Fortunate Wager

by Jan Jones

  Lord Rothwell had also regained his aplomb. He brushed a fleck of dust from his coat. ‘You are either impressively cool, Miss Fortune, or abysmally ignorant. Send the reckoning for the usual livery and training costs to the White Hart.’ His eyes glinted. ‘The mare is called Solange. Four years old. Also known as the widowmaker. Good day.’

  Caroline watched him stalk through the archway. ‘And good day to you also, my lord,’ she muttered. ‘Flood, if you see my brother before I do, you had best tell him to get himself measured for a coffin.’

  Alex strode up the High Street, irritation compounding what hadn’t been a good mood to start with. Giles would be in whoops. Doubtless the mistake would be all over Crockford’s before the day was done. Be damned to Fortune! Why couldn’t he have said straight out the chestnut wasn’t his? He hadn’t been that foxed. A twinge of conscience interposed. Maybe he had been. Maybe they both had been. But what the devil was there to do other than drink and gamble when one was away from the distractions of London or the obligations of one’s estate on the far side of the metropolis in Surrey. Alex ground his teeth. Only two days into this ridiculous task and he’d already had to bite his tongue not to defend himself against the scorn in that chit of a girl’s eyes. It wasn’t what he was used to. Lady Jersey had a lot to answer for.

  Alex crossed the road and wheeled sharply right. The yard of the White Hart was crowded with post-chaises and horses, but Jessop came up at once leading Chieftain, the brown gelding Alex favoured for crowded events such as race meetings. A flick of Alex’s eyes showed him one of his hacks, also saddled and ready. Damn the man’s impertinence. ‘I shan’t need you,’ he said curtly, then swung himself onto Chieftain’s back and set off at a smart trot up the street towards Newmarket Heath.

  Once there, Alex blessed the gelding’s easy strength and placid temperament as they forged a path through spectators and competitors alike. More than one gentleman was having trouble controlling a highly strung mount made over-excited by the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Giles d’Arblay’s man in the grooms’ enclosure, taking a pull at a tankard. Alex tightened his lips. Giles was far too lax. Let him catch one of his own grooms drinking whilst in charge of the horses and there would be trouble.

  He guided Chieftain towards the starting post, exchanging greetings with spectators on horseback and nodding courteously to acquaintances who were manoeuvring curricles into optimum viewing positions.

  ‘Giles!’ he called, espying the blond locks and classic profile of his friend.

  The Honourable Giles d’Arblay extricated his horse from amongst a knot of others. ‘Not riding your new acquisition, Alex? I’m disappointed. I was going to challenge you to a few furlongs before you’d got the measure of him.’

  Something in his laughing face gave Alex pause. ‘You knew? You knew about the ownership when you suggested the bet?’

  Giles grinned ingenuously. ‘There was always a chance Fortune would be greenhorn enough to pay up.’

  ‘Instead of which I have been made to look a fool. Why, Giles?’ Alex spoke mildly, his attention apparently on the runners lining up for the sweepstake.

  Giles shrugged. ‘I lost a fair amount of money on that damned chestnut last year. Offered to buy him afterwards, but Fortune had the infernal cheek to tell me he wasn’t for sale. Thought losing him to the son of a duke might teach the scoundrel a lesson.’

  ‘Using me as an instrument of revenge, in fact.’

  ‘Can’t change the habits of a lifetime. Look out! They’re off!’ And with a whoop, Giles was plunging after the racers with the other like-minded bloods.

  Alex followed more slowly, unable to conjure up any enthusiasm for a race where he had nothing at stake. He could hear Giles hollering, exhorting the rider of the horse he had backed to greater efforts, and was vexed by his friend’s insouciance. Surely a gentleman approaching his thirtieth birthday should not still be playing off the same tricks that had amused him a decade earlier?

  In the Penfold Lodge stables, Caroline and Flood opened the top half of the door to the grey mare’s stall.

  ‘Hello, Solange,’ said Caroline in gentle tones.

  The horse rolled a bloodshot eye at her.

  ‘What do you think?’ Caroline asked Flood. ‘Has she been ill-treated?’ She couldn’t really believe it. Not after the way Lord Rothwell had smiled at the foals.

  The head groom subjected the mare to an experienced scrutiny. ‘No marks, but she’s as nervous as a grave digger on All Hallow’s Eve, that’s for sure.’

  ‘We’ll just talk to her, then,’ said Caroline, leaning her elbows unthreateningly on the half-door. ‘Get her used to our voices. How did those men get her here?’

  Flood snorted. ‘Push, pull and prod. Bloody near come in sideways, she did. So many sparks flying off her hoofs it’s a wonder we wasn’t burnt to the ground. The youngster was terrified. Reckon he was only there to hang on to the rope and take the blame if she got away.’

  Caroline was thoughtful. ‘You said you’d seen Jessop before?’

  ‘Know him of old. Ugly customer. No feel for animals, up to all the tricks going, none too choosy about his company and too friendly with the bent legs about the course for comfort. Never stays with anyone for long.’

  ‘Lord Rothwell is not much of an employer if he takes on men like that.’

  ‘Most likely done through an agent. His lordship’ll find him out soon enough if the whispers that he’s planning on making a stay here are right.’

  Caroline wasn’t quite sure what she thought about that. Normally the ton moved on once a race week was over. The idea of Lord Alexander Rothwell striding impatiently around the town after everybody else had gone was vaguely disturbing. ‘Would you say the mare is calmer?’ she said. ‘Shall I rub her down? It cannot be comfortable for her having her coat stiff with dry sweat, and it may be that she will find the presence of a female in her stall less threatening than that of a male.’

  ‘I’ll slip her in some water first. Mr Harry’ll have my ears if she lashes out at you.’

  Caroline continued to talk to the mare as Flood filled a bucket and pushed it through the floor-level hatch designed for the purpose. Solange seemed quite quiet now, and bent her head to drink.

  Caroline watched for a moment more, then entered the stall. Mama was forever enumerating her failings, but lack of courage had never been one of them. She took a handful of hay from the rack and unhurriedly began to rub it across the grey mare’s flank.

  ‘Keep an eye out for bruises, Miss Caro,’ warned Flood, his hand on the hasp of the half-door ready to fling it open at need.

  ‘I can’t see any. But she does most decidedly need a good brush.’

  ‘I’ll see to that after you’ve done. Them grooms where she was must have been too chicken-hearted to go near her.’ He sounded disgusted that members of his own calling could have put up such a poor show.

  Working steadily, and talking softly the while, Caroline had finished one side and nearly completed the other when shouts from the yard announced the return of the men from their break. Instantly Solange’s head whipped up and a challenging scream broke loose from her.

  God in Heaven! Caroline was suddenly trapped against the wall facing a horse composed entirely of sinew, teeth and ironshod hoof. She kept mortally still. ‘Quieten them,’ she said on a thread of breath.

  Flood cast her an agonized glance, but could do nothing to rescue her. He scrambled for the door. The grooms’ voices fell abruptly silent. Caroline’s heart thumped as tension slowly shivered out of the grey mare. Solange rolled her eyes one last time, snorted and lipped her hay. Caroline edged out of the stall and sat down in a rush on a bale.

  ‘Lord, Miss Caro, I thought you were a goner for sure there.’ Flood pushed the hasp back down with a grunt of relief.

  Deep breath. Several deep breaths. It was a long time since she’d last felt that threatened by a horse. ‘She’s not partial to noise, then.’

  ‘You
could say.’

  Caroline’s eyes met his. ‘Which means,’ she mused slowly, ‘if we’re to win the bet and turn her into a respectable member of horsekind to boot, this stable will have to be kept quieter than a faro table in Heaven for the next month.’

  A grim smile appeared on the groom’s face. ‘Trust me for that, lass. “Widowmaker” indeed. They’ll be eating their words by the time we’re through.’

  They had better be or it would be bellows to mend with Harry, thought Caroline. She was still trembling with reaction to Solange’s potentially lethal transformation. Her mind recalled the sardonic amusement in Lord Rothwell’s light hazel eyes as he’d made his adieux. He had known full well what he was leaving them. Good God, it was tantamount to murder! What sort of man played that kind of trick? She dearly wished she could see his face if he ever learnt that it wasn’t Harry who trained the difficult horses, but Caroline herself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LATER THAT DAY, some three miles distant from Penfold Lodge, Lord Alexander Rothwell was the Duke of Rutland’s guest for dinner. As he took a glass of wine and surveyed the company in the salon, a woman glided up in a whisper of expensive silk. ‘I declare, Cheveley is the most perfect setting. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘It’s a damn sight more pleasant than being stuck in Newmarket. Good evening, Sally.’

  Lady Jersey made a dramatic gesture through the long window at the wooded grounds. ‘I am sure the dear duke will be pleased to give you the run of his estate while you are here.’

  ‘Very likely, but I would not presume, and it would please me more to be heading back to Town. I’m surprised you aren’t there yourself.’

  The uncrowned queen of London society pouted. ‘Alex, you promised.’

  ‘I know I promised and I will keep my word. Unless you are of a mind to release me? It’s going to be cursed tedious kicking my heels here when there is no racing – and I really wanted to get to the House. You know I have hopes of entering Parliament later this year.’

  She tapped his hand playfully. ‘All the more reason to bend that handsome head of yours to our little conundrum. I hear you have made an excellent start by manufacturing an excuse to be out on the training grounds at all hours.’

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you hear that? Giles, I suppose.’

  Lady Jersey laughed. ‘The dear boy. I haven’t been so entertained this age. So kind of him to bear you company in your tedium.’

  Alex wasn’t quite sure how Giles inviting himself to spend a few weeks in Newmarket at his friend’s expense could be construed as kind, but perhaps Sally was consulting a different dictionary from Dr Johnson’s. He tried a different tack. ‘Sally, you are one of the richest women I know. Why the deuce should it matter to you if one man is paid to pull a race and another wins a couple of thousand on the strength of it?’

  ‘It was one of my husband’s horses that was affected.’

  ‘Allegedly affected. The rider was not his usual man and all horses have off-days as even you must know. He gained the next day because it won with lengthened odds.’

  ‘He was very much disturbed, which in turn disturbs my peace. I have been trying to hit on a nice present for him for some time. You are it.’

  ‘But, Sally, he and the other Jockey Club notables are far better placed to investigate this than me. They run the Newmarket course.’

  ‘You will not change my mind, Alex. Giles has already tried to persuade me and he has ten times your address. I am convinced this needs an outsider. They see so much more of the game.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘Because you’re clever. And honourable.’

  ‘And I just happen to owe you a rather large favour?’

  ‘That too. How is your dear sister, may I ask?’

  Alex bit down his frustration. ‘Enjoying the delights of matrimony with an untarnished reputation, thanks to you.’

  ‘Remember it, my pet. And now you must excuse me whilst I have a tiny word with the duke.’

  Alex drained his glass and beckoned for another. A society matron not yet fixed in London for the season espied him and tugged at her daughter’s arm. ‘Oh, God,’ he ground out to the startled footman and strode towards a group of gentlemen who were bemoaning their fortune on the day’s racing. He’d rather listen to hard luck stories than be forced into conversation with a simpering doll whose only interest in him was measured in acres. Why the devil did young ladies find it so impossible to hold a rational conversation?

  But as the circle widened to admit him, it occurred to him that he had spoken at length with a young lady only this morning who had neither simpered nor deferred. Quite the reverse, in fact. However, Miss Caroline Fortune was clearly an oddity. And plain and with an ambitious mother into the bargain. He doubted they would have occasion to converse again.

  Dawn was not yet breaking when Caroline awoke next morning. As always, she dressed by the light of a single candle, then opened her casement and climbed silently down the thick ivy. Keeping to the shadows, she sped across her father’s paddocks and swung over the rail onto Penfold ground. Even after all these years, she felt a jolt of release every time she crossed the boundary. No more rules. No petty restrictions. Here, her views were listened to as if she were a real person, not a changeling child planted in a handsome family. Here she was valued.

  ‘Morning, Miss Caro,’ said a voice from the shadows of the stable.

  ‘Morning, Flood.’ There was a soft whinny. ‘And good morning to you too, Rufus. Who is going to be a clever boy and win us lots of money in the sweepstake today? I wish I could be there to see you.’

  Flood chuckled. ‘Them days are long gone, lass.’

  ‘More’s the pity. Newmarket is so annoying in that respect. Still, I am safe enough on the heath this early. I would not be able to get away with it any later, even dressed like this.’ She looked ruefully down at her short jacket and comfortable breeches. ‘Growing up is the very devil, Flood.’

  ‘It is, girl, but it’s to be hoped you don’t used language like that in your ma’s drawing-room.’

  ‘Trust me for that, Flood. I’d never hear the end of it. No, I am a proper young lady in company, however much I would rather be a stable boy.’

  ‘Aye, you’d have made a grand one for sure. Ah well, time’s a-passing if you’re to give the two-year-olds a proper run. I’ve got Fancy ready for you.’

  Caroline shook herself out of memories of years past when, abetted by Harry and Bertrand, she had dressed as a boy and roved the race meetings with them, even racing in private matches a couple of times. She walked over to mount the bay colt and noticed Solange looking over the half door. On impulse, she reached up and patted the mare’s neck. ‘We’ll go round the paddock later, and then I’ll take you out for an early ride one day next week,’ she promised. ‘You’ll love it. Just you and me flying across the training ground. No dogs barking, no nasty men shouting, nothing to alarm you at all.’

  ‘Mr Harry might have something to say about that,’ warned Flood.

  Caroline laughed softly. ‘Let him try.’ She urged Fancy out and was soon trotting up the silent lane. There really was nothing so wonderful as riding a swift horse through the empty morning.

  Undoubtedly by design, Harry was not in the yard when Caroline arrived back, nor did he join her in the kitchen for her customary rapid breakfast. She didn’t dare linger so had to return home by similarly devious means without telling him exactly what she thought of his behaviour yesterday. It was not until Mama had driven off on her round of visits that he appeared at Fortune House.

  ‘You had better be coming to apologize,’ she said severely.

  Harry ducked his head. ‘Ah, Caro, I knew you’d handle his lordship better than I would.’

  ‘That goes without saying. It would have been better still had you refrained from conversing with him the evening before!’

  ‘Didn’t realize I was. That is, I didn’t realize he was Lord Rothwell.’


  ‘Goodness. What a splendidly informal place Crockford’s Club must be.’

  Her brother reddened. ‘I may have been just the tiniest bit castaway….’

  ‘No, really?’

  ‘Deuce take it, Caro, I’m not a saint. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, I do. But, Harry, you promised you would never stake one of our horses again!’

  ‘I didn’t; he did.’

  ‘There was no need to accept the bet! And don’t tell me that you didn’t think you would lose, for you never do and eight times out of a dozen you are proved wrong. I don’t know why you go to these ridiculous gambling clubs at all.’

  Harry kicked at the empty fender. ‘Dash it, everyone does. There’s nothing in that. Not that I’d as lief stay at home of an evening if I could only marry Louisa and bring her to Penfold Lodge.’

  Caroline was unsympathetic. ‘Adventures like this are hardly likely to persuade Alderman Taylor to accept your suit.’

  Her brother threw himself down beside her. ‘Nothing short of a title would do that,’ he said gloomily.

  Caroline sighed. ‘I suppose if you wish, you may escort me to Bury St Edmunds to call on her on Saturday. If the weather is fine we can take a nice long stroll around the town.’

  Harry brightened at once. ‘Best of sisters.’

  ‘Correct. I will write her a note. Meanwhile, you should be at the stable. What if Lord Rothwell calls to see Solange?’

  ‘Why would he? He thinks his bet is as good as won.’