“Ah, the daughters of Amhurst on time as always and not a minute sooner,” said the earl, his face split wide with a grin, his good eye centered on his wife.
Henrietta laughed. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint. We do, after all, have a reputation to uphold.”
“That you do,” the earl said, his gaze flitting to Albina. “I believe green is your color, Lady Albina. You look lovely this afternoon.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Her cheeks heating at his unsolicited compliment, she lowered into a curtsy.
She lifted her head to find the marquess and Mr. White peering at her. While the marquess bore a thin-lipped, stern expression, Mr. White’s eyes twinkled with something akin to laughter, as though he were privy to a secret.
Which, of course, he was.
Henrietta clenched Albina’s arm. “Lady Albina was just stating how much she was looking forward to our ride.”
Albina blinked and peered at her sister. She had done no such thing.
“Yes,” Sarah added. “So much so, that she doubts the services of the groom will be necessary. Lady Albina, of course, knows Plumburn better than any of us and is more than capable of leading us out.”
Both Henrietta and Albina turned toward their sister and stared. True, Albina was appreciative of Sarah’s strategy for relieving Mr. White of his duties, but she hadn’t expected her to be quite so…direct. Although Albina wished for the groom to be absent, she still needed the man to convince the earl she was capable of riding the Thoroughbred.
“I agree that Lady Albina’s knowledge of the estate is beyond extensive, which is why I thought it would be best for her to share her knowledge with Mr. White and have the two of them lead us out together,” the earl said.
“Together, my lord?” Blood roared in Albina’s ears, near muting his reply.
“Yes, indeed. Lady Sarah and the countess will follow behind, while the marquess and I bring up the rear.”
Oh, no. This would not do at all. Not only would she be in the company of Mr. White, a man who grinned wide assuredly because he was laughing at her expense, but she would be a full half mile ahead of the marquess. However was she to gauge his interest when she would hardly be able to make out his face? Worse, she could not flirt with the man if she were forever a day away from him, especially while she struggled with an inner desire to keep her gaze on Mr. White riding handsomely beside her.
“My lord, I think—”
“I believe it sounds like an excellent plan,” agreed Lord Satterfield, cutting her off. He offered Albina one of his knee-weakening smiles—though, her knees were not near as wobbly as they once might have been. In fact, they were as firm and solid as they were a moment ago. “I look forward to seeing where you take us, my lady.”
“As do I,” added Mr. White. Her knees faltered, shaking ever so slightly as she peered at the half grin lighting his face.
“Well, then, everything is settled,” the earl said. He held out his arm to Henrietta and winked.
Dropping Sarah’s and Albina’s arms, she gave them each a smile and joined her husband. “Who are we riding today?” she asked.
“Mr. White has already selected our horses. I think you will all find them to be excellent choices.” The earl’s gaze once again lingered on Albina.
Frowning, she glanced at Sarah. Was the earl acting differently, or was it simply her nerves at having learned she would be riding out with not the marquess, but Mr. White? Her sister’s expression matched Albina’s, her forehead puckered, her brows furrowed in thought. She lifted her shoulders, seeming equally befuddled by the earl’s behavior.
It would be near impossible for Albina to request her preferred horse after the earl’s speech, as she would appear to distrust Mr. White and discredit him in front of the earl. And while his continual smirk annoyed her to no end, she refused to injure his pride by voicing her displeasure. She had no wish to damage his reputation or make him appear less knowledgeable, especially as it was on his recommendation that the “new jockey” had been acquired.
She ground her teeth and did her best to appear satisfied with the current predicament. Riding out with Mr. White, unable to voice her selection of a horse…she was beyond flustered—she was agitated. Upset. And in need of a good ride.
The first stable hand exited the barn, the prized bay mare alongside him. She glanced between Mr. White and the earl. What the devil was going on? What was her mare—her racing mare—doing out of the stables? Mr. White’s riding preference was the stallion, not the mare. Had the stable hand made an error? Had he somehow confused her usual, non-racing mare with the prize Thoroughbred in front of her?
She glared at Mr. White as his smile deepened. “I think you’ll find the Thoroughbred an excellent ride this afternoon, Lady Albina,” he said.
Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced at the earl, who merely grinned in return. Surely he could discern his own horseflesh from the other and know which beasts were intended for racing, like the black currently sniffing at her shoulder eagerly seeking her acknowledgment, and which were allotted for casual riding.
“I say, Amhurst, is this not one of Lord Stanley’s line?” Even the marquess questioned the earl’s sensibilities.
“That she is,” said the earl, his chest lifting ever so slightly.
“Are you not racing her at Emberton?” Doubt and disbelief tainted the marquess’s voice.
The earl chuckled. “As if I would relinquish such information to a competitor. You will have to wait and see for yourself which one of the horses will be entered.”
“Just as I will have to wait to meet this new jockey of yours, I suppose,” scoffed the marquess, disappointment heavy in his voice. “I have never heard of the fellow. Indeed, neither have any of my jockeys. It is as if he was conjured out of thin air or selected from outside the racing world. It is not like you to gamble on inexperience. Especially not with premium horseflesh at a noted derby.”
Albina’s face burned, her lungs near bursting from their inability to take in fresh air. Her gaze flitted between the three men, from Mr. White’s smiling, serene face, to the marquess’s bewildered expression, to the earl’s relaxed and jovial countenance.
Nothing was as it ought to be. The universe had tilted on its axis, or the cosmos had misaligned and was intent on reigning anarchy on her afternoon.
The earl patted Henrietta’s hand resting on his forearm. “I have decided on a different approach. One I think will knock you out of the winner’s circle.”
The marquess’s eyes flashed, his perfect nose flaring ever so slightly.
“Come now, Satterfield,” said the earl. “It’s only a race after all.”
“And one I will continue to win.”
“Let us not boast in front of the ladies.” The earl tipped his hat to Albina. “Your ride awaits, my dear.”
Albina glanced between the earl and Mr. White. “You wish me to ride this particular Thoroughbred, my lord?”
“I trust Mr. White’s selections.”
She gave a slow nod and stepped toward the beast. Mr. White swept in beside her, his callused hand reaching for her gloved one.
“My lady,” he said, still smirking. “Allow me to assist you.”
Oh, he would assist her all right. Right over the edge of a cliff. She didn’t know what was going on, but something was afoot. And she had every intention of finding it out.
Albina clutched his hand and squeezed it harder than necessary as a wave of something hot and fierce rose up from deep between her thighs. Hiding her embarrassment, she forced her lips into a smile and said, “Thank you, Mr. White.”
“The pleasure is mine.” He returned her squeeze, hefting her onto the mare as he did so. She clenched her jaw against the pain, refusing to give in to his childish antics. Especially in front of the marquess.
Certain his eyes must be on her, she lifted her gaze to search for the dark-haired Lord Satterfield. For if there was one good thing about her current p
redicament, it was that her wish to ride a beast intended for Emberton had been granted. The marquess would no doubt be focused and trained on her. For the entire ride.
Her muscles relaxed, her smile melting from forced to real—until her gaze lit upon Lord Satterfield, and she noticed he was not looking at her. Or in her general direction.
No, his face was turned to his right, where Henrietta stood, gazing up at the earl and batting her dark lashes. Albina’s chest hollowed, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. Tears pricked at her eyes. She had thought…had naively believed…
She cast her gaze to the ground. A sick, sour feeling washed over her along with the realization that even on a prize piece of horseflesh, she was not worthy of Lord Satterfield’s gaze. Because for better or for worse, she was not her elder sister. Albina would have her place firmly on the shelf, the only candidates for her hand the aging lords with no teeth.
Shooting Albina a sympathetic gaze, Sarah veered her horse, a lovely bay gelding, alongside Albina. “I thought I might ride ahead with Mr. White and Lady Albina.”
Albina let out a breath and straightened her shoulders. If Sarah could see her frustrations, then so, too, could Mr. White, and the last thing she wanted was for him to discern the connection, or rather the lack thereof, between the marquess and her.
Fiddling with her hem, she glanced at Mr. White out of the corner of her eye. Even he was distracted by Henrietta, his strong arms assisting her sister onto a chestnut, the brown of her skirts complementing the copper-colored hairs of the horse’s back. Was he, too, bewitched by her sister’s charms? Enchanted by her alluring smile and her glowing complexion?
Shaking her head, Albina took a deep breath. No. Mr. White was merely adhering to his duty. Such as assisting her kin onto a horse.
With a frown, she returned her gaze to Lord Satterfield. She took in the readjusted tilt of the marquess’s head, comparing it to Mr. White’s position near Henrietta and her horse. Perhaps Lord Satterfield was not distracted by her sister at all, but by Mr. White.
Tiny seeds of hope sprung in her chest. The marquess was a man known for his pride, especially in the realm of racing. He no doubt wished to speak to Mr. White in hopes of gleaning something of the new jockey and which of the earl’s horses would be entering the derby. In that case, the marquess’s eyes would not only be directed toward the front of the party, where Mr. White would be riding alongside her, but on her mare as well. The ride could still be salvaged, the time with Lord Satterfield not entirely lost.
She allowed her lips to lift into a smile. Sarah caught her gaze and frowned, but Albina only smiled deeper, her mood buoyed by hope.
“I believe Lady Albina and Mr. White are sufficient in the lead, Lady Sarah,” said the earl. “Where would you have us ride, Lady Albina?”
She peered over her shoulder at the earl, who was wielding the ribbons of a white stallion. Frankly, she hadn’t given the idea much thought. It mattered not where they rode, only that they did. With her in the lead and the marquess in the rear, with a full view of her profile. She sat up a little straighter.
“The upper pasture,” Albina mumbled. She nibbled on her lip, watching as Mr. White took his place on top of the black stallion he had ridden earlier that morning.
“Is that a question or a decision, my lady?” asked the earl.
Albina gazed first at Sarah then at Mr. White, their expressions identical, their brows lifted as they waited for her reply.
The upper pasture was not far and fairly level, providing easy terrain for riding free of molehills and any other obstacle that might injure the horses. She was also very familiar with the area and would therefore appear confident and knowledgeable, two traits the marquess would undoubtedly admire.
Albina nodded to the west and the green fields of the upper pasture. “It is a decision, my lord.” She clicked her tongue, urging her mount away from the rest of the group. “Mind my pace,” she called. “The mare rode rather fast this morning.”
“Your mare?” Henrietta asked.
“She meant another mare, of course,” said Sarah, the slight breeze playing with the feathers decorating her hat. In a silent reprimand, she flashed her eyes at Albina.
“Of course,” said Albina. “I thought it implied, but I should have made myself clearer. My apologies. I fear my mind has been rather distracted as of late.”
“With illustrations of the latest fashion plates, no doubt,” remarked the marquess. He steered his horse away from a patch of clovers. “I am eager to see the upper pasture, my lady.”
They were the first words spoken directly to her from the marquess’s lips in…in, well, she had lost count how long. She gave an eager nod. “Of course. This way, my lord.”
She directed the mare alongside the black stallion Mr. White had chosen for himself.
“Are you ready, Mr. White?”
“Waiting on you, my lady.”
Albina peered back at the marquess. He smiled and tipped his hat. Her heart pounding, she dug her heels into the mare’s side, feeling as carefree as she had racing the mare that morning.
…
Edmund did not even try to divert his eyes from the erect, posture-perfect form of Lady Albina swaying proactively on top of the bay mare. He had every right to stare, for she had assumed the role of leader, which played nicely into a valid excuse for his fixed stares and appreciative glances.
He did not need to look at her, having fully acquainted himself with the vast acreage of Plumburn’s holdings, in particular the upper pasture where just this morning they had visited the lush grasses and flat, broad spaces perfect for racing.
But though he may not require his sight, he was thankful for it. He wanted to look at Lady Albina, for how could he not? Her rich, dark-brown tresses pinned tightly to her head bounced with every step, itching for his fingers to free them from their hold. The gold cording and brass buttons perfectly aligned on her riding habit set off her trim figure. Her skirts dangled over the side of the horse, held down with precision, skill, and sheer muscle control. She was a sight to behold, a picture of grace and elegance, every bit the lady and earl’s daughter her title proclaimed.
Yet, when he pulled his eyes off her to gauge the rear of the party, his eyes were the only ones upon her. Not that he wished for the cunning marquess to appreciate the girl’s form, but he had thought, out of ignorance, the man would keep his eyes on the lead.
The lord’s steel gaze, however, continued to flick toward the earl. Or rather to the earl’s right, where the countess rode, her cheeks flushed, laughter spilling from her lips. One need not be versed in the ways of love to see the man was smitten with a woman who was clearly taken. And, were Edmund any judge, she was quite smitten herself. With her husband. As she ought to be.
And the earl with her. The man’s protective stance toward his wife made it perfectly clear to any male within a measuring distance that she was his. It was a warning, however, that appeared lost on the marquess. Though he hid it well, the earl seemed aware of the marquess’s interest, keeping his wife to the right and away from Lord Satterfield’s bold gazes.
Edmund shook his head and returned his gaze to the delightful profile to his left front. Lady Albina held her ribbons loose in her hand, allowing the mare to do most of the work, leading by memory. Edmund relaxed into the molded leather of his saddle, the leather leads slack in his grip. He could not have planned a better afternoon had he tried. It was on the earl’s insistence that Edmund take front with Lady Albina and that she rode the mare Edmund had informed him was his preferred entry into Emberton.
This afternoon’s ride was, no doubt, an assessment of her riding capabilities and her progress. Edmund was not a fool—he was being judged right along with her, her riding a reflection of his instruction, a tutelage that was thus far exhibited by her poise and confident stance on the mare.
Settling farther into the saddle, Edmund allowed a smile.
“You can take your eyes off my person, Mr. W
hite,” Lady Albina said, her words barely audible over the horses’ stomps and snorts. “I believe you know the way to the upper pasture the same as I.”
He urged the stallion forward, coming as close as he dared to Lady Albina’s steed. “I’m not looking at you because I need direction, my lady. I look at you because I take pleasure in what I see.”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet at his candor. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the party, and he followed her gaze to Lord Satterfield, his gray gelding a good distance in the rear.
“He is here to study the horses,” Edmund mused aloud. “He’s been pestering me since he arrived at the stables, asking questions about the latest acquisitions…and the jockey.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. He’s quite interested in my ‘childhood friend.’”
“What did you tell him?”
Edmund shrugged. “The truth. Or at least as much of it as I could. You are an acquaintance with a talent for racing.”
Her lips twitched, her skin blushing further. “And did you expound on this talent of your…acquaintance?”
He adjusted his hat and grinned. “Only that I thought the person competent and capable of taking first at Emberton.”
Lady Albina laughed. Her entire face brightened, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth. “That may explain his agitated countenance.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded toward the countess. “Although some of it may be in part to his earnest interest in the countess.”
The light in Lady Albina’s eyes faded, the laughter on her lips dead as she stiffened in her seat. “I can only hope he has sorely underestimated your friend’s talents, Mr. White. For there is nothing more I would like than to see his face when that acquaintance takes first.”
She tightened her grip on the ribbons and directed the mare left.
Edmund’s stallion naturally followed, content to walk behind the mare. Only Edmund did not want to walk. He wanted to trot to her side and inquire after her sudden change of demeanor. Had he said something off-putting? Offensive?
He had, he supposed, crossed the line of familiarity, but she was not his master, and he was not her servant. Theirs was a business relationship between a student and instructor…that was quickly becoming more.
To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) Page 14