“Jem, Sid, you leave them be,” Noble ordered.
The grooms looked from Mr. Noble to Emmaline, who stood with her skirts still in her hand revealing trim calves above her half boots. Their mouths dropped open as she turned her gaze on them and smiled.
“Oh, Lord,” quavered Mr. Noble when he saw the resulting expressions on his grooms’ faces. “That’s downright unfair, Miss Emmaline, and you know it.”
“I will take full responsibility, Mr. Noble,” Emmaline said, now turning her smile on him. “His Lordship is quite out of countenance with me as it is, so I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Now, where is Tocky’s driving coat and hat?”
“Please, Miss Emmaline,” Noble begged, “His Lordship will have my head.”
Juliana, coming to share the latest news, was intrigued by Noble’s plea.
“What is going on?” she asked as she joined them.
Noble quickly explained Emmaline’s scheme.
“Lucius will be livid,” Juliana said, “but all is well taken care of here. The doctor will call again tomorrow and has instructed Mrs. Forrest and Jenny in the use of the laudanum drops he prescribed for Mr. Tockington, so there is no need for me to stay. Besides, William has gone to Epsom and I do so want to see him.”
Lucius’ prized Hungarian horses, polished so they gleamed like copper and harnessed once more, were hitched to the barouche without further incident. Jem and Sid held the leader’s heads while Emmaline draped herself in the driving coat and settled herself on the box. Juliana handed her a three cornered driving hat and settled herself against the buttoned velvet squabs as Noble swung up onto the seat beside Emmaline.
“Have no fear, Mr. Noble, I had an excellent teacher.” Emmaline carefully threaded the reins through the fingers of her left hand. “I drove a pony and trap when I turned six years old, a pair when I turned nine, a tandem when I turned eleven and my first four-in-hand on my fourteenth birthday. His Lordship shall not be disappointed.”
He might not be disappointed, Emmaline thought as she drove the team out of the yard, but he would undoubtedly be furious.
And that, in addition to the already circulating rumours, would be the end of all of her rash dreams.
CHAPTER 15
Excitement rippled like an undercurrent through the Derby Day crowd massed around the track. Lucius raised his sporting glasses to survey the field, only to lower them again when he felt pressure on his arm. He turned to Beamish with a raised eyebrow.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone tinged with annoyance at having his attention drawn from the parade of horses in front of the stands.
“Ain’t that your equipage just pulling in?”
Lucius looked to where Beamish was pointing.
“I do believe you are correct.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I’m impressed. They have arrived before time.”
“But something ain’t right,” Beamish said. “That don’t look like Tocky on the box and your team’s out of order.”
Lucius narrowed his eyes against the strong sunlight, trained his glasses on his barouche.
“Hell and damnation.”
He swore as he realized the identity of the coachman. What the devil did Emmaline think she was doing? Had she driven all the way to Epsom? Had anyone recognized her? A vein throbbed in his temple and he curled his hands into fists. Headstrong enough to achieve the one she would not care about the other.
“Here, Beamish, put a monkey on Sam to win while I discover what might be amiss.”
He passed a roll of notes to his friend.
“Sam, eh?” Beamish took the fold. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Only that Mr. Thornhill thought enough of his horse to bet fifteen thousand pounds on him and has faith in his jockey.”
Lucius exited the stands and set out through the crowds. He ignored the various notables who raised their hats to him, paid no attention to those who occupied vehicles drawn up beside the course, did not hear the greetings from passengers standing atop their carriages for a better view. A few commented on the lack of his usual impeccable manners but quickly returned their attention to the race track.
His long stride stirred up the dust from the parched and browned turf, marring the sheen on his Hessian boots.
Bookmakers, set up in the centre of the course, shouted their odds while he pushed his way past tents and marquees housing gamers and cock fighters. He ignored the ladies of ill repute who hailed him and directed them, instead, to the company of bare knuckle boxers who were waiting to see the race.
Face rigid with fury, he came to a halt beside Noble who had dismounted from the box and was at the lead horses’ heads. Glancing briefly at the coachman’s hunched figure on the driving seat, he noted the team’s new order and took in Juliana’s anxious expression as her gloved hand gripped the edge of the carriage door.
“So, Noble, I surmise there is a problem?” He spoke in a clipped voice, his teeth almost snapping shut after each word.
“Indeed, my Lord,” Noble replied, speaking quietly but quickly. “Tocky got knocked out when he tried to hitch Sampson this morning. Got fair scalped he did, and down he went. Miss Devereux stepped in and took charge.”
“Ah, the inestimable Miss Devereux,” Lucius’ voice was soft but deadly. “I might have known she would have a hand in this.”
Noble nodded. “She had us unhitch the team, had Miss Juliana send for Dr. Weston, but what with Tocky being concussed the doctor ordered him to stay in bed. She, um, well we were able to arrange another coachman so that you might have your barouche in time but. . . “
“Oh, Lucius,” broke in Juliana, much stricken and wishing her brother to solve everything. “We are in such a scrabble and it is all your fault!”
Lucius raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“I rather thought it might be,” he remarked drily.
“It was very inconsiderate of you to demand your barouche when you could have returned to Town with whomever brought you,” Juliana sniffed.
“Forgive me, my dear. I would not have inconvenienced you for the world but I perceive you chose to include yourself in this party when you could have stayed comfortably at home. As for inconvenience, it would have inconvenienced the Langstons more had I accompanied them on to York.” Lucius turned away from his sister and looked the team over. “Have they been pressed, Noble?”
“No, my Lord. Nursed along most carefully.”
“Nurse them along some more.” Lucius handed over another roll of notes. “Take yourselves off to the Bell. Have the horses strapped, watered and fed and be back here at six this evening. Refresh yourselves as well and make sure John Coachman keeps as low a profile as possible.”
He turned to the barouche, ignoring as best he could the weight of Emmaline’s shadowed eyes. He would give her all the attention she wanted when he was good and ready. There was a hard glint in his eyes as he reached to open the barouche door.
“Juliana, give me your hand,” he commanded. “You will come with me.”
Juliana made to protest, but Lucius silenced her with a cold, stern look.
“With me, Juliana. I will not brook opposition.”
“My Lord,” Juliana said quietly and gave him her hand. He assisted her from the carriage, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and without a backward glance proceeded to return to the stands. Juliana, for all her height and long legs, had trouble keeping step with him. Her lavender kid slippers were not designed for walking and she begged him to slow down to accommodate her uncertain steps.
“I am extremely displeased with you, Juliana,” he said without looking at her. “How could you have allowed this to happen?”
“You know?” Juliana gasped, looking up at him.
“Do you take me for a fool?” her brother raged. “Miss Devereux has gone beyond the pale, and well you know it. How could you both engage in such monstrous impropriety?”
Trying to recover her composure and remembering that Lucius could not yet kn
ow of Lady Darnley’s accusations, Juliana straightened her back and tilted her chin.
“I thought you had no care for propriety, Lucius.”
“For myself, no,” replied Lucius sharply. “But I am not a country innocent contending with my first Season. Now, do take a seat and partake in some refreshment of which I am sure you must be in dire need.”
He guided her into the shade of a marquee behind the stands. It was set with tables and chairs, servants on duty about its perimeter ready to cater to its patrons.
Juliana sank thankfully onto the seat Lucius placed for her. Her slippers had rubbed a blister on the inside of her right foot and she surreptitiously rubbed the toe of her left slipper against it. Really, Lucius could be so high handed she thought, but then her own plight dawned on her.
Although her brother’s ward, she was unchaperoned without even a maid to attend her, the very circumstance that brought Emmaline back into her life.
In response to Lucius’ request, a servant came forward bearing a tray with teapot and cup and saucer. Beamish joined them, smiling with pleasure upon seeing her.
“So good to see you, Juliana,” he said, bending over her outstretched hand. “So you’ve decided to favour the Sport of Kings at last?”
“Not really,” stammered Juliana, feeling her face getting warm. “It was a mere circumstance that brought me here today.”
“And a very good circumstance, if I may say so,” replied Beamish, pulling up a chair beside hers. “Your brother thinks he has picked the winner and is even now conversing with Mr. Thornhill, whose horse it is.”
Juliana looked to where William pointed and saw Lucius talking to a very large gentleman. The conversation appeared to be affable so she took no more notice of it. Her head dipped so that Beamish could only see the top of her straw bonnet.
“Something wrong?” he asked, noting her downcast gaze and nervously twining fingers.
“I fear Emmaline and I have seriously angered Lucius,” she said. Her voice trembled. “I have no idea how we can possibly redeem the situation.”
“Do you wish to talk it out?”
“Not at present, William, and please, hush! I do not wish you to be embroiled in a scheme that has gone so sadly awry when we only meant to be helpful.”
“Whatever has happened, I’m sure all will soon be well,” William assured her. “You know Lucius, he’s never out of frame for long.”
At that moment Lucius returned from his conversation with Mr. Thornhill bringing with him Lord and Lady Smythe, whom Juliana knew only by sight.
“Lord Smythe, may I introduce my sister and ward, Lady Juliana Clifton, and my good friend Mr. William Beamish.”
Lady Smythe, her sprigged muslin gown topped with a smart purple velvet spencer, smiled at them. With the introductions made, Lucius drew both his sister and Beamish into a conversation concerning new members of the prestigious Jockey Club.
Beamish was immediately engaged but the conversation both bored and confused Juliana as she knew none of the names that Lucius threw out so easily.
“I do not pretend to understand half of my Lord’s business,” Lady Smythe said, sotto voce, as she took Beamish’s empty chair beside Juliana. “But it does please him so for me to be beside him. Do you often accompany your brother, Lady Juliana?”
“Rarely,” replied Juliana with genuine relief in her voice. “And this is my first visit to Epsom.”
“And would like it to be your last?” An understanding glint lit Lady Smythe’s eyes and a smile lurked on her lips.
“Oh, dear Ma’am, I wish it will be so!”
“Believe me, I do understand.” Lady Smythe patted her hand. “Sporting events were never my millieux, I much prefer Town haunts as I suspect do you. I understand from your brother that there was a misunderstanding with your chaperone, so perhaps I may be of assistance in that direction?”
“I would so appreciate that,” Juliana said. “Lucius may at times fly in the face of convention himself, but will not tolerate social impropriety from me.”
Lady Smythe patted her hand again as if she were a favoured niece. They conversed quietly about fashions, books purchased from the Temple of the Muses in Finsbury Square and visits to Vauxhall Gardens, but the noise from the race crowd drew them from their seats to join the gentlemen in the stands.
On the far side of the course, hidden behind a screen of trees, the horses were brought to the start line. Cries of consternation roiling through the crowds indicated one false start after another, but finally the horses charged around the track, their thundering hooves raising clouds of dust from the hard, dry ground.
Lucius raised his glasses, but his rage at Emmaline had not abated. He could barely concentrate on determining the order of the runners as they swept around Tattenham Corner before disappearing behind the trees.
The horses galloped on through the heavy brown screen of dust that hung in the air. The steady drum of their hooves was drowned out as the roar from the crowds reached fever pitch. The jockeys urged their mounts on, ignoring the noise and the dust and the high, bright sun that beat down on them and their sweat streaked mounts.
“It’s Prince Paul and Raby in front,” shouted Beamish.
“No, Sam is coming up close behind them.” Lucius trained his glasses on the tight bunch of horses. “See where Chifney has him placed?”
Lady Smythe rolled her eyes at their excitement, making Juliana smile. Had they tried to talk, their words would have been lost in a wall of noise.
“Sam’s taking the lead,” bellowed Beamish, his voice raw with excitement.
They watched the plain chestnut horse draw alongside the front runners, push his nose forward, edge in front of them, keep up his speed in the blistering heat.
“By George, he’s ahead.” Lord Smythe shouted. “He’s winning! Sam’s got it by three quarters of a length!”
“Hope you put money on Sam, Beamish,” Lucius said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face.
“Thank goodness that is over,” said Lady Smythe when she could make herself heard. “Come, Lady Juliana, at least let us go and see this Sam being unsaddled.”
The men in their party clapped and cheered, slapped each other on the back and were in general high spirits. Juliana realized they had won money on Sam, and congratulated them all. The race over, the remainder of the afternoon dragged until Lucius pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.
“Ah, right on time. Here is Noble to take us home,” he said. “I’m sure you are more than ready, are you not, Juliana?”
Juliana nodded demurely. “Will Mr. Beamish return to London with us?” she asked hopefully.
“I think not,” Beamish answered with some regret, “for I am put up with friends at Claygate and return to London on the weekend. If I may, I’ll visit you then.”
“If my brother approves,” Juliana replied demurely.
Lucius looked at her suspiciously.
“When do you require my approval for a visit from Beamish?” he demanded. “Come, Juliana.”
Juliana made her goodbyes and Lucius escorted her to the barouche. He gave her a moment to settle herself and then took the seat beside her, ordering the coachman to proceed as he did so. Nothing further was said as the horses put their weight into their collars and started forward.
With Epsom soon behind them, Juliana ventured a glance at Lucius. The lean lines of his face were taut. She knew from the firm set of his jaw and tight knit brows that his often simmering temper was close to exploding.
She hesitated for a moment, wishing to say something that might absolve her friend’s actions but, before she could collect her thoughts, Lucius leaned forward and tapped the coachman on the shoulder.
“Spring ‘em,” he ordered.
Noble swung around and looked down at his employer. “My Lord, is this wise?”
“Wise or not, I wish to arrive home tonight and not the middle of next week.” The harshness in Lucius’ voice only served to emphasize
the anger plain in his white face
Juliana started, her face as white as her sibling’s for she had now seen what Lucius must have seen. A curricle on the road ahead of them approached at a spanking trot. Her fingers plucked nervously at her brother’s sleeve.
“Lucius, you cannot! This is madness,” she cried.
“I said spring ‘em,” repeated Lucius.
Emmaline could not believe Lucius’ command. Had he gone mad? From her seat on the box she mentally measured the distance between her team and the curricle and swiftly assessed the likely gap between the two vehicles.
Her decision made, she shouted back at him.
“You may cripple your cattle if you wish, my Lord. While they are in my charge, I will not.”
The two vehicles closed swiftly upon each other. Emmaline, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a determined line, held her leaders steady as each conveyance passed the other with just inches to spare between them.
The lady in the curricle waved at them as they passed by, the gentleman busy with his horses, merely nodded his head. When she was sure there was no danger, Emmaline cracked her whip over the leaders’ heads. The barouche surged forward in a steady thrum of drumming hooves and rumbling wheels.
Juliana, gasping with relief, collapsed back against the squabs. With one quivering hand she gripped the side of the barouche, with the other she held her forehead, her eyes closed.
“Was that too much of a pinch even for you?” Lucius asked grimly.
“That was no pinch, that was insanity,” Juliana hissed, still holding her hand over her eyes.
Emmaline kept the team at a steady gallop until, taking notice of their breathing, she drew on the lines and brought them back to a slow hand canter. Satisfied with their progress, she checked them again to a steady, ground eating trot.
The sun slid down a sky shot with streaks of azure and pink and spread its glow, like a lady’s skirt, across the countryside through which they travelled. Shadows thrown by trees and hedgerows deepened like bruises across their pathway.
As they entered London, slim fingers of purple night stole through the still burnished arc of the horizon and Emmaline breathed a sigh of relief when they at last came to a halt.
His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) Page 14
