Fortunate Wager

by Jan Jones

  This plan did not strike Caroline at all favourably. He was so ridiculously particular in his notions that he would exhaust himself by getting fully dressed and likely put his recovery back a full week. And she would have to amuse the doyenne of London society while he did so! ‘What nonsense,’ she said roundly. ‘You will look perfectly correct attired in your dressing-gown with a silk scarf around your neck. You can sit in the wing chair next to the fire with a rug tucked over your lap for decency and we shall pull the screens across to hide the bed.’

  She whisked out before he had time to argue. She would far rather annoy him than antagonize Lady Jersey. Much as she deplored the system, she had two sisters waiting their chance at a London season – a Lady Patroness of Almack’s could make or break their prospects.

  ‘Dear Alex,’ said Lady Jersey in a throbbing voice. ‘To put yourself in such danger! For me!’

  After transferring from the bed to the chair, Alex felt by no means as steady as he’d expected and Sally in one of her theatrical moods was all he needed. ‘Lady Jersey, naturally I am your devoted servant at all times,’ he said, flicking his eyes warningly towards Caroline who was conferring with the nurse, ‘but on this occasion I was simply clearing my head with a walk when I believe myself to have been set upon.’

  She gave a knowing smile and patted his hand. ‘Well, well, I hope to see you up and about soon. Now then, would you like to hear the latest on-dits?’

  Alex acquiesced – she would tell him anyway and it was easier to listen than to bear his part in the conversation.

  ‘… and then what do I find when I arrive from London yesterday but that everyone was rolled up because some wretched colt of Grafton’s only came second in a race. My dear, you could have painted the room with Giles’s language when he told me. Of course, if I had been there, I flatter myself that I should have known which one to back.’ Sally turned suddenly to Caroline. ‘Do you not consider it quite infamous that it is not the done thing for ladies to attend the Newmarket races?’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am.’ Alex was amused to see that Caroline was not in the least discomposed at being addressed in such a peremptory fashion. He could wish that she had taken the time to put on a rather more flattering dress, but she did not seem to regard her appearance as any way deficient. ‘I have frequently found it most unfair not being able to watch first-hand what my brother describes to me,’ she said, totally unconcerned. ‘I feel I should apologize to your friends though, for it was our horse that won the two-year-old sweepstakes yesterday. Would you care to inspect him? I daresay Lord Rothwell will excuse you.’

  What was the minx up to now? Alex suffered Sally to kiss his cheek and wish him a swift recovery, then once the door was closed behind them made his way at a frustratingly slow pace to the long terrace window. Across the lawn, he could see the back of the stables. He watched Caroline accompany Lady Jersey to the nearest paddock where both the bay colt and the chestnut filly frisked up to them. Sally patted their necks, Caroline gesticulated, they conversed some more and then the ladies turned. Alex let the curtain fall and allowed the disapproving nurse to help him back to bed.

  ‘I thought your brother only allowed his owners up to the stable,’ he said when Caroline reappeared in the room a quarter of an hour later. To his annoyance he had fallen into a doze waiting for her, so his tone was nothing like as sarcastic as he’d intended.

  She gave him a droll look. ‘He makes an occasional exception when guided by his sister. Lean forward whilst I adjust your pillows. You cannot be comfortable like that.’

  ‘But you dislike society,’ he said, obeying before he realized she was ordering him about again. ‘You told me so this morning when you said the country would be in a far better state if all the money spent on court dresses was given to almshouses and schools instead. Why make an exception for Sally Jersey?’

  ‘You do not tell me all of your schemes, my lord – I fail to see why I should tell you all of mine. How foolish of you to have got back into bed in your dressing gown. How will you sleep with it tangled into a lump in the small of your back? Let me help you take it off.’

  ‘I don’t need to sleep,’ he said, leaning against her as she reached around to tug at the far sleeve.

  ‘Naturally not. I am sure you are far more conversant with the care of your particular kind of injury than is Dr Peck. So there was no reason for me to draw Lady Jersey out of your orbit lest you do something ungentlemanlike and yawn in front of her.’

  ‘None at all.’ But Alex’s eyes were closing and he wasn’t really attending. As she supported him, rearranged him, fluffed his pillows and guided him down again, he made the drowsy discovery that although she didn’t have the ripeness of figure he preferred in his light-of-loves, Caroline Fortune was nevertheless pleasantly rounded where it counted. It meant nothing, of course, but after the ridiculously fatiguing morning he had had, it was far easier to dwell on that than on her words.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘IS HE ALL RIGHT?’ Caroline asked the nurse in alarm. ‘He lolled against me, then fell asleep.’

  ‘Wore out,’ said the nurse with a professional sniff. ‘And I don’t wonder, what with getting up in a hurry and then her ladyship chattering on like that. It was a fair treat to see you head her off, miss.’

  ‘I fear she thinks me an oddity. But her husband owns a considerable string of racehorses and if I have but planted a seed in her mind that my brother is very good at bringing young ones on, then she may mention him to Lord Jersey.’

  ‘Aye, it does no good to offend the gentry, when all’s said and done.’

  Which was true. And it was also true that she’d had an eye to Selina and Eliza’s future prospects in London. But principally, thought Caroline, wondering at herself as she made her way once more up to Solange’s paddock, it had been to give Alexander some respite. He was not near as strong as he thought himself. He would keep trying to do too much.

  It was a little risky working with the horses at this time of day, but Caroline reasoned that the few grooms of her father’s not up at the heath to watch today’s Two Thousand Guineas race wouldn’t see anything unusual in her trotting a lone grey mare about the field sidesaddle. Solange almost felt as if she was going to object after so many days without a rider, but on Caroline’s keeping up a steady murmur of small talk, consented to the unusual weight distribution.

  ‘I don’t know what Flood was talking about,’ said Caroline. ‘You’re not bothered by me on your back at all, are you, even if it isn’t as good as astride? Next week we’ll be able to get up to the heath and ride properly.’

  Solange whickered and started to mince sideways.

  ‘Whatever are you doing?’ Then Caroline noticed Rufus on the other side of the paddock rail and laughed. ‘So that’s the way of it. Well, I don’t know – what a terribly forward lady you are. Not that I blame you, for he is a fine-looking stallion, but I think your master might have something to say on the subject.’

  ‘Miss Caro!’ yelled one of the stable hands, pelting up from the yard. ‘It’s your ma for sure this time!’

  Instantly, Solange began to rear. Caroline tensed and balanced herself to cling on. But after a split-second when events could have gone ether way, the mare’s muscles unbunched. She didn’t quite drop her head to graze the way Rufus was doing, but Caroline felt sure the big chestnut had had a steadying effect on her. She dismounted very carefully indeed and handed the reins to the stable lad who was white as a sheet and horrified at his own thoughtlessness.

  ‘No harm done,’ she said. She patted both horses and hastened indoors, checking herself for stray wisps of straw as she went.

  It transpired that one of Mama’s bosom bows had seen Lady Jersey’s carriage at the door of Penfold Lodge and had lost no time in making her whole acquaintance privy to the information. Mrs Fortune had immediately discovered a need in herself to enquire of her daughter how she went on. Caroline’s duty was clear. By the time she left, her mother was in full
possession of the minutiae of her ladyship’s gown, pelisse, shoes, parasol and hat and only mildly disappointed to find that the state of Lord Rothwell’s health precluded the society of any visitors.

  ‘And Lady Jersey will assuredly remember your name when I apply for Selina’s voucher next spring,’ she finished in satisfaction. ‘You have done very well indeed, my dear.’ Much as Caroline hoped that this artless observation meant she herself would be permitted to remain behind when the family went to London, she thought it simply pointed to her mother’s singleness of purpose where her more marriageable daughters were concerned. Interestingly though, it did appear from Mama’s way of talking that she considered Caroline as fixed at Penfold Lodge for the present. Caroline wondered if she could simply forget to go home when Alexander left.

  He was still asleep when she looked in later, so she ate with Mrs Penfold, thinking that she would likely have another trying evening with him after the exertions of the day. To her surprise Harry dropped by to change his clothes, in high good humour that they had backed so many winners today. ‘Wanderer was only five-to-four on,’ he called from his dressing room, ‘and Aquilo came second to Wilson’s colt in the Hundred Guineas Sweep which was something of a surprise, but the others were good odds indeed. You were right about Manfred. He took the Two Thousand Guineas at four to one! I doubt he’ll be fit for anything tomorrow though. Lake’s been resting Gazelle. What do you think to him instead?’

  Even while she was rejoicing in their success with the betting, Caroline was worrying about her brother. She knew him in this mood. Yes, he might start the evening dining with friends, but then they would go on to Crockford’s where he would be unable not to crow about his luck and then all manner of people with far longer pockets than he would try tempting him into making them longer still.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs resolved to invent an emergency with one of the horses to keep Harry at home, when by the greatest providence she heard Lord Rothwell’s voice issuing testily from behind his door. She could lead two ponies with one yoke if she was clever here.

  Accordingly, ‘Must you depart straight away?’ she said to Harry, as he swung jauntily down the stairs. ‘Only Lord Rothwell has been lying in that room positively blue-devilled that he could not get out onto the heath for the big race. It would be a great kindness if you could perhaps take a glass of claret with him and tell him something of what went on today.’

  Hating to be constrained himself, and being of a naturally good-hearted disposition, Harry looked much struck by this. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I daresay the fellows I’m dining with at the Star won’t notice half an hour here or there.’

  And since Lord Rothwell was indeed interested in the racing and Caroline took care to keep her brother’s glass topped up and ensured that Alexander’s meal was brought in at exactly the time when Harry was likely to be getting hungry, it appeared to him to be his own decision that he should abandon his friends to their own devices and join Lord Rothwell to eat. It was equally reasonable that they should play a hand of piquet afterwards. And it was sober judgement, not the two glasses of excellent brandy which finished off the evening, that made Harry decide to seek his bed rather than venture out to carouse at Crockford’s after all.

  ‘Nicely done,’ said Lord Rothwell, sleepily conversational, when she slipped back to check that the night nurse had all she needed.

  Caroline turned. It had been nicely done, and done with the best of intentions too, but his lordship’s amusement made her defensive. ‘Thank you. It seemed to me you both enjoyed your evening which was, I confess, my intention.’

  He yawned. ‘You are infernally managing, are you not?’

  She raised her eyebrows as she pulled his covers straight and turned down the lamp. ‘You would rather have teased your headache by reading, perhaps? Or been irritated by my inability to remember trumps?’

  A further yawn shook him. ‘I will admit your brother to have been not as unintelligent tonight as I had imagined. Dammit, why am I so confoundedly weak? I did not drink one-tenth the wine he did.’

  ‘Possibly it is something to do with having been extremely ill. Go to sleep, my lord. You may be as bored as you like tomorrow.’

  His eyes closed. Caroline turned down the lamp still further. ‘G’night,’ he slurred.

  Caroline glanced at the nurse, making herself comfortable on the other side of the room with no sign of having heard. ‘Good night, Alexander,’ she murmured.

  He may have fallen asleep rapidly, but bad dreams hit him within the hour.

  ‘Was I wrong to serve the wine?’ asked Caroline, holding him down on one side of the bed while the nurse stood ready on the other. ‘But how could I not, when Harry was drinking it also?’

  ‘It’s like the doctor said, miss, he’s got to work the cranks out of his skull. He’d have got himself into a worse state if we’d kept him from it entirely.’

  ‘Oh do hush, Alexander,’ said Caroline, dabbing his brow with cool water. ‘You will wake the whole household and that will never do.’

  ‘Thirsty,’ he croaked.

  ‘That’ll be the wine,’ said the nurse. She held a glass of barley water to his lips as Caroline propped him up.

  He drank greedily, then turned his head and nestled into Caroline’s shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure you are quite comfortable?’ she asked with a touch of irony. But squinting down at his closed eyes and his dark hair tumbled across the bandage, she was swept by such a wave of unexpected tenderness that it startled her into nearly dropping him. This would never do. She felt ridiculously flustered. She eased him to the pillow, hoping the nurse had seen nothing untoward.

  ‘You’ve got the right way with him, miss, that’s for sure.’

  ‘I think it is simply that my voice reminds him of his old nanny.’

  The nurse chuckled. ‘Aye, that’d do it. Wonderful childlike these grand gentlemen get when they’re in the mopes.’

  Which observation was no reason at all to depress Caroline’s spirits.

  In the morning, there was no sign that Lord Rothwell had ever been anything but an irascible twenty-nine years of age. This was all to the good. It pushed any wayward imaginings firmly to the realms of fantasy where they belonged.

  ‘If I want to get up today, then I will,’ he repeated.

  Caroline drew a sorely tried breath. ‘I am not arguing with you, my lord, I am merely suggesting that you put off rising until after you have breakfasted. Cook has made an omelette in the Spanish fashion which is far better eaten hot than cold, as I am sure you are aware.’

  ‘An omelette?’ His level tone was ominous.

  ‘It is a very good omelette, for I had one myself earlier. And if you would consent to look at the tray you might observe some slices of ham as well.’

  ‘And a pot of tea. Did I not make my feelings about tea in the morning plain?’

  Caroline drew a chair up to the table that had been placed by the bed. ‘The tea is for me. I can spare you a cup if you are thirsty?’

  Alexander glowered and gestured to the patiently waiting footman. ‘Very well, put it down. I can see shaving water and fresh linen will not be forthcoming until I bow to this despot.’

  Arguing must give him an appetite, thought Caroline as he made short work of the tray’s contents. She was amused to see that he drank the tea she poured him without comment too. A few more good, nourishing meals and he would be well on the way to recovery and off their hands for good. And not before time too.

  ‘How much earlier?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You said you ate earlier. It is not my experience that ladies in general eat heartily at this hour of the day.’

  Oh, so the omelette was allowed to be ‘hearty’ now, was it? All the same, she had very nearly slipped up there. ‘It is possible that your experience is incomplete, my lord. This is a training stable and there is much to be done on a race day. I would be a poor sister not to bear my brot
her company while he ate.’

  He looked at her for a long moment, then let the subject rest.

  *

  ‘Dr Peck says Lord Rothwell is so much better that he no longer needs a nurse during the day,’ reported Caroline jubilantly.

  Mrs Penfold looked up from her knitting. ‘That is good news for the poor man. What of the nightmares?’

  Caroline hesitated. ‘I did not mention those in front of Lord Rothwell, for I thought it very likely that he would contradict me and say he never had a dream in his life. I spoke to the doctor privately about them instead. He does not believe from my account that Lord Rothwell will do himself any harm during the dreams, but thinks a night-nurse might be a wise precaution for the time being. He says very often in these cases, as the patient becomes more active during the day, the less likely his mind is to wander at night. I can see I shall have to introduce Lord Rothwell to the billiard room.’

  ‘Is that advisable so soon after leaving his bed?’

  Caroline grinned. ‘I was jesting. I wonder if there is any correspondence at the White Hart that he needs to answer. There should be by now, such a man of affairs as he professes himself to be. If so, it would keep him nicely occupied once he has finished being cross with the newspapers. May I send one of the footmen to enquire?’

  There was indeed a small pile of post, and Caroline took great pleasure in bringing it to Alexander’s attention. She calculated that the combination of business letters to write and a luncheon of meat, pickles and the mildest ale the butler could find should have their guest dozing in no time, leaving her free to work with Solange some more.

  Sadly, she had overlooked the power of the local gabblemongers. She had scarce been on the mare’s back an hour before the stable-lad called up that there were visitors arriving.