Fortunate Wager (7 page)

The girl stirred. Her brown hair had come loose from its knot and lay in an untidy curtain across her face. She pushed it back as she straightened up, opening sleep-filled, honey-brown eyes.

‘You’re awake.’ Her voice was wary, yet familiar.

Ah, that was it. He was still dreaming. That’s why none of this made sense. ‘I don’t think I can be,’ he said with relief. ‘Because if I was, I would know how I came to be here. And I don’t.’

She let out a long breath. ‘And rational. You have no idea how thankful I am.’

In a floating, dreamy daze, Alex continued to regard her, waiting for his brain to supply her name. ‘Caro,’ he said at last. ‘Miss Caroline Fortune.’

‘Correct. Do you know who
you
are?’

He closed his eyes, pleased with himself. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.’

Caroline was still looking at Alexander when the nurse came back with more barley water. ‘He spoke,’ she said to the older woman. ‘He knew my name.’

‘Well, that’s a blessing. He might not remember what happened, mind. They often don’t when they’ve had a bang on the head like that.’ She laid a professional hand against his uninjured temple. ‘He’ll sleep for a couple of hours now. You could do with a lie-down too, miss, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’ve been up three days straight with him. And him no relation.’

‘He is important to my brother’s future as a trainer.’

The nurse nodded, inured to the necessities of life. ‘Then I hope for your sake he’s the sort to remember a favour. Run along now, then you’ll be fresh later.’

But Caroline had cat-napped sufficiently and in any case had her own method of renewing her strength. She took a bowl of porridge, thick with cream and honey, out to the stables, sitting on a hay bale to eat it whilst Flood groomed Solange.

‘That’s all to the good,’ he said, when she told him Lord Rothwell was mending at last. ‘The sooner we get milord home and out of our way, the better I’ll be pleased.’

‘And I,’ said Caroline. She hastily pushed aside the memory of that kiss. Even three days old and with him plainly not aware what he was doing at the time, it had the power to unnerve her if she thought too long about it. ‘From something he said at the beginning of his fever, I believe he may have been spying on us.’

‘Spying? Nay, Miss Caro, what is there to spy on? You’re not mixing him up with that varmint groom of his?’

‘No, this was something about Harry making too much money. He wasn’t comprehensible for the most part.’ And she had been so shocked – so outraged – especially after what had gone before, that some of his words had passed her by.

‘Jealous, belike, at your touch with the wagers. More pressing is the problem we’ve still got with this lass.’

Caroline’s attention sharpened. ‘With Solange? What sort of problem?’

‘Has Mr Harry not told you?’

‘I’ve barely seen him. I’ve been too busy nursing Lord Rothwell.’

‘Ah. Well, she won’t go out with any of the men. She’ll let ‘em groom her and lead her to the paddocks and walk her round and saddle her up. But as soon as even the lightest tries to swing a leg across her back, she’s off like a banshee.’

Caroline spooned up the last mouthful of porridge and then moved over to lean her forehead into Solange’s neck. ‘Silly girl,’ she said. ‘But now your master’s fever has broken, I’ll start taking you out again. Get you used to some weight on your saddle.’ She made her way slowly around each of the horses in the stable, petting and murmuring to each one. ‘Oh, I have missed this,’ she said to Flood.

‘Aye. They’ve missed you too. Back to normal now, though.’

‘It’ll be awkward until Lord Rothwell is fit to go home.’ She frowned. ‘And we still don’t yet know who attacked him or why. There’s not been any word from the magistrates? Harry hasn’t said anything? You’ve not seen anyone hanging about?’

‘There soon wouldn’t have been, if I had!’

‘Be as well to keep an eye out, all the same.’

‘Be sure of that! I’ve told all the lads.’ He rubbed his mouth. ‘We did have that fine friend of milord’s here on Friday. After Mr Harry he was.’

‘Friday? But I told him Harry wasn’t here.’

‘Aye, we told him too. We told him again on Saturday.’

‘There is nothing here to see,’ said Caroline in bewilderment. Oh, this made no sense. What could he be after? What could either of them be after?

‘I did think,’ said Flood, apparently at random, ‘that I’d take Rufus and the young ’un up to the heath myself for their races today.’

Caroline was jolted anew. Was it Monday already? Then this was the First Spring Meeting week. She’d lost track. She hoped
Harry had worked out some sensible bets. Flood was looking at her sideways, waiting for her reaction. She made herself focus. Racing. The grooms’ enclosure. Gossip. ‘That is a very sound idea,’ she said. ‘Fancy will be much steadier in those crowds with you to reassure him.’ She grinned, feeling much more herself all of a sudden. ‘And it’s always nice to keep abreast of the news around the course.’

Alex came awake to the sound of voices. One of them, for some reason, seemed to belong to Caroline Fortune. How peculiar. It was too much of an effort to open his eyes so he rested where he was, sorting through the words until they made sense.

‘A week?’ he heard her say in dismay. ‘A week or more before he can be moved? But I told you he spoke to me and knew me. And his skin is a better colour, for all he is haggard from the fever.’

A man’s voice now. ‘Aye, but his brain has been bounced about in that skull of his and needs to stay still for fear other damage may have been done. You’d not have him half-witted for want of the proper care, Miss Caro?’

There was a pause. ‘I suppose not,’ said the girl ungraciously. ‘What is this proper care, then? What must I do?’

‘Why, keep him quiet, tempt him to eat, make sure he drinks plenty of the lemon barley. Encourage him to sleep as much as possible and do not let him become agitated in any respect. That is most important.’

‘He has
been
agitated! What was all that delirium if not agitation?’

Delirium? What delirium?

Through the sudden hammering in his chest, Alex heard the man – who must, he supposed, be a doctor – suck in a breath between his teeth. ‘We can only hope the fever-dreams have not done him any lasting harm. I will look in again tonight.’

Alex put up a leaden hand and felt his head. To his astonishment, there was a bandage around it. And if Caroline Fortune was here, he must either be at Fortune House or Penfold
Lodge. Stranger and stranger. What had the doctor said? Fever and delirium? Yes, now he thought back, memories of nightmarish, formless dreams crowded his mind. He shuddered and forced them away. He knew them of old and had no wish to revisit them. More to the point – had he talked in his fever? What had he said? To whom? That was almost more worrying than why he was here in the first place. It occurred to him that the room was quiet again. He opened his eyes, straight onto the sight of Caroline glaring at him from a wing chair.

‘Ouch,’ he said.

‘Good morning, my lord.’ The fierce look was gone so fast it must have been a trick of the light.

He moved and made an unpleasant discovery. ‘I hurt. What am I doing here?’

‘You were found sprawled in our stable yard with your head bleeding. It seemed likely that you would recover faster indoors than if you were left outside in the wet.’

Later he would appreciate the sarcasm. For now, he looked at her in blank incredulity. ‘Someone attacked me?’

‘That is the conclusion the doctor drew. Your greatcoat had been pulled off and thrown aside. We found your notecase on the ground near the road and have restored it to your jacket.’ She nodded to a covered rail in the corner of the room. ‘I am afraid there was no money in it.’

Memory flooded back. He had let down his guard. Of all the stupid things to do! He had been triumphant that he had at last got to the stable before anyone inside was stirring. This time, he’d thought, he would finally get a good look at that damned mystery rider. And then … ‘I don’t remember anything,’ he said.

This drew a slanting look from her. ‘Not even why you should be at Penfold Lodge before dawn in the pouring rain?’

‘I went for a walk. I was unable to sleep,’ he invented. He put a hand to his chin and grimaced. ‘Something I seem to have remedied since. Good God, I must look like a bear.’ Had he distracted her? It was difficult to tell. Certainly he couldn’t think
straight enough to answer any more of her questions right now.

‘What odd things men worry about,’ she commented. ‘Your valet is just the same. He descended on us in a welter of valises and finicky mannerisms as soon as I informed the White Hart of your accident and has been itching to shave you these three days. Such a fuss as he has been making. I wonder you can bear to have him in your employment.’

‘My valet is here? Then call him at once!’ said Alex. Hot towels and a keen razor and he would be himself again in no time. ‘Three days? I cannot believe it.’

Caroline Fortune rose. ‘You were found on Friday morning. It is now Monday. My arithmetic is generally sound. Are you in earnest about being shaved? It seems nonsensical to me. You should know that you have been very ill indeed. As well as the loss of blood, you were soaked right through with rain. Mr d’Arblay dismissed the suggestion, but I have been wondering since the fever started if we should not have informed your family?’

‘On no account!’ he said forcefully. Or at least, he meant to say it forcefully. It came out sounding more horrified than anything else. He tried to laugh it off. ‘Just for a bump on the head and a bit of a chill? My mother would take up residence with ten sorts of servant and an army of apothecaries before the sand had dried your ink.’

She met his eyes, her own stricken. He was jolted. What the devil had he said to upset her? Women really were unaccountable. ‘That tells me I
should
have sent a letter,’ she said in distress. ‘Your poor mama. I will do it directly.’

‘You will do no such thing. Believe me, the house would not be your own.’

‘It is
not
my own house. And Mrs Penfold is the very last person to begrudge a mother’s right to care for her son.’

Heaven preserve him from stubborn women. He made another stab at a forceful tone. ‘Miss Fortune, my bones may be temporarily made of water and my head may ache like the devil, but I am twenty-nine years old and I do
not
require coddling and
fussing over and wrapping in cotton wool. I will write myself when I am recovered.’ Which would be as long as he could credibly string it out. The doctor’s conversation made sense now. That assailant had wrought better than he knew. Thanks to this injury Alex would have at least a week’s further residence at Penfold Lodge. He intended to use it to get some answers.

‘I
T IS
A
great nuisance,’ said Caroline to Mrs Penfold,
injustice
burning strongly in her breast. She dipped her pen in the inkwell, frowning at the notepaper as she considered how best to combine truth with a judicious alarm. ‘I had no notion Lord Rothwell would have to remain here so long.’

Their unwelcome guest had returned to consciousness with a vengeance. Caroline had very soon given over worrying that those knocks on the head might have done lasting harm. Now she was wishing she had dropped him a little harder. He was presently asleep, having exhausted himself first by insisting on being shaved and then by refusing sensible invalid fare with unwarranted ferocity. Caroline had lost patience with him and had left the day nurse to deal with his bad temper, retiring instead to the morning room to write to his mama. After his outcry against the idea earlier, she had high hopes of the Duchess of Abervale arriving with the next mail coach, riding roughshod over the doctor’s objections, and sweeping her troublesome son back to the White Hart amidst a phalanx of the best nursing care money could buy.

‘It is inconvenient not being able to use that room,’ agreed Mrs Penfold, her knitting needles clicking, ‘but it is very pleasant having you in the house, even though I have seen little of you.’

Caroline looked up from her carefully heart-wringing letter, startled. ‘Thank you. For myself, as you know, I have always felt at home here. I could wish Mama would agree to me coming to you permanently.’

‘She sees no profit in it,’ said Mrs Penfold, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It would be different if Penfold Lodge were mine to leave, but all I have is the right to reside here. She is doing the best thing by her lights. A jointure which reverts back to the estate upon my decease, no matter how handsome, can be of no benefit to you.’

Caroline bent her head to her composition. She hated it, this knowledge that everything came down to money. That without it a female was condemned to live off others’ bounty. That with it she was a target for every charming spendthrift or impecunious younger son. Intensely practical, Caroline was well aware that the interest on her late godmother’s thousand pounds in funds was insufficient to live on. That was why she was doing her utmost to build up the racing account which she, Bertrand and Harry had shared. Youthful ideals were long gone. She had been so sickened by the singleness of purpose exhibited in the marriage mart last spring that she was determined to be as independent as possible by the time she was of sufficient age to leave her parents’ roof. That she might be branded as eccentric did not bother her. Yes, she liked dancing and books and intelligent conversation, but she could get by without them. All she really wanted to do – all she had ever wanted to do – was to look after horses, just as she had planned with Bertrand. Life would have been so different had he….

But at this point in her musings, abetted by a sad sniff from Mrs Penfold, the pair of them were saved from melancholy by the announcement of visitors.

‘Alderman Taylor,’ said Caroline in strong surprise. She rose to greet him and to kiss Louisa. ‘This is an unlooked-for pleasure.’

‘Took a fancy to go to the race meeting,’ he said jovially. ‘And as Louisa was disappointed to miss you on Saturday, we settled that she should visit here while I am up at the heath.’

Secure in the knowledge that Harry would also be on the heath all day, reflected Caroline. Still, it was a kind thought and she was just about to tell the alderman so when he continued,
‘And if, as is daresay the case, you have fatigued yourself in caring for your invalid, Louisa can spell you awhile and give you some respite. She is of just the right temperament to sit by his lordship’s bedside with the nurse, and amuse him should he wake.’

At this, Caroline had to bite the insides of her cheeks very hard indeed not to burst out laughing. ‘How kind,’ she managed, not daring to look at her friend.

Dear single-minded Alderman Taylor. It was a strategy worthy of her own mama. Indeed, now she came to think of it, she was amazed Selina had not been dispatched to Penfold Lodge too, to bear her sister company now the worst of the nursing was over. It was only a matter of time, she felt sure, and all the more reason for Lord Rothwell to be removed to his own apartments as soon as possible.

‘Poor Papa,’ said Louisa, when her father had departed for his afternoon of uncharacteristic dissipation. ‘He almost had my trunk packed for a week’s stay before he remembered that Harry lives here also.’

‘I hope you do not expect to see him. We have horses running today.’

‘Are any of them likely to win? When Papa sees with his own eyes that Harry is a success it will make him look more kindly on him.’

‘Rufus should certainly prevail over
his
field. And Fancy has a good chance to take the sweepstake for untried colts. It is not a big purse, but your father might not regard that.’

‘Why enter him then? I thought you were trying to build up your capital.’

Caroline regarded her friend fondly. ‘To get him accustomed to the noise and bustle of a race day. There are not so many opportunities for two-year-olds that we can be choosy. We also want to get him used to winning, so it is better to enter during one of the spring meetings because there are fewer good horses this early in the year. Maiden’s turn comes later in the week.’

Noise and bustle
. Caroline suddenly thought of Solange. The
grey mare would hate a race meeting. How were they to accustom her to it? The crowds, the noise, the bustle. The men. The whole experience would unsettle her so thoroughly that she would be fit for nothing by the time her race was called. ‘However,’ she continued, pushing away the thought to worry about later, ‘you did not come here to talk of horses, and dear Mrs Penfold must be tried to the limit by Harry and me discussing them all the time. Would you perhaps like us to show you over the house? I really don’t advise following your father’s suggestion and sitting with Lord Rothwell. He is a shockingly impatient patient.’

‘That will be because you keep arguing with him,’ said Louisa, with the cheerful licence of long friendship. ‘Mr d’Arblay told me Lord Rothwell dislikes it excessively when people disagree with him. What he prefers, Mr d’Arblay said, is to talk of his estate in Surrey. How many acres it is and how much it produces in rents, that sort of thing.’

Caroline grinned. ‘In that case, the word Surrey shall never pass my lips and I will make a point of holding a contrary opinion to his on every conceivable subject. That should drive him back to his own well-ordered household with all speed. Thank you, Louisa, I am much obliged to you.’

Alexander stirred at the sound of female laughter in the passage. For a moment he was disorientated, thinking himself in London, with his sister and her friends making merry in the next room. Then a nurse appeared by his bedside, bearing a large bottle that instinct told him would hold a quite indescribable medicine. There was no one else here. ‘I think not,’ he said, and closed his eyes, unreasonably ruffled.

He dozed, roused to the ignominy of needing his valet’s help to the commode, and dozed again. By the time he awoke properly, he felt stiff and irritable. A lamp had been kindled and Caroline Fortune was in the wing chair frowning over a page of figures. ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ she said, tucking the paper away into her reticule. ‘How do you feel?’

He looked at her resentfully. He had been neglected for hours and was hungry enough to eat an entire side of cow. He was convinced that if he had been offered proper food earlier, he would not now need her aid in raising himself to a sitting position. ‘I would be better for some solid food,’ he growled. ‘And I mean solid. Not that pap I was presented with before.’

‘Oh, certainly. We cannot afford to waste any more broth by having you throw it at footmen’s heads.’

Alex refused to have a chit of a girl make him feel guilty. ‘If I’d wanted broth I would have asked for it. Where have you been all day?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Entertaining a friend. Edifying as your conversation is, my lord, I prefer her conscious discourse to your unconscious mutterings.’

‘It was you who told me I should rest,’ Alex pointed out. Very forcefully as he recalled. He had been quite surprised. ‘And you have not been with your friend all day, for I detect at least one visit to the stables. How is my horse?’

‘Making progress, I believe.’ Caroline glanced thoughtfully at the drawn curtains. ‘How do you know I went to the stables, pray?’

‘Your gown is shockingly creased and there is a straw in your hair. Do you never take care of your appearance?’

‘Only when I am obliged to. Are you intending to be disagreeable all evening? Because I was going to sit with you while you ate and relay the grooms’ gossip from the race meeting, but I won’t if all you are going to do is find fault.’

Alex modified his tactics. Aggravating as Caroline Fortune was, this room would be completely devoid of life if he drove her out of it. ‘If you can procure me something fit to eat and something more palatable than barley water to drink, there is no knowing how agreeable I can be.’

From the look Caroline and the nurse exchanged, Alex suspected he would be lucky to get a sip of ale, much less a decent mouthful of wine. Women were appalling tyrants when they had you helpless.

However, much to his surprise, there was a glass of burgundy with the meal. To his discomfiture, he could not finish it. Nor could he do justice to the plate of food that was set before him.

‘Only to be expected,’ pronounced the doctor, who was making his evening visit. ‘Very unsuitable fare at this stage.’

‘
Most
people losing blood through a blow to the head and being delirious for three days find a nice bowl of nourishing broth serves to recover their strength to start with,’ murmured Caroline.

‘It does not surprise me that Mrs Fortune has had difficulty finding you a husband,’ snapped Alex.

Dr Peck chuckled. ‘Oh she’s found plenty. The wonder is that none of ‘em come up to scratch, eh Miss Caro?’

‘Indeed it is very strange.’

‘But I’m glad of it, for I made a tidy sum on your Fancy today. Rufus too.’

Alex was startled out of his bad temper. The doctor attended the races?

To his discomfiture, Caroline instantly picked up on his surprise. He had forgotten how quick she was. ‘Racing is not only the sport of the nobility, my lord. Or have you never spotted the throngs of ordinary folk near every finishing post?’

‘I hope I am not
that
high in the instep.’ But her eyes held just a suggestion of a jeer and he felt it prudent to change the subject. ‘Which is Fancy? The bay colt?’

‘You have a good memory. Yes, he won by two lengths from Grafton’s roan. Quite an upset apparently. Flood tells me the duke was far from pleased.’

The talk turned to the other races, but within half-an-hour, Alex found his eyelids becoming heavy. He did wake again briefly, out of a dream of galloping hoofs and a splintering of wood, but a steady hand mopped his brow and fed him a drink of something cool, and a soft voice said, ‘Hush now, what did I tell you? Sleep, Alexander.’ So he did.

It was an odd thing, thought Caroline, wringing out the cloth, that while she found it a simple matter to trade badinage with Lord Rothwell during the day, as soon as night fell and he slipped into this uneasy, sweating doze, he was Alexander again and she did not seem able to leave him to the competent ministrations of the nurse.

He was
so
silly, eating and drinking unwisely, but Harry had always been the same. It was Caroline’s experience that the only way to prove to men that you knew what you were talking about, was to let them find it out for themselves.

Fortunately, Alexander’s agitation passed without any of the alarm for the onlookers that had attended his previous nightmares. Sighing in his sleep, he turned his head, trapping Caroline’s hand under his cheek. She snorted to herself, thinking of the fuss he had made this morning over his appearance. If he only knew it, he was far more comely with the shadow of new growth on his face than he was as the correctly dressed,
clean-shaven
Lord Rothwell that the rest of the world saw.

She withdrew her hand as gently as possible, feeling the faint rasp of bristles against her skin. And froze as his mouth pressed a sleepy kiss to her fingers. A tremor passed right through her body. Holding her breath, she eased her hand free. She moved back to the chair telling herself she wasn’t shaken at all. And she only had a passing thought as to who Rosetta might be.

Tuesday morning. Caroline managed to get Maiden out for a dawn gallop on the heath and felt much better for it. She considered taking Solange up afterwards, but with race meetings all week there would be too many people abroad. Too many gentlemen in the town, too many ostlers and grooms crowding the yards. Riding Maiden was one thing – there were any number of chestnut fillies about, even with the white star on her forehead – but Solange was far too distinctive and, it seemed, too notorious, for an observer to miss. And once Solange was sighted, her rider might come under scrutiny. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Over their normal kitchen breakfast, which was so much more pleasant now that she didn’t have to hurry back to her Fortune House bedchamber as soon as she’d bolted down enough to satisfy her hunger, she settled with Harry how much they should bet on who today, then she washed, changed, visited Mrs Penfold’s room and finally went to see how Alexander fared. She found him sitting up with his hair brushed, a dressing gown tucked around him and a mulish look upon his face.

‘Good morning, my lord. Do I take it that cook’s suggestion of nicely poached eggs and a dish of tea does not find favour with you?’

‘Nobody drinks tea at this time in the morning,’ he growled.

‘Do they not, my lord? I always do.’ Caroline nodded to the footman to bring the table over. She poured out two cups and set his lordship’s breakfast on a tray on his knees. ‘I daresay you would like to see the newspaper. Mrs Penfold has both
The Times
and the
Gazette
delivered, so you may choose. Or, if you are still a little fuzzled, I can read some of the articles to you.’