“All right, all right. I have always had a certain regard for Devruex and would hate to see him hurt—”
“What does Devruex have to do with this?” Emma blurted in sudden alarm.
Mrs. Willoughby put a hand on her hip. “If you will stop interrupting me, I will tell you. Yesterday, Monteford had one of his men take a packet of money to the jockey who will be riding Devruex’s horse in the Severly race that is taking place today.”
Emma frowned. “A packet of money? Whatever for?
“You are rather green, aren’t you?” Mrs. Willoughby said with a snort. “To bribe him, that’s why. Monteford is desperate for blunt and is betting that the horse will lose. He wants to make sure that is exactly what happens.”
Emma felt not only shocked, but bewildered. “Bribe the jockey? But you must be mistaken. Monteford is a cad, but I cannot imagine that he would be so dishonorable.”
“I told you, he is quite distraught. He’s rather spoiled, you know. Besides, he’s grown to hate Devruex of late. Devruex left Town yesterday, so I could not tell him about the packet. I thought you would be going to the races and could warn Devruex. Maybe there will be enough time to switch jockeys.”
Emma’s thoughts were spinning with the possible ramifications of what she just heard. “Good heavens, I can hardly countenance what you are saying.”
Spurred by this devastating news, she grabbed her trailing hem and whirled toward Titus, when a sudden thought had her tossing a question to Mrs. Willoughby. “Why tell me?”
She knew without question that Mrs. Willoughby held her in great dislike, so this gesture was quite inexplicable.
The younger woman lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. “When we spoke before, I said that you could not know what it was like to struggle. You told me that I knew nothing of your life.” She turned her gaze away, and suddenly looked almost shy. “Well, something about the way you said it made me think that you were not such a toffee nose after all.”
Their gazes met for an instant. The completely unexpected feeling of understanding that passed between them had Emma smiling warmly as she reached for her horse’s bridle.
It took a couple of tries, but Emma soon managed to get herself back on Titus. Swinging the horse around, she looked down at Mrs. Willoughby. “Thank you for telling me this. May I ask what you intend to do now that you and Lord Monteford are no longer, er, keeping company?”
A beautiful smile came to Mrs. Willoughby’s perfectly formed lips. “Not to worry, my lady. The Earl of Edge-brooke and I are already in negotiations. So far, I am most impressed with his generosity. And he has promised to teach me how to drive a proper carriage.”
Shaking her head wryly at Mrs. Willoughby’s resilience, Emma could not resist asking a question that had crossed her mind once or twice before.
“May I be so impertinent as to ask what Mr. Willoughby thinks about … all this?”
Mrs. Willoughby sent her a cheeky grin. “Gracious me!
There is no Mr. Willoughby. I gave myself a husband because it sounds more respectable.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“We must reach Longdown before the race starts at two o’clock,” Emma stated as a groom helped her into the open barouche.
The coachman, a big man who wore his livery with obvious pride, jumped up to the seat and took the ribbons. “Not to worry, m’lady. This team is the best we got. All four are well rested and ready to run,” he said as the groom scrambled up next to him.
The slight frown creasing her brow cleared a little at this reassurance. Settling next to her grandmother against the soft leather squabs, she said, “Thank you, Richards,” just as the carriage took off with a jerk.
As they rolled down the quiet lane beneath the midday sun, Grandmère sent her an encouraging smile. “We have a good two hours and these meets never start on time.”
“I am depending on it,” Emma said as they turned onto a busier thoroughfare.
However, her anxiety grew as they came upon a bottle-neck of carriages turning onto Park Lane.
“I should not have taken the time to change clothes,” she said as she craned her neck to get a better look at the confusion in front of them. A liveried postilion, his white wig askew, was struggling to gain control over a team of six horses while nearby coachmen and grooms shouted abuse upon him.
“Don’t be silly. A habit is a most inconvenient garment anywhere but atop a horse. Besides, you must look your best today.”
Emma shifted her gaze to her grandmother, who looked fresh and lovely in an ensemble of jonquil yellow and cream silk. Her bonnet was quite the most beribboned thing Emma had seen since coming to London.
“What I wear is of little interest to me,” Emma said, glancing down at the fitted lavender bombazine pelisse she wore over an ice blue gown.
When Emma had returned to the townhouse after her encounter with the intriguing Mrs. Willoughby, Milton had been surprisingly quick with producing the fashionable garments—for Emma had previously directed that a simpler traveling costume be readied for the trip to Yorkshire. Evidently, her grandmother had not given up and continued to collude with the maid to convince Emma to go to Longdown.
Setting aside her concern over Jack, Emma smiled as she recalled Grandmère’s reaction at being told Emma now wanted to go to the races.
Grandmère’s expression had changed from firm-jawed and militant to shocked and speechless as Emma ran up the stairs, tossing the most important details over her shoulder.
Now, as her grandmother chatted happily next to her—enormously pleased that she had won her way—the carriage circumnavigated the tangle of coaches and entered the turnpike heading south. Soon, they left the noise and congestion of London for green hills and pastures that seemed to stretch to the horizon. Richards, handling the ribbons with expert ease, gave the horses their heads.
Although the sun shone brightly, a few fat, bubbling clouds in the distance caused Emma a fleeting moment of worry. Her brows knit in a slight frown as she watched the clouds above the passing trees.
It would be too horrible not to reach the Duke and Duchess of Severly’s estate in time to warn Jack about Monteford’s scandalously dishonorable action. With her heart racing as the horses’ hooves clopped along the road, she gripped the side of the carriage tightly to prevent herself from shouting to Richards to hurry.
She thought about the importance of this day to Jack, for the Jack Devruex she had known so long ago could only have dreamed about owning a horse good enough to have a chance at winning such an important race.
She had known, even at the green age of eighteen, that his desire to build a successful stud was wrapped up in the shame he felt at his father’s infamous squandering of the family fortune.
And somehow, she thought with a poignant sense of pride, despite all the obstacles he had undoubtedly faced, he had managed to become a nonpareil in the rarified atmosphere of horseracing. What better way to restore his honor than to triumph at the sport of kings?
Leaning forward slightly, she willed the horses to run faster. As the driver expertly tooled the team around a slower, closed coach, she relaxed slightly and sat back again.
She could not allow his dream—everything he had obviously worked so hard to achieve—to be destroyed in this nefarious way.
Suddenly, she wished she had not protested when Jack had challenged Monteford to a duel.
“Don’t worry, my dear. Richards is a true knight of the ribbons. We shall be there in no time.”
Emma sent a tremulous smile to her grandmother and relaxed her grip. “I am sure we will. It is just that it would be so dreadfully unfair if Jack lost because his rider was bribed.”
Scowling, Grandmère shook her head. “Tell me in detail what that wretched woman told you.”
As Emma recounted the particulars of her conversation with Mrs. Willoughby, Grandmère clucked and murmured.
“And you believe her?” she asked when Emma had finished.
“O
h, yes. In her demeanor, her expression, there was every evidence of honesty. Even if I did not believe her, I could not set aside the possibility that her tale was true. I would never forgive myself if Jack lost when I could have warned him.”
The carriage swayed as Grandmère reached over and placed her hand on Emma’s. “I am so happy, Emma.”
Instantly, at the dewy look in the old lady’s eyes warning bells went off in Emma’s head. “Grandmère, I do not want to even hazard a guess as to what you are thinking. The only reason I am going to Longdown is to warn Lord Devruex.”
With a snort, Grandmère sent her a knowing look. “Lord Devruex? A moment ago it was Jack.”
Feeling anxiety at her uncharacteristic lapse of propriety, Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Grandmère’s raised hand halted her words.
“I shall not say another word. We shall be there within the hour and you can tell Devruex about Monteford’s shocking ploy and then we can all enjoy this lovely afternoon.”
Suddenly, as if in defiance of her grandmother’s declaration, a cloud moved in front of the sun and dimmed the brightness of the day. Glancing up, Emma watched in dismay as the clouds—only an hour ago so white and fluffy in the distance—hung low and dark in a clump almost directly above their heads.
“Oh, no,” Emma said in dismay.
Richards and the young groom next to him also noticed the threatening sky. “Your grace, looks as if we might be in for a spring shower. Should I pull over and fold up the top, or take a chance that we can outrun it?”
“We cannot stop!” Emma said before Grandmère could answer. A low rumble of thunder had her grandmother looking at her askance.
“But, my dear, the weather looks quite threatening. Let us stop for ten minutes. We will get soaked if we do not fold up the top. I am sure the shower will pass quickly.”
Turning her anxious gaze to the terrain ahead, Emma bit her lip. There were no clouds in the distance. “It most likely is not raining at Longdown. I am so afraid we will be too late,” she said as a big, cold drop of rain hit her forearm. “Richards, do you have the time?”
Shifting the reins to one heavily gloved hand, the coachman produced a timepiece from one of his pockets. “Ten minutes after one of the clock, m’lady.”
A few more drops fell on her. “How far away are we?”
Richards took a moment to adjust the reins before answering. “Maybe another thirteen to fifteen miles, m’lady.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut as the sporadic drops turned into a definite sprinkle. This was disastrous, she thought as she impatiently removed her bonnet and tossed it across the carriage to the seat opposite her.
“Emmaline, we must stop. We shall get drenched if this continues.” Grandmère’s tone was beginning to sound a bit cross.
“I cannot express how vitally important it is that we reach Longdown before the race starts,” Emma said, wiping raindrops from her cheek. “We cannot possibly risk being too late.”
The rain started in earnest and Richards had to slow the team’s tempo as the road grew slick. The young groom, who had kept his gaze on the road ahead and his mouth closed since the carriage had left the townhouse, sent her a quick, concerned glance over his shoulder.
Grandmère made an aggravated noise deep in her throat. “Of course I understand. But this is folly, my dear. I know we are still some distance away, but I keep telling you that the race will not start right on time. Now, Richards, pull this rig over.”
“No!” Emma cried, turning away from her grandmother to speak to the driver’s wide back. “Richards, a gentleman I know has a horse entered into the Severly Stakes. I have information that his jockey has been bribed to lose the race. Even though it’s raining, do you think we have enough time to make it by two o’clock?”
Richards said nothing and slowed the barouche—but he did not stop. The young groom’s shoulders obviously tensed as he stared up at the driver, rivulets of rain running down his check.
Emma held her breath and waited, relieved that Grandmère did not immediately order him to stop again, despite the increasing force of the rain.
“Well, m’lady, we won’t be able to run them on this wet road, but I’ll do my best to get you there right soon,” Richards said over his shoulder in a calm voice.
At this, Emma turned beseeching eyes to her grandmother, whose beribboned bonnet was beginning to droop in what threatened to become a downpour.
“Oh, bother,” Grandmère said with a gusty sigh. “Neither one of us will be at all presentable. Drive on, Richards.”
Leaning over, Emma pressed a damp cheek against her grandmother’s and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” Emma whispered as she pulled back.
“Oh, bother,” she said again, but there was a soft warmth in her tone this time. “You are right. I would feel utterly wretched if Devruex was not warned. Do not worry. We will brave this horrid weather and arrive on time.”
As the rain soaked them, Emma smiled warmly, relieved that they were still moving. “We must.”
“Are you still going to tell me that the only reason this undertaking is so important is because you wish to be a Good Samaritan?”
Emma lowered her gaze from her grandmother’s perceptive blue eyes. The last thing she wished to do was examine the myriad emotions coursing through her right now. It seemed as if she had been on a pendulum since coming to London. But she refused to think of anything except getting to Longdown before the race started.
Shrugging, she did not answer her grandmother and tilted her head back to look up the sky and let the spring rain hit her face.
Neither spoke for several minutes as Emma turned to watch the countryside, which reminded her of a lovely watercolor painting, passing by.
“I shall not press you further. But I will share something with you that I want you to think about.”
At the unexpectedly gentle tone in Grandmère’s voice, Emma looked over curiously and waited for her to continue.
“Before the Colhurst ball you asked me why I had not married again after your grandfather passed away. I recall that I made some offhand response.”
“Yes, I remember,” Emma said, wondering what the old lady was getting at.
“I should have told you what I really felt,” she said, smoothing the damp skirt of her yellow gown. “I did not marry again because I never met a gentleman who ever came close to making me feel the way your grandfather did.”
Emma watched her grandmother’s usually proud expression soften at the onslaught of distant memories. Knowing how difficult it was for her grandmother to show any vulnerability, Emma said, “Thank you for telling me this,” and felt grateful for the rain masking her unexpected tears.
Chapter Twenty-five
Ten minutes later the downpour stopped as suddenly as it started and the sun shone with dazzling brightness upon the wet countryside—and also upon the wet occupants of the barouche.
But Emma did not care, for once they turned onto the road leading to the village of Westerham, Richards was able to put the horses back into a fast rhythm and she began to feel that they were making up some lost time.
Grandmère recovered from her moment of poignant emotion and soon was complaining about the sad state of her clothing. “This is terrible! I have no idea how far behind our baggage coach is. Who knows how long it will be before we will have dry clothes.”
Emma smiled a little at her grandmother’s grumbling but did not reply. There were a few more carriages traveling along the road and she hoped they would not slow their progress.
“We’ll be there shortly, m’lady,” Richards said with a practiced flick of the reigns.
At his confident tone, Emma felt her shoulders relax a bit. Suppressing a pang of guilt over practically forcing them to drive through the sudden shower, she glanced up at the bright blue sky. Thank goodness the day was warm, she thought as they entered the village square.
The narrow cobbled streets were crowded with coaches and bag
gage carts and servants in every style and color of livery.
As they went by a posting inn, Emma noticed the stable yard was full of carriages with stable boys scrambling to unharness tired horses.
“I am sure this village has not seen this much activity all year,” Emma commented as Richards carefully navigated through the serpentine lanes.
“Indeed,” Grandmère replied. “Evidently anyone not fortunate enough to be a guest at Longdown is crowding into the meager lodgings offered here.”
Emma felt another wave of relief when they left the village and entered a narrow road canopied by trees, which led to the Severly estate. When she finally saw the open, ornate iron gates, she was practically bouncing up and down with impatience to reach Jack.
Immediately upon passing through the gates, Emma allowed her anxious gaze to sweep across a beautifully proportioned Tudor mansion situated in the middle of a wide expanse of flat green parkland.
Off in the distance to the left, there were hundreds of people—some on horseback and in carriages—dotting the lawn.
From the pattern of the banners fluttering in the breeze, she could see the racecourse was set up in a large oval.
They continued up the curving graveled drive until they caught up with a short line of carriages depositing their occupants beneath the wide marble portico.
Unable to contain herself a moment longer, Emma stood up before the carriage came to a complete stop.
“Emmaline, what on earth—”
“I must find him,” she said quickly, sending an apologetic smile to her alarmed grandmother. Before the groom could act, she had opened the carriage door and jumped down without the aid of the steps.
“Emma! You cannot go traipsing around the estate looking like a drowned cat,” Grandmère called after her.
Unheeding of anything but her desire to find Jack, Emma hurried down the drive. She stumbled a little as her damp skirts hampered her stride. But she soon recovered and continued around the large house toward the back, where she assumed the mews were located.
Once she rounded the side of the house, she was suddenly confronted by a hive of activity. Men and boys dressed in the latest fashions to the most serviceable clothes rushed around the stable yard in a seeming chaotic dance.
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