Unbefitting a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  Bram winked. ‘That’s exactly what I’m thinking. I’m also thinking, this isn’t a flat race like Newmarket. A horse has to do more than just run a straight line as fast as it can from start to finish.’

  Bram didn’t have to complete his thought. Phaedra nodded. Manfred was a bay colt with a redoubtable sire in Election but small. The Derby course would take a more powerful horse and perhaps a better rider. Azor on the other hand was a chestnut colt with the reputable Jem Robinson on board. It would come down to what mattered most: the rider or the horse. Jem Robinson had captained plenty of mounts to victory and it wouldn’t be his first Derby.

  ‘Sixty-to-one?’ Phaedra eyed her colt. ‘And the favourite never wins?’

  ‘Never.’ Bram grinned, his eyes lighting up with laughter.

  ‘Sounds like perfect odds to me.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Phaedra had left the stables long enough to change and look presentable for the Derby. The worst was over. When she returned, Bevins had groomed the horse to gleaming perfection and Matt Somerset had the situation well in hand, which was saying something. Warbourne was in high spirits as if he knew exactly what was going on today. And well he might. This was not his first time to race. But it would be his first successful completion, of that she had no doubts.

  Phaedra ran her hands over Warbourne’s legs, checking for heat, the standard sign of lameness or strain from his bout with dehydration the night before. She’d found none.

  ‘Phaedra, we have to go,’ Bram said quietly at her side. He, too, had found time to change. In fresh clothes, the night hadn’t left a mark on him.

  ‘Just a moment.’ Phaedra took off her hat, a wide-brimmed confection with ribbon to match her violet-sprigged dress. She pressed her head to the colt’s. She closed her eyes, her hand resting along the length of his neck, and she listened, listened to the steady throb of his pulse, the strong beat of his heart, listened to the life force coursing through him, and was reassured.

  She murmured a few words to the horse and stepped back, returning her hat to her head. ‘I’m ready now.’ The sleepless night was taking its toll on her. She wanted to cry but that was utter silliness. ‘I wish Edward was here,’ she said softly.

  ‘Come on, Phaedra, let’s find our seats.’ Bram gently urged her out into the aisle way. ‘Matt will take things from here.’ Matt had just come from the pre-race weigh-in with the clerk of scales, weighing in at precisely eight stone including his saddle. He was smiling and looking well, all things considered.

  ‘He’s ready for you, Matt,’ Phaedra said with a smile. ‘He told me so himself.’ She wished she felt as ready. A minute and forty seconds would decide her future.

  * * *

  They had the same seats as yesterday. Only today, people recognised them and stopped by to enquire about Warbourne. The Duke of Rutland sent his condolences over the incident via a bottle of champagne. ‘Maybe we should send it back with our condolences when Warbourne beats Sylvanus,’ Bram whispered naughtily at her ear, making her laugh in spite of her nerves.

  ‘You do know what this means?’ Bram gestured towards the champagne. ‘It means you’ve already won. Even if Warbourne doesn’t win, you already have. You charmed them last night at the ball and shown them you’re worth taking seriously. The mere fact that Warbourne is here cannot be discounted. His breeding lines are impeccable. He might not be a race-winner but, chances are, he’ll beget winners. You just had to remind people of that.’ But Phaedra knew she hadn’t won alone. Rogue or not, people liked Bram and he’d paved the way with a little of his charm. It was one more thing he’d done for her without her asking.

  The bugler sounded the call to post, the traditional cavalry tune—‘Boots and Saddles’—as the horses stepped onto the track. The horses would parade by the grandstand and then disappear for the start, which was behind them.

  ‘There he is!’ Phaedra cried in a loud whisper. Warbourne stood out brilliantly, the only black horse in a race populated by four chestnuts, and four browns with five bays. Matt’s silks showing the Rothermere colours of red and gold sent a surge of pride through her.

  There were fourteen horses in all. A large field to be sure, but not as large as years past. It wouldn’t have been unusual to have twenty horses racing. Still, fourteen would be a challenge. Matt would have to navigate with skill in order to avoid being trapped in the middle.

  Matt looked up into the crowd and saluted with his crop before the horses dropped out of sight. Phaedra’s stomach was a tight ball of nerves. Warbourne looked ready and Phaedra felt her chest tighten with pride. Her eyes threatened to mist. This had been her dream, and Edward’s dream, for as long as she could remember. It was her dream alone now. She had no illusions that she was doing this for Edward and the past. This was for her and for the future. It all begins here, she thought.

  ‘There’s still time to place a bet,’ Bram offered, rising in his seat.

  ‘Are you going to bet?’ Phaedra looked up quizzically. She was confident but she didn’t want Bram losing money on Warbourne. She wasn’t sure he had funds to lose.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Bram was grinning. ‘I’m going to bet it all on the biggest long shot there is.’ With that wicked grin, she couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  Bram came back still grinning. Phaedra wished she could be so sanguine. She could see the course in her mind. She’d walked it thoroughly with Matt Somerset, talking through each turn, each rise and fall. The course was a horseshoe full of tricks for the unsuspecting horse and rider. Not only that, it was a left-hand course, making it what some called ‘the supreme test’ for a racehorse. Most courses were right-handed.

  ‘Here.’ Bram passed her a set of binoculars. ‘Now you don’t have to guess where your horse is at.’ He chuckled. ‘Handy little inventions, don’t you think?’ Around them, others raised their binoculars to their faces. It must be nearly time. Phaedra followed suit.

  She could just make out the start. ‘The flag is up, Bram. I see him. Matt’s holding him well. He’s prancing a little. Now he’s still.’ The outriders that had escorted the horses to the starting line were drawing back. But Phaedra knew they’d remain until the race had started. It was their job to pick up any horses that became riderless, like Warbourne had been last year.

  The starter flipped the flag in a figure-eight gesture and they were off. Phaedra bit her lip. Matt surged with the rest of the pack. Warbourne had passed the first test: his rider had stayed on. The next test began right away. There was a right-hand bend and a slow uphill climb that would tax a horse’s stamina for the first half of the race.

  Nearly up the hill, the pack began to separate, Manfred the favourite with Student, Azor and Young Wizard starting to surge away from the pack with Warbourne moving with them. A few rows behind them, Phaedra heard the Duke of Rutland curse as Sylvanus remained with the pack.

  The five started the downhill slope, Matt using the descent to propel Warbourne forward. The downhill swept towards Tattenham Corner and another thirty-four-foot drop in elevation. Warbourne was pushing Student now, forcing the horse to give way while Warbourne ate up ground. Manfred faltered, unable to keep up with the longer-legged horses. The pack was nothing now. They were running steadily behind but there would be no catching the leaders.

  Phaedra held her breath. Coming out of Tattenham Corner, it was Azor and Warbourne vying for position against Young Wizard. The crowd in the stands rose in anticipation of a close finish.

  Phaedra’s hands were white on the binoculars where she gripped them. Do something, Matt, she thought. A tie would mean a run-off. After his illness, Warbourne wouldn’t win a second race. Foam flecked Warbourne’s dark coat. Matt Somerset was whipping away in encouragement on the horse’s right side.

  The last three furlongs were a straight away. Matt crouched low over Warbourne’s neck, keeping his weight out of the saddle, giving Warbourne every freedom. Warbourne would need it. The last one hundred feet was a final rise before the fini
sh. Student fell off, vying with Manfred who made a last but futile surge. Azor and Young Wizard began to show signs of tiring, the last one hundred becoming a challenge for which they had little energy left.

  It was Warbourne by half a head, then Young Wizard with Azor not giving in. In front of them, Mr Payne was nearly standing on his seat in excitement. Faster, Phaedra wished in her head. Just a little faster, just a little farther. She looked desperately through the lenses. In a sudden move, Matt Somerset switched his crop to his left hand, whipping away on Warbourne’s other side. Warbourne surged! ‘Bram, do you see it?’ Phaedra yelled to be heard.

  ‘I see it, he’s got it, Phaedra, he’s got it!’ Bram’s excitement was as genuine as hers.

  Warbourne crossed the finish a half-length ahead of Azor with Young Wizard following close behind. They had won. There was still the stewards’ official announcement but the race had been clean and the finish, while close, had been obvious.

  She was in Bram’s arms, and he was kissing her, uncaring who saw. Amid the excitement, no one would mind about the propriety of such a display. There was no better feeling than this. Exclamations erupted all around her, disbelief, excitement, disappointment. Warbourne had been a long shot, after all. Those who had won had made extraordinarily good money but they’d won at the expense of others who’d made safer, statistically wiser bets. It shouldn’t have happened. But it did. Her horse had won the Derby.

  She smiled at Bram, tears glistening on her cheeks, emotions swamping her. After two years of deaths and disappointments, she’d found the light. She had emerged.

  ‘You did it,’ Bram was whispering against her ear. ‘You believed that colt could be saved and you saved him.’ Bram swung her about in a tight circle, her body pressed close to his. ‘Let’s head down to the winner’s circle and see how old Matt is doing with his new-found success.’

  It was all noise and light, a blur of sensations and emotions in the winner’s circle. People were shaking her hand, and asking questions. Phaedra could hardly follow most of what was being said. She just kept repeating herself, conscious of Bram’s bulk quietly behind her, supporting her. ‘Yes, this is Warbourne by Noble Bourne and Warrioress.’ And ‘Yes, I trained him at the Castonbury stables. Yes, I plan to begin a stud in earnest come next spring.’

  The crowd eventually ebbed away, lured by the prospect of the other races that afternoon—the Durdan Stakes and the Denbies would follow. There would be parties that night and she would need to attend to solidify her new-found fame. The Duke of Rutland had already invited them out to his home in the Epsom countryside, the Durdans, the stakes’ namesake, for supper and dancing that evening. But there was a moment’s peace for now.

  They needed to go and check on Matt and Warbourne back at the stables but there was something she needed to say to Bram first. She drew him aside in a rare quiet corner. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ Bram smiled, trying to tease but she wanted to be serious.

  ‘Don’t shrug this off, Bram. Thank you for everything. For helping, for coming after me, for finding me Matt Somerset. I know I didn’t do this alone.’ For being my family when I had none, for making sure I didn’t have to celebrate alone.

  He rewarded her with solemnity of his own. ‘You’re welcome, Phaedra. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’

  ‘I know.’ Phaedra furrowed her brow. ‘I mean, I know it cost you everything. I don’t suppose your father won’t hear about this.’

  Bram shook his head, his hands resting lightly on her waist. ‘No, I’m sure by this time tomorrow he’ll know, if he doesn’t already.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘For starters, I’m going to collect my winnings and then I’m going to take the victorious Lady Phaedra to the Durdans and bask in her success.’ Bram laughed as if nothing else mattered. What had Matt said? That Bram liked the adventure of living?

  ‘Our success,’ Phaedra corrected.

  ‘That’s very generous of you. But tonight, I’d rather it be your success.’

  * * *

  Bram pocketed his winnings. They were substantial. He hadn’t been joking when he’d told Phaedra he’d bet every cent and pound he’d had on the long shot. His winnings wouldn’t support him for ever, but he didn’t want that. He wanted enough to buy a ring at the discreet jewellers on South Street. Tonight, he was going to bet on something far more important than a race.

  He knocked on Phaedra’s door shortly before eight o’clock and escorted her to the curricle he’d rented for the short drive to the Durdans. The evening was clear, stars twinkled overhead and the weather was mild, a perfect night for a drive, a perfect night for deciding his future.

  Phaedra sat beside him, stunningly beautiful in a gown of deep red crêpe over a satin slip of palest gold. ‘Rothermere colours?’ He noted wryly.

  She tossed him a smug little smile. ‘Rothermere colours indeed.’

  The Durdans was located on the North Downs and the drive was short. The stately house with its Palladian columns glowed with lights, carriages lining the drive. This would be a dinner party extraordinaire featuring the crème of the racing world.

  Bram bided his time and waited for his moment. If Phaedra had been nervous for the Derby, he was having his share of nerves now. He waited through the seven-course dinner and countless glasses of wine. He waited through dances until it was time to claim his own. Everything preceding it was an especial kind of torture designed to heighten his wanting.

  She’d been dazzling at dinner, beautiful and refined, and knowledgeable. She hadn’t hesitated to speak her mind. It set his teeth on edge to know every man in the room wanted her. Who wouldn’t?

  Finally they could dance, although Bram thought it hardly should qualify as one of the two dances he was limited to. It was a country dance that required he rotate through different partners. It barely counted as a dance ‘with’ Phaedra. But it was afterwards he was looking forward to.

  The set ended and he escorted Phaedra out onto the terrace. The house was beautifully set, making the most of the serene countryside. He had no qualms about doing it here. Others might quail at the propriety of proposing at a ball, but he didn’t. No matter where he did it, it would be between him and Phaedra regardless of who was around. And he had to do it tonight, before their proverbial clock struck midnight, before their Epsom escape came to an end.

  ‘Phaedra,’ he began, slowly, feeling his way towards the conversation he wanted to have. He should have rehearsed this, practised this. He was feeling decidedly unprepared now. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.’ She nodded, encouraging him but perplexed. She’d probably said a million things ‘earlier’ and was wondering which one he was referring to.

  Enough with the small talk and careful preludes. Bram reached inside his inner coat pocket and pulled out the small box. He flipped it open with a thankfully steady thumb. He let the diamond band catch the moonlight for a poignant moment. ‘I want a lifetime of Epsoms with you, Phaedra. I want you to marry me, not for Giles, or to squelch rumours or for any other reason than that I love you and probably have for some weeks now, although I was too obtuse to realise it.’

  His hand holding the box trembled a little when she said nothing. She just stared. Bram rushed onwards. ‘I know I’m not a great catch.’

  ‘Shh.’ Phaedra put a gloved finger to his lips. ‘You’re not a great catch, you’re my catch.’ She pulled the glove off with maddening slowness and took the ring from the box, sliding it onto her finger. She held it up to the moonlight. ‘Yes. I say yes.’

  ‘Are you sure? I have a ridiculous father who’s all but disowned me and that’s a mere technicality.’

  ‘I’m sure, Bram,’ Phaedra said quietly, pulling her glove on over the ring. It would be their private secret tonight. ‘Everyone’s family is a little nuts. My father lives in the past.’ She gave him an ornery grin that warmed him to his toes. ‘And I’m thinking your parents will get along famously with Aunt Wil
helmina.’

  They laughed together in the warm darkness. ‘I’m not good odds, Phaedra. I don’t know what kind of husband I’ll make.’

  ‘Most people don’t know. Having not been married before, I’m not sure what kind of wife I’ll make. We’ll figure it out, Bram. Besides, long shots are our specialty.’

  He kissed her then, long and lingering, drinking in all her confidence, all her spirit. She thought she needed him, but in truth, he knew the reality: he needed her. She filled the empty places in him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘He was magnificent! The little chapel at Castonbury was filled with wedding guests but Phaedra had eyes only for Bram waiting for her at the end of the flower-bedecked aisle. He was dressed in a dove-grey morning coat and trousers, his dark hair brushed to a raven-hued sheen, but it hardly mattered what he wore. She would think he was magnificent anyway.

  ‘Are you ready, Phae?’ Giles squeezed her arm, his eyes mysteriously misty. ‘I had no idea I’d be giving away both my sisters within a year.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Father’s down front. I’m sorry, he’s too frail to make the journey down the aisle.’

  ‘I’d rather have you, Giles,’ Phaedra said softly. ‘It will be your turn next. It hardly seems fair you were the first engaged but the last to marry.’

  Giles chuckled. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll have my moment soon enough. Today is for you. You look lovely. Mother would have been so proud.’

  Phaedra nodded, too moved to speak. Despite Aunt Wilhelmina’s cool greeting when they had returned, Aunt Willy, as Bram liked to call her in private, had managed to unearth her mother’s wedding dress, a pale cream confection of chiffon over satin. ‘It had never really fit Kate right’ was all she’d said, and she’d been correct. The gown had fit Phaedra much better and Phaedra was proud to wear it.

  Reverend Seagrove gave Giles a little nod of his head and they began the walk. The four weeks since Epsom had been heady. They’d journeyed home to Castonbury, Warbourne in tow. Phaedra had written ahead to Giles with their news so banns could be posted. Instead of detouring through London for a special licence, Bram had insisted they marry after the traditional calling of the banns. Phaedra had been touched by the gesture. Such tradition would go a long way to remove any speculation of scandal.