by Aileen Fish
Chapter Eight
The entire household had been in a flurry with last minute preparations on the morning of Twelfth Night. Lady Renford might be an elegant hostess, but only after much tumult and direction so that every detail was performed to her exact demand. Hoping to escape the chaos, Julianna slipped quietly up the back stairs to find her niece.
She knew from the behavior of the older children that something special was afoot, but the twins bolted out of the nursery before she could ask. The governess was trying to herd all the children before taking them down to the parlor where the festivities were being held.
Little Julie rushed to give her a hug. She wore a pristine white gown slightly too large for her small frame, and had a wreath of ribbons and dried flowers pinned atop her flowing golden curls. Julianna toyed with the dangling end of a ribbon. "You look so pretty!"
"I'm a princess," she answered with a slight lisp.
"Are you participating in the charades today?"
The little girl said yes. At that moment, the governess called the child to join the others, and she steered them out into the hall.
With nothing else to do but join them, Julianna took up the rear of the line of marching children and followed them into the parlor. The arriving neighbors mingled about, adding even more children running about and increasing the hubbub. It was a happy noise, she realized. More laughter than words of cheer.
Working her way through the visitors, she found Clemmie and Evie calming Lady Renford. "All is ready, Mama," Evie said, patting her mother's shoulder. "Marianne has the Twelfth Night cards in a bowl and will let them be drawn after the children's entertainment."
"And Cook has the King's Cakes on platters to be brought up after the rest of the foods. It will be a wonderful evening, Lady Renford." Clemmie smiled at her sister as she led her mother-in-law to a chair.
"Nash has the children ready to perform as soon as we are able to quiet the guests," Evie added. "You rest now, we'll see to everything."
They walked away from the older woman and Clemmie pointed. "Evie, you see that the older guests have chairs to sit in. Julianna, please guide all the children to sit in this area, and their parents can have the benches."
Between the three young ladies, they brought the crowd under control, or to a hushed murmur, which continued until Nash walked out onto the area marked as the stage. He was so regal with his proud military stance, in his dark green coat and wheat-colored waistcoat, Julianna's heart beat faster just looking at him. The audience grew quiet in anticipation.
"Welcome everyone. Before the dancing begins, we have some entertainments for you to enjoy. First, my cousins Lady Beatrice and Lady Cassandra will perform a medley of Irish tunes." He bowed and exited as the two young ladies, neither of whom could be sixteen yet, sat at the pianoforte. The music was quite pleasant, their voices well suited to the lilting songs. Next, another cousin played Beethoven on his violin, although Julianna couldn't have named the piece upon hearing it. Still, it was an earnest effort and the audience clapped appreciatively.
Nash reappeared and introduced the next act. "We have for you an original charade featuring my nephews, The Earl of Claredon and Lord Frank Whitmore, and my niece, Lady Julie Sinclair."
Clemmie led Julie onto the center of the stage by and left her there. Everett and Frank marched out wearing paper armor and carrying wooden swords. On the opposite side of the stage came St. George, and upon being directed to do so by Mr. Sinclair who was offstage, the dog sat and barked. The children in the audience laughed.
One of the twins raised his sword and announced in a loud voice. "I'm Uncle Nash—I mean, I'm Captain Sinclair and I've come to save you from the fierce dragon, my lady."
The other boy stepped forward with a similar wave of his weapon. "And I'm Jim Pulk, and I'll save you first."
Julie said nothing as her cousins ran towards the dog who sat calmly, tongue lolling from his open, drooling jaws. The boys waved their swords fiercely at St. George, who wagged his tail but remained sitting.
The twin portraying Jim Pulk whispered, "Lie down, George. You're supposed to play dead."
St. George licked the boy's face. The other twin jumped on the dog's back and wrestled him to the floor. The boy jumped up and waved his sword. "I've killed him!"
The audience laughed, St. George barked, and the boys ran back to the fair princess standing center stage. They knelt on either side of her. "We have slain the dragon, my lady. The king has promised your hand to one of us. You must choose which of us you'll marry."
Julie looked at her two cousins and quickly pointed to one. "I choose Frankie."
Frank, who had proclaimed himself to be Captain Sinclair, took her hand and bowed his head. He then rose and led her off the stage. Everett called St. George and followed.
Julianna saw Mr. Sinclair return to announce the final performance, but she heard not a word of what he spoke. Had she truly seen what just played out? Mr. Sinclair had slain her dragon, presenting himself as the only candidate for her hand.
It was what she had hoped for, and what she feared all at once. Far beyond the bet, she now had to make the most important decision of her life. No longer could she think of escaping to the safety of her home in Lyminster. She must examine her feelings and make certain she could live with the choice she made.
While the last of Mr. Sinclair's cousins performed, Julianna slipped out into the hallway, where the cooler air was a refreshing relief. She couldn't say whether it was the crowd or the emotion of the play that had her cheeks burning, her entire person tingling with warmth. She heard the door open and close behind her and feared she'd have to answer before she was ready.
To her relief, Clemmie grabbed her elbow and pulled her into the library, where the fire burned in case any of the guests wished to escape the activity of the evening. "What was that we just saw?"
"The charade? I'm sure I couldn't—"
"Julianna. I know better."
"It was all a silly wager. A simple question taken far beyond the answer given."
"Between you and Nash?"
"Yes. He asked me what sort of gentleman I preferred. I had told him I have no intention of marrying, as I had given my heart to Jim Pulk."
"The lad of the dragon legend?"
"The same. I thought if I insisted on marrying a man who killed dragons I was safe."
Clemmie's frown of concern softened into a smile. "Of course, because you'd never done battle with Mr. Sinclair."
Julianna shook her head. "I don't know what to do. These past few days he's given me small dragon carvings and drawings, all leading to this evening."
"You mentioned a wager?"
"Yes. He said he could present to me a man whose offer I couldn't refuse."
"I see. And can you? Decline his offer?"
"Well, he hasn't off—"
"Julianna…"
She sighed, wringing her hands. "I don't want to decline. But I would make him a perfectly wretched wife. I'm not suited to a house filled with children. Or putting my husband's wishes first. I only think of myself."
Clemmie put an arm around her and led her to the chaise. "You are thinking of Nash right now, considering his needs over yours. You are loving and generous, and you are an excellent aunt to Julie and Edward. How can you doubt yourself so?"
"He nearly gave his life for his country, Clemmie. He deserves a wife who will honor him, and deserve his love."
"So you will love him and honor him and work to be the wife you feel he deserves." Clemmie smoothed a hand over Julianna's upswept hair. "It's what we all do, sweetling. I must admit I never expected you to act this way over any gentleman, but I think you have chosen well."
"Have I? Chosen, I mean?"
"Silly girl. Ask your heart what it wishes."
A knock sounded at the door and Mr. Sinclair stuck his head inside. "Clementina, Marianne is looking for you. She wishes to draw the Twelfth Night cards now and get the players ready."
With a q
uick hug, Clemmie rose and left the library, passing Mr. Sinclair ambled slowly into the room. He bowed when he reached her. "Did you enjoy the children's entertainments this evening?"
"Why yes. Your cousins sing and play well."
"Quite so. Talented family we are. And what did you think of the charade?"
"Julie played her part quite well. As did St. George. The twins did rather well, too, if a little enthusiastic, when battling the dragon."
"Yes, I had to tame them a bit since the early rehearsals. Is that all you have to say about the evening?"
"Oh, the evening is still young. I understand your mother will have some of us portraying the Twelfth Night characters during the ball. It should prove quite entertaining."
He took a step closer. "Lady Julianna, I'm certain you did not miss my point in the charade."
Her stomach quivered as if a hundred butterflies awakened. "No, sir. I did not."
Mr. Sinclair sank onto the chaise close enough she could feel the heat from his person envelop her. "We have the outcome of a wager to decide."
"Yes, we do." She took a deep breath. Would he kiss her now?
"For the sake of propriety, shall we first determine who is the winner?"
"Sir, if you plan to kiss me while we are alone in here, I believe propriety has been ignored."
He reached for her hand and stroked his thumb over her skin. "I suppose you're correct. Still, as a man I must know whether I've won or lost. Have I presented to you a man capable of winning your heart?"
"You have."
His lips twitched slightly in their smile. "I see. And has he won that heart?"
She had no hesitation. "He has."
Mr. Sinclair raised her hand to his lips, then captured it between his hands. "Lady Julianna, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
"The honor would be mine. Yes, yes, I will marry you." She burst into laughter nearing on tears. "Oh, Mr. Sinclair, you have truly shattered what I believed was the best life for me."
"Please, call me Nash." He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face, leaning forward to press his warm, soft lips to hers.
All her thoughts fled on the wings of butterflies. She held onto his shoulders to keep from falling as the chaise seemed to tip beneath her. All too quickly cool air hit her lips. She opened her eyes to see Nash smiling down on her.
"You make me the happiest of men. I know most men must say that, but it's the truth, dear Julianna. May I call you Julianna?"
"Yes, of course. My family would think it odd if you didn't."
He sat up straight, distancing himself. "Your family. Lud, your father. I must speak to him before we tell the others."
"You look rather pale. I thought you capable of slaying dragons."
"I've confronted many a dragon on the battlefield, but never the father of the lady I wish to marry."
"You will do fine, Nash. I know you will."
Rising, he offered a hand to help her stand. "We should get back. The others will wonder where we are."
She laughed softly. "Those who know us will suspect where we are. If not the correct room, they will have guessed your intent."
"We'd best hurry."
The benches and chairs had all been pushed to the walls of the large room to make room for dancers. Mrs. Collingwood sat at the pianoforte while her husband stood nearby sawing on his fiddle. The music was quite festive and lifted Nash's spirits even higher than Julianna's words had. If he didn't know better, he'd look to see that his feet actually remained on the floor.
Nash stood up with Julianna for the next two dances, then let her find her sister while he went in search of Lord Carrington. When a search of the parlor failed to turn him up, Nash went to the drawing room where card tables had been set up.
He found Carrington in the middle of a game of Vingt-un with Nash's father, his brother-in-law and a few local men. Not wishing to interrupt the game, Nash hung back near the door. After some short time passed, Carrington called out. "I suppose you've something to say to me?"
"Yes, sir. I wish a moment of your time when you are free."
The earl slapped his cards down on the table and shoved his chair back. "These cards are not in my favor tonight. You might be saving me from the poorhouse." He walked passed Nash and waited for him in the hallway.
Nash motioned towards the library. "I believe we can be alone there."
"Is that where you had my daughter this past hour?" the earl asked gruffly.
Nash tugged at his waistcoat to keep from fisting his hands. "We were only in private for a few minutes. I would never dishonor Lady Julianna in any way."
The older man burst out laughing and slapped Nash between the shoulder blades. "I was young once myself, lad. I've seen the way the two of you have been speaking to one another as if no one else existed. I'm guessing that is why we're here."
"Yes, sir. Your daughter has done me a great honor in agreeing to become my wife."
"Has she." It was a statement, not a question. "Had you come to me two weeks ago and said this I would have expressed surprise. I did not think to ever see her marry."
"She told me she had no plans to marry."
"And you have convinced her otherwise. Is that what the charade was about this evening? Dogs and hooligans with swords and that precious granddaughter of mine?"
"Yes sir."
"I will let you keep the true meaning between yourselves. She seems happier than I've seen her in years. You will see to it she remains that way?"
"I will, sir."
He cuffed Nash on the arm. "Good man. Now, where does your father keep his brandy? I've a feeling I'll need some as we settle into negotiations."
In the wee hours of the morning as the dancers were slow to take the floor and most of the children had been put down with blankets in the nursery, Lord Renford raised his glass of wassail and called for attention. "Before you all return to your homes, I leave you with a most joyful announcement. My son Nash, late of the 13th Light Dragoons, has just this evening delighted us with the news of his betrothal to Lady Julianna Dowsett. Please raise your glass with me in a toast to the happy couple."
Nash bowed his head in response to the cheers from their guests, and stole a glance at his lady. Julianna glowed, her cheeks brightly colored as if they'd danced a rollicking jig. Her hand on his arm tightened. Speaking in low tones, he asked, "Do you not enjoy the attentions of a crowd?"
"Most decidedly not." Her smile never wavered.
"Then it is lucky for you I am a younger son. We'll have no vassals or tenants to sing our praises at the harvest festival every year."
Her eyes widened and she gave him a most startled look. "None? But on whom shall we impose our excess sides of dragon?"
Nash chuckled and patted her hand on his sleeve. "Yes, my fair lady, we shall be the happiest of couples."
Excerpt
Enjoy the first chapter of the next book in The Bridgethorpe Brides Series, The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley!
April, 1810
Newmarket, Sussex, England
The air held a hint of excitement and promise of a fresh beginning. For David Lumley, the new year began in spring. Not with the first foal in the family stable, but with the Craven Race Meeting in Newmarket, the first official meeting of the year. This was going to be a grand year for Triton, he could feel it. Fernleigh Stud would be the name on everyone’s lips again.
The crowd at the racecourse was as large as David expected. He surveyed the grounds from his position near the judging station. The social Season in London had yet to begin, so the wives of the horse owners were all in attendance at the Craven. From the way they all leaned close to each other and whispered in the coffee house, they were eager to discover the latest on dits. David was always astounded when he overheard how much went on in the homes of the ton during the winter months. His life seemed thankfully dull in comparison.
He had no desire to listen to gossip, but soon he’d be unable to escape it. He’d promis
ed to escort his sister, Hannah, in her first London Season. In preparation over the winter, Mother had dragged him to afternoon teas and the morning calls she and Hannah made to their neighbors in the village near Bridgethorpe Manor. Dull, precisely timed events where the conversations were by rote up to the moment someone let slip she’d heard news. No matter on whom the juicy tidbit focused. All other voices in the room silenced so the speaker’s slightest inflection could be heard.
It was all too much for a man to bear.
David wound through the milling people on his way to the stables. He found his groom, Peter, in the stall with Triton, just completing his work. As the boy gathered his tools, David patted the bay’s shoulder. “How is he this morning?”
“Right as always,” said Peter. “He’s got a bit of the devil in ’im. He’ll be after showing them other horses who’s king.”
“Just as long as he wins. I’m counting on him.”
Peter put the tools into a bag and opened another, removing the carefully folded shirt made in the colors of Fernleigh Stud, the orange body with yellow sleeves. He donned the garment and the black hat that completed the uniform.
David stepped back as the youth saddled the horse and then freed the reins from the iron ring on the side of the stall. Together they led Triton out of the stables and to the examination area. Other grooms and horses milled about in preparation for the race. David glanced at the schedule. “We’re entered in the third race. You’ll have him warmed up?”
“Of course, sir. He’ll be ready to race ’is best, never worry.”
Peter’s cocky grin said his boss always worried, but David didn’t reprimand the lad. Peter was the best groom and rider he’d come across, with a natural knack for understanding what a horse was thinking. He could bring more out of an animal than any of the trainers they’d paid good money to, and the animals seemed calmer around him.
“You see that he does race his best,” David called out with a growl. A useless effort. There was no sense trying to sound more authoritative when Peter knew who paid his wages, and showed due respect when the situation called for it.
Assured his horse was in good hands, David crossed the grounds, nodding and calling greetings to those he recognized. His brother Adam, Viscount Knightwick, should have arrived by now. As he scanned the gathering crowd, his gaze landed on the last face he wanted to see at the Spring Meeting, or any other race event.
Northcotte.
Blast it. David’s gut knotted at the sight of the man. Ducking behind a pair of gentlemen walking in the earl’s direction, David darted around the corner of a building where he could eavesdrop without being noticed. He peered out into the lane. Robert Hurst, Lord Northcotte, stood with a particularly handsome young lady, and their sharp exchange reached David’s ears.
The young lady folded her arms across her chest, and the tiny, pale blonde ringlets framing her face trembled with tension. “I am going to ride him. No one will know. I’ve trousers in the stable, and I can wear Bruce’s shirt and cap. With my hair tucked up, no one will recognize me.”
Northcotte jerked her arm. “You will not consider it. Do you want to risk everything I’ve left? I’ll find a jockey and Patriot will be entered as planned. You may tell Bruce his services are no longer needed.”
“I’ll do no such thing! That boy needs the wages for his family, and it’s not his fault he is ill. You cannot hire some stranger to ride Patriot. You know he’ll never allow a strange man on his back. I must be the one to ride him or we may as well scratch him from the race.”
“I’ll hear no more of this, Joanna. Go find Mother and let me handle this.”
Northcotte released her arm and strode off toward the stables. The young lady must be his sister, Lady Joanna. She stood for a moment and watched him go, then spun on her heel and stomped off in the opposite direction.
David smiled at her forceful steps in the dirt. She seemed much like Hannah. Stubborn, impulsive, and too daring by half. He chuckled and shook his head. Those qualities could make Hannah’s search for a husband drag on for years. Even her beauty would not compensate for her strong character in the minds of many men. He’d have to make certain Mother didn’t expect his services as chaperone to run beyond one Season.
Northcotte’s sister had to be dicked in the knob to suggest she wear trousers and ride in the race. Northcotte had the right of it—he’d be disqualified, and laughed out of the Jockey Club books, if not actually banned from competing. If Hannah ever dared such a thing, David would have her sent back to Bridgethorpe Manor for the remainder of the racing season.
Shaking his head, he followed the pretty blonde in the direction of the paddock, where he found Knightwick leaning on the upper rail of the fence. Peter and Triton loped around the space, getting warmed up before the races began. The three-year-old horse’s gait was long and even, covering the ground with no effort.
As he reached the fence, David slapped Knightwick on the shoulder. “I believe we have the winning horse this year.”
“You’ve said as much these three years past,” Knightwick replied with a teasing grin.
“But this year I’m right. Triton has the heart of a winner. He loves to be out front. Start him behind the other colts and he’ll run that much faster to best them.”
Knightwick shook his head. “His chest is narrow, he’s willful and as likely to turn in the opposite direction as run the course. We never should have bred his dam. I’m rather surprised she let the Black Knight close enough to cover her.”
“You’re nit-picking. Triton is the horse we’ve been waiting for.”
Neither brother completed the thought aloud…Triton was the horse they were counting on to save their stables after the death of Zephyr, their father’s prize-winning stud, six years ago.
David absently tapped his fingers on the fence rail while observing the other animals circling before them. “Did the trip to London with Mother and Hannah pass uneventfully?”
“Yes. Hannah chattered the entire trip.” Knightwick offered his brother a wry glance. “Rather convenient of you to leave a week early so you couldn’t accompany them.”
David grunted. “I promised Mother I’d arrive in Town in time for Hannah’s first ball, and would attend as many assemblies as I can. But first she must be outfitted, presented in court and all that sort of feminine thing. I’m not going to miss a race meeting this spring, not when I’m so confident in Triton.”
“I’ll wager Mother said you are too much like Father in that.”
Laughing, he agreed. “I ask you, what purpose do I have in London? Mother is there to chaperone. I’ve no wish to see which ladies are on the hunt. Nor do I care to be packed into the crowded assemblies filled with the stench of too many bodies and liberally applied perfumes. I’d much rather be in a stall filled with the more natural scent of eau de cheval.”
Knightwick glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Maybe you’ll find one of those bodies belongs to a lady you wish to know better.”
“Not bloody likely. You have yet to take a bride, and you’re the one with the responsibilities. My only concern is this.” He waved an arm at Triton. “He and Lumley’s Lass will be my primary focus until the final race meeting this year.”
Knightwick made a strangled noise and straightened, staring across the paddock. “What is he doing here?”
Without looking, David knew whom his brother had spotted. “I wondered the same thing. From what I overheard, it appears Northcotte has a horse entered in one of the courses today.”
“Why did the Jockey Club allow him to enter?”
“What reason do they have to block him? No one charged him with anything. He can race any horse he owns, just like the rest of us.”
Rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, as if wiping away a bad taste, Knightwick said, “I don’t trust him. Tell Peter to stay with Triton at all times, even sleep in the stalls. I’ll go find Nick and make sure he stays with Lass.”
“You ca
n’t think he’d be foolish enough to try anything after the inquiry last year.”
“Someone stole Zephyr six years ago and then killed him, and two of our horses turned up sick last year. I don’t know who is behind it, but we can’t take any chances. We must be on our guard whether Northcotte is at a race meeting or not.”