The Honorable Nobody (Heroines on Horseback Book 2)

by Natalie Keller Reinert

  Peregrin bent his head and kissed her soft lips, his mouth gentle on hers. But when she opened her lips to him and teased him with her tongue, he could not stop himself from deepening the kiss, passion overtaking his good sense, and she moaned into his mouth, her arms entwined around his neck, her breasts pressed to his chest, and he was having half-conceived fantasies of taking her into the tack room and laying her down upon the horse blankets he had spent the night on when there was a clatter of hooves on cobbles and the first set of horses returned from their morning’s training.

  She pulled her lips away abruptly and he grunted with disappointment, but this new Lydia, who managed her own home and farm, was brutally in charge. “Put me down,” she hissed. “Before someone sees!”

  “I think they all see us,” Peregrin muttered, but he obeyed, setting her boots upon the ground and taking up the reins of Lady, who had woken up with the young horses entering the yard and was now watching them with interest, her ears pricked and her dull eyes brightened. He jiggled the bit in her mouth softly, to let the mare know that she was under control again, and then turned to see the horses come in.

  He hadn’t seen them go out; he had been brooding in the tack room, ignoring the stares of the stable lads and jockeys, and hadn’t come out until the horses had left the yard and he could look around with relative privacy. Now he saw the lead horse tossing a long girlish forelock, revealing a narrow zig-zagging stripe of white that ran down a red chestnut nose, and his jaw dropped.

  “It is him, isn’t it?” Lydia’s voice was surprised, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. But she had had the horse all this time — why hadn’t she told him?

  “You never said you had him,” he said accusingly. “He was stolen from me, Lydia. Why didn’t you write to me at once?”

  “And accuse Sutton of stealing a horse? I had no proof, and he came with a bill of sale and a good alibi. There was nothing I could do but try to do right by him.” Lydia watched the tall chestnut crossing the yard, every inch a racehorse. “But now that you are sure it is him, he is yours.”

  Peregrin’s eyes hungrily took in the lines of the horse he had had such hopes for a year ago. “You have done right by him,” he admitted. “He has the muscles of a panther.”

  “And the speed,” Lydia added. “I hope he is your Derby horse, Peregrin. You can take over riding him tomorrow.”

  “So I shall,” Peregrin breathed. “Between him and Trickster, I shall have quite a little racing stable begun.”

  “You can have more than that, if you want,” Lydia said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  He looked down at her and saw her eyes sparkling.

  “I know what you’re thinking, you little minx,” he laughed, heart swelling with love. “You think I’ll marry you for all of these horses!”

  “Are you saying you won’t?” She grinned at him, a perfect copy of Grainne’s unladylike garden grin. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “For the horses, my lovely Lydia?” Peregrin shook his head and then pulled her close, an arm around her shoulders. “I would never marry anyone for their horses. But for love — ah, Lydia, I’ll marry you for love as soon as you’re able.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  It was a perfect racing day.

  Lydia tightened her grip on Lady’s reins as the mare jigged a little beneath her. She had been hoping that the ride over to the Downs from Widener Grange would have been enough to tire the mare out, but it didn’t seem that there was any curtailing a horse’s excitement at seeing other horses gallop. And Lydia wasn’t that confident a rider yet, for all that Peregrin raved about her natural seat and her perfect hands.

  Oh, she could walk trot and canter now, and jump small obstacles — straw bales, a few sacks of feed stacked together, things like that. Nothing like a fence or a coop. But she knew that Peregrin was just biding his time and watching her grow stronger — he wanted to take her hunting this fall.

  She was starting to think that she was his favorite project, not even excluding Reynard.

  And that was really saying something, since today was the day the chestnut colt was running in the Derby.

  Lydia turned her mare through the last gate on their journey, sidling the mare sideways with a tap of the whip on her hindquarters so that she could push it closed again, and surveyed the great empty sweep of land ahead of her. Or — not so empty. For while there were no trees or crops and few buildings out here on the Downs, there were plenty of horses, riders, and revelers.

  As far as she could see, carriages full of spectators and gentlemen on horseback were pouring into the viewing areas along the allotted course. There was shouting from a circle of gentlemen — that would be the cockfights, she supposed — but there was a much larger knot of humanity further down the course, near the looming edifice of the Prince’s Stand, and that was where Lydia directed the high-stepping Lady. That would be the saddling enclosure, and that would be where she would find Peregrin and Reynard.

  “Coming, Brogan?” she called over her shoulder, and her groom, mounted on a gray cob, jumped over the gate and cantered after her. She laughed and reined in Lady once more. “Stop that foolishness!” she chided the young groom, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t you see my mare is already all a-flutter with the circus ahead of us?”

  “Sorry, madam,” Brogan chuckled, unrepentant. “I just love jumping this horse. I think he’d jump the gypsy’s stalls if I asked him to.”

  “Pray do not,” Lydia said, half-serious. Brogan was an Irish lad and as impetuous as Grainne Archwood, though it suited him a little better since he could ride astride without facing public censure. “If you go galloping up to those gypsies they will recognize you as one of their own and steal you away, and here you are our most promising young talent.”

  “Not so promising,” Brogan grumbled, his cheerful face darkening. “I’m not mounted on Reynard today, am I.”

  “Roddy Slade is the right choice for today,” Lydia said firmly. “But I have little doubt you will be on Trickster in a year, on this same course.”

  Brogan nodded and his face lightened a little, but Lydia knew he was still downcast that he had not been tapped to ride Reynard. He had done much of the colt’s training, though these last few month’s had been under Peregrin’s firm instruction, and he felt nearly as possessive about the chestnut as Peregrin did. All Lydia could do was try to settle his ruffled feathers whenever Peregrin’s constant involvement hurt his pride, and shake her head at the volatility that seemed to arise whenever men and horses were concerned.

  By the time they arrived near the stands, the horses were frothed up into a welter of excitement. Reluctantly, Lydia had just decided it would be most prudent to dismount from Lady and continue on foot, and she was eyeing the churned-up muddy ground around her with distaste when Peregrin came strolling up, his eyes bright and excited.

  “My lady!” he called, using the deferential treatment he always affected in company. “You are come to see your horse run, and you are bound to bring him good luck!”

  “Mr. Fawkes,” she replied regally, bowing her head slightly in greeting. These games amused her as much as they did Peregrin; the master-and-servant routine had become the subject of more than a few bedchamber games, so that now she could barely contain her arousal whenever he doffed his hat and pretended to be her faithful servant. In truth they had been living as man and wife these past months, relying on the pastoral isolation of Widener Grange to protect their secret, to say nothing of the benevolence of their staff. But Mrs. Hatter cared not, as long boots were wiped and carpets were kept clean, and no one else had any reason to betray their mistress’s confidence. And soon enough they would be married in truth, as soon as the banns could be read without anyone taking offense at her recent widowhood. But Lydia thought that she would not give up their little games, nonetheless. “Do show me my racehorse, Mr. Fawkes,” she intoned with all the grace of a queen. “I trust you have kept him well for me.” />
  Peregrin bowed extravagantly. “He is all that your ladyship could wish for,” he said gallantly. “If you will accept my assistance in dismounting?”

  Lydia frowned. “Can I not ride?” she asked plaintively, dropping the play-acting. “I do not relish the thought of walking through that mud.”

  “To think that two months ago you could scarcely sit a horse! And now you refuse to dismount! You are truly my ideal, Lady Sutton.”

  “Oh, hush,” Lydia scowled at him. “I am thinking more of my boots and my hemline than how much I like to perch upon this mare, if you must know. I am thinking this enclosure is no place for a lady. Perhaps I should be in the stand.” And she looked down towards the Princes’ Stand, where, indeed, she could see the feathers and frocks of London very much in evidence. She bit her lip, considering. “Or perhaps not,” she conceded, thinking that there was no one over there that she would like to see. If Reynard won the race, they would know that she was the owner; but otherwise, she had no wish to be discovered by any of her old so-called friends. Bad enough that she endured monthly letters from her mother berating her for not being a dutiful daughter and returning to London to prepare for her eventual return to Society and to begin beguiling suitors for her hand in marriage once again.

  If there was one place Lydia had no intention of returning to, it was London and its hypocrisies.

  She held out a gloved hand to Peregrin, while Brogan quickly dismounted and took Lady’s reins in one hand. Lydia hid a grimace — she always hated this part — and lifted her leg over the horn, one hand holding her skirts aside as she did so, one gripping the saddle for balance. She was sitting on the side of the horse, just about ready to slip down to Peregrin’s grasp, when a shrieking voice shocked her into stillness.

  “Lydia. Dean!”

  No. It couldn’t be. Lydia turned her head slowly and her heart sank. So much for staying out of sight from London eyes. “Lady Hadley!” she said weakly, smiling as best she could. It was Alyssa, the girl — the woman — she had managed to avoid talking to for more than a year. Since she had poached Lord Hadley right from under Lydia’s nose.

  And it turned out now that it had been a favor, but that didn’t mean Lydia was only more disposed to like such a two-faced friend. Who was now coming up to Lydia all smiles, as if they had been parted all too long, and had no old disappointments between them. “Silly, you must call me Alyssa! As if we could ever stand on ceremony? And what on earth are you doing here? Who are you with? All London has been wondering where you were wintering. Of course you will be back this winter! And you must come and see me as soon as you do! I would invite you to our house here but it is quite bursting and we are only here for the meeting besides, then we must go straight back to London —”

  Lydia was privately wondering if Alyssa was ever going to shut up and take a breath — she had forgotten this about her old friend, that she rattled on and on and never let anyone say a word for themselves. Why had it been so surprising when she had swept in and snatched Lydia’s beau from under her nose, again? Obviously Alyssa had always been supremely self-centered, and Lydia had simply never noticed.

  Lydia realized then that Alyssa had stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly. “I’m so sorry,” she said weakly. “I didn’t quite hear…”

  “I said, who are you here with?” And now Alyssa made a pointed glance at Peregrin, whose hand was still raised expectantly, and Lydia saw that the friendly overture was masking a more catty cause.

  “I am here with my trainer,” Lydia said, unable to think of a single lie.

  “Your trainer!” Another sidelong glance at Peregrin. “But you, sir — I can’t help but think we have met!”

  “It’s possible,” Peregrin said carefully, offering her a quick bow. He glanced at Lydia.

  “Lady Hadley, this is my trainer, Mr. Peregrin Fawkes,” Lydia said hastily, remembering her duty with difficulty. Well she was, after all, sitting sideways on a horse. A horse who was shifting nervously, her ears pricked and her attention on the activity all around her. “Mr. Fawkes, won’t you help me dismount?”

  “Of course!” Peregrin leapt forward and caught her around the waist as she slipped down from Lady’s back. He set her on her feet and backed away deferentially, a slight frown creased across his forehead.

  She smiled sympathetically before she turned back to Alyssa, leaving Peregrin behind her as if he was nobody. It hurt, but she didn’t have much other choice. She didn’t want his name to resonate with Alyssa, who might be a bit too curious if she realized he was a member of their class. “Alyssa, how is your husband?” she asked, barely restraining herself from baring her teeth and hissing. “I hope you have all been well.”

  “Oh, very well,” Alyssa was dismissive of her family’s health. “One son, with his wet-nurse, healthy as can be. But this Peregrin Fawkes fellow —” And she lowered her voice and hooked one arm through Lydia’s, leading her a few paces away to speak in confidence. “Do tell me where I know him from. He is frightfully handsome and I seem to recall his face, but I cannot say where — I do not frequent these events, as I’m sure you know.”

  Lydia opened her mouth, but no sound came out. What to say? How to keep these dogs from howling at her door, as they surely would once they found out Peregrin was at her property?

  And then there was a shout from behind her. Alyssa’s gaze shifted to something behind Lydia’s left ear, and her hand went to her mouth. The shouting grew louder, more insistent. Lydia whirled and saw the source of the commotion — the crowd parting like the seas before Moses, ladies screaming, horses whinnying: there was a great chestnut horse charging through the hordes of people, eyes wild, nostrils flared, riderless and utterly out of control.

  And with a white zig-zag of a stripe down the center of his face.

  “Reynard!” she shrieked, looking around for Peregrin, but he had disappeared. Then she saw a flash of movement to her right and realized it was him, flinging himself across the sidesaddle on Lady’s back, galloping headlong towards the out-of-control racehorse. “No!”

  Alyssa was grabbing at her arm, pulling her towards the stands. “Come on, let’s get out of here before the entire crowd goes mad,” she hissed. “Your trainer will catch that horse.”

  But Lydia yanked away. She was terrified — Reynard had never quite gotten over his reputation as a wild, dangerous horse, and she was not at all confident that just galloping Lady towards him was going to stop him — there was scarcely enough room for two horses in the crush of shoving, screaming people — someone was going to get hurt.

  And she was afraid beyond all belief that it would be Peregrin, who would do anything to protect that ridiculous horse of his.

  What happened next wasn’t possible, but it happened.

  Peregrin rode Lady directly towards the out-of-control, wild-eyed Reynard. “They’re going to collide!” someone screamed, and Lydia thought she was going to faint. She put a hand to head, dizzy, and then gasped as Peregrin drew Lady to one side, spun her around, and… leapt.

  He landed on his belly across Reynard, bouncing up and down but still on the colt’s back. Lydia watched, hand to mouth, as Peregrin somehow, impossibly, righted himself, swung his right leg over the horse’s back, and was sitting in the saddle. “He’s done it,” she babbled. “He’s done it, he’s done it!”

  Peregrin, ignoring the stirrups, sat deep in the saddle and picked up the loose reins. They were nearly to Lydia and Alyssa by now, and Lydia was fully prepared to rush out and greet him and tell him how wonderful he was, in front of Alyssa and everyone, just as soon as he pulled the horse up —

  — The reins broke.

  “Oh my God,” Alyssa said between her fingers. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

  Lydia said nothing at all. She watched as Reynard, ears pinned and eyes wild, went barreling past them and towards the open grassland of the racecourse. All the Downs was before him, and Peregrin was sitting on his back with no way to guide or stop him.
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  The entire convivial race meeting of Epsom seemed to be frozen in disbelief.

  Lydia looked around wildly and saw Brogan standing a few feet away, holding the reins of his gray cob and looking pale. “Brogan!” she shouted. “Go after him!”

  But to her shock, Brogan just shook his head. “My lady, there’s no chance. This horse can’t catch that one, and without a bridle, Mr. Fawkes can’t make him stop.”

  “Then someone has to make him stop!” she shrieked, and flung herself at the cob. She wrenched at her skirts, pulling them to her knees, and somehow shoved a foot into the stirrup. Peregrin had taught her to mount by herself, saying that it was a nice trick to learn if one was ever unseated while riding out alone, and she had laughed and said it was highly unlikely that she would ever ride out alone. But now she needed every ounce of strength he had cultivated in her legs in order to swing astride the little cob.

  “My lady — my lady stop!” Brogan shouted, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Alyssa drop into the mud in what was probably the first real swoon of her life, but she didn’t have time for their objections. She shoved her other foot into the stirrup, bearing what was certainly a ridiculous amount of stocking to the crowd, and slapped the end of the reins down on the cob’s neck. The astonished little horse bolted forward, directly into the screaming crowd, but Lydia ignored their shouts and curses and simply tugged hard on the reins, spinning the cob around so that he could set his sights on Reynard.

  And the race was on.

  Lydia was no fool — she couldn’t catch up with Reynard, the fastest colt of the year, as far as she was concerned. There wasn’t time to mourn what might have been, but the race he was running across the Downs was certainly of a speed that might have won the Derby — if he wasn’t running it alone and unclocked.

  But there was one thing the colt was doing — he was running the wrong way on the course. And Lydia remembered something about the course, something funny that Peregrin had mentioned to her, when talking about the colt’s training.