Fortunate Wager (Newmarket Regency Book 3)

by Jan Jones

  Her grace rose at once. “You are going to think me very rude, I daresay, but I believe I should be running away. John Coachman will want to get the horses settled for the night, and if there is one thing I have found to be paramount in this life, it is that it is of no more use to cross your coachman than it is to cross your gardener. But I shall be back tomorrow, so will bid you all a good night until then. Miss Caro - if you do not mind me addressing you so familiarly - I wonder if you could show me where I may make myself tidy? One does not want to arrive looking a complete scarecrow, you know.”

  But once apart from the others, Alexander’s mama gave herself only a cursory glance in the mirror before taking Caroline’s hands and saying, “Now tell me - how bad was he? My boy? Did he have nightmares?”

  There was a tiny, held-in pain at the back of her eyes. Almost for the first time, Caroline was at a loss as to how to answer. Absurdly, she found herself not wanting to expose Alexander’s weakness. “He... he was very ill indeed, as I wrote to you, and yes, he was feverish, but he is improved considerably. If he was but back on his own estate, busy with his own concerns, I feel sure his recovery would be complete in short order.”

  The duchess turned back to the glass, but she didn’t seem to be seeing her reflection. “The time the bridge broke under him, he nearly died,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “You will know about that, for he relives it every time he has a fever and I perceive you have been doing the bulk of the nursing. I am sure you have witnessed what he foolishly sees as his other failings too. He makes so light of them on the surface, but they tear at him fit to break your heart. Pray how did you get him through them? He is so very strong when in the grip of his terrors.”

  Caroline blinked at this unnerving woman. “I... I talked to him, your grace.”

  The duchess blinked back. “You talked to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just talked?”

  “Yes. And soothed him, I suppose, whenever he seemed likely to do himself an injury. I did have to hold him down on occasion. To begin with. Not lately.”

  “Good heavens. And he heeded you?”

  “Well, yes. Mostly.”

  Alexander’s mother was still for a moment, then gave a small, bird-like nod. “I would like to see the doctor for myself tomorrow. Can you arrange that for me? And then you must introduce me to your horses. Goodnight my dear. I am more grateful to you than I can say.” And to Caroline’s utter astonishment she kissed her on the cheek before sailing out of the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Miss Caro - his lordship’s having them dreams again.”

  Caroline was awake and pulling a shawl around her nightgown before Thomas had finished speaking, almost as if her sleeping body had been waiting for just this summons. She hurried down the stairs to where Alexander was tossing from side to side in the bed.

  “Hush,” she said. “Hush, you need to rest.”

  “Go then,” he muttered, “go and be damned to you.”

  This wasn’t the bridge. Nor was it his sister. Caroline dipped a handkerchief in water to cool his brow, afraid that he would split open the healing cut. “My lord, you must calm yourself.” This was what came of extra wine at dinner.

  He put up his hand and bore down on her wrist. “Go! Cease torturing me!”

  “Are you all right, miss?” called Thomas, hovering anxiously in the doorway.

  “Is that him?” growled Alexander. “I will make him more interesting than me for you. I’ll riddle him with holes, damn his hide.”

  His emotion burnt how she must act into Caroline’s mind. She flapped her free hand at Thomas to tell him to go right away. If she had guessed correctly, the last thing Alexander needed in this particular nightmare was a male voice intruding into his scarred memories. Was it Rosetta who had spurned him? Or a more legitimate love? Whoever it was, she had hurt him badly and the hurt had to be eased.

  Caroline sat on the edge of the bed. “I have changed my mind,” she said softly. “I was wrong. Forgive me, Alexander. I will stay, if you wish it.”

  He stopped threshing. His grip lessened. “Stay?”

  Caroline stroked his cheek, feeling the faint roughness against her fingers. “Yes, I will stay. Go to sleep, my lord. I will be here.”

  She was not prepared for his hand to release her wrist and move to her breast as surely as if his eyes were open and the lamp lit. She almost forgot to breathe when he cupped the roundness through the stout cotton of her nightgown. Not stout enough, she realised in further shock as his thumb stroked backwards and forwards across her nipple. “Lie down, sweetheart,” he said drowsily.

  Caroline could barely concentrate, so awash was she with this strange, sweet sensation. She knew, in a hazy, urgent way, that she should move away, that she should leave. She was alone in a gentleman’s bedroom wearing nothing but a nightgown. And even if that gentleman was asleep, his hands were very much awake. But... but... His thumb stroked her again. Pleasure shot through her, branching up to her throat and down to her loins. Dear God, this was wonderful. She twisted to look behind her; the doorway remained mercifully empty of footmen. Praying with everything she knew for it to remain so, she eased herself to lie on the covers next to Alexander.

  He turned onto his side with a great sigh, his hand slipping to her other breast. “Need you,” he murmured, so low she hardly heard him. “Don’t go.”

  Her heart hammered. She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried. “Why would I want to leave?” she whispered.

  His breath was warm on her face. This time Caroline parted her lips as he kissed her. His hand slid over her breast, her waist, her hip. In that moment, Caroline truly grew up. She understood why her beautiful sister had accepted such an undistinguished suitor. She understood why Harry must have Louisa. She understood why lovers risked scandal and social ostracism in order to elope. She understood why some widows never remarried.

  Alexander made a contented sound in his throat. In a very few moments his chest was rising and falling with the regular breathing of a man deeply asleep. Caroline remained where she was, her limbs as heavy and boneless as water, searching his face, committing it to memory in the dim light. It was, she thought shakily, a quite remarkably awkward time to fall in love.

  All through the dawn horse work, Caroline concentrated on burying her secret deep inside her. She couldn’t let it out. She daren’t. It would be so mortifying if Alexander ever suspected she felt this way. But it would be all right. She would only have to be circumspect a short while longer. Now that his mother had arrived in Newmarket he would be leaving. The duchess might even effect his removal today. The sole occasions when Caroline would meet him from here on would be if he came to see Solange before the race.

  The race. Focus on the race. That was better. More productive than retracing his sleeping features and wishing that the world was different. Much more like real life.

  So, the race. It was a scant two weeks away. It would be a private match over the eight furlongs of the Rowley Mile against a hotchpotch of untried horses volunteered by their owners on the night of Harry’s fateful wager. Having ridden her sufficiently to judge her strengths, Caroline wasn’t worried about Solange’s speed or stamina over that distance. However she was mightily concerned about the effect of the crowd. They had gradually built up the noise level in the stables without any ill effect, but in an unfamiliar situation anything might happen. The obvious solution would be to take her up to the race course and mingle with the race-goers to accustom her, but first they had to get her used to a male rider.

  And this was the really awkward part - Solange still refused to let anyone but Caroline on her back.

  “Enough,” called Harry as she cantered around the furthest paddock revolving the problem. “Look at the sky.”

  Caroline dropped the grey mare’s pace straight away. She had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed the passage of time. She hunched low, just in case any of her father’s hands should recognise
her. “Sorry,” she said.

  Harry shrugged. “Not like you, that’s all. Something on your mind?”

  “No, no. Only how to get this horse used to a crowd in the next thirteen days. We’ll have to get her up to the Heath on a race day. Have you tried riding her?”

  “Oh yes. She dumped me on the ground last weekend before I’d so much as bid her good morning.”

  “She might not if I were to hold her head and talk to her while you mount?”

  “Worth a try. We’ll do it later. For now you need to de-lad yourself.”

  Caroline caught her breath. “Especially if that wretched valet of... of Lord Rothwell’s is up betimes and wanting water and hot towels and I don’t know what. Let’s get going, Solange, quick trot back.” It was a good thing Alexander would be leaving them today. She needed to keep all her wits about her, not have half of them languishing over something that could never be.

  Alex woke from the best night’s sleep he’d had for a long time, to see light dancing on the ceiling of his room and his valet with a bowl of warm water ready. The man’s expression made his feelings about rising at such an uncivilised hour abundantly clear. Alex ignored them.

  Not only was the breakfast parlour empty, it did not look as though there was any danger of it being used in the next several hours. Alex hesitated, then followed his nose and his instinct. Not since childhood, when his appetite had outstripped his ability to wait for the schoolroom breakfast, had he visited domestic quarters. The aroma as he pushed open the door took him right back to those days. Bacon fat, new bread, broth... Did all kitchens smell the same?

  There had been a hum of voices. As he entered, silence fell - absolute and complete.

  “And just what,” said Caroline Fortune from her place at the scrubbed table, “do you think you are doing here?”

  He pulled out a stool next to her. “You are always telling me to eat.”

  “Has your bell ceased to work? Has your valet lost the power of speech?”

  Across the table, Harry Fortune grinned affably. “Morning, Rothwell. Don’t mind Caro - she likes to have the distinctions preserved.”

  “This is a working breakfast,” she told him, frost in every syllable.

  “I have no intention of interfering. Pray continue.” He caught the quick flash of a look pass between them. “I take it your brother is telling you how yesterday’s horses performed, ready for your report to your cousin. You must have a prodigious memory, since you do not appear to be taking notes.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I have often been complimented on it.”

  She was admirably cool under fire, he’d give her that. He accepted the plate of ham and eggs that was put in front of him no wiser as to what this wretched pair were up to. Unless... “I was meaning to ask,” he said idly. “What did Mrs Penfold mean yesterday when she said you had no money, apart from the betting?”

  Caroline and Harry exchanged a much longer look this time. Harry shrugged, as if leaving it to her.

  “It is not something I would want spread abroad,” she said slowly.

  Alex glanced around the busy kitchen. She trusted the servants, but not him? He was ridiculously hurt. “I believe I am as discreet as you are.” His comment came out rather stiffer than he’d intended.

  She looked at him for a long moment. It was astonishing. Never before had he had this crushing sense of being weighed up, not even when meeting with the influential men who were the power behind his chosen party. “Bertrand loved horses,” she said at last. “He was fascinated with bloodlines. He used to study who had won what and under which conditions so he could breed the perfect racehorse. Harry, of course, was always up on the Heath watching the races and the training. I suppose I was amazingly precocious, but it seemed perfectly clear to me that if I put their knowledge together, I could predict who should win each race. I didn’t have any money to bet with, being so young and being a girl, but Bertrand did and so did Harry - provided we got to him at the beginning of the quarter before he spent it all. It didn’t always work, but we learnt as we went on and we built up a reasonable sum. We were going to purchase a stable - the three of us. This was when Bertrand’s papa and grandpapa were alive, you understand. Penfold Lodge was simply a gentleman’s residence then, not a racing yard. We... we had good times. Then, when Bertrand was bought his colours, he wanted Harry and me to carry on, but I was still a girl and much too young to have money lodged in a bank, so we all wrote a paper and signed it to say Harry should have control over the account until Bertrand came back, and that if Bertrand didn’t come back, then his third was to be mine too, but Harry should administer it until I was of age.”

  Alex was stunned. The work of the kitchen went on around him but he didn’t hear so much as the hiss of the fat or the rhythmic thump of kneading dough. He couldn’t believe it. Of all the cork-brained schemes!

  “And now I manage Penfold Lodge for our cousin,” said Harry, “so instead of saving for an establishment of our own, we are building up our string which in turn adds to our account as we win races.”

  “Lady Penfold knew about it,” said Caroline. “I think it helped her get over Bertrand’s death. We had to explain, because otherwise she would have wondered what was behind the legacy.”

  “People may bequeath their own assets as they like,” said Alex, still trying to grasp the idea of this self-possessed girl weighing odds and laying bets. “I, for instance, made out my will some years ago leaving my estate to Giles, even though he is not family.”

  “But he is your close friend, your mother’s godson. He told us when you were ill that he had grown up with you. No one would think such a bequest strange. Bertrand was nine years my senior and I am a girl. I would not have been allowed to use any of the money if it had been done formally. Papa would have either refused it or put it into trust where it wouldn’t earn a fraction of what it does now.”

  She sounded so reasonable about it. She truly believed she was acting in the most sensible way. In an appalled rush, Alex thought of all the men he knew whose lives had been ruined by betting. “And he would be right,” he said with emphasis. Good God, did this girl know nothing? “More horses lose than win. Many more.”

  “Of course they do, but if one only wagers what one can afford to lose, the winnings are a bonus.” Caroline pushed away her plate. “You asked. I have told you and I wouldn’t have done that had I not known you were an honourable man. That is an end to it, if you please.”

  He frowned. Much as he hated to admit it, these antics were indeed nothing to do with him. But she had left so much unsaid. There were so many points she could have expanded on. “Is that why you do not wish to marry?” he asked, picking on one thing at random. “Because having a husband would put a stop to the excitement of betting?”

  Caroline snorted. “There is little excitement when I do not know the results until Harry tells me next day. The money is simply a means to an end.”

  “What end?”

  “To be independent. Not to have to marry. Would you wish to be shackled for life to someone you dislike, merely to have a home? No, of course you wouldn’t. Nor do you have to. Men have the option of remaining single and making their own way in the world. Women don’t.”

  Now what nonsense was she talking? “It is the job of men to provide,” he said impatiently.

  “It need not be,” she fired back. “That is what I am saying. If women were given the chance, they could look after their own affairs just as well as gentlemen do. Lady Penfold was my godmother. I loved her dearly and I love Penfold Lodge just as much as she did. If she had left this house to me, I would not have to petition my parents to live here. If she had left it to her son’s widow, then Mrs Penfold could make me her heir. But she believed in blood and the male line, so instead left it to a great-nephew she hardly knew, though indeed we like him well enough and it is useful that he is married to my cousin. Please understand me. I am not criticising my godmother’s judgement, for it was simply the way she
was, the tenets with which she had been brought up. But you must see that it is hard.”

  Confound it, his statement about bequeathing property was about to come back and bite him. “She was wiser about the world than you,” he said brusquely. “If this house were yours, you would have more suitors than you knew what to do with. And all of them after your assets rather than you.”

  Caroline turned as pale as he had ever seen her. “Then I should doubtless count my blessings,” she said, and left the room.

  There was a silence in the kitchen. Disapproval came off the servants in waves. Harry looked across the table with raised eyebrows. “Well, and I don’t say you aren’t right, but if I’d put it like that, she’d have boxed my ears.”

  Why? What had he said? Alex revisited his words - and felt himself grow aghast. He might champion plain speech, but his unintentional implication that Caroline had no charms of her own had been unforgivably rude. He rose. “Oh, how appalling of me. I must explain. I didn’t mean... Could someone please send for...?” No, that would not do. He got a grip on himself. “Could someone please ask Miss Fortune if she will be so generous as to grant me a few minutes conversation?”

  “She’ll be with the horses,” said Harry, rising to his feet. “I’ll give you my arm up there.”

  Caroline stood with her face buried in Rufus’s neck. “So stupid,” she said to his warm, chestnut hide. “I am just so stupid. I know I have no attractions. I have always known it. It should not hurt that he thinks so too.” She took a juddering breath, trying to keep the raw, ripped part of her soul in place. “And he has no idea I love him, so why should he think to mind his words? He has done me a favour. I know now - even if I did not before - that there will never be any hope.” She sniffed mightily and took a step back. “I will shake this off. I will be calm, and normal, and shake this off.”

  “Caroline,” called Alexander’s voice behind her.

  Another part of her died. Please let him not have heard her. “You should not be outside,” she said without turning round. “Go back to the house.”