The Baron’s Dangerous Contract

by Archer, Kate

  Penny breathed a small sigh of relief. Amidst the various complaints about their lords, it seemed nobody would question that Rupert had ridden to victory with a concussion.

  Behind her, Penny heard a voice she knew all too well. “What goes on here?” Lord Cabot asked.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Penny felt herself go ice cold at the sound of Lord Cabot’s voice. It was one thing to bamboozle the grooms, and another to fool Lord Cabot. Still, she could not back down now. She turned, determined to control the flow of information in this unusual scene. “Your groom fell and hit his head very hard before the race. I believe he may have even experienced some moments of unconsciousness. He was able to rouse himself in time and bravely rode your horse, though he was exceedingly dizzy by the end of it. He collapsed to the ground right in front of me.”

  The two riders nodded sagely at this account.

  “Good Lord, Rupert,” Lord Cabot said. “Are you all right?”

  Rupert stared at the ground and said, “I can’t rightly say I’m feelin’ tip-top at this moment, my lord.”

  “I did wonder why you turned up so late and then returned to the stables so quickly…” Lord Cabot trailed off.

  “Wonder no more,” Penny said. “What he needs is quiet and rest, that is the only thing to be done for such a mishap, as you know yourself, Lord Cabot. These two fine gentlemen will rub down Bucephalus, I am sure they would not mind.”

  The men both nodded. “Like one of our own,” one of them said. “Though I won’t say nothin’ to Lord Philpot of the situation.”

  “Lord Cabot,” Penny said hurriedly, lest one of the men happen upon the subject of saffron tea, “you should have your groom transported back to Mendbridge Cottage. Mrs. Payne will look after him and the doctor can see to him. Doctor Prentiss is likely already there. For another reason.”

  Then Penny turned and stared hard at Rupert. “All will end well, as long as everybody does as they are told. Come now, none of us have all day.”

  *

  Penny had checked on Bella and Zephyrus before she left the stables. They were both in good order and she paid one of the stable’s grooms to check on them every hour and send immediate word if either of them took a turn. She did not think it likely after so many hours, but it was well to be certain.

  She’d sent another groom with a note for her father, explaining that Doom had been injured and Zephyrus would not race. She was returning to the cottage to oversee Doom’s care. This sort of news might have alarmed her father, but she had phrased everything so vaguely and he would be so intent on the races, that she thought he would not be overly discomposed. As his favorite horse was running in the next, she suspected her note would eventually flutter to his feet, all but forgotten.

  She’d left in her phaeton as Lord Cabot oversaw the care of his groom. Rupert had been changed back out of his colors as they waited for his own carriage.

  At the house, she found Doom with his arm set. Dr. Prentiss called it a clean break that should mend well, barring any infection. Two polished lengths of wood had been placed on either side of the injured arm and secured with bandaging. The bone setting itself had been a bit of an ordeal, as Doom was inclined to fight any pulling of his arm. The doctor had finally dosed the boy with laudanum and Penny found him just as nonsensical as Rupert under the influence of it.

  The only thing she found she must correct was Doom’s location. She thought he’d be more comfortable in a bedchamber in the house, but he’d been complaining about it ever since he’d been put there. He wished to have Mrs. Payne care for him, and so he was carefully moved to her cottage.

  Penny had asked the doctor to stay on for the arrival of Lord Cabot’s groom and his alleged concussion. She’d then run down to the kitchens and put Mrs. Lowell on notice—if Freddy were to have the nerve to turn up at the back door again, she was to have the footmen seize him and tie him up. He would be turned over to the magistrate. Mrs. Lowell had been shocked over the idea, but hadn’t pressed Penny for the particulars. The cook had only sighed and muttered that excellent grocers were not exactly falling from the trees and now she’d have to go crawling back to Mr. Slincher.

  Having done everything she could do about this frightful day, Penny retired to her room and sank down into the chair by the window.

  Nothing had gone the way it had been supposed to. Her dear Bella had been nearly poisoned, her tiger’s arm broken, and…there was the other thing. The race.

  Why had she done it? Why had she not just left Rupert to snore away in the tack room and Bucephalus remain in her stall? Why had she risked so much to keep Lord Cabot out of trouble?

  Was she never to have done with what might have been?

  Penny laughed bitterly. She was in love with a ghost, a phantom, an apparition. She was not in love with the real man, only the ephemeral being she had chosen to believe in. That imagined person had no more existed than a hero in a novel—pleasant to think about but not at all real.

  This foolishness did not bode well for her future. How was she to marry some sensible fellow who would give her a life, and give her children, if she were forever mooning over a fantasy?

  She was Marianne Dashwood, pining over a dashing and disinterested Willoughby that had never been! Marianne Dashwood was a foolish ninny! So foolish that Penny had not even bothered to finish the book. She probably should have finished it. Penny Darlington was just as foolish as Marianne and she would have at least read about the awful price the girl paid for her idiocy.

  The sounds of a carriage rolling up the drive reached her ears. Unwillingly, her feet took her to the window.

  There he was. Lord Cabot, driving the carriage with Rupert sitting by his side.

  She must trust that Rupert had the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. She thought he would. After all, he would have been roundly congratulated on his victory many times over. She did not think the man would argue that he’d slept through the entire thing. He might even begin to believe he did not remember a thing about the race on account of a concussion. Perhaps he would suppose that Miss Darlington ordering him to get dressed had been a fevered dream.

  Lord Cabot must never know what she’d done. It would be too humiliating! For him to know to what lengths she’d gone to protect him must reveal her very stupid feelings.

  She could not bear it. Whether he married Kitty or someone else, she could not bear that he grew smug over having affected her in any manner.

  She must leave Mendbridge Cottage. Newmarket held no further charm for her. Tonight was the club ball and she would never get out of it. An appearance there would be far too important to her father. But tomorrow. She could leave then. She was all but certain that neither her aunt nor Kitty would be against the plan. She well knew how to convince her father, her dear father who found women such a complete mystery.

  She would go home to Devon. Home to Devon’s gentle countryside, and the neighborhood she understood so well. Kitty’s estate was not five miles from her own and they could spend the summer as they always did—Kitty could stay with her or she would stay with Kitty. Penny would ride in the mornings, and then in the afternoons she and Kitty would walk and picnic and sit by sunny streams. She would heal herself in the peace of Devon. Bella and Doom would both be happy there. They would all heal, and then she would come back whole again for a third season. A third season that must be her final season.

  She would arrive to town with a sensible eye. An eye toward marriage with a sensible individual. They would have a sensible marriage and produce sensible children. He might even have a keen interest in horses, or at least not care about how keen of an interest she took in them. She might be happy, or if not happy, then content.

  She must only get through this evening.

  *

  Doom had fought Doctor Prentiss like a feral cat. He felt sorry over it now, as he knew full well the fellow had only been trying to help him. On the other hand, his lack of compliance had resulted in being dosed with laudan
um, a substance heretofore unknown to him. He could not say he’d like the feeling if he needed to be on his feet, he was not even certain he could be on his feet just now, but it had done wonders for his aching arm.

  None of them in the house had understood why he’d been so stubborn on the idea that he couldn’t stay there. Mrs. Wiggins had taken personal offense to the idea that Mrs. Payne was to be considered superior.

  The fact was, Mrs. Payne was superior. Doom had only ever had vague ideas of what mothering was, but he’d discovered it from her, bit by bit. She would wipe his chin when he dribbled something on it. She would scold Petit for working him too hard when she thought he looked tired. She would straighten his cap or iron his shirt so he looked presentable. Of course, he always pretended to fight off such attentions, but that was only to protect his dignity.

  Mrs. Lowell was kind, always giving him biscuits and cakes, and Mrs. Wiggins was pleasant enough. But nobody took an interest in him like Mrs. Payne did.

  Much to his relief, Mr. Montrose and Mrs. Wiggins had given in to him and he’d been carried to Mrs. Payne’s cottage.

  What a fuss Mrs. Payne had made at the sight of him! He’d been put into her own bedchamber, on her enormous bed piled high with goose down mattresses. He’d never lain on a bed that big and soft in his life—four men might be comfortable in it. His pillows had been fluffed and tea and biscuits brought to him on a tray. Mrs. Payne was to sleep on the sofa in her sitting room and said she’d be at the ready to see to his every need.

  It had all been exceedingly comfortable, until Rupert had been brought in. Now, the gruff old fellow was in the bed with him and Doctor Prentiss was asking him a slew of questions.

  “How hard did you hit your head?” the doctor asked, holding a candle in front of his face and peering into his eyes.

  “I don’t rightly know,” Rupert said. “I don’t remember.”

  The doctor felt around Rupert’s scalp. “My God, man,” he said, “you’ve got three lumps—how many times did you fall down?”

  “I don’t remember,” Rupert said.

  “Well,” Doctor Prentiss said, setting the candle down and rubbing his chin, “your pupils are even, but your lack of memory is a concern. You ought not to be moved for the time being. Stay as still as you can, head raised. I’ll look in again on the morrow.”

  Doom quietly sighed. Now he was to share a bed, and Mrs. Payne’s attentions, with gruff old Rupert. He had no idea how the man had managed to fall down so many times, but he found it very inconvenient.

  *

  Freddy had been at the rails next to Mr. Farthingale for the start of the race. He’d been exceedingly hopeful that their plan had succeeded when Lord Cabot’s horse did not come to the start with the other horses. Even when he’d spotted the rider’s colors coming out in the nick of time, he’d held out hope that he’d done enough to swing things their way.

  It had seemed it would be so, right to the very end. It looked uncomfortably close, but Triple Jinx would prevail.

  Until the horses hit the rise. Triple Jinx slowed and Bucephalus gained.

  As he watched the disaster unfold, and watched the expression on his master’s face at the sight of it, Freddy slowly backed up. His only hope now was to get away, to slip into the crowd, never to be seen again.

  Mr. Farthingale would be ruined. Mr. Farthingale might just kill him over it.

  The moneylending game had always been risky and now the bets ran against them.

  He’d known the whole thing was too risky, even if Mr. Farthingale had not. Freddy had not liked the plan one bit. It was all well and good to lend funds to the swells so they might throw it away how they liked, but poisoning and drugging were something else altogether! And then, he was sure he’d broken that boy’s arm. A boy no older than himself, probably just trying to make his way in the world.

  He wondered if the boy had made it back to the stables, or if he languished in the woods somewhere. If he made it back, what story did he tell? Were men even now looking for someone of his description?

  Worse, what if the boy lost his arm on account of it? Could he ever forgive himself for that? And what of Mrs. Lowell? What would that kind lady think of him when she heard the tale?

  Freddy blushed as he imagined the good lady discovering there had never been a grocer named Mr. Cumberbald.

  No, the game had been comfortable when they’d sat in London pushing papers around. He’d jumped at the chance to apprentice with Mr. Farthingale. He’d delighted in the idea that the two of them were very cool customers—never ruffled and always getting the best of any transaction. He’d not felt an ounce of pity for Mackery and had laughed when he thought of the fellow’s surprise at being dunned in Italy under the nose of his contessa. This, though, was not the life for him.

  Freddy had not, until that moment, been aware that he harbored any particular sensibilities. As it turned out, he did.

  It was time to start anew, far from here. Far from anywhere Mr. Farthingale might be. He’d pick up some line of work that didn’t involve breaking arms and poisoning horses.

  But, before he slipped onto a ship to the Americas or wherever he decided to go, he would just have a look around that wood to be sure the young groom had gotten away. He might even leave a letter for Mrs. Lowell if he had time to write it.

  He ducked and weaved through the crowd as Bucephalus crossed the finish. He was out of sight before Mr. Farthingale turned to look for him.

  *

  “I have watched more horses run by me today than I ever care to again,” Kitty said, laughing.

  Penny had seen the carriage arrive with Kitty and her aunt and had pinched her cheeks and forced a smile for Kitty’s inevitable arrival to her room.

  “I am certain it was never your favored way to spend a day,” Penny said as Kitty threw herself on the bed. “My aunt and my father were no doubt grateful for your company.”

  “I would not know,” Kitty said, “as there was little time to converse with them. Lord Grayson was far too busy dominating the talk with nonsense.”

  Penny nodded, certain that Lord Grayson had made himself an enormous pest. “How did my father get on?” she asked, knowing well that his wins and his losses would affect him greatly.

  “Two won their races, one came in third, and one is to go on the morrow, or so your father said. He has very high hopes for that one, though I pray he does not have need of my company again. But you, Penny,” Kitty said, looking at her quizzically. “Your father said your horse would not race. I was sorry for that, I know you looked forward to it.”

  “Yes, well, my rider injured his arm and there could never be found a replacement on such short notice.”

  “That is a terrible shame. I pray it is not serious?”

  “The doctor has been in and says it will mend in time,” Penny said, not wishing to go into any detail about the nature of the injury.

  “That is good news, in any event.”

  “But Kitty, I know you do not enjoy these activities and I find I have also lost interest just now. Would you care terribly if we were to go home?”

  “Not at all, if you wish it,” Kitty said. She took Penny’s hand. “My dear friend, I think it is not only the races you wish to be parted from so eagerly. Am I right in thinking you would not mind seeing the back of Lord Cabot?”

  Penny nodded. There was no need to apprise Kitty of all of the circumstance, but it was pointless to hide what her friend had already surmised. Though, she could not dismiss that it might be Kitty herself who would not wish to be off so soon. She had no interest in horses, but might she not have some small interest in Lord Cabot? An interest that might grow when he revealed himself a scholar? Kitty had laughed off the idea, but Penny well knew how easy it might be to succumb to the man’s charms.

  “We may put it off if you wish it,” Penny said. “I would not for the world pull you away if, well…”

  “Well what?” Kitty asked, appearing genuinely perplexed.

&nb
sp; “Lord Cabot, Kitty. As you know, he has an interest and when he shows you that you are both more similar than you thought…and well, his person is attractive, there is no getting round that. I only say—”

  “I beg you not to say, dearest Penny,” Kitty said, laughing. “I can assure you that I have less than no interest in the ox head. He might recite Gilgamesh from memory and I would not be moved.”

  Penny did not see how Kitty would not be interested, but she could perceive that her friend was resolute against the idea. At least for now.

  “I only hope my aunt is as agreeable to the scheme,” Penny said. “And then, of course, my father.”

  Kitty rested her chin in her hand as she did when she thought something through. “We will divide our forces,” she said. “I will speak with your aunt and you will speak with your father. By the end of it, we will have everybody convinced that we must be gone.”

  Penny was vastly relieved. “I was hoping we might set off on the morrow. There is still time, I think, to pack and alert the stable to have the carriages ready. Petit can see to the transport of Bella and Zephyrus when the races conclude. He will see that Doom is cared for and transported home carefully. I trust him as I trust myself.”

  “I will manage your aunt, and of course Mr. Petit will see to Doom. But, do not ask me to weigh in with an opinion on the horses. I have had far too much of horses this day.”

  “As I feel, surprisingly,” Penny said. “I would rather skip the ball as well, but that would disappoint my father far too much. It is the one ball of the season he actually enjoys.”

  Kitty put hands on hips. “We will dress, we will dance, we will sleep, and then we will set out for Devon.”

  Penny smiled. It was so very like Kitty to attack a plan with such confidence. She paused as she recalled something that might put Kitty off the scheme.

  “I must tell you though, Kitty, that I have done this trip before with my aunt. She has a particular route she would take that you may find burdensome. First a few days’ stop in London, though it be out of our way, then to Bath, and then Devon. She has many friends in Bath so count on at least three days stop. Especially since Mr. Thornbridge intends to make his way there in a day or two. With all the zigs and zags, we shall be traveling for over a fortnight.”