Unbefitting a Lady (18 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Epsom, four days before the Derby

P
haedra anxiously studied the mantel clock
in the private parlour of the Waterloo Inn, ticking away the hours of the early
afternoon. It was hard to conduct interviews if there was no one to actually
interview. She fought back the urge to go to the window and stare out into the
courtyard or go to the door and scan up and down the corridor for potential
candidates.

Someone had to come. Surely someone would claim the right to
ride Warbourne. She had not travelled this far to fail days before the race
simply because she didn’t have a rider. This was Epsom at the height of spring
racing. It wasn’t as if riders were thin on the ground.

The former spa town was already abuzz with race day business.
She’d snagged the last room at the popular Waterloo Inn on the High Street, the
remaining rooms claimed by other owners who’d made the week-long journey from
Newmarket to Epsom after the recently run Two Thousand Guineas Stakes. The
stakes winner, Manfred, was already here munching hay in the stall two down from
Warbourne. His owner, Scott Stonehewer, was down the hall in the public room
playing an afternoon game of cards while his star colt rested.

The innkeeper bustled in and Phaedra’s hopes began to rise.
‘There’s someone here to see you, Lady Phaedra.’ He bowed respectfully, doing
his best not to give any sign he thought her behavior out of the ordinary. It
might be because he was discreetly diplomatic, knowing all coin was worth the
same value no matter who it came from and Phaedra had been sure to pay him well.
Or because this was Epsom, a town that owed its survival to the thoroughbred
racing industry and the reality that standard gender roles were somewhat
suspended for a week in May when the country caught Derby fever.

Phaedra smiled, letting relief fill her. ‘Send him in, please.’
Someone had come, after all.

Phaedra sat up straight, plucked at the bodice of her blue
muslin day dress to make sure all was respectable, folded her hands in her lap
and was immediately at a loss for words.

‘Hello, Phaedra.’ The caller was no rider at all, but Bram
Basingstoke in the immaculate flesh, looking entirely too handsome for his own
good as he leaned in the doorway, dressed in buff riding breeches, a dark jacket
and high boots.

She’d thought she’d dealt with her feelings for Bram during the
long journey to Epsom. There’d been little else to do during the days on the
road. Apparently not.

He’d deceived her, played her for a fool all for the sake of a
little sport and the consequences for her had been tremendous.
She
was supposed to pay for
his
indiscretion with marriage. If she didn’t pay with marriage,
she’d pay with scandal. It was only a matter of time. She knew she was lucky
news of the situation hadn’t drifted down to Epsom just yet.

It would have been better if he’d remained an anonymous groom.
Marriage would have been impossible. It would have been best for it to remain
so. There would have been no hurt feelings, no overt rejection, just a whimsical
impossibility. Being the son of an earl made it so much worse, because the
impossible became possible and she had been rejected.

Bram stood there unfazed. If the same thoughts plagued him, he
gave no sign of it. ‘I heard all the best horses were in town and thought I’d
stop by to see if it was true.’

‘Yes, it’s true, as you can see.’ She wished for an ounce of
his sangfroid. It took all her effort to keep her voice calm, as if seeing him
again didn’t conjure up a host of feelings. She was still overwhelmed by the
sheer masculine potency of him, the way he owned a room simply by walking in it,
the way he could garner her best affections just by looking at her and use them
against her. She couldn’t forget that last part.

The Derby was days away. She didn’t have time for whatever Bram
wanted. She had to find a rider. Bram pushed off the door jamb with his
customary ease, took a seat in the upholstered chair across from her and crossed
his legs. If she was smart, she would not let him settle in for a long stay.

‘I am glad you dropped by but you have to go. I am interviewing
riders.’ She couldn’t very well conduct interviews with him hovering nearby for
a lot of reasons, not the least being the havoc he wreaked on her ability to
think clearly.

‘Ah, yes.’ Bram didn’t move from his chair. ‘I heard. I tracked
you down from the stables. I saw Warbourne, by the way. He looks good. Bevins
told me you were staying here, alone?’ He raised his dark eyebrow in that
annoyingly superior way of his when he found something suspect or
displeasing.

‘Yes, most of the owners are staying here,’ Phaedra said
sharply. She didn’t have to defend her choice to him. The Waterloo was perfectly
respectable. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

Bram gave her a soft smile that was more alarming than his
wolfish grin, the one he used right before he kissed her. ‘Face facts, Phaedra.
No one’s coming.’

She didn’t need to look at the clock to know he spoke the truth
but she wouldn’t show her disappointment to him, the man who thought he knew
everything about horses, about her. She pasted on a smile. ‘Did you poison the
well? I shall have to raise my price. Thanks to the stud fees, I can do
that.’

For once Bram didn’t rise to the bait of an argument. He shook
his head and Phaedra braced herself for the worst. ‘It won’t matter how much you
pay. Everyone knows Warbourne’s a risky horse to ride. No one’s going to bet
their literal necks he’s worked out his problems.’ Bram paused, a little debate
warring in his eyes as he studied her.

‘Go on,’ Phaedra urged. If there was more, it would be best she
knew it.

‘Well, and the fact you’re a woman. You have to admit, it’s a
deuced unlikely pairing. A risky colt tamed by a woman no one’s heard of. I’m
sorry, Phaedra.’

Phaedra stood up and turned towards the window, away from Bram.
She swiped at her eyes. The room must be dusty in spite of the meticulous
housekeeper. She wouldn’t want Bram to misconstrue the tears for something
else.

‘I’ll find a rider. I’ll find someone,’ Phaedra said
resolutely.

‘Where? The race is four days away. Whoever he is, he has to
have time to practise on Warbourne. You can’t just
say
you’ll find a rider, Phaedra.’

She did not need to be reminded of that. ‘If you have nothing
to contribute, I’d like you to leave.’ Phaedra stood up, dismissing him, and
thankfully he went. She could get back to her lonely vigil.

* * *

Bram went only because he’d be back with a much-needed
contribution. By virtue of her own words, she’d have to listen to him. She
needed a rider and he would get her one. He would turn Epsom upside down if
that’s what it took to get back into her good graces.

Bram set off towards the stables, whistling a bit under his
breath. The sun was out and spring had this part of England firmly in hand. He’d
found Phaedra and the little minx had landed on her feet. The Waterloo was in a
prime location on the high street, with close access to the downs and the
morning exercise runs. For now, all was well in his world.

He didn’t lie to himself that it would remain so. Sir Nathan
Samuelson could show up and make trouble, someone could recognise him. Even if
none of those things came to pass, he would have to reconcile his feelings for
Phaedra in short order.

He’d promised Giles to bring her home after the Derby. That
meant four days. There would be travel time too, but he didn’t want to count on
that in case he didn’t get back to good terms with her. That left the four days
before the Derby—four days to figure out what had motivated him to follow her
the length of the country, to protect her against Giles’s well-meant
restrictions, to risk his own livelihood by breaking his agreement with his
father. One did not do such things without a reason. He needed to know his. Once
he knew that, he could decide what to do about it.

He might be going insane, becoming a modern-day Don Quixote,
years of hard living and womanising having taken their toll on him at last. Or
Aphrodite might be taking her revenge for all the hearts he’d broken. He
supposed it was not beyond the pale that he was falling in love. It stood to
reason, when such a thing finally happened it would be with a woman out of his
reach and Phaedra was definitely that. Why would she want a wastrel with no
prospects when she could choose anyone?

There was no pretending his father wouldn’t hear of this. All
of London would flock to Epsom. There would go the allowance. That had been the
deal. He had his wages from Castonbury but they wouldn’t sustain him for more
than a few days in the style to which he was accustomed. Still, when it came
down to it, disappointing Phaedra or disappointing his father, the choice was
clear.

It had been a certain torture to see her again. His heart had
ached at the sight of her sitting at the Waterloo wrapped in her pride, her
haughty chin up as if her own stubbornness could make a rider materialise. Well,
she might not be able to do that. But he could.

Bram chose to seek out Matt Somerset first. He found the rider
whittling on a hay bale in the long barns overlooking the downs.

‘Basingstoke, good to see you.’ Matt Somerset shook his hand
vigorously. ‘Where have you been?’ Barely reaching Bram’s shoulder, Matt
Somerset had the build currently popular among hired racing riders—short, lean
and wiry enough to hold a thousand pounds of speeding horse.

‘Up in Derbyshire. I had to get away after the business with
Fenton.’ Bram had known Matt for three years. He didn’t mind confessing. Matt
was a trustworthy man known for his integrity in a sport that sometimes had
none. ‘I met a horse up there.’ Bram leaned on the fence overlooking the
practise oval where some horses were taking their afternoon exercise.

‘A horse? Isn’t a woman more your style?’ Matt joked.

‘Well, maybe I met both.’ Bram smiled slyly, taking a
well-intended elbow in the ribs from Matt. ‘Anyway, this horse is fast and he
needs a rider.’

‘For what race?’

‘The Derby.’ That would either interest Matt or make him
suspicious. Or maybe both. Matt’s keen brown eyes looked out over the track,
giving nothing away.

‘What’s the horse? Some unknown, I suppose?’

Bram shrugged. ‘Warbourne.’

‘Heaven help us.’ Matt shook his head. ‘So he ended up in the
north, did he? With that pretty woman who’s been around the stables? Word on the
street is that she can’t find a rider and with good reason. You do know that
horse, don’t you?’

Bram stood his ground. He knew that horse intimately after the
past months. ‘I know that horse well enough. He threw Dick Handley last year at
the two-year-old races in Newmarket and a slew of other riders too. But I’ve
seen him this year. Lady Phaedra has the touch. He’s a different horse but just
as fast.’

‘I don’t know, Basingstoke. I’ve already got a couple of races
lined up that day.’ Matt began to prevaricate, that was a bad sign.

‘She’ll pay well and you can be the one everyone remembers.
You’ll be the jockey who mastered Warbourne.’

Matt chuckled. ‘He’s just a horse, Basingstoke. There’s a
hundred more like him. No one will remember.’

‘Everyone remembers Derby winners.’ Bram dangled the proverbial
carrot. ‘Lady Phaedra means to establish a stud afterwards. You can come along
for the ride, quite literally in this case.’ Bram paused, letting his offer sink
in. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve had a spotlighter, hasn’t it? What was it,
two? No, three years ago you had that filly at the Oaks.’ Bram let his voice
trail off with a sigh. ‘I need this, Matt. I need this favour, but we’d be
kidding ourselves if we didn’t admit you needed it too. Warbourne can be your
chance to show everyone you’re back.’

Matt put his booted foot on the fence rail and looked down at
the ground. ‘You’re right about that. Since the accident, offers have been
scarce and the mounts I have been getting have been mediocre.’

Bram nodded. He could smell victory. ‘I’ll see you at six
tomorrow for the morning rides and we’ll see what we’ve got. If you need me,
I’ll be at the Waterloo on the high street.’

It was nearly dark when Bram returned to the inn. Phaedra was
still in the parlour. Her face fell when she saw him. ‘I thought I told you to
go.’

‘Only if I couldn’t contribute.’ Bram pulled up a chair and
turned it backwards before sitting down. ‘I found you a rider. I would say that
definitely counts as a contribution.’

‘Really? You found me a rider?’ The joy spreading across her
face made the risk worthwhile. In that moment, Bram didn’t care if he was
penniless if he could just see her smile and know he was the cause of it.

Suddenly, Phaedra’s smile stopped and she became wary again.
‘One good deed doesn’t make up for what happened. I’m still mad at you.’

Bram gave a throaty laugh. ‘But you almost forgot. You had to
remind yourself.’

Phaedra picked up a tiny decorative pillow from the sofa and
threw it at him. ‘I didn’t forget how insufferable you were.’

Bram caught it with quick hands and rose to go. He wouldn’t
push his luck. ‘I missed you too.’ He’d take her temper as good sign. Anything
was better than the frigidly polite indifference she’d shown him that afternoon.
He’d count this as progress.

Chapter Twenty

‘T
ell me again he wasn’t the only jockey
left in town. Tell me you didn’t pull him out of a pub and bribe him to ride.’
Phaedra worried out loud the next morning while she and Bram waited for Matt
Somerset to arrive at the stables. She’d fought between elation and anxiety all
last night after Bram’s news, thrilled Bram had found a rider and worried beyond
words that the rider was not nearly good enough to handle Warbourne.

‘He’s better than that, Phaedra,’ Bram told her, but she could
see he was anxious too. His eyes kept darting to the entrance where Matt
Somerset was expected. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here.’

She was sure he said that as much for himself as for her.
Warbourne was saddled with Bevins walking him outside. The colt was ready to
work. She’d been exercising him herself since their arrival and he knew the
schedule. Mornings were for workouts.

Bram stiffened and Phaedra followed his gaze. A wiry fellow
with a tanned face entered the stables. ‘Is that him?’

Bram grinned, full of his usual confidence. ‘I knew he’d come.’
Bram waved the man over and made the introductions. ‘This is Lady Phaedra and
Warbourne is outside.’

Matt Somerset whistled in appreciation at the sight of
Warbourne. ‘He looks better than he looked last year, I’ll say that much,’ he
complimented, running an experienced hand down the colt’s front leg. ‘Good legs.
His bones are strong, his coat is glossy. You’ve been feeding him well. What are
his training times?’

‘A minute fifty.’ Phaedra was unable to keep the pride out of
her voice. She knew it was a good time for a mile and a half. ‘Faster than
Nectar last year.’

‘Faster than Nectar
with
a trained
rider on board in Bill Arnull,’ Somerset corrected. ‘Who has been riding him in
exercise? The boy?’ He gave a nod in Bevins’s direction.

‘I’ve been riding him,’ Phaedra said swiftly. Why couldn’t
anyone accept that a woman could ride a horse and get decent times? Was it that
impossible to believe?

Somerset raised his eyebrow at this. ‘Have you now? Has he
thrown you?’

‘No. But I’m his only rider.’ She held Somerset’s gaze, a
private message passing between them. The real test today wouldn’t be about
Warbourne’s speed. It would be about getting on his back. Most of Warbourne’s
problems had come from the starting line.

‘I’m impressed you’ve stayed on.’ Somerset rubbed Warbourne’s
muzzle and spoke soft encouraging words. ‘What’s the secret?’

‘It’s the knees. He’ll bolt if you clench your thighs too
tightly.’

Matt nodded. ‘It’s natural to do that at the starting line. It
explains why better riders than you, no insult intended, were thrown. However,
it’s a prime communication point. We’ll have to find another way. Basingstoke,
how about a leg up? Let’s see what this horse can do.’

Bram tossed him up. Phaedra held Warbourne’s bridle and her
breath, the phrase
let him stay on
running like a
litany through her mind. Bram stepped away from the horse and gave the signal.
She let go and crossed her fingers.

Warbourne snorted and tossed his glossy mane, prancing under
the weight of the new rider. Matt kept the reins tight, fighting for control,
and at last he had it. Warbourne settled beneath him and Phaedra breathed
again.

Bram clipped on a lead rope and together the little group
headed to the practise lines. They were not alone. With the race nearing,
everyone with a possible entrant had the same idea. Phaedra knew they were
cutting it close. Today would be the last real workout day. Tomorrow, the Derby
races would begin, leading off with the Oaks Stakes for fillies only.

They garnered their share of stares as they passed. Fine,
Phaedra thought, her head held high. Let them look. Let them see what the
competition is going to do to them. But she couldn’t ignore the whispers that
followed in their wake—speculation about the horse, about the rider, about her,
all of them outsiders in their own way.

Beside her, Bram whispered, ‘Don’t listen to them. Come race
day, they’ll be the sorry ones.’

Just then, a horse nipped at Warbourne. Warbourne leapt towards
it, ready to retaliate. It took all of Bram’s strength and Matt’s skill to hold
him. But the rumblings had already started—the colt was still wild,
unpredictable. A couple of people recognised Matt in the saddle and called out
jokes. ‘You gonna stay in the saddle this time?’

Bram stared them all down and Phaedra tried to do the same.
They found an open spot and Bram flipped open his pocket watch. Phaedra flipped
open an old watch that had been Edward’s and exchanged a look with Bram.
‘Ready?’

‘Set.’ Matt’s heels went down in the stirrups.

The second hand hit the twelve. ‘Go!’

Warbourne leapt at a secret signal from Matt and they were off,
flying over the turf, Matt bent low over Warbourne’s neck. Envy and pride warred
inside her at the sight of it. That was
her
horse.
She knew precisely what Matt was feeling, the bite of the wind in his face, the
strength of muscle bunching beneath his legs. She’d not
seen
Warbourne run before and the sight was glorious. She would not
have missed it for the world.

Warbourne reached the finish line and she glanced at her watch.
One minute forty. If all went well, that would be a winning time. She looked up
to confer with Bram but Warbourne chose that moment to swerve.

He headed towards a group of horses and riders bunched together
on the downs doing short sprints. He was going to go right through them. ‘No,
no,’ Phaedra spoke her thoughts out loud. ‘Leave them alone.’

Warbourne broke through the pack, scattering horses to the
right and left as he passed them. ‘What is Mr Somerset doing?’

Bram chuckled. ‘Giving them something to remember. They’ll be
sure to give him plenty of space on the track if they can help it next time.’
The next time would be race day. Somerset would need the space too. At last
count, twenty horses were registered. It would be a crowded field.

‘What do you think?’ Bram asked while they waited for Somerset
to bring Warbourne over.

‘He’ll do,’ Phaedra conceded, and gladly. She was out of time
to be right. She was happy in this case to be wrong, her worries misplaced. ‘A
minute forty is nothing to ignore.’

Nor was the man beside her. Bram Basingstoke had done the
impossible for her. He’d found a rider, and a good one at that. Matt Somerset
was not some over-the-hill, dried-up jockey. It shouldn’t make a difference.
Bram had refused to marry her. He didn’t want her for more than a casual affair
and yet she was melting. Again. Veering towards foolishness with him. Again.
This morning at the stables, with the horse to act as a buffer, it had been too
easy to fall back into the usual patterns, to feel at home with Bram as if the
disastrous night of the ball had never happened. Everything seemed nearly as it
had been before, before he was an earl’s son and she a duke’s ruined daughter.
She had to be strong. She couldn’t forget what was real and what was
fantasy.

By mid-morning their work at the stables was done. Warbourne
was in good hands between Bevins and Somerset, and Phaedra was feeling
distinctly positive.

‘I’ll walk you home and we’ll see what kind of trouble we can
get into on the way.’ Bram leaned close to her ear with the old familiarity.
‘Since you managed to wear a riding habit today instead of breeches, I’d hate to
let the opportunity go to waste.’

Phaedra held her resolve. ‘This doesn’t change anything. Don’t
think for a moment that it does.’

Bram’s face turned grim and he pulled her roughly aside into an
empty tack room. ‘Then tell me, princess, what will?’

‘Take your hands off me,’ Phaedra warned.

‘Not until you listen to me,’ Bram growled.

Phaedra shook free to make her point. ‘I
have
listened to you. I listened to you tell my brother you wouldn’t
marry me. I am nothing more than a dalliance. What we did meant nothing to
you.’

‘You did not hear me say
that
to
your brother,’ Bram interrupted. ‘You’re wrong. It meant everything to me.’ His
voice rose and he looked about to make sure they hadn’t drawn any attention
before lowering it again.

‘What do you think I’m doing here, Phaedra? Do you think I
travelled the length of England on a whim?’

She would not be melted so easily. ‘No, I have no idea why
you’re here.’

‘Giles sent me. He was worried sick about you. He had no idea
where you’d gone. I offered to come.’

‘You’ve been sent to drag me back home before I can tarnish the
family name any further.’ Phaedra’s chin went up in her defiant tilt.

‘Not exactly. I wouldn’t give up the details of your location
and I made him promise you could race the colt.’ The selfless kindness of the
bargain stymied her momentarily.

‘However did you make him concede that?’

‘I wrestled him for it.’

‘And won?’

Bram laughed. ‘Yes, I won. Giles Montague isn’t entirely
invincible even if he is your brother.’

He’d done this for her even though their last interaction at
Castonbury had been full of anger. He’d found her a rider. It left her more
confused than ever. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Bram.’ She couldn’t afford
to understand. If she did, she might also start to hope. ‘You told my brother
you wouldn’t marry me.’ She clung to that one last defense. He’d rejected her.
She could not forget that.

‘Eavesdropping, Phaedra? You couldn’t have been in the room for
that.’ Bram frowned in disappointment. ‘I told your brother I would not marry
you under these circumstances. I would not have you forced to the altar. You and
I did not start this with marriage in mind. We shouldn’t have to end it that way
unless that’s a conclusion we come to ourselves.’ Bram sighed. ‘I knew how you
felt about the suitors being pushed on you at the party. I didn’t want to be
another one of those.’

Phaedra studied him. She was smart enough not to ask the
obvious question: did that mean he
wanted
to marry
her? She wished she knew if she could believe him, if she could trust him. ‘All
right.’

‘All right what?’

‘All right. You said you’d walk me back to the inn.’ Phaedra
smiled. Maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe it was enough that he was here. They
would have the Derby and then they’d see.

She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm as they set
out, walking up the high street, halting every so often to peer into shop
windows. Even window-shopping was fun with Bram. They stopped to laugh at a
ridiculously garish hat on display at the milliners and to watch a juggler on
the street corner. With the big race looming the town was bustling with visitors
and entertainment. It was like one gigantic village fair.

Phaedra’s stomach growled. She put a hand over her belly as if
to stop it but it was too late. ‘Hungry?’ Bram cocked a suspecting eyebrow.

‘I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I was too nervous,’
Phaedra confessed. It was all she had to say. Bram had them seated at a tea
house with a pot of tea and a plate of scones in record time. Phaedra thought it
had something to do with the way he’d smiled at the woman running the place.

‘You’re shameless.’ Phaedra bit into a delicious lemon
scone.

‘Doesn’t seem to affect your appetite,’ Bram teased.

He was devastating like this, playing the gentleman with his
display of manners, and yet so very easy to be with. ‘You’re staring, Phaedra,’
Bram said in low tones, clearly not minding the attention. ‘Should I be worried?
Are you still mad and planning to skewer me with your butter knife?’

Phaedra shook her head with a smile. ‘No. I imagine women don’t
stay mad at you for long.’

Bram laughed and reached for a scone. ‘That might be true.’

He was irresistible. He couldn’t help it. She knew the kind of
man he was, a heartbreaker and a rogue by all accounts, and yet she couldn’t
help but crave him. Maybe it was the mystery of him, the challenge of him. He
was a man who didn’t stay in one place for long. But she had him now. Presumably
she had him until the Derby was over, three short days from now. She’d have to
decide what she wanted from those three days, what she could afford.

He wasn’t a groom to be dallied with any longer. The stakes
were higher. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up married. Earls’ sons and dukes’
daughters couldn’t dally with each other without consequences. Those
consequences might be worth the risk. The thought warmed her cheeks.

‘Phaedra? You’re wool-gathering. I was unaware my conversation
was so lacking in entertainment.’

‘I am sorry, what were you saying?’

Bram smiled. ‘Care to share? Whatever they were, the thoughts
must be good ones—you’re blushing.’

Phaedra leaned close across the table. ‘I was thinking of you,
to tell the truth.’ It was more fun to be like this with him than tense and
aloof.

‘What about me?’ Bram pressed with dancing eyes, draining the
last of the tea.

He’d found her a rider, he’d travelled to Epsom for her with no
obvious reward for himself. No man she knew did such things. ‘I was thinking,
you might be in danger of becoming a good man.’

The door to the tea shop opened, the little bell over the door
frame jingling. A fashionably dressed man and woman entered. Both Phaedra and
Bram glanced their way but Bram turned back towards her and rose. He extended
his hand, his wicked smile playing on those sinful lips. ‘Then we’d better go
rectify that immediately.’

The words shot heat to her veins. If Bram seemed a bit hasty in
his departure from the tea shop, Phaedra took pleasure in being the reason for
it. Outside, they’d gone no further than a block when Bram pulled her into a
little-used side street, more like an alley than any type of thoroughfare, and
kissed her soundly.