That night he slept badly owing to an exceedingly bumpy mattress. In consequence, slumber didn’t overtake him until the wee hours, and he slept in longer than he should have. When he got to the stables, it was to find that Greenwood had departed for Newmarket.
Cursing, he decided there was no more to be gained in Epsom Downs. He would go to Newmarket to pursue his inquiries with Greenwood and nose about the other jockeys and trainers to see if they had anything of interest to contribute to his investigation.
Hopefully, he could then return to London. Ernest told himself that his eagerness had nothing to do with the enchanting Lady Deveridge. Somewhere between Surrey and Newmarket, he admitted he was lying to himself.
Chapter Seven
The next time Marianne woke it was morning. Her head was a shade less painful than it had been. When Penelope came to relieve Foster, Marianne said, “I feel that it would be best if I did not hold our party up any longer. My head still hurts but not nearly as badly as before.”
“Are you certain you are ready for the bouncing of the carriage ride back to London?”
“Beau keeps a well-sprung carriage, and it is not a terribly long journey. I am sure he and Captain Saunders have things to do in London. And I do not want Gweet to be underfoot here.”
“Do not worry about Gweet. She and Arabella are fast friends. They have been riding together much of the time. And Captain Saunders has gone off in pursuit of your assailant. I’m not exactly certain where he is.”
Marianne’s heart gave a little flutter at the mention of the captain. “Does Beau not have business at the Foreign Office? I really do think I could manage the trip. I feel so awkward trespassing on the kindness of Virginia and Tony.”
“I will see what Beau says, if you are certain.”
*
In the interest of getting Marianne into the carriage as soon as possible, they did not draw out their goodbyes and thank-yous to the Strangeways family. Virginia leaned into the carriage just before they were to leave. “I hope you will forgive us for that horrible incident. I am so thankful you are well enough to travel.”
“It was in no way your fault,” said Marianne with a smile. “I am going to be right as a trivet in a few days.”
“I sincerely hope so,” said Tony. “Meanwhile Ernest is doing his best to unearth your attacker.”
Fortunately, the journey from Kent to London was not a long one. By the late afternoon, they had arrived at Wellingham House. It was not a moment too soon for Marianne. She said little, but the pulse of pain in her head was like a hammer on an anvil, and since it had rained again, she was chilled through.
Two footmen were called to ease Marianne’s way from the carriage into the house. She was put to bed immediately, with no desire for as much as a drop of tea. She fell asleep immediately and slept straight through until morning.
When she awakened the next day, the sun shone through the windows, and she heard the twittering of birds. Suddenly invigorated, she rang for Foster. The pain in her head had lessened by a great deal. It was only then that she realized the corgi, Wordsworth, had slept at her feet. At her awakening, he perked up, sniffed at her shrouded feet, and, jumping off the bed, scampered out of the room.
“I wish to dress and go downstairs for breakfast, Foster. I have had enough of bed!”
“Very well, my lady. What would you like to wear?”
“It does not matter. Something that does not make me look like a dog’s breakfast.”
“My lady!”
“Well, that’s exactly how I feel after all this time in bed!”
Her maid dressed her in a blue-green muslin and gave her hair a good brushing before fashioning it into a high chignon. Marianne then sprayed herself with the scent of lilies of the valley and descended the stairs, her legs only slightly wobbly.
Greeting her hostess at the breakfast table, she said, “Thank you for sending me to bed, Penny. I feel quite rested. What are your plans for the day?”
“It is so wonderful to see you up and about! Are you sure you feel up to it?”
“I am heartily sick of my bed!”
“Well, I did not like to leave you, so my Aunt Clarice is calling here this morning. She needs some help addressing the invitations to a benefit ball she is holding.”
Marianne perked up. “I don’t suppose Miss Braithwaite is accompanying her?”
“She is, as a matter of fact. She wants to see you and Gweet again.”
“Oh, that is wonderful. Captain Saunders has an idea for a charity that I should like to discuss with both ladies.”
“Ernest? A charity? I do not know him awfully well, but that sounds highly unlikely,” Penelope said. “Are you certain he is not just trying to get into your good graces?”
Marianne bit her lip. “Why on earth would he want to do that?”
Penelope chuckled. “Come now, my dear. Do not be coy! You are an exceedingly beautiful woman, and my brother-in-law has an eye for the ladies.”
Was Penny right? Could the captain’s scheme merely be a ploy? She thought of the large, serious man who had waited at her bedside, and protested, “I really think he was serious about this. It concerns the sailors. He has a project in mind to benefit them now that the war is over. I suggested that he speak to Miss Braithwaite and your aunt, but I think I can start simmering the idea now since he is otherwise engaged.”
“You are welcome to join us if you do not think a visit would tire you too much. I have my regular at home scheduled at three. They are coming at two.”
“I should enjoy both.”
The ladies of Blossom House arrived as expected. When told of Marianne’s misadventure, the tiny, gray-ringleted Miss Braithwaite said, “You were treated with ice, I hope?”
“Yes. I was unconscious, but when I woke up, there was a freezing lump under my head.”
“How are you now, dear?” asked the kindly Lady Clarice. Her substantial bosom seemed smaller since she was not carrying her fat Siamese.
“The ache is still there, but it is much less now. I have been taking my leisure all day.”
Miss Braithwaite asked, “Have they captured your assailant?”
“Captain Saunders is giving it a go. It involves horses and racing, I understand,” said Marianne. “Apparently, I saw something I was not supposed to.”
This explanation caused a mild sensation. Lady Clarice exclaimed, “Oh, my dear Lady Deveridge, I hope that you will take care. Once these people find you are still alive, they may very well try again! People who gamble can be quite desperate, almost inhuman at times. I find it to be a great vice.”
Marianne had not given any thought to this point of view. “I suppose you are right. But I am sure Captain Saunders will find the villain. He strikes me as being highly capable.”
For the moment, nothing more was said about the matter, but Marianne continued to brood on it. Was she still in danger? For some reason, she had not really considered that the attack had been attempted murder. She had thought of it merely as an expedience so the villain could disappear. But if she had seen or had been thought to have seen something she should not have, perhaps she was still a threat to the perpetrator.
Fortunately, Gweet entered just then, and her frightening train of thought was interrupted.
“Good afternoon, Miss Braithwaite, Lady Clarice.” She performed a small curtsy. “It is wonderful to see you again. Did you bring Henry Five? I’m longing to see him!”
“No,” said Miss Braithwaite. “A giant tortoise is not something to be moved on a whim. I do not make a habit to take him calling. But you are welcome to call on us.”
The four women and Gweet spent the next forty-five minutes addressing invitations, while Marianne’s daughter prattled about the horse she had ridden at Southbrooke Manor, the sweet colt she had named Teddy, and a recitation of all Arabella’s current beaux.
“Where is the darling girl today?” asked Lady Clarice.
“Sleeping,” said Penelope. “She woul
d go to the Hendersons’ ball last night, though we spent the day driving up from Kent. Fortunately, Beau agreed to accompany her. She is exhausted. And she has another ball tonight.”
It was not until the invitations were done and the visitors began to call in the drawing room that Marianne recalled what she had wanted to speak to Miss Braithwaite about.
“You have never met Captain Saunders, have you Miss Braithwaite?”
“No. But I am convinced I must. I hear he is exceedingly handsome.”
Marianne became aware that a woman sitting close by was listening to their conversation. She judged her to be about her own age, a black-haired beauty with large green eyes and a small mole near her eye that looked for all the world like a beauty patch. No wedding ring. Unusual. Another widow?
“I do not think I am acquainted with your friend,” the lady said to Miss Braithwaite. “I am sorry if I interrupted your conversation. Would you introduce us?”
“I would be happy to. Lady Deveridge, this is Mrs. Octavia Langdon, my great-niece. Octavia, dear, this is Sir Bertie Backman’s sister, Lady Deveridge.”
“I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Langdon,” Marianne said.
The lady inclined her head but, saying nothing, looked at her with speculation in her eyes.
Miss Braithwaite took up the conversation where it had left off. “I am surprised there is any member of the ton that I have not already met.”
“He has been at sea these many years. You realize, Captain Saunders is Lord Wellingham’s brother?”
Mrs. Langdon’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes sparkled, and she smiled. “Ernest has returned! How delightful. I shall be so happy to see him.” The woman appraised Marianne again. “How are you acquainted with the captain?”
Marianne felt like she was being backed into a corner by a hungry tigress. What right had this woman to know her business? It seemed to her, Mrs. Langdon was exceedingly ill bred. She cast about for a suitably vague reply.
“I am a guest in this house,” she said.
Miss Braithwaite intervened. “Lady Deveridge is the widow of the famed explorer Lord Ian Deveridge. Perhaps you have seen some of his findings in the British Museum.”
Mrs. Langdon emitted a jerky laugh. “I have never even been to the place. Not my sort of thing.”
Marianne continued her discussion with Miss Braithwaite, “Captain Saunders wishes to consult with you about a charity for the recently unemployed sailors. He would like to devise some way of helping them to find work. He says that after all their years at sea, they can build anything.”
She was conscious of Mrs. Langdon’s disbelief. “That’s a new gambit,” the woman said. “Either he has become surprisingly virtuous or he is looking to impress you and add you to his list of conquests. You should beware his motives, Lady Deveridge.”
While Mrs. Langdon’s opinion of the captain might not have carried much weight on its own, paired as it was with Penny’s she began to wonder. Really, when it came down to it, she did not know the man at all.
Miss Braithwaite said, “Why don’t you run along, Octavia? I’m certain you have other reputations to shred.”
Marianne stared at the tiny woman. She had never known her to speak with such venom.
Mrs. Langdon rose, saying, “You are so droll, Auntie.”
After the woman had moved on, Miss Braithwaite apologized. Then she said, “I abhor rudeness. I have not any idea how my nephew came to have such a poisonous daughter. I would disregard everything she said. She is not to be relied upon for the truth.”
“Is she also a widow?” Marianne could not help asking.
“Yes. Her husband was a lieutenant. He obliged her by being killed on the Peninsula. Rather a decent young man. I have often wondered if he regretted his marriage.” Miss Braithwaite turned her eyes back to Marianne. “I would not let anything she said sway you in your opinion of Captain Saunders. He sounds an honorable man.”
But Marianne was fast losing her enthusiasm for the captain’s project. Perhaps its conception had only been a move by the captain to gain her good opinion. Until he had broached the idea, she had been loath to become acquainted with him as her hostess had wished her to. She had been quite definitely off-putting. Rude, in fact. Perhaps he saw that as a challenge.
But on the other hand, how could she discount his gentle care when she had been injured?
“I do not really wish to talk about him anymore. I will let the two of you work out whatever scheme you come up with. It is a worthy one, I feel.”
Marianne longed to change the subject, and her head was pounding. As always, Miss Braithwaite was shrewd. She patted Marianne’s knee and said, “I think you must excuse yourself, my dear. You have been sitting up too long and have lost all of your color. I shall mention the captain’s idea to Clarice.”
Chapter Eight
It had been a very long time since Ernest had been to Newmarket. The center of British horse racing was unremarkable except for Palace House, Charles II’s racing headquarters. It was now operated as a rather good and expensive inn, where Ernest decided to stay the night. The ride from Epsom Downs had taken a couple of days, and it was late.
The horse he had been lent was a fine one, however—a black with a long stride and good endurance. Ernest had decided to buy him from Stangeways and christened him Doolittle. Once he had been stabled, Ernest had a late supper of shepherd’s pie and ale and betook himself to bed.
Though he was tired from the ride, he spent a long time awake thinking of Lady Deveridge. Visions of her lying on the stable floor revisited him, and he redoubled his vow to find the man responsible for her injury. He wondered if she comprehended how near death she had been.
And why did it trouble him so? Why had he been so extraordinarily affected that he could not be persuaded to leave her side?
There was a connection there; that he could not deny. Heaven knew he had felt attracted to women before, but never to the extent that he’d had this overwhelming desire to protect. He had let Strangeways think this need to find her attacker arose from a desire to alleviate his boredom, but it was more than that, and he was uncomfortably aware of the fact. He was afraid the man would come after her again when he found she was alive.
Unable to sleep, or get her out of his mind, he decided to write her a letter vowing his determination to find her attacker. He had left her when she was still sleeping.
Newmarket
Dear Lady Deveridge,
I apologize for going without properly taking my leave. I was anxious to be about the business of running down your assailant. I am determined that he shall face justice.
I had little luck at Epsom Downs, so as you can see I have come along to Newmarket where Virginia’s Prize’s trainer has come.
He wrote of his meeting with Abernathy and the list of bettors he had been given. He was nodding with sleep finally, so he decided to finish the missive after he had spoken to Greenwood.
Ernest fell asleep, envisioning her as he had first seen her, standing at the door of the drawing room, her large blue eyes wide open in wonder, as though she had never seen a sea captain before. She had immediately shuttered the look, however, and until his talk of the charity scheme, had been distant, if not downright cold.
The following day he spent near the racing stables looking for the trainer, Greenwood. He finally located the man working in the stalls with another of the Strangeways’s race horses. This time he had been obliged to show Strangeways’s note giving him access to the horses.
The trainer was currying a lovely bay mare and speaking to her in a low, quiet voice.
“Pardon me, Mr. Greenwood,” Ernest said. “Viscount Strangeways sent me to have a word if I could.”
A youngish man turned around as though startled.
“And you are?”
“Captain Ernest Saunders, a friend of the viscount.” Ernest showed him the note, but from the way the man looked at it, he doubted the trainer could read. “Is there somewhere we co
uld talk?” Ernest asked.
“I suppose we could take a walk,” said Greenwood. “There’s a taproom at the Palace House.”
As the two men walked across the green, Ernest fought the impulse to open their discussion. He wanted to be able to look the man in the eye.
When they were seated, both with a glass of ale, he looked the man over. He had the ruddy coloring of an Irishman, with fair hair and a stubby nose.
“So,” said Ernest. “Why don’t you tell me how well you knew Simpson.”
“We were mates,” the man said, lowering his eyes. He took a sip of his ale. “Come from the same village. We both loved horses since we were young’uns.”
“I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you.”
“’Tis. He was like a brother. Y’know?”
Ernest spared a thought for the man. There was no doubt he was affected. “Do you have any idea who killed him?”
“He thought somethin’ was wrong with Ginny’s Prize. I thought so, too. He was off. Maybe someone was slippin’ him somethin.’ Arnie—Simpson—was sleepin’ in the stall ’til Mr. Gibson came and took the horse home. Mayhap Arnie saw someone or suspected someone. Somebody coshed him, and I think that’s why.”
“Who will take his place if the Strangeways decide the horse is well enough to run in the King’s Plate?”
“Billy Boxer. He’s the jockey for the horse you saw me with. Prince William. He’s good but not as good as Arnie Simpson was.” The trainer took a pull at his drink.
“Whom do you suspect?” Ernest asked, noting that the trainer had a steady, honest gaze..
“I think ’twas a bettor setting himself up to win the King’s Plate at long odds.”
“As a trainer, do you think the horse is capable of that, after a diet of drugs?”
Greenwood shrugged. “It’s been done before, that’s all I can tell you.”
“How would they get access to the horse to drug him? The stables are guarded. It’s my understanding that only trainers, jockeys, and owners are allowed in.”
Leaning forward on his elbows, the trainer said in a low voice, “Guards ain’t paid a lot. They can be bribed.”
Love Unexpected_A Regency Romance Page 5