Vying for the Viscount

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  HUDSON WAS ROLLING his shoulders in an attempt to work out the discomfort than had arisen from sleeping in a chair in his study for half the night when he walked into the stable the next morning.

  “I leave you for a mere week and a half and you fall apart.” Aaron greeted him from his position near Athena’s stall. He nodded to the mare. “I’ve got it all lined up for Athena here. We’ll send Miles and one of the occasional stable lads with her, and when she returns, you’ll have yourself the beginnings of a new racehorse.”

  “Hmmm,” Hudson murmured. “It’s a good pairing?”

  Aaron nodded. “It has the potential, anyway. Breeding horses is always a gamble.”

  “Good.”

  “Any developments while I was gone?”

  Had it truly been less than two weeks since Aaron had gone to London? It seemed like months. Would his life always move at this pace? Was there a way to slow it down?

  He scrubbed his hand over his face and rolled his head around on his neck to relieve more tension.

  “That bad? Did you run off and get married while I was gone? If you did, I’d love to know what horses you used to get to Scotland and back so quickly.” Aaron opened his notebook and moved on to the next stall.

  “I did pay Lady Rebecca a visit.”

  Aaron’s brow rose, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to say something, but then he simply nodded and murmured, “How did it go?”

  “Well. We’ve been for a walk. Her father knew my father and uncle, of course.”

  Aaron nodded and moved on to the next horse. “Have you checked in on the training?”

  “Of course. I, er, might have been challenged to a race.”

  “Did you accept?”

  “Yes.”

  “Idiot.”

  Hudson had rather felt like that as well, but it sounded far worse hearing it from Aaron. “Well, it’s on Thursday, and I intend to see it through.”

  “Of course you do. You aren’t that much of an idiot.” Aaron sighed. “Is it you or your horse?”

  “Horse. Apollo.”

  “At least you chose the right animal. I’ll arrange your jockey and have the horse there that morning.”

  A loud rap against the stable door announced a visitor before a man with blond hair and an engaging smile stuck his head inside. “Good morning.”

  Hudson looked at Aaron, but he’d stepped back the way he did at the training stables. Whoever the man was, he must be of some importance. “Good morning.”

  “Can I bring my horse in, or shall I leave him tied up out here?”

  Without Hudson having to say anything or even look around, Andrew came scampering out of the tack room and headed for the man’s horse.

  The newcomer’s head disappeared for a moment, but then the entire man came strolling into the stable, arms clasped loosely behind his back.

  Andrew led the man’s horse, a fine dappled grey that was certainly not a racehorse, former or otherwise, to an empty stall at the far end of the aisle.

  “If you’d allow me, I’d like to introduce myself.”

  Hudson couldn’t stop himself from emitting a sound of surprise. “That would be preferable, yes.”

  “Lord Trent Hawthorne.” He offered his hand.

  “Lord Stildon.” Hudson shook the man’s hand.

  Lord Trent looked beyond Hudson to where Aaron was standing. “I assume you are Mr. Whitworth, are you not? I’ve heard about you, of course, but never had the chance to make your acquaintance.”

  Aaron nodded, set his shoulders, and came to join the two men. “I am Mr. Whitworth.”

  “Excellent.” Lord Trent rocked back on his heels and looked from Aaron to Hudson and then around the stable. “I like what you’ve done with the place. I haven’t been here since I made arrangements with the previous Lord Stildon, but I can see the improvements.”

  “Arrangements?” Hudson asked.

  Aaron jabbed his thumb in Lord Trent’s direction. “Lord Trent buys horse byproduct from a couple of the stables in the area.”

  “Horse by—” Hudson lowered his voice to a whisper. “Aaron, there’s no such thing as horse byproduct. Horses don’t produce anything. They aren’t cows.”

  Aaron just looked at Hudson with that irritating expression that said he was simply waiting for Hudson to catch up with him.

  Lord Trent was laughing. It was a quiet laugh, more of a silent shoulder shake, but a laugh nonetheless.

  “The only thing horses produce comes out the back end,” Hudson continued.

  “Apparently that’s a required element for growing pineapples,” Aaron said dryly.

  “Pineapples?” Hudson asked. “Horse manure helps pineapples grow?”

  “That it does,” Lord Trent said, still grinning. “I buy the other stuff too.”

  “For pineapples?” Hudson simply couldn’t wrap his mind around this idea, but Lord Trent didn’t seem to realize how strange his words were.

  He nodded. “For pineapples.”

  Hudson had eaten pineapple several times in India, but he’d never seen it grown. Now he didn’t want to. “I’m never eating pineapple again.”

  Lord Trent laughed and gave a shrug. “You can just set it on the table and let it look pretty until it rots, then. I’ve sold plenty of them for just such purposes.”

  Hudson wasn’t sure what to say. He was even more flummoxed when Lord Trent clapped Aaron on the shoulder and asked, “Is he treating you right?”

  It wasn’t often Aaron looked out of his element. Out of sight, yes, but not out of his element. Right then, with Lord Trent’s hand on his shoulder, Aaron looked at a complete loss.

  When he didn’t answer, the blond man’s grin faded a bit. “Surprise or concern got your tongue?”

  “Why do you care?” Aaron finally asked.

  “We’re practically family,” Lord Trent said. “We need to watch out for each other.”

  Family? Aaron was illegitimate, and Lord Trent certainly wasn’t. They didn’t share a father, did they? If they did, Hudson was going to have to find the contract he had with this fellow and see how to break it. He wasn’t going to have his stable be one of the areas Aaron felt unwelcome.

  Aaron wasn’t looking angered by the claim, though. Instead, it seemed to relax him as he said in his normal voice, “We’re hardly family.”

  “Depends on your definition.”

  “By anyone’s definition.”

  Lord Trent pretended to look thoughtful and then he turned to Hudson. “I am a person, correct?”

  Aaron groaned. Hudson agreed, because there was no way he couldn’t.

  “Very well. We’ll say by my definition, then.” Lord Trent nodded. “Family.”

  Hudson was tired of not knowing what was happening. Everything in his life felt questionable. On this, at least, he would have answers. “How are you two connected?”

  “We aren’t,” Aaron said.

  “Of course we are. Through Graham.”

  “You don’t even know Graham.”

  “We’ve met.”

  “When?”

  Lord Trent waved a hand in the air. “I don’t remember when, but I know we have.”

  Hudson cleared his throat. “It doesn’t sound like a very close connection.”

  “Between Graham and me?” Lord Trent asked. “Of course not. The connection is through Graham’s wife.”

  “Whom you have also never met.”

  “Yes I did. At Jess and Derek’s wedding.”

  Aaron shoved his notebook into his pocket and placed his hands on his hips. “You went to the wedding?”

  “We all did. Sat on the bride’s side.”

  “You don’t know the bride.”

  “Of course I do. She was Ryland’s parlormaid. And just to save time, since we both know the next point in the connection, don’t even think of saying I don’t know my brother-in-law.” Lord Trent crossed his arms over his chest and looked very satisfied with himself.

  “I have
never met your brother-in-law,” Aaron said, “and I pray I never do.”

  Hudson winced at the insult and waited for Lord Trent to bluster and stomp away.

  Instead, the man laughed. “Terrified of him, are you? Smart man.”

  Aaron simply grunted.

  Hudson hated to ask, really he did, but he hadn’t followed any of that. “Would someone please explain this connection again?”

  Aaron sighed. “My friend Graham—I’ve mentioned him? Lord Wharton? He’s married to a woman who is friends with a friend of Lord Trent’s brother-in-law.”

  Hudson tilted his head. “That seems rather . . . distant.”

  “Not when you consider the people involved.” Lord Trent shrugged. “They gossip like old women.” He turned his grin on Aaron. “They’re worried about you.”

  What in the world could anyone say to such a statement? Fortunately, Lord Trent didn’t seem to need an answer, as he turned his attention to Hudson. “I came by to meet you. Lady Adelaide and I would like to extend an invitation to dine with us. You are invited as well, Mr. Whitworth.”

  Aaron narrowed his gaze. “Did you specifically wait until I was back in Newmarket to come for your visit?”

  Lord Trent grinned and rocked back on his heels again, but he remained silent.

  It was so silent, in fact, that Hudson knew every single groom was listening to the exchange. He really should stop having private conversations in the middle of the stable.

  The silence was broken not by the sound of men working or the continued conversation, but by Bianca.

  “Oh good, I haven’t missed the ride yet.”

  Hudson turned toward her entrance, unable to prevent a smile of greeting. Not that he would want to. There wasn’t a reason in the world why he couldn’t smile at the arrival of a friend.

  She came to a stop two steps into the stable. “Oh. Lord Trent.”

  Lord Trent bowed his head in greeting. “Miss Snowley, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, er, I can . . . come back later.”

  “No, no, don’t leave on my account. Are you here for Lord Stildon or Mr. Whitworth?”

  The fact that the man even offered Aaron as an option made Hudson inclined to forgive some of his eccentricities. What else could be expected of someone who chose to be in a business that required the purchase of horse waste?

  “I . . . I . . . that is—”

  “She’s actually here for the horses,” Hudson said, stepping up to draw Lord Trent’s attention. “Mr. Whitworth believes in daily exercise for all the animals, so she assists by taking one for a ride.” He turned to Bianca. “I haven’t seen you in a while—that is, you haven’t been by to ride in several days.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed hard and kept a steady connection with his gaze. “Rain,” she choked out, “and, um, my stepmother.”

  What had Mrs. Snowley been making Bianca do? He’d thought the fact that she was talking so often with Lord Rigsby and Lord Brimsbane would have settled the older woman’s concerns.

  Neither man was ideal for her in Hudson’s opinion, but he rather thought her stepmother wouldn’t look further than their titles.

  A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced sideways to see Lord Trent leaning against the stable wall, looking from Hudson to Bianca with a grin on his face.

  Heat slashed across Hudson’s cheekbones. He hadn’t realized how close he was standing to Bianca or how long they’d been silent. Dropping his gaze to the floor, he took a step back. “Is she still causing you problems?”

  She cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I think she will always be a problem, but yes. She’s still . . . overly concerned. Though what she is concerned about seems to change with regularity.”

  He wanted to ask how but was very conscious of the stable’s abnormal occupant. An occupant who was still grinning as he looked from Hudson to Bianca and back again.

  “Do you intend to come to any of the assemblies this year, my lord?” Bianca asked.

  “Gracious no,” Lord Trent said with a laugh. “Certainly not until all the craziness subsides. It makes my wife nervous.” He looked over at Aaron. “Lady Rebecca had almost as grand a time in London.”

  Aaron yanked his notebook from his pocket. “Is this a business discussion you need me for, or a social call that doesn’t require my presence?”

  A momentary frown crossed Lord Trent’s face, but it was gone just as quickly. “Well, it isn’t business. My deliveries have been arriving on schedule, so I’ve nothing to complain about.”

  Aaron nodded and stalked away, shoulders hunched, to the stall at the farthest end of the stable.

  Lord Trent appeared unbothered by the abrupt departure, instead engaging Bianca and Hudson in a discussion about how full the social events had gotten in the past two weeks.

  He abruptly ended the conversation with a nod. “Well. I won’t keep you from your ride. Be looking for my invitation. We’ll have you come early so we can play a game of cricket.”

  Had the man said cricket? Hudson could have hugged him in happiness. He’d been asked once or twice to join a man in a game of billiards, and while Hudson’s skills with a billiard mace were mediocre at best, he was adept with a cricket bat.

  “I will accept with gladness when the invitation arrives.”

  Lord Trent looked at Bianca once more before grinning at Hudson. “See that you do.”

  Then he nodded farewell to both of them, collected his horse, and rode away.

  “Many apologies for interrupting,” Bianca said.

  “You didn’t interrupt anything,” Hudson assured her. “It was barely a conversation.” Yet somehow, as Lord Trent had departed, the significance had seemed far greater.

  Twenty-Seven

  What are you doing?”

  Bianca paused in the act of lifting a mug of tea to her mouth. Because she’d refused to spend another morning staring at her own room in indecision, she’d moved her pondering to the breakfast room, never imagining that her stepmother would appear.

  Yet there she was.

  “Breakfast?” There was a plate of toast in front of her and a mug of tea in her hand. She knew that most people waited until later in the morning to eat, but she’d long ago discovered that riding on an empty stomach made her feel ill.

  Her stepmother knew this, didn’t she? Bianca had been having early toast and tea for nearly ten years.

  “I can see that,” the woman spit out. “I meant, what are you doing with your life?”

  Now there was a weighted question if ever there was one. Though she was sorely tempted to say wasting it, she didn’t. It was likely her stepmother would agree and would use Bianca’s sardonic statement to get her to do something she didn’t want to do.

  Instead, she stayed silent. Mrs. Snowley was sure to expound soon if she didn’t get the answer she wanted.

  “Do you truly think Lord Brimsbane is going to offer for you, or”—she fanned herself as if the concept was too much to utter—“Lord Rigsby? You think you could become a countess or a marchioness?”

  Bianca blinked. Lord Rigsby would be a marquis one day? No wonder all the girls wanted his attention.

  Mrs. Snowley continued, “Your gallivanting about on horses all the time is all good and well in Newmarket, but those men are going to be peers. True ladies—London ladies—don’t do such things.”

  Bianca was fairly certain a countess or marchioness could do just about anything she pleased, particularly if it was to ride horses about Newmarket, but that wasn’t the true point here.

  Mrs. Snowley’s question was whether Bianca expected an offer of marriage from either of those men.

  Bianca’s question was whether or not she wanted one.

  “I thought you would be pleased with my association with the most eligible men in town,” Bianca said slowly.

  Mrs. Snowley huffed and crossed her arms. “Seen with them once, perhaps twice, yes. It makes the other men take notice and puts the rest of the fa
mily in greater social standing. You don’t want truly appropriate matches to get the idea that you aren’t available, though.”

  Bianca broke off a corner of toast and watched the crumbs dance around on her plate. “Appropriate matches? How could either of those men ever be inappropriate?”

  “Inappropriate for you.” Mrs. Snowley shook her head. “Women who reach above their station end up miserable.”

  “Did you give this same advice to Marianne?”

  “Of course not. A man of rank would make an excellent match for her. I raised her to be a lady.”

  “But you didn’t raise me to be one?” Bianca’s grip on her toast tightened until it mushed together into a crumbly mass.

  Mrs. Snowley sighed. “I did the best I could, but blood will tell.”

  The desire to chuck her plate at her stepmother raged through Bianca, but contrary to what the other woman seemed to think, she was too much of a lady to follow through on the act.

  This time.

  Next time? Who was to say?

  The statement required an answer, though, and one that was firm enough to keep her stepmother from ever saying something like that again. “My, my. What would Father say if he heard that?”

  “Your father is well aware of his first wife’s shortcomings.”

  Bianca wanted to refute that statement, needed to refute it. Her father had loved her mother dearly. She knew this. He’d sat with her when she was a child, before Giles was born, and told her story after story about her mother.

  Just because he’d loved her, though, didn’t mean she was perfect.

  Just because he loved Bianca didn’t mean he didn’t see her as flawed.

  She used to take problems to him, but he always said that it wasn’t his place to take over his wife’s job of raising their daughters. Was that because he thought she truly needed such correction? Did he agree with Mrs. Snowley’s assessment of Bianca’s character and capabilities?

  Every governess had been diligent in making sure that Marianne appeared the more dutiful child.

  Every misdeed, every delay in lessons, every poorly trimmed candle had been blamed on Bianca.

  He might have been persuaded to believe her less than capable or refined.