To Win the Lady (15 page)

‘I am not
alone, my lord, there are other people.’

‘Ah, to be
sure, but you are not escorted.’ He fell into step beside her as she crossed
the lawn towards the fountain. Somehow it became her mecca; if she could reach
it without betraying her misery, she might survive the encounter unscathed.
‘Let me do the honourable. Escort you.’

‘There is no
need, my lord,’ she said. ‘I am quite happy in my own company.’

‘Oh, come, Miss
Paget, don’t gammon me. No young lady likes to be alone. You just ain’t willing
to admit you ain’t got an escort.’

Her misery
turned to anger and she stopped to face him. ‘My lord, I am not in the habit of
telling lies.’

‘No, course
not,’ he said, appearing chagrined. ‘Ask pardon.’

‘The evening
air is cooler than I thought,’ she remarked. ‘I think I’ll go back.’

‘Now I’ve
offended,’ he said, following as she turned towards the house again. ‘Didn’t
mean to. You’re a fine specimen, high-stepping, strong in wind. But at your
last prayers, ain’t that so?’

‘If by that
vulgar term you mean I am desperate for a husband, then I tell you, Lord
Barbour, you are way off the mark.’

‘That so? No
one will deal with you over horses; you must have realised that already. How
will you come about, when you swallow a spider?’

‘I will not
become bankrupt, my lord, you may depend upon it.’

‘I hope you may
not. Sir Henry would turn in his grave to think his prime stock was dispersed.
Must keep it together.’

‘Quite so,’ she
said, angry that he should have penetrated her mind. ‘I intend to keep it
together. Might even expand a little.’ She tried to sound confident but it was
only empty boasting and she guessed he knew that.

They had
arrived at the door of the conservatory and he followed her inside, dogging her
footsteps as she crossed the floor to return to the music-room. ‘Now, my lord,
if you will excuse me...’

He opened the
door for her and she passed through ahead of him into the foyer. The lights
were so bright they dazzled her and she stood blinking for a moment before
moving off. She was aware that he had put his hand under her elbow and to
anyone who glanced in their direction it seemed that they had been out
strolling together. Short of being downright rude and thereby drawing attention
to herself, she could do nothing to rid herself of her escort. Jutting out her
chin and walking very upright, she made her way back to the music-room with his
lordship close beside her. Not until she had taken her place again beside her
aunt did he bow with exaggerated courtesy and take himself off.

Richard had
watched her progress with more than a little interest and seen the smile of
satisfaction on Mrs Bertram’s face and the smirk on Lord Barbour’s. So that was
how the land lay! Poor girl, she was in for a stormy life if she married that
thatchgallows. But she was so self-possessed, so independent, why would she
agree to such a match? Unless it was for the sake of the Rowan Park stables.

He allowed
himself a wry smile; the marriage, if that was what was in the wind, would not
be between a man and a woman but between two businesses. When Sir Henry was
alive, Rowan Park had been Lord Barbour’s main rival; now he was taking the
opportunity to swallow it whole and that without parting with a groat. Should
he warn the spirited Miss Paget? No, he decided; she would take it ill and
possibly accuse him of being prejudiced. And perhaps he was. But a man who
could cheat to win a wager was not a man to be trusted with a lovely young
woman.

He turned to
scrutinise her as everyone’s attention was drawn to the end of the room where
the string quartet was beginning the second half of the entertainment. She was
lovely. Fashion might dictate that she was a little too tall, her hair a little
too red, that her complexion had been over-exposed to the elements, but he
could see no defect in having a healthy glow and strong limbs and her sparkling
eyes drew him like a magnet.

A sixth sense
must have told her she was being watched, for she turned to face him suddenly
and their glances met and held for what seemed an age before she put her nose
in the air and began vigorously fanning herself. It had only been a second or
two, but it was time enough for him to see that the sparkle was caused in this
instance by unshed tears; they lay on her lashes like diamonds. That the cool,
self-possessed Miss Paget should be reduced to tears was something so
unexpected, he found himself wanting to reach out to her, to comfort her, to
tell her he would make all well with her. The strength of his feelings took him
by surprise. He turned away, only to meet her sister’s limpid gaze. He smiled;
she smiled back at him.

He stayed in
his place, pretending to listen to the music because there was little else he
could do, and because sooner or later he must make a push towards marriage
himself and it seemed his bride had been chosen for him, not only by Mrs
Bertram and the elder Miss Paget, but by his father, whose approval of Miss
Felicity he had made known. Although far from well and disliking the city as he
did, his lordship had insisted on staying at Baverstock House until his son had
‘come to his senses’, which was his way of saying compliant. The devil in
Richard rebelled, but for the life of him he did not know why. There would
never be another Maria, he would not know love like that again, so why
hesitate? Felicity Paget was eminently suitable and he did not doubt that they
would deal well together; what more could he ask? And, judging by the smile she
had given him, she thought so too.

The evening
drew to a close at last and he escorted Mrs Bertram and her nieces to their
carriage and saw them safely installed before setting off on foot for St
James’s and his club. It was too early to go home to bed, and besides, he did
not feel in the least sleepy; a hand or two of faro might induce slumber. John
fell into step beside him and they walked in companionable silence for several
minutes until the Captain said, ‘I noticed Barbour seems to have his eye on
Miss Paget.’

‘Hmm. More like
Rowan Park.’

‘Yes, I heard
he was in Dun Territory. I suppose a merger of interests would put some prime
cattle together without need of stud fees.’

‘Quite so.’

‘He’ll use
Victor.’

‘Don’t I know
that?’ Richard countered irritably.

‘I’m sorry,
Richard. It’s my fault.’

Richard’s
answer was merely a grunt, which could have betokened assent or denial; either
way John felt his culpability keenly.

‘Are you going
to challenge him to a rematch?’

‘I’ve got
nothing good enough to beat Victor and it is Victor he’ll run, you may be sure.’

‘What are you
going to do, then? I suppose if Barbour were to marry Miss Paget he would be
responsible for Miss Felicity’s dowry; you could ask...’ He stopped suddenly,
unable to comprehend why his friend’s expression had become so thunderous. ‘What’s
wrong?’

Richard did not
answer but lengthened his stride so that John was all but running to keep up
with him. ‘I’m sure I meant no harm. If you don’t mean to offer for Miss
Felicity...’ There was something very akin to a hopeful note in his voice which
was lost on Richard, deep in his own thoughts. ‘Only, if you don’t want her, I
could make her an offer, get your horse back that way. I’d ask Barbour to give
him to me as part of Miss Felicity’s portion. He ain’t to know I’d hand it over
to you.’

Richard came to
an abrupt halt and turned to face him. ‘Zounds! That’s a monstrous idea! My
horse is not so important to me that I would allow you to leg-shackle yourself
for it. Anyway, I thought you were pledged to Juliette Hereward.’

‘No, it ain’t
got to that yet. I don’t reckon we should suit.’

‘Even so, I
will not hear another word on the subject.’ He strode in at the door of
Watier’s, leaving John to follow or not as he pleased. But the fact that his
friend could even consider so drastic a step on his behalf made him feel humble
and unworthy. He could not and would not countenance such a sacrifice; his
wooing of Miss Felicity Paget must have more purpose but he would make no
formal offer until he had retrieved Victor himself. No one was going to say of him
that he had married for a horse! His decision made, he was almost cheerful and
even glad to see Lord Barbour when he arrived at the club in the early hours of
the morning.

They did not
play at the same table but Richard, whose mind was most definitely not on the
cards in his hand, could tell that his lordship was losing heavily, and very
soon he threw down his hand in a fury and left the table, passing behind
Richard’s chair as he went. Richard turned to smile up at him. ‘Lady Luck not
with you tonight, my lord?’

His lordship
stopped. ‘No, but you know what they say: unlucky at cards, lucky in love.’ He
nodded towards the pile of coins at Richard’s elbow. ‘I see you have not done
so badly in the card stakes. What about the ladybirds?’

‘Well enough,’
Richard said evenly.

His lordship
laughed. ‘By that I am persuaded there will soon be an announcement.’ He waited
for Richard to make a reply but when none was forthcoming went on. ‘If you are
planning to win Victor back, you had best make it soon. I am beginning to think
I do not want to part with him, after all. He would be a valuable asset at
stud, don’t you think? And with all the Rowan Park brood mares to choose
from...’

‘Have you
acquired Rowan Park?’ Richard asked blandly.

‘Not yet, but I
will, very soon now.’

‘I had not
realised Miss Paget was selling.’

‘She ain’t, but
there’s more than one way to skin a cat. We may well become brothers-in-law.’
He paused, watching Richard’s efforts to control his temper with some
amusement. ‘So, what about this challenge? Have you got a horse to put up
against Victor or haven’t you?’

‘I’ll do better
than that,’ Richard said, aware that everyone in the room had stopped whatever
he was doing and was paying rapt attention to the exchange. ‘I’ll challenge you
to ride from London to York between supper and breakfast. Two hundred miles in
nine hours or thereabouts. First man in wins.’

His lordship
laughed. ‘There ain’t a nag can do that.’

‘No, but a
string of them could. Are you up to it, my lord? No jockeys either. You stay in
the saddle the whole time.’

A ripple of
comment went round the room, some saying it was a capital rig, others that
someone as portly as Lord Barbour would never stand the strain even if his
horses did. ‘It’ll take a deal of blunt, what with horses and ostlers and peck
for both,’ he said at last. ‘More’n Victor’s worth.’

‘Then let us
make it worthwhile. Loser to pay the winner’s expenses and a brace of monkeys
besides the horse. How does that suit?’

Lord Barbour
looked thoughtful and everyone began to urge him to accept because it promised
to be the best sport they’d had all year. ‘Come on, Barbour,’ Lord Hereward
said. ‘You’ve got the best stables in the country; everyone knows that.’

‘Bar Rowan
Park,’ Richard said.

‘Bar none,’ his
lordship growled. ‘Since Sir Henry died it’s gone downhill; no one will deal
with the new owner.’ He laughed harshly. ‘And I’ll have both soon.’

Richard
resisted the temptation to give him a leveller by neatly stacking the coins he
had won, clinking them as he placed them slowly one on top of the other. ‘Then
what’s holding you back?’

‘Nothing,’ his
lordship said, realising he had been placed in a corner and could not retreat
with honour intact. ‘Fetch out the betting book and draw up the rules. If this
young jack-at-warts thinks to make a flat out of me, he’ll find the boot on the
other foot.’

John sat at the
desk near the window, fetched the betting book out from one of its drawers and
dipped a quill into the ink bottle. ‘Lord Cedric Barbour bets Major the
Honourable Richard Baverstock that he can beat him riding from London. He
stopped writing and turned to the two men. ‘Whereabouts in London?’

‘Tyburn,’
Richard said. ‘We don’t want to startle the inhabitants by setting off in the
middle of the city.’ He turned to Lord Barbour. ‘Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

John returned
to his writing. ‘From Tyburn to... Where in York?’

‘The Castle
Gardens,’ Richard said. ‘We set off at ten in the evening. Thirty horses to be
posted at intervals along the route. Referees too. Agreed, my lord?’

‘Agreed,’ his lordship
said, but he was not looking particularly happy at the prospect. ‘The day?’

‘You may choose
the day,’ Richard said magnanimously.

‘It will take
some time to organise. Shall we say three weeks from today?’

‘Done,’ Richard
agreed, holding out his hand.

Lord Barbour
looked down at the proffered hand for several seconds before taking it to seal
the wager and then he excused himself and left the room, presumably to go home
to bed.

As soon as he
had left there was a hubbub of chatter and several people came forward to add
their own personal bets to the book, not all of them for Richard; a young
cavalry officer who was probably a bruising rider, but little else, was not
necessarily a safe bet. He was an unknown quantity whereas Lord Barbour, if not
actually liked, was well-known and respected for his knowledge of all things
equestrian. John wrote all the wagers down, heading them with his own, backing
Richard to the tune of five hundred pounds.