Recklessly Yours

by Allison Chase

  They rushed to each other, and Holly found herself enfolded in an embrace that for several lovely seconds renewed every sweet facet of the friendship that had marked her childhood years.

  Here before her stood the only real friend she and her sisters had known during their sheltered upbringing at Uncle Edward’s country estate—and vice versa. As heir presumptive, little Princess Victoria had been allowed precious few influences beyond those of her mother and John Conroy, a man who early on had designs on controlling the throne Victoria would eventually occupy. At her mother’s insistence, the common-born Sutherland sisters had been tolerated against John Conroy’s advice only due to their father’s military ties to Victoria’s father, the deceased Duke of Kent.

  The past, with all of its childish secrets, promises, hopes, and dreams, flooded Holly’s heart as she pressed her cheek to Victoria’s. They had been orphans together, the Sutherland sisters and this dear, lonely little girl. But as Victoria’s importance to England grew, Holly and her sisters were deemed less and less suitable to be her companions.

  Now she was their queen and could acknowledge their friendship openly if she chose to, which she did not because of one imperative matter.

  We will always be your friends . . . your secret servants if need be. Holly and her sisters had spoken those words to the child Victoria nearly a decade ago, on a sunny summer’s day in Uncle Edward’s rose garden. At the time, none of them could have guessed what that pledge would lead to. In the past year, Laurel, the eldest, and Ivy, Holly’s twin, had each risked death in the service of their queen, though neither had quite explained to Victoria the dangers they had faced.

  Risk, danger, fear . . . The vow had incurred all that and more for Laurel and Ivy. And now—oh, now it was Holly’s turn to finally stray from the safety of everyday life and embark on her own adventure.

  Did that frighten her, even just a little? Good heavens, yes. It was a sensation that made her feel alive, vibrant, important . . . .

  Victoria’s arms came away, and Holly stepped back to gaze into her friend’s face with a smile she could hardly restrain. “What is it you need me to do?”

  Victoria rattled off her needs like items on a shopping list. “Prevent an international incident. Save the monarchy. Save me.”

  Chapter 2

  Victoria tapped her foot nervously on ground left slightly muddy from recent rains. The morning breeze stirred the dark curls framed by her bonnet brim, and she absently blew away a tendril that strayed across her cheek. “Now that you’ve had a good look, tell me what you think of him.”

  Holly hesitated, no less puzzled now than she had been at the outset of her journey. The “him” to which Victoria referred snorted and stamped his foot, then swung his head in an arc that showed his impatience to be free of the lead rope presently coiled around the head groom’s hand.

  William, a man who barely reached above Holly’s shoulder yet whose stocky physique possessed the strength to control a half-trained Thoroughbred, had spent some ten minutes putting the two-year-old colt through its paces in the paddock behind the royal salon. Even after another several minutes of being walked sedately around the ring, the animal’s flanks rippled in agitation, a sign of its unseasoned youth. Standing some fifteen hands high, the colt was sure to gain another several inches before it reached maturity.

  For a second time, Holly made a slow circuit of the animal, careful to stay well out of reach of the back hooves. The ebony mane and tail made a dramatic contrast to the bay coat; a white marking gleamed beneath the forelock.

  She peered over the horse’s muscular neck to Victoria. “He’s an Ashworth colt, isn’t he?”

  The queen smiled astutely. “You recognize the star.”

  “The distinctive Ashworth star,” Holly mused with a nod. At the very mention of the name, a faint stirring quickened her pulse, a sensation she could no sooner ignore than she could stop breathing. What had this matter to do with the Ashworths? She reached out to finger the horse’s midnight mane. “There is no mistaking that marking, or the quality of the animal.”

  “He was a gift,” Victoria explained, “from the Duke of Masterfield himself before he departed the country last week. Have you met the man?”

  “I know of him, that he is the patriarch of one of England’s premier families. I am acquainted with the younger Ashworths, though only just.”

  “Colin Ashworth is well acquainted with your brother-in-law, is he not?”

  Holly merely nodded, afraid her voice might reveal her sudden discomfiture. Ordinarily the Sutherland sisters would never have set eyes on such noble personages as the Ashworths, but all that had changed when Ivy married Simon de Burgh, Marquess of Harrow.

  Holly had first met Colin Ashworth, Earl of Drayton, at the wedding, and on several occasions over the past months. Each instance had been marked with strained silences and awkward pleasantries that left her perplexed and certain the man held her in small regard. Then there had been that last encounter, only a few weeks ago. Her insides fluttered at the memory of how they had found themselves alone in Ivy’s morning room one day. The earl had drawn her to the window overlooking the gardens, had stood closer to her than he ever had before, and spoken softly in her ear. For a moment Holly’s limbs had turned to molten jelly, for something in his stance, his manner, his very hesitation, had led her to think perhaps he was going to . . .

  She dismissed the memory with a quirk of her lips. He had merely asked if she knew the variety of a certain box hedge edging the gazebo, which she had not.

  Victoria cocked her hip in a decidedly unqueenly gesture and set a hand at her waist. “Well? What do you think of him?”

  “The earl is a . . . a courteous gentleman. Well informed on numerous topics of conversation . . .”

  “No, no, not Colin Ashworth. We’ll get back to him. I mean the colt.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. Er . . . he appears very well proportioned. Glossy coat . . . bright eyes . . . perspiring moderately from his exercise . . . good muscle tone. His fetlocks are sturdy, his gait steady. He carries his head high and . . .” With thumb and forefinger she raised the colt’s top lip. He tried to snap at her and she pulled her hand out of his reach. “His teeth are even and a good color. I’d say he is top rate. A fine animal and exactly what one would expect of the Ashworth stock.”

  Frowning, William bent his grizzled head and dropped his gaze to his feet. Before Holly could fathom the reason for that odd reaction, Victoria huffed and waved a gloved hand in the air. “Yes, yes, he promises to make a champion racehorse someday. But is he the most extraordinary of horses? Does he surpass all others of his ilk? Does he . . .” She moved beside Holly, reached out to stroke the colt’s nose, and said in a hush, “Does he fill you with a sense of awe?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Victoria’s arm swung down to her side. “I thought not. And that is because this is not the same colt the Duke of Masterfield presented to me. This horse”—she jerked her chin at the animal—“is an imposter. Switched, possibly while William and the other grooms were exercising my horses in the Great Park.”

  Holly flicked a gaze to the high stone walls enclosing the paddock, and remembered the iron gates guarding the entrance of the mews. “Is that possible?” she asked the groom.

  Color darkened William’s leathery complexion. “If it happened in the park, then I’m afraid so, miss. A host of us went out the day before yesterday. Grooms, trainers, some of the younger lads as well. We brought a dozen horses, several of which hail from the Ashworth stud and look a great deal alike—dark bay with black points, the Ashworth star.” He brushed his thumb across the bold white mark between the animal’s eyes.

  “It was a scene of some confusion, then?”

  “Not confusion, miss, but a good bustle of activity. Not all the horses were exercised at the same time. And I suppose it is possible—not easy, mind you, but possible—that someone might have stolen in through the trees and made the
switch while her majesty’s colt was awaiting his turn with the trainers.”

  Holly was about to comment when Victoria said, “Thank you, William. That will be all for now.”

  The groom bowed and led the colt away, and Victoria and Holly tramped back across the paddock and reentered the parlor. Victoria swept to the window that overlooked the enclosure and set her hands on her hips. “Oh, if that man weren’t a duke’s son, wouldn’t I simply come right out and accuse him of horse thievery!”

  Holly’s mouth dropped open. “Surely you can’t mean . . .”

  “Indeed I do.” Turning back into the room, Victoria yanked off her gloves and slapped them against her palm. “Who better to understand the colt’s potential than the man who bred him, the duke’s own son? I realize Colin Ashworth has connections to your family, so I hope you will not be offended by the theory I’ve formed.”

  As in the paddock, mere mention of the name raised a commotion inside Holly. She schooled her features carefully. “Dearest, you know you can speak freely with me.”

  “I believe it is possible Colin Ashworth resented his father giving me the colt because he wanted the animal for himself. Who could blame him, really?” The queen tossed her gloves onto a nearby tabletop. “But I cannot accuse a peer’s son of theft. Not without irrefutable evidence.”

  Oh dear. Dismay settled like a leaden shawl around Holly’s shoulders, tempting her to drop into the nearest chair. However little regard Colin Ashworth had shown her during the months of their acquaintance, he was Simon’s good friend and stood high in Ivy’s esteem as well. And now Holly was to ascertain if the man had sunk as low as the lowest of vagabonds—a horse thief.

  As if she of all people possessed the power to insinuate herself into his life, to become close enough to examine the state of his character. Other than his brief and unsuccessful inquiry into box hedges, he had hardly exchanged a handful of sentences with her during the entirety of their acquaintance.

  She nearly laughed at the irony. Instead she tugged off her own gloves and used them to fan her suddenly overheated face. “Are you utterly convinced a crime has been committed? Did you call in the authorities?”

  “The authorities—bah! They took notes and nodded and ever so cautiously insinuated that my head was full of stuff and nonsense. But I tell you, my colt, the one given to me by the Duke of Masterfield, can be compared to no other. I cannot explain the particulars; there is no outlining the differences between the two. It is a superiority one senses, but cannot accurately define. With your uncanny way with horses, I am certain that when you find my colt, you will know it beyond a doubt.”

  Alarm shoved Holly a half step backward. When Her Majesty had called upon Laurel, it was to investigate a royal cousin whom Victoria had suspected of treason. When Ivy’s turn came, she was charged with recovering an electromagnetic stone that had been stolen from the royal apartments at Buckingham Palace. In both cases, the cousin and the stone had been known to exist. They had been seen, not only by Victoria, but by others of her household and acquaintance as well.

  But this colt! How could Holly be sure the head groom wasn’t at this moment settling the animal back in its stall? Especially when William himself could not with any authority prove the colts were not one and the same?

  She tried to choose her words carefully. “What if . . . just supposing . . . I am unable to find your colt?”

  Victoria strode to her and seized her shoulders. “Oh, but you must. You see, I don’t intend keeping him for myself. He is to be a gift to His Royal Highness, Prince Frederick of Prussia. The prince has already seen the colt and expects to take possession of him directly following the Royal Ascot a fortnight from now. Delivering any but the promised colt could be seen as an insult, a mockery, and could spark an international incident.”

  Victoria spoke in a desperate rush that left her breathless and flushing bright crimson. Holly pressed a hand to her cheek. “Do calm yourself. Of course I shall help you. Let us make ourselves comfortable on the settee, and you can explain everything.”

  Only slightly more composed, Victoria plucked at her skirts as she settled on the cushions, then found Holly’s hand and clung to it. “Prussia’s king is infirm and aging, and it is only a matter of time before the younger Frederick assumes the crown. Lord Melbourne feels the prince provides us with the perfect opportunity to strengthen our ties with Prussia, for if the wars with Napoleon taught us anything, it is the benefit of strong allies.”

  “Yes, of course.” Holly’s brows drew inward. “And you wish to give Prince Frederick the colt as a gesture of goodwill.”

  “Exactly. The prince greatly admired the colt when he was here last week. He’s traveling now, but he fully expects to claim the colt at the closing of the Royal Ascot. I even named the animal Prince’s Pride, and though he is too young to race in this year’s meeting, my intention was to show him off and create a bit of a stir in the racing world, thus adding value to Frederick’s gift. He’s quite a horseman himself and a racing enthusiast.”

  “I see. But . . .” Holly patted the back of Victoria’s hand as she quickly debated the wisdom of repeating her doubts. She concluded that with such a tenuous mission, she owed it to her monarch to be honest. “In the event the original colt cannot be found—”

  “You must find him.” Victoria released Holly’s hand and sprang to her feet, beginning an erratic circuit of the room. “My reign so far has been . . . less than smooth. There are those who say I have made mistakes. . . .”

  Victoria’s voice trailed off and Holly thought of the recent headlines. Earlier this spring, Victoria had publicly but wrongly accused one of her ladies-in-waiting, Flora Hastings, of being with child. Lady Flora had proved chaste but gravely ill, and the queen’s behavior over the incident had caused a dreadful scandal. The wave of disapproval had barely died down when Lord Melbourne had temporarily fallen from power, and Victoria had refused to honor the request of her new prime minister, Sir Robert Peele, that she replace her Whig ladies-in-waiting with those from Tory families. Her stubborn denial had resulted in another political turnover, with Peele stepping down and Lord Melbourne returning to office.

  There had been whispers that the queen and Lord Melbourne had plotted together to circumvent the will of the people. Others had accused Her Majesty of being a spoiled child, unfit to wear the crown.

  Holly believed neither of these allegations, but she understood that Victoria could ill afford another embarrassing incident. She came to her feet. “The majority of the people adore you. They understand you are young and these things—”

  Victoria silenced her with a vigorous shake of her head. “The opposition to the monarchy, and to my reign especially, grows daily. Not mere whispers, mind you, but rumbles capable of toppling a thousand years of English tradition.”

  The possibility rendered Holly’s throat dry. They had spoken of such rumblings before, when Victoria had first reestablished ties with the Sutherlands and asked Laurel to investigate her cousin. The crumbling of the monarchy seemed far-fetched—impossible—yet in recent times, more and more people rejected the notion of the divine right of kings. The French, for a time. The Americans . . .

  “Holly, these negotiations with Prussia provide me with a chance to regain the people’s confidence and admiration. If I can be seen as instrumental in forging a strengthened alliance . . .”

  “I understand. And do not worry.” She reached for her friend’s hands and gave them a squeeze. For at that moment, with her eyes opened wide and her brow furrowed tight, England’s queen appeared young and vulnerable and very much in need of a friend’s reassurance—however much that friend lacked certainty in her own ability to fulfill the promise she was about to make. “I will find your colt.”

  The tension drained from Victoria’s youthful features. “Thank you, my dear friend. I knew I could count on you.”

  Victoria threw her arms around Holly, and as they hugged, a realization prompted Holly to pull back from Vict
oria’s embrace. “There is one matter we haven’t considered. My disguise. Laurel used an alias during her mission, and Ivy disguised herself by wearing trousers and posing as a young man. But the Ashworths know me. How shall I—”

  The queen waved a dismissive hand. “That has become a moot point. Since your sisters’ marriages, you have been out in society. Everyone knows who you are. You’ll simply investigate Colin Ashworth as yourself.”

  “But . . .” Holly could raise no valid argument, but if she had been doubtful about this mission so far, she was doubly so now. Laurel and Ivy had both attested to using their masquerades as shields; being someone else had armed them with confidence and a sense of invulnerability they would not have otherwise possessed.

  Holly would have no such advantage. Her name, her reputation, her very future, would be at risk.

  But she had long ago taken a vow, and she had no choice. When she nodded her acquiescence, Victoria pressed her hands together. “Now, you’ll need a cover story, and a chaperone, of course. . . .”

  Victoria’s enthusiasm burgeoned in direct proportion to Holly’s growing qualms. Once their plan had been laid out, she expressed one final misgiving, this time having nothing to do with herself, but with the man she was being sent, possibly, to apprehend, whose life she might very well destroy. “Do we in this country . . . still hang horse thieves?”

  Victoria raised a haughty eyebrow. “We do not. Unfortunately. For, although I am no great proponent of the death penalty, I should very much like to make an exception in this case, were I able.”

  Holly’s relief proved short-lived as Victoria added, “The culprit is perhaps even now sniggering behind his hand, believing he has got away with his perfidy. That, I tell you, is something the Queen of England shall not abide. Mark my words: he will pay, and pay dearly.”

  Chapter 3

  “I tell you, Grey Momus will take the Gold Cup again this I year. There is no other can touch him in the two mile flat.”