by Donna Hatch
Lord Amesbury placed his free hand over hers. She was appalled at how comforting the gesture felt. “Shall we take a turn about the grounds first, or shall we fall upon the picnic?"
"You really do have a picnic?"
A rakish grin lit up his handsome face. “A gentleman is always prepared in the hopes that he might be graced with the presence of desirable company."
Elizabeth looked up at him adoringly. “How lovely. And how considerate of you to invite us to join you. I have never been to a race and I confess I did not know what to expect.” She looked searchingly at Alicia, confused at her reluctance. Alicia did not enlighten her.
The viscount had indeed come prepared. His tiger, a rosy-cheeked lad who appeared to not have quite grown into his new legs, turned away from the matched team he tended and helped the viscount retrieve blankets and enough food to feed several grown men. Lord Amesbury grinned and ruffled the tiger's hair. The boy beamed before he returned to the horses.
Lord Amesbury leaned on one elbow on the blanket with his legs stretched out, and regaled them with wild tales from the sea. Alicia suspected they were two parts fabrication and one part truth, but his rich voice wrapped around them and held them spell-bound. His eyes sparkled mischievously, as if he mocked himself each time he mocked the manners and mores of English culture and compared it to life at sea. She could not resist his infectious laughter.
When the conversation reached a lull, Mrs. Hancock primly wiped her mouth with a napkin. “How are your aunt and uncle?"
"Very well. My aunt is busily organizing some sort of charity. Uncle Andrew had planned on attending the race, but his leg sometimes bothers him due to an old injury. I'm grateful to you all for not letting my picnic go to waste. Cook would have been most put out if it had returned uneaten."
"Your uncle's cook is legendary,” Mrs. Hancock agreed.
The viscount's eyes twinkled. “Indeed. I tease my aunt that the only reason I visit her is so that I might partake of Cook's remarkable meals."
Alicia smiled in spite of herself.
Elizabeth giggled. “That's wicked of you.” Then she looked alarmed as if she had just realized what she had said. “Ah, I mean, my lord..."
The viscount waved away her concern. “Quite right. I am wicked and not ashamed of it, Miss Hancock. My aunt makes a habit of reminding me of that flaw continuously."
"Your aunt is a bit outspoken, but I have never known a kinder woman than Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Mrs. Hancock interjected.
His face softened. “That she is, Mrs. Hancock."
A cry went up and Alicia craned her neck, trying to find the source.
"The race is about to begin.” Excitement colored the viscount's voice. As they approached the racecourse, Lord Amesbury eyed the racers lining up. “If I were to bet, I would choose the chestnut."
"Would you? Why?” Alicia asked, interested in spite of herself. “The Arabian is the chosen favorite, I hear."
"The Arabian will be a good contender. They typically have great endurance, so they're ideal for a long race, but this isn't a long race."
Elizabeth peered at the horses. “Which one is the Arabian?"
"The black coming on. He's a beauty. But the chestnut has powerful hind quarters so he's probably a good jumper. And this race is shorter which will be the advantage for a sprinter like him. The bay, however, is taller and would have a longer stride. Of course, appearances are not everything. The one with the heart of a winner will cross the finish line first."
Alicia turned to him. “You don't consider the others contenders?"
The viscount scanned the horses as they lined up to begin, his blue eyes thoughtful. “No, I wouldn't say so, but I haven't seen any of them run, so it's hard to tell."
A signal began the race. Though Alicia had never before taken an interest in horse-racing, her pulse quickened in excitement as the horses and riders vied for the lead. The chestnut horse pulled out in front but soon the Arabian caught up to him as they passed the spot where Alicia stood. The racers ran past a second time in the same position, but by the third, the Arabian had passed them. With only one more lap to go, a gray from behind the group darted in front, taking the lead by a nose as they crossed the finish line.
Lord Amesbury wore a self-depreciating smile.
"And you did not even see that one as a contender,” Elizabeth mused, clearly surprised.
Alicia looked back at the gray stallion slowing to a trot under a rainfall of flowers. “The one with the heart of the winner."
"Indeed. Appearances truly are often deceiving,” Lord Amesbury mused.
Smiling, Alicia rode home that afternoon with Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock, grateful for a few hours to forget about her impending marriage to the unknown man of her uncle's choosing. She'd enjoyed herself despite Lord Amesbury's presence. Or perhaps because of it.
However, notwithstanding his winning smile or charming conversation, a picnic and a pleasant afternoon certainly did not buy forgiveness for her brother's death.
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CHAPTER 7
"I believe I shall offer for Alicia Palmer."
Cole stared at young Mr. de Champs, shocked at his bold statement.
The senior Mr. de Champs, a thin, elegant gentleman, removed the cigar from his mouth.
Before he could speak, the younger man held up his hand. “I am aware that she has only a small piece of land for a dowry, and that her uncle is counting on her husband to pay his debts, but she has won my affection. She comes from a good family; her parents were exemplary. I also understand that potential husbands are already in negotiation. If we had more time, I would court her first, but we do not have that luxury. I have no doubt that my esteem for her will only grow after we marry."
Having delivered his announcement, young Mr. de Champs, wearing a determined expression, left the fireplace mantle and took a seat in the de Champs’ study.
Overall, de Champs seemed a good man. Not good enough for Alicia Palmer, but certainly more fitting than any of the other prospects Cole knew her uncle asked her to consider. At least this man's affection seemed genuine.
"I shall call upon her, and ask her feelings upon the matter before I speak with her uncle,” the younger man continued, his voice growing steadily more confident.
The de Champs family, close friends of Uncle Andrew and Aunt Livy, had invited them and Cole for dinner, after which the men gathered for their habitual male-only companionship, leaving the women to discuss what they would. Cole suspected that their topics often included the men, and not in flattering tones. Rightly so, perhaps.
The senior Mr. de Champs said, “Do you know what kind of debt her uncle has amassed?"
The younger man faltered. “I understand it's a great deal."
When Mr. de Champs named the sum, considerable coughing followed.
The would-be suitor looked crestfallen. “I don't know how I can part with that sum and still be able to offer her a comfortable life."
"Nor do I wish you to spend it more or less buying a wife, however desirable,” added his father.
Uncle Andrew frowned slightly. “Both Colonel Westin and Mr. Braxton have shown interest. What's odd, is Mr. Braxton suddenly closed up his house and left England. Said something about wanting to see Africa for an extended holiday."
Cole almost laughed out loud. Apparently, their little tête á tête had been a success. Now he didn't have to be concerned Braxton would spread a vicious rumor about her.
The elder Mr. de Champs put his cigar back in his mouth and drew a long drag before speaking again. “She's not even what I'd call beautiful. Pretty, perhaps, but not uncommonly so."
"Oh, but she is, Father,” young de Champs protested. “If only you would speak with her. She has the prettiest eyes. And she's the most sincere and truly kind lady I've ever known."
Cole had to agree, but he refrained from commenting. He watched young de Champs narrowly, seeing flaws he had not noticed before, with a growing sens
e of dislike. Young, flighty, and impulsive. Rather foppish. Bordering on effeminate.
Foolish. He should not think of de Champs as a competitor. What did he care? He did not even wish to marry in the immediate future. And he certainly had no designs on Miss Palmer.
But with the exception of the very young and naïve Mr. de Champs, the other men interested in marrying her gave Cole the shivers. He had no wish to see such an innocent creature wed to the likes of Colonel Westin, the devil who publicly dressed her down at the races as if she were an errant child. Alicia Palmer's fate with the colonel would be no better than with that brute Mr. Braxton who'd assaulted her at the ball. Under the colonel's thumb, she would either shrivel up and die, or become embittered like his sister Margaret with her disastrous marriage.
"Few could compete with Colonel Westin's fortune.” Uncle Andrew said.
"Do you know the man?” Cole asked.
"Recluse. Has buried two wives already. Stingy curmudgeon. I'm surprised he's willing to part with his money at all. He employs far too few servants because he's too miserly to hire more. Has had to close off both wings and live in the main house. He seems harmless, but I've seen him fly into a rage I found truly terrifying.” Uncle Andrew virtually shuddered. “I wouldn't marry my niece to him."
Mr. de Champs looked crestfallen. “I wish I could save her from such a fate."
Cole did, too. He stilled. No. Stupid idea. He did not have the desire to marry. Not yet. Not even out of pity. Especially not out of pity.
He had the means, though. It could be done. And he did admire the girl. She had revealed herself a delightful, witty young lady with a smile that rivaled the sun after a storm. He'd grown aware of her in a keenly male way and had caught himself plotting when he could arrange their next meeting. Marrying a lady such as she did not seem an unpleasant prospect.
He almost cursed out loud.
Absolutely not. Sympathy, or its equally stupid brother, Chivalry, both presented ridiculous notions that should not be followed. Ever. Especially when they involved a permanent arrangement such as marriage.
Besides, she clearly hated him for shooting her brother. Her twin brother, no less.
Cole remained silent while the senior Mr. de Champs stripped his son of any hope that he might ever marry Miss Alicia Palmer. All the while, Cole swallowed the urge to rise to her defense and declare her many fine qualities which made her a desirable wife, well worth the exorbitant fee her uncle required. For someone else. Not himself, of course.
When they finally said good night, Cole stared unseeing out the dark windows of the coach.
"Cole."
He blinked and then realized that Aunt Livy had been addressing him. “What, Aunt?"
"Miss Hermione de Champs. How did you find her?"
"Painfully shy."
"Yes, poor dear, but pretty, was she not?"
Cole pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a looming headache brought on by an over-use of his patience. “Is that why we were invited to dinner, so you and Mrs. de Champs could determine our suitability?"
Aunt Livy waved her hand impatiently. “Of course, dear."
Cole lowered his hand. “Perhaps I should find Jared. The sea is looking more appealing."
"Don't you dare run away and play pirate again with your brother. I haven't forgiven you for the last time. It's taken you too long to remember your genteel upbringing."
Cole turned a baleful frown upon her. “The time I served as an officer in the Royal Navy was far bloodier than the year I sailed with Jared."
"We were at war. Your service in the Navy was honorable. Piracy is disgraceful, and if it were ever common knowledge, you'd both—” She stopped herself from pronouncing a fate he knew all too well. “I wish your brother would just come home."
He barked a sharp laugh. “Not likely. That would thrust him back into ‘polite’ society where determining one's foes becomes more difficult, and the battles more vicious."
"You are the firstborn son of an earl and have a duty to marry to further the line."
"You take great delight in reminding me of that."
Uncle Andrew chuckled. “You may have better luck finding Grant a wife, my love."
Aunt Livy snorted. “That might take the rest of my days."
Cole choked at the thought of his brother Grant marrying. “What daft female would take him? He's the most cynical, hardened man I've ever known. Hence his disreputable pastime."
"Bow Street Runners are doing much for the safety of London.” Uncle Andrew protested.
Cole nodded. “Because they're as ruthless as the criminals they fight."
Aunt Livy fanned herself. “Certainly not a fitting occupation for the son of an earl."
Uncle Andrew would not be deterred. “Besides, he's not actually a Runner; he only assists them when they have a particularly interesting case. And the Runners are honorable men dedicated to protecting the public. I can understand why Grant likes them."
"I suppose there's a shred of honor in Grant's black heart,” Cole conceded. “In his own twisted way, he's trying to contribute. However, I still think he should have been a Magistrate if he wanted to uphold the law."
"Every family needs a black sheep, I suppose. Only yours has two. A thief-taker and a pirate.” Aunt Livy made a tsking sound. “Why is it that Christian is the only member of the family willing to do as he ought?"
"The perfectly perfect Christian,” Cole said in the same sing song voice with which they'd taunted the youngest Amesbury brother all his life.
Aunt Livy waggled her closed fan at Cole. “Don't think you can get away with changing the subject, you naughty boy."
"Not me. Uncle Andrew brought up Grant.” How did Aunt Livy always manage to make him feel like a six-year old?
Uncle Andrew smirked. “Perhaps I should go buy Miss Palmer for you, Cole. You could get the whole marrying business over with, produce an heir and then set her up in the country where you can ignore her if you wish. It would save her from all those other unsavory characters. And better yet, it would silence your aunt. I've been trying for thirty-seven years and am starting to believe it cannot be done."
Aunt Livy whacked his arm smartly with her fan.
"I don't need your money, Uncle. I certainly have the means to pay off her family myself, if I were so inclined.” Cole realized that they both watched him too carefully. He quickly arranged an uninterested expression on his face and brushed an imaginary spec off his sleeve.
"Ahh.” Uncle Andrew exchanged meaningful looks with Aunt Livy whose triumphant smile grew in direct proportion to Cole's attempt at appearing bored.
"It's not what you think.” He knew with growing alarm that nothing he could say now would dissuade them from believing what they wished. “Stay out of this,” he snapped.
Uncle Andrew cleared his throat. “Cole, there's nothing wrong with developing feelings for a young lady."
"I have no feelings. Not for her. Not for anyone. And I'll thank you to not bring it up again.” He felt like a petulant child trying to profess his innocence. “Perhaps I've stayed too long. I hear Italy is nice this time of year."
Aunt Livy leaned across to pat his arm and he had to force himself to not yank back out of her reach. “Don't go yet, dear. I vow I will respect your privacy."
"Why start now?” he snarled.
"Because I can see that you are quite vexed by it. You both may consider me silenced.” She pressed her fingers over her mouth and glanced at Uncle Andrew. “In this matter, at least."
Andrew grinned and kissed her gloved fingers. Their expressions for one another betrayed their obvious affection, despite their banter. They loved each other, despite the years and accompanying illnesses and injuries, and their strong personalities. Or perhaps because of them.
That he might have such a comfortable relationship with another seemed a tantalizing dream.
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CHAPTER 8
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nbsp; "Touché."
Grinning, Cole lowered his rapier and held out a hand to his opponent. The duke shook it before they removed their protective coverings and handed their rapiers and gear to the servants.
"Well done, Amesbury,” the other man praised.
Beads of perspiration ran down Cole's face and back. “And to you, my lord duke. You execute your moves flawlessly."
Fencing always proved an interesting diversion. Submersing himself in technique and strategy restored a sense of balance to his world.
"Next time you have the urge to fence, send me word. I enjoy a challenging opponent. So many are unable to offer any real sport,” the duke said.
"I shall, my lord duke. Thank you.” Cole toweled off his face.
Over the course of the week-long house party, the duke had proven himself remarkably gracious. A dignified gentleman, the duke was an attentive and generous host.
Too bad Miss Sinclair and her family were also invited to the same house party. Cole had grown weary of her scheming.
"Your Grace.” A servant ran into the room.
The Duke gave a wry smile. “Duties, it appears, Amesbury."
Cole grinned. “Thank you again for the excellent match.” They shook hands again and Cole went back to his room to bathe and change.
"Are you enjoying yourself, sir?” His valet, Stephens, asked as he assisted.
Stephens was far too outspoken and opinionated, but Cole viewed him as a friend first and a servant second. A former comrade-at-arms, they had saved each other's lives many times. And Stephens proved his loyalty repeatedly when Cole found himself dodging eager debutantes or their overzealous mothers. Or when he wished to arrange a discreet liaison.
Cole grimaced. “Outside of the hunting and fencing matches, the only things I truly enjoyed, the week has been filled with games of all kinds and women with matrimony on their minds. Aunt Livy probably helped plan the menu, commonly known as the guest list. I'm surprised they didn't serve me to the ladies on a platter sautéed in butter."
Stephens chuckled. “Miss Catherine Sinclair would have been the first to take a serving."