure you will not be disappointed, my lord. Penfold Lodge is a most superior stable.”

  Lord Rothwell raised Louisa’s hand to his lips. “Amazingly so, considering its manager is so often elsewhere. On this occasion, however, one can see why.”

  Caroline was used to the difference that a pretty face made to a gentleman’s conduct, but Lord Rothwell’s instantaneous transformation into a man of manners grated even so. “Your own estate is profitable, I suppose?” she asked pointedly.

  A glint appeared in his eyes. “Happily yes, but I have a bailiff to look after it in my absence.”

  “And Harry has an experienced head groom. It has been charming to meet you again, my lord. Such a shame we must be on our way. Goodbye.”

  But Louisa gave a sharply indrawn breath and with a start of alarm Caroline saw the rotund figure of Alderman Taylor rounding the bend of Angel Hill. In a flash she had taken her friend’s arm and swung her so that they were facing the two men. “We are meeting everybody today, are we not?” she cried aloud. “Good day, Alderman, you are looking very well. May I introduce you to Lord Alexander Rothwell whose horse Harry has just taken on for training. Lord Rothwell, Alderman Taylor is well known as the finest goldsmith in Bury St Edmunds.”

  Lord Rothwell instantly went so rigid with hauteur that she thought he might topple over. To make matters worse, Louisa’s father greeted him far too effusively. He was an astute businessman and in general a man of great sense, except in his obsession with Louisa making a brilliant marriage. Caroline found herself hoping Lord Rothwell would not depress his pretensions too severely.

  “... quiet, of course, my lord, but I flatter myself that we have several superior attractions here for a man of taste and fashion such as yourself. I very much hope, for instance, that we will have the pleasure of seeing you at our assembly next week?”

  Lord Rothwell gave the smallest of stiff inclinations of the head. “I shall certainly give the matter my consideration.”

  Alderman Taylor beamed. Caroline rushed into speech before he could expose himself even more. “Are you on your way home, Alderman? Will you give Louisa your arm? Then Harry may escort me back now instead of returning for me later as we had planned.”

  Louisa’s father looked from Harry to Lord Rothwell. “Oh, but surely...”

  Caroline kept the bright smile on her face. “Lord Rothwell plans to visit the ruins. If I have it correctly, he expressed the opinion that great architecture is best experienced in silence and solitude. And I believe the gentlemen have finished their discussion. Is that not so, Harry?”

  Her brother had barely opened his mouth to reply when Lord Rothwell cut in. “I certainly have no more to say. Good day, Miss Taylor, Alderman, Fortune.”

  Caroline bit her lip as he strode away. She had deserved the snub of his not taking leave of her, but she did hope his dislike would not extend itself to Harry.

  “The carriage is at the Angel Hotel, Louisa,” her father was saying. “Well, well, the Duke of Abervale’s so
n, eh? I daresay there will be time enough before the assembly to have a new gown made up.”

  “Papa, you spoil me. Do you not think it is splendid that Mr Fortune has attracted such an illustrious patron?”

  “Yes, yes, now come along. We must get back to your aunt. Blue, do you think? Or pink? Your mama always looked very handsome in pink. Good day, Miss Caro. I am much obliged to you for walking in this direction with Louisa. Good day, Fortune.”

  Caroline and Harry were left on the path. Caroline tucked her arm in her brother’s as they moved towards the inn where he’d left the curricle. “He’ll come around, Harry.”

  Her brother gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t compete with a title, Caro.”

  “You don’t have to. Not in Louisa’s eyes.”

  “Two more years until she’s of age. Anything could happen. Wouldn’t blame her if it did. Dash it, you saw the way Rothwell looked at her.”

  “I have seen the way every gentleman of our acquaintance has looked at her since she was ten years old. She loves you.”

  “I wish he hadn’t happened to come by today even so. What was that all about? You looked to be at daggers drawn.”

  “Lord Rothwell,” said Caroline trenchantly, “did not consider it proper for me to be sitting alone on a bench in broad daylight in the most respectable thoroughfare in Suffolk.”

  “What a slow-top. Good thing he doesn’t know about you shinning down the ivy every morning and riding on the Heath in my old clothes.”

  Caroline glared. “It would not signify if he did.”

  Harry wiped the grin from his face. “No, of course not. Wish the parents would consent to you living at Penfold Lodge all the time so you didn’t have to, though. It’s damned gloomy with only Bertrand’s mama there. Those knitting needles of hers are driving me to distraction.”

  “You can’t wish it more than me. I shall announce another visit soon, and perhaps they will reconsider entirely after next season when I have failed to take yet again.”

  Harry perked up. “Yes, very likely. For Selina is near as well-favoured as Honoria and is bound to go off, don’t you think? Mama won’t want you hanging around a third time when Eliza comes out.”

  Caroline was obliged to swallow her immediate response to this. Harry was the best of brothers, but there were times when he was a little more forthright than was necessary. “I will come back with you now at any rate. The more I am to be found at Penfold Lodge, the more everyone will expect me to be there. We shall win them over by attrition yet.”

  Alex strode furiously through the imposing stone gate and presently found himself viewing the remains of the once-great Abbey with nothing like the reverence such an ancient place should have induced. It was beyond anything. How dare that wretched chit use him to protect her miserable brother from the consequences of his ill-considered assignations. What sort of friend encouraged a young lady in an intrigue which ran counter to her father’s wishes? Wishes that Alex had every sympathy with. Miss Taylor was a veritable Beauty and lively too, if her animated countenance was any guide. It was a crime to waste her on a hey-go-mad puppy like Fortune when even a moderate portion should ensure her success in the marriage mart. Why had she not been presented already? Surely not simply because her father was in trade? The ton was littered with instances where money had been bartered for a title. The beau monde’s dislike of the shop could not always afford to extend itself to marriage settlements. And a goldsmith was a very superior craftsman indeed. He must ask Miss Fortune for elucidation the next time he spoke to her.

  On which thought Alex foundered. His frown returned. He wasn’t going to be speaking to Miss Caroline Fortune again. She had forfeited the right to his notice by her appalling behaviour. She was quick enough, he’d concede her that, and in any other young woman he might even admire her loyalty and spirit, but she presumed, which was a worse crime in Alex’s book even than being vulgar.

  The waiter was in the coffee room when he returned. After commenting that he had found Bury St Edmunds a very pleasant town, Alex remarked that he had met with some residents who had mentioned an assembly.

  “At the New Subscription Rooms, my lord? Very smart they are, by all accounts. The next ball is on Wednesday, I believe.”

  Harry leant against the side of the stall, watching as Caroline unhooked Solange’s tether. “You don’t think you are dressed too fine for this?”

  She dusted her hands on the skirts of a walking dress that owed a lot more to her mother’s love of unnecessary flounces than her own taste. “Oh, I do hope so. I’ve been trying to render this wretched gown unwearable for weeks.” She took a grip on the mare’s head collar. “It’s a lovely afternoon, girl. Would you like a stroll around the field and a mouthful of nice fresh grass by day instead of in the dark? Show your admirers how beautiful you are?”

  Solange whickered into her hair. Flood met her eyes. “I’ll be right alongside you, Miss Caro. Soon as she turns restive, you take to your heels and leave her to me and Mr Harry.”

  Very slowly, and talking gently all the while, Caroline led the mare across the yard to the first paddock, which they had cleared of the other horses. It shouldn’t be any different to walking her around the field early in the morning, but there would be more to see and more movement to catch her eye and possibly make her bolt. There was certainly a moment when shouts from the street sent shivers quivering up and down her legs, but Caroline kept talking and after a minute of indecision, Solange moved forward again. As Flood shut the gate, Caroline let her go and leant on the bars, ashamed that her own legs felt so weak.

  Flood grinned. Then his face changed. “What’s that varmint doing here?”

  Caroline turned to see him hurtle down the path and twist his fist into the collar of an undersized man lurking in the stable archway, almost lifting him off his feet. She and Harry followed curiously.

  “Let go, I’ll have the judge on you for assault,” whined the man. Caroline recognised him as Lord Rothwell’s groom, Jessop. “I’m here with a message for his lordship.”

  “He ain’t here, you lying little guttersnipe,” growled Flood. “Which you knowed all along. And even if he had been, the likes of you don’t come no further onto our property than the road. Why didn’t you tell one of the lads you’d got a message, eh?”

  “Didn’t give me a chance, did you?” Jessop wrenched himself free and looked murderously at Flood. “You’re going to regret this.”

  “Not as much as you will if you set one toe inside this yard again.”

  Jessop spat on the ground and turned away. Flood watched him leave.

  “I know him,” said Harry with a frown. “He’s been hanging around the betting ring on the Heath all week.”

  “Up to no good, I’ll be bound,” said Flood. “Always on the edge of trouble, that one.”

  “But what was he doing here?” said Caroline.

  “Wanted to know how we were doing with the mare of course. Either under orders or for information on his own account. Wouldn’t put it past him. Mr Harry’s ain’t the only money riding on this bet.”

  “Already?” said Caroline, appalled. She looked anxiously back at the paddock, but Solange had moved over to the far side and was cropping the grass. The raised voices didn’t seem to have disturbed her. Even so... “The next time I see Lord Rothwell, I’m going to have words about that groom of his,” she said with decision.

  Harry and Flood exchanged grins. Caroline ignored them.

  As it happened, she saw his lordship at church the very next day. She and Harry were sitting dutifully alongside the rest of the family waiting for the service to start when there was a disturbance in the doorway. Everybody’s heads craned discreetly in that direction. Lord Rothwell and another gentleman were apologising to the sidesmen for their tardiness. Now they were being ushered to the pews reserved for the nobility. Caroline felt her eyes widen. She had thought Lord Rothwell well turned out, but his friend was positively exquisite. His coat and pantaloons were an
exact match for each other in pearly grey, his waistcoat was figured cream silk, his neckcloth fell in snow-white folds, his gold locks had been styled by a master and not a speck of dirt sullied his highly polished top-boots. Hers was not the only mouth agape. Every young woman under All Saints’ vaulted roof was casting admiring glances. And didn’t he know it, thought Caroline, observing the tiny air of satisfaction in his bearing. The exquisite allowed himself a contented look around the packed church before sitting down on the other side of the aisle from Caroline.

  What a dandy, she thought, and was cross with herself for having followed the herd. She leant back as his gaze reached her, not wanting to pander further to his self-esteem. For a fraction of a second his eyes rested on Harry instead - and to Caroline’s astonishment a look of vitriolic dislike flashed across his face.

  She blinked, but now Lord Rothwell was easing himself onto the bench and cutting his friend off from view. Had she imagined that look? Surely she must have done. Why would anyone hate Harry? She murmured an enquiry of her brother as to the gentleman’s identity.

  Harry glanced across. “Who? Oh, that’s Giles d’Arblay. Goes it a bit at Crockford’s.”

  So he obviously didn’t think there was a problem. Caroline slid another glance sideways. Lord Rothwell was staring ahead so rigidly that she knew he was aware of her. How silly. But she certainly had no wish to distinguish him after his rudeness yesterday. As the service wore on, however, the humour of the situation struck her. There they were, both pointedly ignoring each other whilst seated not three feet apart. By the Nunc Dimittis she was hard pressed not to scream with laughter.

  In the catching-up bustle outside the church (which Caroline privately thought was the major reason most of her mother’s acquaintance attended the devotions), she was surprised to see Mr d’Arblay make a point of distinguishing Harry, asking him how many stable-hands Solange had crippled so far. “Only two,” replied Harry in the same cheerful tones, “and they both have a spare foot, so we haven’t lost any work through it.”

 

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