The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Linda Rae Sande

  George led Christopher from the men’s club, hoping he could spot a town coach with the Morganfield crest parked somewhere along St. James.

  “Haddon!”

  The shout had both of them turning to find the Marquess of Morganfield leaning his head out of a lowered town coach window. They both hurried over, and Christopher climbed in as his father started to scold him for not being where he was supposed to have been when his fencing match ended.

  “My lord? Might I have a word?” George asked as he stepped up next to the coach window.

  “Bostwick? What is it?”

  “He hit his head on the pavement, and he hasn’t been himself since,” George said in a quiet voice.

  “Not himself?” Morganfield repeated.

  George allowed a wan grin. “Quite refreshing, really. Just thought you should know. I’ll give your regards to your daughter.” He tipped his hat and hurried off toward Jermyn Street.

  The marquess regarded his son for a moment before the town coach lurched into motion, deciding he would take up the matter over dinner.

  Chapter 10

  Seeking an Equine Education

  Meanwhile, in the stables at Tattersall’s, Hyde Park Corner, London

  Alistair Comber, second son of the Earl of Aimsley, regarded the horse who stood before him and asked, “How did you get to be so damned tall?”

  The black shire actually angled his huge head to one side, as if about to answer his current caretaker. At nineteen hands, he was larger and taller than any of the other draft horses currently set for the following day’s horse auction, which meant it might be difficult to sell him.

  There wasn’t another the beast could be matched with to make a perfect pair.

  His manner seemed amiable—most shires were gentle giants—and his black coat was lustrous and his white stockings were bright white. Given those qualities, Alistair decided it might be possible to sell the horse by himself, perhaps to someone with a fashionable phaeton.

  “There you are,” Tom Grandby said as he approached the stables, a cloud of white air surrounding him as he made his way.

  Alistair tore his attention from the horse and gave Tom a huge grin. “Me? Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “Oh, let me guess. Derbyshire, for the holidays?”

  Tom shook his head. “I didn’t go with rest of the family this year, but I was up north for a few days. With Father,” Tom replied. “Just seeing to our railway investments. I arrived back in London a week ago.” He regarded the horse with wide eyes. “Is... is that a horse?”

  Grinning, Alistair nodded. “Meet Jake. He’s nineteen hands tall and in need of a phaeton, or perhaps a barouche to pull. He’s far too beautiful for the plow.”

  Tom stared at the shire a moment. Knowing so little about horses was the reason he had come Tattersall’s. He wanted to learn more about the beasts, especially if Lady Victoria accepted his proposal and became a client. Even if she didn’t, he would at least have the knowledge to be able to converse with her on the subject should they spend more time in one another’s company.

  If anyone could give him a quick tutorial on the beasts, it was Alistair. The man was a consultant for the horse auction house. He was also in charge of the Earl of Mayfield’s stables, and his wife was the earl’s daughter.

  “I own a phaeton,” Tom remarked as he continued to gaze at Jake.

  “Do you have a horse to pull it?” Alistair asked.

  “Of course,” Tom replied, his brows furrowing. “Well, one of a pair that really belongs to my father. To the stables at Woodscastle,” he added, referring to the country estate where he had grown up with his parents, nine siblings, and an aunt and uncle and a cousin. “I take it Jake is for sale?”

  Alistair nodded. “He’s due to go up for auction tomorrow, but truth be told, I want him to go to someone I know,” he explained with a look of worry. “Given his size, I fear some bloke will want him for hard labor.”

  “Isn’t that what they’re for?”

  Alistair rolled his eyes. “Not back-breaking hard labor,” he countered. “I delivered a team of horses to the British Museum yesterday. Have you seen the size of the stones they’re using to build the new wing?” When Tom shook his head despite having paid witness to the largest construction project in all of Europe—he was on the museum board, after all—Alistair said, “All those stones are transported by dray carts. Overloaded dray carts, if you ask me. I hate to see horses subjected to that sort of labor.”

  Tom angled his head as he considered the comment. “Sounds as if you think something else would work better.”

  “You would think that with all the inventions that have been made of late, there wouldn’t be a need for these beasts to be employed,” Alistair replied.

  A sound of disbelief erupted from Tom. “I admit to surprise at hearing you say that. I would have thought you would be one of those who eschewed steam-powered engines in favor of horsepower.”

  Alistair shook his head. “You will not hear me protest anything that prevents a horse from being abused.” He turned his attention back to Jake. “I’ve a mind to buy you myself, Jake, but I’m not sure you would fit in the stables.”

  “He would fit in the mews behind Arthur’s,” Tom commented, remembering the stable boy bemoaning the lack of horses and therefore the lack of tips he could make in a day. Most of those who took rooms at Arthur’s simply hired hackneys to take them about London. “Will you sell him to me?”

  “You’re serious?”

  Tom inhaled and said, “I am, actually. Can I buy you a drink and prevail upon you to share some information?”

  Suspicious but intrigued by the offer, Alistair nodded. “I am chilled to the bone and could use a brandy about now.”

  “Good. My town coach is parked at the front,” Tom said as he regarded the shire one last time. “Jake,” he said as he gave the horse a nod. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

  The shire nodded as if in reply, and Tom turned his astonished gaze on Alistair.

  “They’re not as dumb as some people think,” Alistair remarked as he led the way out of the stables, shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his greatcoat.

  “What else?”

  “What else?” Alistair repeated.

  “I have a need to know as much about horses as I can learn,” Tom said as he opened the town coach door and held it for his friend.

  “Could you be a bit more specific?” Alistair asked, once they had settled in the coach.

  “I’ve just met with a potential client who is training Thoroughbreds for the race track.”

  “Here in town?” Alistair’s furrowed brows made it apparent he was trying to come up with the client’s name.

  “Just north of town. At Fairmont Park. I rather doubt you—”

  “Oh, you mean Vicky,” Alistair said with some excitement.

  Tom blinked and straightened from the squabs. “Vicky?” he repeated.

  “Now that’s a woman who knows her horses,” Alistair said with enthusiasm. “And knows how to train them. Why, she gets a halter on them before their second day out of the womb and a bit in their mouth before they’re weaned. She has them broke for riding almost before she sets a saddle on them.”

  “You’re speaking of Somerset’s daughter,” Tom said, stunned by his friend’s cavalier manner about Lady Victoria.

  “When it suits her,” Alistair replied. “Which is rarely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Alistair suddenly seemed at a loss for words. “Well, ever since the accident, she hasn’t had much use for Society,” he said. “My wife thinks she might be living at Fairmont Park without a companion.”

  Remembering they hadn’t had company whilst they ate their luncheon—not even a lady’s maid had been in the orangery with them—Tom was about to confirm Alistair’s comment. He was more interested in what else he had said, though. “Accident?”

  Alistair nodded. “A horse stepped on her when she was younger
. Broke her foot in several places, and the physician who saw to her couldn’t set the bones properly. It’s a wonder she can walk as well as she does.”

  “I noticed one of her boots was different from the other,” Tom murmured. “Custom made at Hoby’s.”

  Arching a dark brow, Alistair said, “So you’ve seen her in her riding breeches?”

  Tom hesitated before he confirmed that he had, indeed, seen her dressed in the men’s breeches. “What of it?” he asked, attempting an air of nonchalance.

  It was Alistair’s turn to blink. “Last I knew, you were a red-blooded man.”

  “I still am.”

  “Well, even though I’m a happily married man, I found I had to bed my wife just as soon as I made it back to our townhouse that day,” he claimed. “Almost had a pair of breeches made for Julia.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Lady Victoria does have a shapely bum,” he agreed, furrowing a brow when Alistair stared at him, as if he was waiting to hear more. “And I told her so.”

  Alistair blinked again. Twice. “You what?”

  “She accused me of staring at her bum, and so I told her if she didn’t want me admiring her bum, she shouldn’t have knelt in my presence,” he admitted.

  Alistair vibrated with good humor until he suddenly sobered. “Why was she kneeling?”

  Tom shrugged. “She was using her hands to feel the horse’s leg,” he said as he pantomimed what he had seen her doing earlier that day.

  “Which part?”

  Angling his head to one side, Tom said, “This is why I wanted to treat you to a drink,” he replied. “I don’t know withers—”

  “The ridge between the shoulders.”

  “—from a flank.”

  “End of the ribs, just in front of the back legs.”

  Tom sighed. “She told the stableboy to wrap the horse’s foreleg.”

  Alistair sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  Furrowing his brows, Tom asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s working with one of Reading’s horses. He’s a perfectly bred horse. Has it all—speed, agility, endurance. But he tends to favor one of his forelegs when she rides him. She asked me about it last week,” he added, when he noted Tom’s questioning glance.

  “Perhaps the horse noticed her foot and is merely being sympathetic.” Now that he knew why one of her boots had been different from the other, he remembered how her hips had swayed more than he was used to seeing in a woman’s walk. Why she had tended to favor the one leg when they walked from the house to the conservatory.

  Alistair stared at Tom for a long time. “Damnation,” he murmured.

  Tom recoiled at hearing the curse. “What is it?”

  “You, sir, may be onto something,” Alistair murmured. “Her one boot is different. Sam may be sensitive to that difference when he’s running. Sensitive to how it sits in the stirrup.”

  “Sam?”

  “The horse with the problematic foreleg.”

  “Who names a horse ‘Sam’?” Tom asked in a whisper.

  “It’s a nickname,” Alistair replied. “Short for ‘Samuel Knickerbocker of York’. Connie named him after some distant relative in New York City.”

  “Connie?”

  Alistair rolled his eyes. “Constance, Marchioness of Reading,” he explained. “She’s the horse breeder in that family. And probably the nicest woman in all of the ton.”

  “I know about the marchioness, of course. But you call her Connie? Isn’t that rather... informal?”

  “She insists on it when we’re not among the ton,” Alistair replied with a grin, just as the town coach came to a stuttering halt in front of Brook’s men’s club.

  Once inside the warm confines of the club, a footman saw to their drinks as the two gentlemen took seats at a corner table and resumed their discussion.

  For nearly an hour, Alistair explained the anatomy of a horse, talked about breeding and the desirable traits for race horses, and regaled Tom with stories of some of his own horses.

  Although Tom listened intently and learned what he could, occasional thoughts of Lady Victoria made it hard for him to concentrate. When Alistair moved to finish off his second brandy, Tom finally broached the subject of the duke’s daughter with a simple query.

  “How long have you been working as a consultant for Lady Victoria?”

  Alistair leaned back in his chair and said, “It’s nothing that formal, of course. Towards the end of summer, Somerset sent me a note asking me if I might stop by Fairmont Park to look in on the construction of the stables. She happened to be there.”

  “Overseeing the construction?”

  “Indeed,” Alistair replied. “I’ve known her since she was...” He held out a hand a few feet above the floor. “...So I knew she was passionate about horses. I just didn’t realize they had become her entire life. She spends more time with those horses than she does with anyone or anything else.”

  Tom wondered at the disappointment he felt at hearing his friend’s words. Then he remembered her comments about steam buses. Never once had she mentioned how she came to learn so much about them.

  Or from whom.

  “Given our discussion about a particular investment option earlier this afternoon, I would have to disagree with you on that,” Tom murmured. “Who besides you has her ear?”

  Alistair regarded Tom for a moment before he said, “Her father, sometimes, although...” He allowed the sentence to trail off before he gave a shake of his head. “Not so much these days, I suppose. Then there are two grooms and a stableboy at Fairmont Park. Other than them, I’ve no idea.“ He furrowed a brow. “May I ask what investment option she’s considering? And is it something I should be considering?”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “You are already invested in part of what we’re talking about,” he replied, referring to one of the railway lines currently under construction. For a moment, he thought to simply leave it at that. But Alistair’s eyebrows were lifted, his anticipation at learning more apparent in his expression. “Steam buses, to cover the railway routes until such time as the trains can start running.”

  Alistair shook his head. “That make no sense.”

  “I beg to differ. It’s an excellent—”

  “For her,” Alistair interrupted.

  Understanding his friend’s comment, Tom said, “I admit, I was surprised, too, given her life is wrapped around horses, which is why I asked who might have her ear. Who might have spoken with her about steam buses? She knew all the features. All the benefits. The potential return on investment. Why, it was so...” He stopped speaking, realizing too late how Alistair’s expression had changed. “What?”

  “You’re in love with her.”

  “I am not,” Tom argued.

  “You’re in lust with her, then. My God, but I’ve never seen you so aroused whilst speaking of one of your clients.”

  “I never talk about my clients.”

  “Exactly.”

  Tom stared at his friend for perhaps a moment too long before he averted his gaze. “It’s just been a long time since I ended the contract with Liza,” he murmured. “Nothing more.”

  “Liar,” Alistair accused. “When will you see her again?”

  Tom considered how long it might take to have the proposal and contracts written and for his clerk to have them copied. “A day or two. The investment details already exist for the steam bus line I’m going to propose for her, but the contracts have to be drawn up and copied.”

  “Well, if you go back to see her on the morrow, you’ll probably find my daughter there. Juliet spends every Tuesday with her, and she’s usually there at least one other day of the week.”

  “Oh?”

  “We have Vicky over for dinner quite often. Two peas in a pod, those girls,” Alistair said with a grin. “They’re like sisters. And with Juliet gone all day tomorrow and Jamie at university, I intend to spend the afternoon in bed with my wife.”

  “But, what of the auction?”
Tom countered, hoping the warmth from his embarrassment wasn’t showing on his face.

  Was his friend teasing him by mentioning a tryst with his wife? Or bating him with a snippet of what his life might be like should he take a wife?

  “It’ll be done by noon,” Alistair replied. “Especially if you’re buying Jake.”

  “I’ll buy him for whatever the reserve is,” Tom responded. “As for when I’ll see Lady Victoria again, we’ll see how far I get with the contracts this evening,” he added. He pulled his Breguet from his waistcoat pocket and winced. “I have to return to the office. Would you like a ride back to Tattersall’s?”

  Alistair shook his head. “I’m going to walk down to Floris. Buy something for my wife. I’ll get a hackney from there,” he added as he stood.

  “Perfume?” Tom guessed.

  “Maybe.” When he noted Tom’s expression of curiosity, he added, “Or mayhap a hairbrush. It’s the little things they appreciate, Tom. Given you have five sisters, surely you’ve noticed.”

  Tom wondered at Alistair’s comment as the older man stood and took his leave of the men’s club.

  The little things.

  Well, before there could be any little things, he had to see to his newest client’s paperwork. Perhaps after that he might consider the client.

  Chapter 11

  A Daughter Recalls Her Assault

  An hour later in the Comber townhouse, South Audley Street, Mayfair

  “There you are,” Julia Harrington Comber said with obvious relief as Juliet and her lady’s maid entered the hall of their home in Mayfair. “I was about to send a footman to Jermyn Street to look for you,” she added.

  Juliet exchanged a quick glance with her lady’s maid, who held the blue redingote draped over one arm. Although the rectangular blade of Lord Haddon’s foil hadn’t sliced through it, it had left a mark in the fabric. “We were... delayed.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Due to the Earl of Haddon.”

  About to return to her ground floor salon, Julia regarded her oldest child with an odd expression and then motioned for her to join her. Once they were inside, Julia shut the door and crossed her arms. “What did he do and who witnessed it?”