by Jan Jones
Giles, he noticed, had pulled up a hard chair next to the sofa where Miss Taylor was seated by her friend.
“I am glad to meet you again also, Mr d’Arblay,” continued Alderman Taylor. “I thought you danced in a very distinguished manner at our assembly the other week. Almost, may I say, as distinguished as Lord Rothwell here.”
“You are most kind, but I have always known that my friend is a far better dancer than I am,” said Alex, and saw the tightness leave Giles’s smile.
“Indeed, how could one not be, when one has such a charming partner?” said Giles, inclining his head to Miss Taylor.
Alex was fairly sure he had not imagined the faint snort coming from Caroline’s direction, especially when she asked a commonplace question about the state of the lanes on their journey today, which turned the conversation nicely.
However, though Giles seemed content to play a waiting game, Miss Taylor’s father was not distracted for long. After moving the discussion on lanes bodily to Surrey and praising the roads indiscriminately around that area where Alex’s estate happened to be, he turned to Giles with a question. “Talking of landowners’ obligations, it says in the Gentleman’s Magazine that your family hall was ‘once fine, but now sadly neglected’. Surely that cannot be so, can it?”
“Alas, my esteemed father is not always as good at investments as he imagines,” said Giles easily. “It is a great sadness to me, for I have many happy boyhood memories of the estate, but I am convinced it will come about yet.”
The alderman shook his head. “Ah, that’s the way of it, is it? It is always a mistake for men without a head for business to manage their own affairs. I am for ever saying so, am I not, Louisa?”
His daughter smiled lovingly at him. “You are, Papa. You say that it is better for a man to do what he can do well, than to make a bad fist of something he can never be.”
Just for a moment, Alex caught Caroline’s eye which was brimful with amusement. Again he found it a struggle to keep his expression under control. He had no doubt that by the time Miss Taylor was wed to Harry Fortune, her poor father would be under the impression he had made the match himself.
Across the room, Giles praised the alderman’s perspicacity with his usual panache. Just as the visit lengthened beyond the polite norm, the alderman arose. Alex was unsurprised when Giles affected astonishment at the passage of time and elected to take his leave also.
On the sofa, Caroline relaxed infinitesimally. Alex, exchanging a few words with Giles before he went, wondered what she had been concerned about. Then the door to the saloon opened, Harry Fortune breezed in, and Miss Taylor - who had been beautiful before - positively glowed.
All through the laughing flurry of I-beg-your-pardon and We-were-just-leaving and Sorry-to-have-missed-you, Alex was aware of Giles’s brittle smile. Following the party into the hall, Alex saw him win the honour of handing Miss Taylor up into the carriage. He also saw that though her lips thanked his friend, and her hand remained in his a little too long, her eyes were on Fortune. Giles turned and strode towards the town without a backward glance.
Alex winced, knowing from experience that, rather than admit Louisa’s affections were already engaged, Giles would put her lack of attention down to his own lack of fortune. Often, of course, this was the case and as he had always done, Alex could not help but feel sympathetic. Very early on in life he had noticed the different way adults treated his elder brother (the heir to the Abervale titles and lands) and him (with only his mother’s comparatively small estate to look forward to) and he had become disillusioned and disgusted with society in consequence. Even less favoured was Giles, the late-born third son of a neighbouring baronet with no prospects at all. But whereas Alex became colder and more scornful of the world as a result of his perspicacity, Giles tried that bit harder to please. It was always he who charmed extra sweetmeats out of the kitchen, always he who could get away with explaining why shirts were stained and knickerbockers torn after a day’s adventuring in the woods.
What worked on cooks and nursery maids, however, had little effect on schoolmasters until Giles learnt the knack of simulating interest in those opinionated gentlemen and uncomplainingly ran the most boring of errands for them. Then school, too, became an easy ride. The fathers of the town damsels were rather more difficult to charm, but fortunately Giles established that avoidance-of-scandal money was about the one thing his parent would spare from his own gaming purse.
Already cynical, Alex became even more so on entering society, discovering that amongst gently-born young ladies, professions of love went hand-in-hand with attention to one’s rents. For Giles, the revelation came as a particularly hard-to-swallow pill. The heiresses he favoured turned markedly less affectionate on hearing about his father selling ever more parcels of land and his eldest brother’s increasing progeny. He had even begun to talk of giving thought to a profession until the happy day when his godfather suffered an apoplexy in the arms of his mistress, leaving Giles a ruined castle for glamour and three snug farms for rent. It would have been even better if the income from those farms ever managed to last the quarter.
So yes, Alex understood that Giles felt life had dealt him an unfair hand, but he needn’t go on griping about it. Maybe it was disloyal in Alex, but really, compared to Harry Fortune, who was now asking civilly whether he would care for a game of billiards, Giles seemed a touch... a touch thin.
Caroline waited until she heard the reassuring click of ivory balls behind the door, then hurried upstairs to don a riding coat. Provided Harry did his part, she would be able to take Solange right around Newmarket with no one being any the wiser. The traffic in the town was lighter by far than it would be on a race day, but still sufficiently busy to test the mare’s nerve. Flood insisted on walking alongside her. It was of no use Caroline reminding him that she had already ridden Solange to the Heath and back without incident. He simply replied that what worked in the very early morning was of no account on a bustling afternoon and who was head groom in this establishment anyway? So they walked sedately along the High Street, turning before they reached the White Hart, ‘just in case some inquisitive little ferret isn’t up to his horrible eyes in a gambling den’ as Flood put it, and then circled down around St Mary’s and came back.
There was no doubt that Solange wasn’t happy, but with Caroline talking to her and Flood’s solid presence at her head, she acquitted herself without more than a few eye-rolls and then one long whinny when a butcher’s-boy came pelting out of his master’s shop after a thief.
“Enough for one day?” asked Caroline when the Penfold Lodge arch came into sight.
“I’d say so, Miss Caro. A nice rub down and a bucket of mash and she’ll be right as a trivet.”
Caroline slipped into the billiard room to watch the last game. She noticed Alexander smile as he glanced at her gown. She looked down to see a thatch of straw clinging to the hem. She bent to pick it off, hoping her flush would be attributed to her change in position rather than warmth because he found her habit of slipping up to the stables endearing. Love, when you were deceiving the unconscious object of your affections, was a tremendously complicated affair.
“What do you do tomorrow, my lord?” she said, following a certain plan of her own that had its roots in the Duchess of Abervale’s various confidences. “Are you sufficiently recovered as to attend church with us? The neighbourhood would be delighted if so. There has been much regret and mortification felt that you should be attacked so basely in our particular area. I daresay you will be inundated with enquiries as to your health.”
Alexander set his cue in the rack beside Harry’s one. “How gratifying. But alas I believe it would be sheer foolishness to sit for that length of time in a draughty church and risk a set-back.” He opened the door for her to precede him out of the room. “You must lend me your bible that I may spend a profitable hour quietly perusing it whilst you are out.”
“Certainly,” she replied. “If you like, I sh
all also repeat you the text of the sermon over dinner.”
He looked thoughtfully at her. “I think,” he said, “that my immortal soul will survive without.”
“It is your decision, my lord.” Caroline made a mock-grieving sigh and was rewarded by the sight of another smile on his lips.
Again, the night passed without incident.
As Caroline had half-suspected would be the case, Giles d’Arblay was not at All Saints to give thanks for the past week any more than his friend. In the churchyard after the service, she found her sister Selina mourning the fact.
“He is prodigious handsome,” sighed Selina.
“And prodigious exigent,” said Caroline dryly.
“He told me I had eyes like stars,” said Selina.
“Well, I have never yet seen cornflower-blue stars, so I would not know. And furthermore he knows you are not out, so it was very wrong of him to be whispering nonsense to you. When was this?”
“He called on Papa last week to look at one of the horses, and then stepped inside to take tea with us.”
“Indeed. And had he poetic words for any other part of your anatomy?”
Selina looked at her sister resentfully. “He said my lips were like an unfolding rose and my ears were like shells, nestling in a bed of spun gold.”
Caroline let out a peal of laughter. “What moonshine. I wonder he does not try to publish a volume of poor poetry to pay his debts, rather than sponge on his friend.”
Selina and the other young ladies in the group looked taken aback. “Does he do so indeed?” asked Selina’s bosom bow.
“Oh yes. I overheard him asking Lord Rothwell to lend him money only yesterday. And when her grace the duchess called to ascertain the extent of her son’s injuries, she told me...” Caroline broke off as if she had only just realised she was being indiscreet. “You won’t pass this on, will you?”
“Oh, no,” they all fervently assured her.
“Because it was told to me in confidence.”
“We won’t say a word.” Half-a-dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on her imploringly.
“Well,” said Caroline, dropping her voice, “she told me that every time they make a stay in a place, Lord Rothwell not only picks up the tab for both of them, but frequently finds himself applied to by tradesmen whom his friend has given his name to as standing surety for his purchases.”
The young ladies looked suitably appalled. In a town where not a few of them lived within sight of the shop, this breach of fiscal etiquette shocked them almost as much as the duchess’s insights into Giles’s morality would have done.
Caroline gave her arm to her brother and sauntered back to Penfold Lodge justly pleased with her morning’s work. Giles d’Arblay was not going to cause havoc in her town if she could avoid it.
Alex had also been busy. As soon as the church party disappeared from view, he had taken his stick and walked carefully up to the paddock. He leant on the rail, watching the yearlings. As he’d expected, it wasn’t long before Flood was leaning beside him.
“Morning, milord. Was you wishful of something?”
“Merely enjoying a breath of fresh air without a pack of women watching my every step.”
The head groom grunted.
“I do not believe I have thanked you, by the way. It was you who found me and went for the doctor, was it not?”
“Aye, I went for the doctor, right enough. Bleeding like a stuck pig, you were.”
Alex winced, this being rather more information than he required. “You didn’t see anyone who might have done it?”
“No, milord. I’d have strung ’em up if I had and apologised to the magistrate later. Summat like that happening on our land - makes my blood boil.”
“A friend of mine tells me there have been other incidents of attempted house-breaking in Newmarket recently.”
“I couldn’t say, milord. I’ve not heard of any such thing myself.”
There was a small silence. Alex nodded at the foals frolicking in the sunshine. “I have been wondering why you keep so many youngsters? Penfold Lodge cannot make a profit from them when all they do is eat and grow.”
Flood gave a rumble of laughter. “Ah, that’s Mr Harry’s specialty. He’s a dab hand at bringing on a young horse. Train ’em gentle, tickle the public with the two-year-old races, mop up as a three-year-old and sell ’em on for a good price.”
“That’s very sound,” said Alex, startled.
Flood rumbled harder. “Aye, it would be if it weren’t for Miss Caro. Such a soft heart on her, she’s got. Can’t bear the thought of the beasts going to a hard trainer so won’t let him sell unless they’re off to Robert Robson or the like.”
“And there I was thinking she was the brains of the outfit,” said Alex softly.
There was a long silence.
“Was there anything else, milord?” said Flood.
“I might take a look at Solange.”
Flood paced alongside him.
“Who’s going to be riding her in the race?”
Flood looked properly shocked. “That’s Mr Harry’s business, not mine.”
Which was a blatant lie if ever he’d heard one. “Yes, of course. I do beg your pardon.” Then, “Was Miss Fortune really going to marry Bertrand Penfold?”
“Oh, aye,” said the groom readily. “They’d have made a match all right. It would’ve suited her a lot better than all that jaunting to London last year. Never saw so much of a change in anyone as when she came back when her ladyship fell ill.”
Alex felt a sharp jolt. “She was altered? In what way?”
Flood ruminated, watching Solange cropping the grass nearest to Rufus’s paddock. “Smaller,” he said eventually.
“Smaller?”
“Aye, like she needed the air of this place, and the horses around her to fill her back out again.”
In the distance, they heard the peal of church bells.
“Reckon they’ll be back soon,” said Flood. “Give you good morning, milord.”
Alex made his way reflectively back to the house. He was no nearer finding out who had attacked him, but for some muddled reason, that no longer felt his primary concern.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Caroline was creeping past Alexander’s room to fetch a drink when she heard him cry out towards midnight. She was in and hushing him before the footman outside had so much as stirred from his slumber.
It was vastly different now, cradling his head against her shoulder. Blood thrummed uncomfortably in her veins. Her hands shook against his nightshirt. She was completely and absolutely convinced that she shouldn’t be here. She was also completely and absolutely convinced that she wouldn’t be leaving until he was safely quiet again.
“Why?” he murmured. “Why? Why?”
“Why what, Alexander?”
His brow wrinkled, as if placing her voice. “C’me here,” he said.
Heart in mouth, watching the doorway, Caroline lay on the bed next to him. His arm came across and held her close. “Don’t go,” he breathed. “Stay. Don’t go.” He buried his face in her hair, but did nothing else except hold her tight.
Caroline fitted herself to the line of his body without thought. Even with him under the blankets and her on top of them, this was so much the right place to be and so much what she wanted to do. In the clear light of day she would be plain, insignificant Caroline Fortune again and he would be the son of a duke, but right now he needed her and she was here. There was a strange, heart-breaking pleasure in taking by night what could never be hers in the morning.
He fell asleep again almost straight away. Caroline listened to his regular breathing and felt his arm relax. She should go. This was madness. She must leave now, before she succumbed to the comfort of lying beside him. In a few hours she would be dressing as a lad and riding his horse across the Heath. And he must not know because ladies had no place in the masculine world of racing and there would be a scandal and he would never look at her again. No
t that he looked at her anyway.
Why did you not depart with your mama, she asked silently. Why did you not exit my life yesterday? Every day you are here makes this harder.
He stirred, almost as if he had heard her. Her heart in pieces, she eased herself free and fled, her hair escaping from its braid and sticking to the tracks of tears on her face.
In his dream, Alex knew something was missing. He searched formless towns and asked faceless people. Heat beat at his body and rain soaked his face. Dimly, his conscious mind recognised this phase. He put out an immense effort and woke up, his cheek rough and sore from being scrubbed against his sweat-soaked pillow. He lay in the dimness with silence around him. Good. He had got himself out of the nightmare without waking anyone. He was beating the cycle at last. He should feel victorious. Why, then, was there this sense of loss? He sat up wearily and shook his pillow, turning it so that he should lie against the dry side.
Something fell across his face. Something light and soft, there and gone. A moth? A spider? Alex sat very still, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dim light spilling from the lamp in the hallway through his partly open door. He looked down. Across the pale band of sheet slithered a strip of... of ribbon. Alex picked it up, feeding the slippery satin length through his fingertips. Unquestionably, this was a woman’s. It should be laced into the neck of a gown or threaded into a fall of hair. What was it doing on his pillow? He curled it around his fingers and went back to sleep, waiting for what the morning might bring.
By daylight, the ribbon proved to be a deep cherry colour. Alex stared at it, flummoxed. Rosetta used to have narrow, feminine ribbons in pinks, blues and greens to tie her peignoirs. She had lain on her couch, teasing him with promises, until he had undone every last bow to reach the delights within. Both Rosetta and the peignoirs had been expensive. Alex had foolishly assumed he was buying exclusivity. It had been a shocking blow to his pride when he found he was not. The memory had been raw ever since.
But now, staring at the plain cherry ribbon twined in and out of his fingers, Alex felt the old pain fall away and a strange, half-entranced tugging take its place. Rosetta’s perfect, painted face, her flawless body and delicate, scalloped surroundings dissolved to nothing. What was accomplished mock-innocence when you had a sturdy, honest red ribbon in your bed? And unless the maids were in the habit of flitting in and out of his room at night, there was only one person it could belong to. Alex found the idea strangely invigorating.