Vying for the Viscount

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  Lord Davers slid another coin into the boy’s hand. “See that no one else learns of this.”

  With a shaky nod, the boy swaggered off while the three men shifted to Hudson’s end of the table.

  Hudson took a bite of the meat pie that had been delivered to him. It was hot and filling, and while the flavor wasn’t anything dramatic, it had been seasoned with something. In all honesty, it might be the best thing he’d eaten since leaving India.

  The company, however, was proving less desirable. Were these really the men he was supposed to be like? Were these the men his father had spent years teaching Hudson to fit in with? He’d heard over and over that he couldn’t become too comfortable with the Indian way of doing things, because where he truly belonged was with his peers in England.

  Well, he was in England, and by all accounts these were his peers, but he must have picked up too many bad habits somewhere along the way, because he didn’t think he wanted to have very much to do with them.

  He shoved another bite in his mouth.

  “It’s a shame that a jewel like Hawksworth would fall into the hands of someone without a notion of what he is doing.” Lord Davers shook his head. “I suppose time will tell if you can manage it. In the meantime, I’ll help you out.”

  Hudson had a feeling that any help Lord Davers dished out would go down worse than his cook’s morning mush. He took another bite of pie.

  “A challenge.”

  The other man shifted restlessly and leaned in a bit closer. Would it be too obvious if Hudson slipped and dropped his tankard of ale, dousing the lot of them? The fact that there wasn’t an angle that would sufficiently do the job convinced him that he was better off merely taking a sip for himself. After setting the tankard back down, he looked at Davers. “What sort of challenge?”

  “One that will let us see what you’re made of. An informal race. Four-mile run. Your best against my best. One hundred pounds to the winner.”

  Everything about this seemed like a bad idea. Aaron had left for London, and Hudson’s knowledge of his racing stock was limited. He knew he had three horses in training but had no knowledge of his jockeys or the protocol for gentlemen’s challenges in England. Was it the same as it was in India?

  What was worse? Muddling through and making a mistake or backing down from a bully?

  “I’m still settling in, but perhaps two weeks from tomorrow?” he offered. That gave him time to sort things out and, hopefully, keep this little race from drawing too much attention. He did know enough about England’s racing rules to know that if it didn’t happen during a meeting it didn’t count, so win or lose it wouldn’t officially hurt his stable. His reputation, on the other hand, was another matter.

  He had to use this week to establish a connection with Lady Rebecca, then, one that could sustain a small blow if he made a minor mistake with this challenge. Winning her hand was more important than ever. If he managed to win against the other men in that course, they’d have to respect him on the turf as well.

  Now he just had to learn which of his horses was the best, where his jockey was, and if a four-mile run was a particular course or a type of race. Those were all questions he would normally have asked Aaron, since that was, after all, the man’s job. Would Bianca know any of the answers?

  “Lord Stildon?”

  Hudson looked up to find another man standing next to his table. He nodded at the man, who then sat at the table and proceeded to introduce himself. Subtly, Hudson glanced around the room and noticed quite a few men looking in his direction.

  It appeared this was going to be a very long meal.

  Seventeen

  Bianca had given up expecting her arrival at Hawksworth stables to follow any sort of predictable routine, but her wildest imaginations couldn’t have created the scene that awaited her the next morning.

  A small table and two chairs had been set up in the middle of the aisle. Horses were being led alongside it, and grooms rushed by, going about their morning duties as if the furniture were a normal fixture.

  Lord Stildon sat in one of the chairs, staring at a stack of letters piled in the middle of the table.

  “Is your study too comfortable these days?” she asked.

  “Which of these is Lady Rebecca likely to attend?” Lord Stildon picked up one of the papers and tapped it against the edge of the table. “This is absolute madness. I had a large enough stack of correspondence yesterday morning, but then another wave arrived in the afternoon after I met a few men at the tavern in town.”

  Bianca nodded, trying not to smile. The man truly looked put out by his instant popularity. “Many apologies, my lord. It must be awful to have everyone want to be in your presence.”

  Lord Stildon grunted. “I think they just all want a firsthand account of my moment of failure.”

  Unfortunately, Bianca couldn’t deny the sentiment. There were certainly people who would want to see that. “We’ll simply have to make sure that doesn’t happen, then.” She sat in the chair opposite him and began to pick through the pile. “When did you go to the tavern?”

  “Yesterday. I was passing by after visiting the tailor again and the smell drew me in.”

  Bianca looked up at him in surprise. She couldn’t remember ever passing by the local taverns and being enticed by the smell.

  He sat back and rubbed a hand across his face. “I simply cannot stomach the bland food my cook keeps trying to give me anymore. The meal didn’t quite live up to its aroma, but it at least had flavor.”

  “Sounds like you should hire a new cook,” Bianca mumbled, most of her attention going to sorting through the many invitations he had received. She tried not to think about how many of these hadn’t come to her house—or if they had, she hadn’t seen or heard of them. Despite the fact that she’d grown up here, most of her social life had consisted of enjoying the company of whoever happened to be in the vicinity. She hadn’t sought them out, and it would seem they had reciprocated the lack of gestures.

  Given her lack of effort, one would think she wouldn’t mind the lack of invitations, but a few were from people she considered friends. One was from a lady she’d seen in town the day before and chatted with at length. Never had she mentioned a gathering of any sort.

  No matter. Bianca straightened her spine and her shoulders. She was changing everything now. It just might take a bit of time.

  Time she didn’t have.

  “I would accept these.” She handed three invitations to him. “Lady Rebecca is likely to have her mornings filled with callers, so I don’t know how much of her evening calendar she intends to fill. There’s also the chance that Lady Gliddon will be holding her own dinners. That could explain the influx of invitations. Everyone is trying to get your commitment before she requests your attendance.”

  Stuck between two of the invitations was a folded letter. She picked it up and handed it across the table. “This looks like it might be more personal.” She smirked. “Have you a friend in India who would have mailed you a letter already?”

  Lord Stildon gave another grunt and set the invitations aside. “It would have had to be on the same boat I was on to get here so soon.” He broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. “I hardly think any of them were missing me before I even departed the coast. It will likely be a year before I receive any correspondence from them. I know I have no intention of writing until I have something noteworthy to share. Since many of them grew up in England and then moved to India, all of my experiences thus far would only make them laugh at me.”

  Yet another reason for the man to have his eyes on Lady Rebecca. While her name wouldn’t mean much to anyone, the Earl of Gliddon’s would—as would Hezekiah’s, if his friends had followed racing before going to India.

  The sadness that curled through Bianca surprised her. Was she still somehow hoping Lord Stildon would swoop in and save her from the maudlin situation she found herself in? That he would forget about Lady Rebecca and allow Bianca to be the lady
of Hawksworth’s house and stables?

  She picked at a flake of paint on the edge of the table. Maybe, if she put forth the effort, she would find another gentleman in Newmarket with whom she could converse as easily as she did Lord Stildon.

  “Well.”

  Bianca looked up from her musings. Lord Stildon was leaning back in his chair, eyes flicking over the letter again and again.

  “Who is it from?”

  “My uncle.”

  Bianca blinked. “You’ve an uncle? I thought you were the last of your family.”

  “He hasn’t been in Newmarket in . . . thirteen years? Maybe fourteen? The solicitor said he moved to Ireland in 1804 and lived in London before that, so you’ve likely never met him.”

  “Well, that’s simply lovely that you still have family, then. Is he coming to visit?”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  “Oh?”

  “My father claimed his younger brother wanted the title badly enough that he feared for the lives of any future children, particularly since he and my mother weren’t having a great deal of luck having any. They moved to India to see if the climate would help her health. When I was finally born, he kept us in India to keep me out of my uncle’s reach.”

  Lord Stildon looked up at Bianca, and for the first time she saw something of the lost little boy in his eyes. No matter how unstable or unsure he’d been, there’d always been a solidity to him, but now his hand shook a bit as he set the letter down. His gaze was softer, and he looked more than a little vulnerable.

  She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but what could she do? “Wait, he wasn’t the man who tried to claim the horses after the death of your grandfather, was he?”

  Lord Stildon’s eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’ll have to ask Aaron for the particulars, as I wasn’t here at the time, but a man showed up and claimed he’d inherited all the horses and was going to start a stable in Ireland with them. The grooms set up a constant watch for three weeks. Was that your uncle?”

  “Very likely. He would have assumed he was the heir.” Lord Stildon jabbed a finger at the letter. “I didn’t find out until I arrived here that my father hadn’t merely kept me in India, but he’d also kept any knowledge of my existence in India. There’s no indication that my grandfather told anyone except the proper authorities. The solicitor said my uncle was furious when he came to the London office, but mentioned nothing about him coming here.”

  A dry, scratchy tightness crawled up Bianca’s throat. There’d never been much love lost between her and her stepmother, but she’d never feared for her life. Her sanity, possibly, but never her existence. “Is he . . . that is, do you think he . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “Still wants to kill me?” Lord Stildon shrugged. “I don’t know. I would think it’d be far harder now than it would have been when I was a child. People would be far more suspicious at least.”

  “Does the letter say anything?”

  Lord Stildon picked up the paper and refolded it, pinching the edges into sharp lines. “It says a lot of things. I think most of them are the blatherings of a hurt, angry man.”

  Bianca shook her head slowly. So far, Lord Stildon hadn’t shown a great deal of ability to read between the lines of an Englishman’s meaning. She’d seen what men were capable of doing to each other to get a better position in a horse race. How much more would they be willing to cheat to gain a title? “You should still take precautions. Be careful if you see him in town.”

  Lord Stildon gave a short laugh. “I don’t even know what the man looks like.”

  “I do.” Mr. Knight’s voice came from a stall a few feet behind Lord Stildon. The head groom stepped out into the aisle. “I’d be surprised if Mr. Albany showed his face here after we ran him off last time, but if he does I’ll be sure to let you know.” He shook his head, the deep grooves of his face making his frown look even grimmer. “I was only a stable lad the last time he visited his father, but I remember all the other grooms telling me to stay away from him. If he was going for a ride, they made sure his horse was ready and tied to the post outside before he ever came down to the stable. The slightest interaction could make him angry enough to get a boy fired.”

  “That doesn’t sound pleasant,” Bianca whispered.

  Lord Stildon said nothing, simply stared down at his folded letter. Finally, he tossed it into the pile of rejected invitations and picked up the three Bianca had told him to accept. “These are the ones, then?”

  She nodded, trying to swallow in an attempt to ease the dryness of her mouth and throat. “Yes. And the assembly on Saturday, of course.”

  “Of course.” He stood abruptly. “Shall we go for a ride?”

  Bianca scrambled to her feet. “What? Oh. Yes. Of course.”

  Mr. Knight gave a nod. “I’ll get Odysseus and Hades saddled for you.” He cast a look between Lord Stildon and Bianca. “And I’ll send Owen, seeing as Mr. Whitworth isn’t here to accompany you.”

  “Neither man is exactly a proper chaperon,” Bianca said with a shake of her head.

  “Around here, they’re proper enough to keep the tongues from wagging. They’re accustomed to seeing you on Hawksworth horses. They ain’t accustomed to seeing you alone with Lord Stildon.”

  Nor should they become so, not if Bianca wanted to gain the attention of another man. She sighed. Life was so much simpler when she hadn’t cared.

  NEARLY TWICE AS MANY CANDLES as normal had been placed about the assembly room, making Bianca’s usual hiding spot available to prying eyes. Still, she hovered near the edge of the room, astounded at the number of people in attendance. Mr. Pierre was probably beside himself with glee over the swell in subscriptions.

  Bianca was beside herself with fear.

  It was strange, the number of these she’d attended without a single concern, but now, when she was forced to consider the ramifications of every action, every accepted invitation, every non-forthcoming invitation, she understood why so many girls ended up in the retiring room in need of remedies to calm their insides.

  The entire prospect of the evening became nerve-racking when one considered the fact that for the next few hours she was going to have access to men she normally wouldn’t be able to see without some sort of favor or social manipulation.

  Her father skirted the crowd, his arm tucked low and close to his body. There was something in his hand that he seemed to be hiding, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

  As he came closer to her, she could make out what looked like a small plate. When he got to her side, he extended his prize.

  She gasped at the round crisp circle on the plate, the artful pattern of piercings making the small treat as pretty as it was appetizing. “Is that a Shrewsbury cake?”

  “Indeed it is.” He turned his back to the room and shielded the plate from view as he held it out to her. “Compliments of the spread in the cardroom.”

  Though she had yet to take a bite, Bianca somehow swallowed wrong and started to choke. Perhaps surprise could solidify in midair? “Mr. Pierre put food in the cardroom? He barely includes refreshments with that awful punch.”

  Her father chuckled. “I’d wager you’ll still find the offerings at the main table lacking. He’s put his efforts where the influx of young gentlemen will notice it.”

  Of course he had. “I thank you for seeing to my needs, then.” Bianca reached for the sweet treat and broke off a bite before popping it into her mouth and chewing slowly. “That is spectacular.”

  Father chuckled. “I have a feeling the young dandies who’ve come here for a wife won’t see a single pastry, though. The fathers are snatching them up.” He turned toward the mass of bodies floating about the room. Small clusters of conversations mixed with parading young ladies and speculative matrons.

  “Have you got your eyes set on one yet?” Father asked.

  Bianca shook her head. “They aren’t here for me, Father.�
�

  None of them were. She’d tried hard to shake the loneliness that had crept over her as she looked at Lord Stildon’s piles of invitations, but even Odysseus’s hard run hadn’t blown them out of her mind.

  “Bah,” her father scoffed. “Might as well be here for you. It’s not as if Lady Rebecca can court them all, or even dance with them all. She certainly can’t marry them all.” He shook his head. “Gliddon would be better off selecting someone to receive Hezekiah’s attentions before it comes to bear on the actual marriage. Seems a shame to subject his daughter to a union like that.”

  Bianca tilted her head to consider her father. “Do you truly think so? That marriage shouldn’t be a business arrangement?”

  “’Course I do.” He pressed his lips together in a firm line. “Marriage is a choice that impacts the rest of your life. If done right, it can be the best thing to ever happen to you.” He puffed out his chest in a show of pride. “That’s why I told your stepmother I didn’t intend to approve a match for your sister unless she was putting as much effort into helping you find a suitable match too.”

  She reached out and took the last portion of cake and shoved it into her mouth to keep from chiding him. She knew he was trying to help, that he wanted her settled and cared for and happy. If only the pursuit of such could be done without the oversight of her stepmother.

  “I’m off to the cardroom before the dancing begins,” Father said, tucking the empty plate to his side. “I want to get a good seat at a table with the other fathers who simply want to pass the time. I’ve no interest in sharing a table with men who want to play for large amounts.”

  She watched him walk away, an indulgent smile tugging at the edge of her lips. It was little wonder where she’d learned to live life in its current moment. Unfortunately, she hadn’t the same freedom to indulge such an easygoing nature.

  “Any words of advice tonight, O wise one?”