How To Marry a Rake

by Deb Marlowe

  How she hated to leave her fate in anyone else’s, even Stephen’s, hands. But it had to be done. If there was to be a victory here, then he was going to have to make the choice and mount his own campaign.

  The tension was tight about her shoulders again as she turned away and left him.

  The faintest light had just appeared on the horizon the next morning, when Lord Ryeton crunched along the walkway to his stables. He must have been expecting a flurry of activity in the last box in his stable row, but what he found was Lord Stephen Manning, waiting along with Lord Toswick, a grinning Matthew Grange and Sir Charles Bunbury, Steward and unofficial president of the Jockey Club.

  The earl promptly broke down into tears at the sight.

  His countess, on the other hand, promptly broke out of the house and fled the country. With his head groom.

  Several hours later, the trumpets summoned one and all, and the racing began. A line of beautiful horses and brightly coloured jockeys came together at the Rowley Mile. The tape fell and the 2,000 Guineas went off without a hitch, sans Pratchett, of course. Ornithopter easily beat the others to the finish post, finishing far ahead of the field and looking as if he could have run another race besides.

  The crowds cheered him wildly. The unknown, unattractive horse was a sensation. No one could speak of anything else.

  Until the news of Ryeton’s disgrace, Pratchett’s rescue and Lord Stephen Manning’s part in all of it broke. Even in Newmarket there had never been seen anything like the fury of cheering, jeering and gossip that resulted.

  Stephen’s arm grew sore from being pumped in congratulations. His back grew tender from the many slaps of congratulations. His name, and Fincote Park’s, featured in conversations all over town, and in the notes of newspapermen from across the kingdom. Racing men were approaching him, congratulating him, asking questions about Fincote and enquiring about scheduling private matches at his course. It was nearly everything he’d ever wanted. But unfortunately not everything he wanted now.

  He could barely enjoy his triumph, so anxious was he to see Mae. His victory felt hollow, somehow, with her not there to share in it. His chance came in the late afternoon, after the racing was done. Lord Toswick threw an impromptu gathering to celebrate the day’s incredible successes. All of his houseguests were present, of course, and much of Newmarket’s population, besides. The rooms and passageways of Titchley were filled with racing fans recounting the day’s events, toasting Stephen’s insight, Matthew’s bravery and Ryeton’s downfall.

  Stephen only wanted to find Mae. They had to settle things between them. He’d been on the verge of opening himself to her. But she’d closed herself off on the ride back into Newmarket, become distant and withdrawn.

  Now he finally caught a glimpse of her in the yellow salon—Good God, had it really only been days ago when he’d kissed her against that wall? She looked sober, almost listless—a marked contrast to the carefree people celebrating all around her.

  Stephen’s anxiety grew as the evening wore on. All of his pleasure in the day and anticipation for the future began to fade. Mae, his vibrant and energetic Mae, slunk through the party, quiet and subdued. She was obviously avoiding him. Stephen’s heart sank. It struck him suddenly, that this is how she must have felt, all those years ago, as she had followed him with hope in her heart and he had slid continuously away. What had happened to their new companionship? Where were the heat and the joy that had lately sprung up between them? When had they reverted to the mirror opposite of their old relationship?

  His nerves were balancing on a knife’s edge by the time Barty Halford drew him aside into a corner. It was a touch quieter here, but Stephen was not yet ready to speak to the man. He needed to resolve things with his daughter before he was forced to figure in Halford’s perspective.

  ‘Damn, but I’m proud of you, my boy.’ Halford glanced at him, then turned his gaze once more to the seething, celebratory throng. ‘You’ve done the sport proud, and done all of us a favour, exposing Ryeton’s deceit like that.’

  ‘Matthew said that the earl is being confined to the magistrate’s house.’

  Halford sighed. ‘That won’t last, I’m afraid. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, as of yet.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t suppose the magistrate will be able to charge him with painting socks on his prized stallion.’ Sobering, he took a deep draw on his own cigar. ‘But he’s finished in racing. No gentleman will ever stand a horse against him again. And word’s out now about his financial losses.’ His head shook in disapproval. ‘It was the gambling that did him in. There’s nothing left, except the title, it seems. Not even his wife. Seems she discovered how bad things were and tried to help him cover it. She’ll not likely return.’ He blew another cloud of smoke. ‘No, Ryeton won’t be having an easy time of it.’

  Something in the air told Stephen that the same might be said of him.

  ‘Well, you are getting more than a few accolades for your bit in this débâcle. Your friend Grange, too. That’s all well and good. And well deserved, I’m sure.’ Halford raised a brow. ‘But something tells me that it wasn’t your hand alone stirring this pot of scandalbroth.’

  Stephen didn’t comment, but apparently he didn’t have to.

  ‘I know that Mae was in this with you, thick as thieves. But I have to thank you for keeping her name out of the limelight. All this attention will only help your cause, but it isn’t the sort she needs right now.’

  If only Stephen knew what she needed right now! Damn her for becoming suddenly enigmatic.

  ‘My girl does appear to be happy since our return to England’s fair shores, and as I’ve said before, I know I’ve you to thank for much of that. You’ve been a good influence on her these past days, Lord Stephen, and for that I thank you.’

  ‘And as I’ve said before, it is my pleasure, sir.’

  Halford smiled, but the expression noticeably did not make it to his eyes. ‘Now that Ornithopter is a sensation I’ll be happy to thank you by racing him at your Fincote Park.’ He shrugged. ‘I would have liked to race him against Pratchett.’ He sighed. ‘That would have been something to see.’

  Stephen winced. Seeing Pratchett run now would have been something that anybody remotely connected to racing would have paid to see. But as expected, the Stewards had declared that the horse was not to race again—at least until recent events were thoroughly investigated.

  ‘The Stewards have that horse in hand, now. They’ll keep him in custody until the situation with Ryeton is settled, but the earl’s stables will be sold off, likely, to pay his debts. Might get to race against that horse afterwards, but it won’t be the same.’

  Another glance in Stephen’s direction. ‘Still and all, you did the right thing. We’ll find another horse to lose to mine.’ Halford chuckled. ‘And though it is a bit too soon to think of it now, once all of this commotion dies down, I’ll be pleased and proud to stand as your sponsor as a full member in the Jockey Club.’

  It was ridiculous, really. The man was handing him a platter full of his fondest dreams. All the best things that could result from this infernal situation—except the most important one. A week ago he would have been ecstatic. Five days ago he would have given anything to hear those exact words. But Barty Halford had not risen to his exalted financial status by granting wishes and getting nothing in return. Stephen feared the price was going to be very high indeed.

  The older man eyed him knowingly. ‘Of course, there is something you can do for me in return.’

  Of course. ‘What would that be, sir?’

  ‘It concerns Mae.’

  Of course.

  ‘And your friend, Mr Matthew Grange.’

  Stephen closed his eyes. That was just the opening blow and it hurt like hell. It made him wonder if he was going to make it intact to the end of this cordial battle.

  ‘You did agree to help in her search for prospective husbands. Perhaps Grange is not what most fathers would want in a match for their da
ughters,’ Halford mused. ‘But then, most fathers don’t have to contend with a daughter such as Mae.’ He chuckled. ‘But the man has been a war hero. And as far as I’m concerned he proved his mettle and his courage over again when he faced down society’s wolves here this week.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  ‘Grange has spent a fair amount of time with Mae in the last days and they seem to get on quite well.’ Carefully, Halford sipped at his drink. ‘The thing is, the man is going to need a solid helpmate to go on, what with his difficulties and all. And my Mae, she needs to be needed. If she weds him, she’ll have no time for restlessness. She’ll be busy looking after him, and helping him look after his interests. It’s just the sort of thing to keep her occupied until the children start to come along—and then she’ll be busy managing them, won’t she?’ He laughed.

  It was perhaps the lowest blow. It rocked him from his gut right down to the soles of his feet.

  ‘Mae seems to value your opinion,’ Halford said. ‘I don’t need her to make up her mind today. Plenty of time. But if you talk to your friend and find him willing—well, then, I’d appreciate it if you would steer her in that direction.’

  The old man waited for an answer, calm and expectant. Did he know what he was doing? What choice he was forcing Stephen to make?

  Of course he knew. Mae had learned strategy and manipulation at his knee.

  Stephen’s chest heaved like a bellows. He wanted to shout a denial; to inform Halford unequivocally that no one would ever wed his daughter but him. He resisted the urge to cover his eyes with a hand. He’d done this to himself. He’d worried that it might come down to such a choice. He couldn’t regret opening his eyes at last to all the beauty, generosity and exasperating perfection that was Mae, but what could compare to the pain of losing her, of seeing her spend her life with another man?

  Only one thing—and the weight of it had already begun to crush the air from his lungs. The burden of guilt he would be taking on along with her hand. The heavy load of disappointment and sorrow from scores of people back home if he angered Halford and allowed him to withdraw his support and his patronage, if Fincote Park continued to sit empty, its people idle, their hope slipping away once more with each passing day. And, worst of all, the incalculably oppressive weight of his own failure, of the knowledge that his mother had been right, and that all of his struggles had been for naught.

  Tiny slivers were running all along the shiny, reflective surface that Stephen showed to the world. It was an internal battle to hold them all together now.

  ‘I’ll be happy to talk to Grange, sir.’ It was all he managed to get out.

  ‘And Mae?’ The man was ruthless.

  Stephen nodded.

  With a satisfied expression, Halford crushed the cigar. He held out a hand and wrung Stephen’s nearly as hard as he’d just wrung his heart. Somehow, Stephen forced out the usual parting pleasantries. He left the corner, staggering a little. He felt, suddenly, as if he were an old man. He couldn’t go back to the raucous party. He turned instead for the back of the house, and headed for the back door, wondering, as he went, just how many glittering pieces of himself he was leaving behind.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mae knew her father. That meant that she had a pretty good idea what that little meeting he’d held with Stephen had been all about. From across the room she watched Stephen gingerly step away from their somewhat isolated corner—and then she was certain. Silent, she followed and watched him head for the back of the house and she wondered if he meant to escape or if he only needed a moment to compose himself. She gave him a few minutes to accomplish either one or the other, and then she went after him.

  He wasn’t in the back passageways. Nor was he in the yellow salon. She felt a twang as she went past, the echo of that first kiss. She reached the kitchen, swung through the door and into organised chaos. Most of the busy kitchen maids didn’t even look up from their flying fingers. Mae raised an eyebrow to the cook. The stout woman merely kept whipping her cream and cocked her head towards the back door.

  This part of the grounds held no formal garden, just a plot of land for the kitchen’s use. There was a crude bench in the corner, for the cook’s assistants to rest on as they cleaned carrots and snapped beans. Stephen sat there. Mae breathed in the fresh scent of spring onions and thyme and went to join him.

  He looked pale. Lost. Like he had on that first night, after Ryeton had insulted his friend and dashed his hopes. She sat beside him. It was a small bench, but she pushed herself in and up against him. His dejection was telling her volumes and breaking her heart. Surely he deserved to hurt right along with her. She was not going to make this easy on him. She never had been one to play fair.

  ‘So, what did he offer you?’

  He heaved a sigh. ‘Ornithopter at Fincote Park, as well as his filly. And full membership in the Jockey Club.’

  Mae nodded. ‘He usually knows his man.’

  ‘I am supposed to push you into considering Matthew Grange as a prime candidate for marriage.’

  She snorted. ‘My father is not blind. You can bet that he knows what Matthew needs right now is freedom.’

  His eyebrows rose. She decided to look at them and not at the incredibly clear blue of his eyes. Apparently he had not been considering Matthew Grange’s needs. Well, she could forgive him that, as it was likely her fault. She had been keeping him busy, after all.

  ‘You know he was just warning you off. From me.’ She said it bluntly. If he was going to ruin her life, she’d rather it be done with swiftly.

  He nodded.

  ‘Is it so difficult, then?’

  He didn’t answer, just asked a question of his own. ‘Did you send him to do it?’

  Swift tears arose. Impatient, she blinked them back and shook her head.

  ‘There’s that, at least,’ he muttered.

  They sat together in the quiet evening for several minutes. It should be raining, she thought irritably. Why wasn’t it raining? If it rained she could postpone this—the worst moment of her life—the one she was entirely to blame for. If it rained, then the noise of the falling droplets would mask the slow drip, drop of sorrow leaking from her broken heart.

  Still silence. Mae was reminded suddenly of the old adage. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Had she said it out loud? She turned to look at him. This time she made the mistake of looking into those clear eyes, the ones that took in everything and showed nothing of the real Stephen inside. For the last time, she looked—and she fell, far and long and down, while he stole her breath, her future and her happiness.

  Wordless, she waited. Now, she silently urged him. Now was the time for him to come out, or to let her in. Everything—their entire lives—hung in the balance.

  ‘I wish this were easier,’ he said miserably. ‘Part of me knows that there is only one answer—that you are everything to me.’

  ‘Bring out the other part, then, and let me deal with it.’ She tried to laugh. And failed miserably.

  ‘It’s about more than just me.’ He sounded stricken. ‘You can’t know. No one knows—not even Nicky—everything I feel about Fincote Park.’

  Mae drew a breath. Tried to think. ‘I know how much you want it to succeed.’ Enough to trade her—and their happiness—to ensure it?

  ‘I told you about my mother. About how she was unable to deal with the dissolution of her marriage. She let it destroy her life.’

  She nodded. Waited.

  ‘That’s not the worst of it. She let it destroy everyone’s lives. Everyone at Fincote. She couldn’t look outside her own sorrow long enough to notice anything. Not me. Not Nicky. Not even the rack and ruin that grew up around her.’ He swallowed, and she wondered if he was going to be able to go on.

  ‘She wanted to be invisible, I think. And she didn’t want to see. I couldn’t get through to her. I let it hurt me. I let her neglect defin
e me, in so many ways. But worse, I let her blindness hurt others.’

  ‘What happened?’ Mae was losing him. She felt it. But she had to know why.

  ‘It was the steward. My fault, though. I simply stopped visiting. What was the use? My visits grew shorter, with greater lengths between them, and finally, I could barely make myself go. Mother certainly didn’t care what he did, so he was unchecked. There was no one to stop him from taking what he wanted. From whomever he wanted. He bled them all dry, Mae.’

  She made an inarticulate sound.

  ‘There’s worse. When she died, she left Fincote to me. It was my inheritance, my responsibility, but I didn’t want to go back. I was kicking up my heels in town—why should I return there and confront all the anger and inadequacy roiling inside of me? So I stayed away, and the villain was left free to do as he wished. He stole everything, even their hope. Until the land became as desolate and the people became as listless as my mother.’

  He paused for a moment, and then he whispered, ‘I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. I didn’t even discover it until long after she died.’

  ‘Right before Charlotte’s wedding.’ She was whispering too. Suddenly his pain, his frustration and short temper all those years ago made sense. She’d known something was wrong. She’d pushed the matter and set all of these events in motion.

  ‘I found … a wasteland. It was shocking. The soil was drained, every building and tenant house derelict, the livestock and equipment gone. They’d lost all hope.’

  ‘But you helped them.’

  ‘I just jumped in and did what I could. I’d always wanted to start up my own racecourse. I fell back on the idea and convinced them to go along with it. Two long years I’ve invested what money I have and worked at their side and promised them a better future. I have to deliver it.’