During the next three days, events spiraled even more out of her control as the duchess set about planning a wedding. Her Grace recruited Ivy’s and Willow’s assistance, and even Sabrina made her opinions available now that the sick horses had begun to recover, a welcome development that lifted the mood at Masterfield Park for the better. Each day that the horses were no longer fed the tainted feed, their condition improved.
Holly saw little of Colin in those three days, and never alone. The duchess and Lord Shelby made certain of that, the former always surrounding Holly with a bustle of activity, and the latter offering his assistance with the horses and thus remaining always at Colin’s side. Lady Penelope and her parents had vacated Masterfield Park in a huff, glowering their recriminations at Holly as they paraded past her on their way out the door. Most of the other guests had left as well, those with Thoroughbreds making alternate arrangements to board their animals for the upcoming races.
The engagement was to be announced at a ball given by the duchess following the opening of the Royal Meeting in less than a week. And then there would be no righting things . . . unless Holly eventually freed Colin with an annulment. Could she muster the strength to pursue such a course? Sabrina had spoken of slippery slopes. Holly felt like a snowball careening down an icy slope of her own.
That third afternoon, while her sisters and the few remaining guests were resting or walking in the garden, Holly wandered the house alone, strolling into the various rooms until finally the drawing room appeared to offer an empty but cozy haven.
She didn’t notice the flickering lamp on the card table in the far corner, or the two women bent over their work, until it was too late. She might have backed quietly out of the room had Sabrina not spoken.
“Good afternoon, Holly. Do come in.”
The young woman sat with a basket at her elbow and an array of fabric swatches spread out on the tabletop before her. One of the parlor maids who had brought breakfast to the library on that ill-fated morning two days ago sat beside her, her starched linen cap and apron glowing starkly against the room’s gilded furnishings and rich upholsteries.
Sabrina tapped the back of the chair on her other side. “Come sit with me, for this concerns you.” She turned to the maid. “That will be all for now. Thank you, Tildy.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy to Holly as she walked briskly past her. Was it Holly’s imagination, or did the corner of the maid’s mouth quirk with the slightest bit of derision?
Holly slid out the chair and sat and peered down at the swatches. “This concerns me?”
“Mother is shopping in Windsor today. She asked me to sort through the colors and fabrics for next week’s ball.” Sabrina cast a significant look up at her. “Which will now double as your engagement celebration.”
Holly’s stomach clenched. “How may I help?”
Sabrina held up three satin swatches. “These are the blue, gold, and burgundy of the Masterfield crest. Mother plans to incorporate the colors into the ballroom decorations in the form of draperies, bunting, and table linens. The flower arrangements as well. The orders must be placed immediately, mind you, or they’ll never be ready in time. Is there a Sutherland crest whose colors we might include?”
Holly chuckled. “The Sutherlands don’t have a crest.”
Sabrina caught and held her gaze. “You do realize you have no choice in this. You and Colin must marry.” From outside came the faint echo of voices. “I, on the other hand, had a choice, thank goodness.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hadn’t you noticed the absence of one guest in particular?” She sat back and let the swatches in her hand drop to the tabletop. “Mr. Bentley.”
In all that had happened, Holly had forgotten about Colin’s fellow Jockey Club member. She frowned. “You mean to say he didn’t stay to help with the horses?”
Sabrina shrugged a shoulder. “He might have, but I sent him packing before the trouble began.”
“Did you?” Holly couldn’t keep her astonishment from showing. “What offense had he committed?”
“He asked me to marry him,” she replied with a moue of distaste.
“Well, I cannot say I’m surprised. What did you tell him?”
“No, of course. And then he became angry. He had the impertinence to call me a tease. Can you imagine?” Sabrina’s narrow chin tilted defiantly. “He even threatened to speak to Father when he returns. That is when I showed him the door.”
An unsettling suspicion sent goose bumps up Holly’s spine. “You say this all happened before the horses began showing signs of illness?” At Sabrina’s nod, Holly continued. “Do you know where he went? Did he leave the area?”
“No, with the races coming I don’t suppose he did. . . . What are you driving at?” She drew back against her chair, shaking her head. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that Mr. Bentley is responsible . . .”
“Is it possible?” The image of a sharp pebble flashed in her memory, bringing her back to the day Sabrina lost control of Sport o’ Kings. Mr. Bentley had disapproved of Sabrina’s riding that day.
“But he is a devoted turfite. And a Jockey Club official.” Sabrina scowled down at the swatches, but the compression of her lips revealed her uncertainty.
“Sabrina, I am not accusing Mr. Bentley. I am only suggesting a possibility that should be explored.” Holly stood. “Whatever you select for the ball will be splendid, I am sure. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to your brother.”
Chapter 27
Colin handed the horse he’d been walking in the paddock off to a groom and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. They felt bloodshot and swollen, chafed by the morning glare. No matter. In these past two days the sick animals had rallied, marginally perhaps, but enough to raise his hopes. He hadn’t wished to alarm his family, but he hadn’t been at all certain they had discovered the bracken poisoning in time.
The truth was, they could still lose horses. But not, as he had once feared, all of them. What frustrated him was not knowing the cause, how a lethal substance had ended up in sacks of horse feed, and how those particular sacks had found their way to Masterfield Park. If he were to prevent another such incident, he needed answers to those questions.
He was glad, then, that he had left Cordelier in Devonshire. Maribelle, too. As he picked his way from the paddock to the stable yard, he couldn’t help smiling at how in a very short time the mare had become Holly’s own. He intended making the transfer official by offering Maribelle as a gift.
A wedding gift? Dread settled over him. Maribelle would provide paltry comfort when the authorities clapped Holly’s new husband in irons and led him to Newgate.
Had his thoughts conjured her? She suddenly stood framed in the archway between the stables. Her hair was loosely drawn up at the crown of her head, ringlets tossing in the breeze. His pulse quickened at the sight of her. Waving, he broke into a sprint that he hoped looked casual and not the overeager act it was.
“Good afternoon,” was all he could think to say when he reached her. She flashed an uncertain smile, but the careworn shadows beneath her eyes raised his concern. “What is it?”
“Did you know Stuart Bentley intended asking Sabrina to marry him?”
Her bluntness took him aback. “No. Has he asked her?”
“He has, and she turned him down. He became angry.”
Colin glanced out at the paddocks. “So that’s why he left before we returned. I’d wondered.”
“He left because Sabrina insisted he do so.” Holly pressed a hand to his wrist. “Colin, all this took place before the horses became ill.”
“And you think Bentley . . .”
“The rock in the paddock,” she said with emphasis.
“We never found any proof that he threw the rock, or that anyone did. The stable lads might simply have missed it with their rakes.”
“But when you consider all three incidents—the rock, the spurned proposal, the ailment . . .” She gasped. “Why, perhap
s he followed us on the road to Devonshire, and it was his bullet that nearly struck us. Colin, perhaps Stuart Bentley has the colt.”
His hands went to her shoulders. “Don’t you think you’re heaping a bit too much suspicion onto Stuart Bentley’s narrow shoulders?”
That seemed to rob her of fervor. “Please, even if you don’t wish to take me seriously, at least look into it.”
Despite the grooms’ and even Mr. Peterson’s nearby presence, he drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I take you seriously. Don’t ever believe otherwise.”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me for saying that.” She raised her chin against his shirtfront, and he lowered his mouth to hers.
“My lord! A message!”
He and Holly broke apart as a footman approached. He held out a folded missive. Colin’s first thought was that other horses in the area had become afflicted with the bracken poisoning. He broke the unfamiliar seal and read: If you wish your precious colt returned, meet me at . . .
The note gave detailed directions to a small manor located to the northeast, about halfway between Ascot and Windsor. In stunned disbelief, Colin glanced up from the page. “The colt . . . Is it possible?”
Holly had been attempting to read over his shoulder. “What about the colt? Colin, you’ve grown as white as the paddock fence!”
His mind worked frantically. Was this some sort of bizarre game? A trap?
Was Stuart Bentley involved? Come alone the note insisted.
“The hell I will,” he said decisively.
“Will what?” Holly gripped the arm that held the note.
He shoved the letter into his coat pocket. “I’ll be meeting with the author of this note, but I’m not about to go alone, or unarmed for that matter.”
Her face filled with alarm. “I’m coming with you.”
His expression turned thunderous. “The hell you are.”
“I should have insisted on going with him.” Her fingers laced tightly, Holly stood at the bay window that overlooked the drive and the sweeping front lawns of Masterfield Park. She and her sisters occupied the formal receiving salon, a room seldom used by the family but desirable today because of the view it offered of the far-off road. She stared hard into the distance, as if she could make Colin reappear by the force of her will.
“Even if he had been amenable to your accompanying him,” Ivy said from the settee behind her, “I’d certainly have stepped in your way.”
“You’ll accomplish nothing by fretting,” Willow reminded her, not for the first time. “Come take your tea. Colin will be safe with his valet, Kirkston, at his side, and they’ll both be home before you know it.”
Holly knew her sisters were right, but she couldn’t force herself to turn away from the window. Would Colin return with the colt? At least then the people of Devonshire would rest easy and continue with their lives, though she and Colin would have to face the queen’s wrath.
Whirls of dust arose from the road. Her hopes surging, Holly craned her neck, only to be disappointed a moment later when an unfamiliar phaeton turned onto the drive.
“Holly, did you just groan?”
Willow’s query turned her away from the window. She lifted the teacup Ivy had poured for her some five minutes ago and sipped the cooling liquid. As she did, she heard the front door opening. Voices drifted in from the main hall.
“I am sorry to say His Grace is away from home, sir.”
“Good gracious, is he indeed?” a man’s voice said with surprise. “I had written to tell the duke of my coming, but my letter must have gone astray. How unfortunate. I am told by a mutual acquaintance, Lord Kinnard of the Jockey Club, that the Ashworth stud is the finest in all of England. Dear me, what to do now?”
A short silence ensued, whereupon the voice took up again with, “Might I speak with the duke’s eldest son?”
“Lord Drayton is in residence, sir, but presently not at home. Perhaps Lord Bryce might be of assistance?”
“Ah, yes, Lord Kinnard mentioned Lord Bryce. Would you tell him Mr. Anthony Verrell wishes to see him about a certain of the family’s Thoroughbreds.”
“If you’ll kindly wait in here, sir, I’ll see if his lordship is receiving.”
“Thank you, my dear man.”
The door of the receiving parlor opened and the footman stopped short, nearly causing the visitor to stumble into his back. The young man in the Ashworth livery blushed furiously, his startled gaze lighting on Holly and each of her sisters.
“I beg pardon, ladies. I . . . I didn’t know anyone was in here. This room isn’t typically occupied. . . .”
Ivy smiled up at him. “Quite all right. Perhaps Mr. . . . er . . .”
The visitor stepped around the footman and doffed his beaver hat. “Verrell. Anthony Verrell, at your service, madam.”
Willow lifted the teapot. “We were just having tea, Mr. Verrell, if you would care to join us.”
As the gentleman expressed his delight at the idea, the footman strode off to summon Bryce Ashworth and procure a fourth cup and saucer. After initial introductions, Holly sat quietly while Ivy and Willow made polite conversation with their guest. She found him to be a distinguished-looking gentleman of about fifty, tall and slender, impeccably dressed, his hair thick if slightly graying. She thought it oddly ironic that he should come now of all times to inquire about purchasing a racehorse, but perhaps news of the illness hadn’t spread as far as London, or wherever he had come from.
Judging by the questions he asked, he seemed to know very little about horses, but Holly found she didn’t have the energy to enlighten him. That would be Bryce’s job, or Colin’s when he returned home. She was nonplussed, therefore, when not only Bryce but also Sabrina entered the room, made Mr. Verrell’s acquaintance, and bade Holly accompany them as they took the man on a tour of the stables.
“I’ll come, too, if I may.” Willow stood up from the settee and smoothed her skirts. She glanced back at Ivy. “Unless, of course, you need me here.”
Ivy waved a hand at her. “You’ve been shut up in this house with me quite long enough. Go and enjoy.”
Holly eyed her youngest sister. Exactly when had Willow stopped hiding from Bryce Ashworth and begun volunteering to be in his company? Had Holly been so absorbed in her own concerns since returning to Masterfield Park that she’d missed a significant development?
She herself preferred to remain behind with Ivy so she could wait for Colin and discover what had transpired between Willow and Bryce in her absence. As the small group gathered to escort Mr. Verrell to the stables, she gestured Sabrina aside. “Surely you don’t need me to come along.”
“On the contrary,” Sabrina whispered back from behind her hand. “You’ve worked closely with Colin these past several days. Should our guest ask questions about the ailment, who better to answer them? Who better to offer assurance that the cause has been found and the worst over?”
“But . . .”
Sabrina’s features sharpened. “Do not think I am worrying about making a sale to this gentleman. You know how I view financial matters.” Holly didn’t particularly, but she remained silent as Sabrina continued. “I couldn’t give a fig whether he makes his purchase from us or from any of a host of other studs. As things now stand, we will have to withdraw most or all of our entrants from the Royal Meeting. It cannot be helped when the horses have suffered so. But there will be other races, and it is of the utmost importance that people perceive the Ashworth stud as settling back to normal. Otherwise, can you imagine the havoc to be wreaked in the betting boxes this racing season?”
Holly knew she was right. Fortunes were made and lost at the races. Inaccurate information could easily cause a panic and skew the betting in artificial, damaging directions.
But had the Ashworth Thoroughbreds been irreparably weakened? With that question in mind, Holly followed the others through the gardens and to the stables. As they proceeded, she kept an eye on her sister, but Willow showed no inte
rest in Bryce other than the polite deference a guest owed her host.
As they moved from stall to stall, Bryce or Sabrina explained the particular attributes of the animals, along with their sires and dames. Meanwhile, Holly closely examined each horse: the color of the eyes, the rhythm of the breathing, the sheen of the coat. Whenever asked, she offered her opinions on their condition and soon held Mr. Verrell’s attention more than did either Ashworth. But it wasn’t until Mr. Verrell commented on her obvious devotion to the Ashworth stud that she gave an inner start.
The gentleman was right. Somewhere during the past several days, she had begun to think of the stud in very personal terms, and these horses as being as much a part of her as her own family. And that led to a further revelation that, in her heart, she had already taken on the role of Colin Ashworth’s wife.
“If I may ask, where do you come by your expertise, Miss Sutherland?”
She hadn’t noticed Mr. Verrell’s accent before then, but now she heard something in his pronunciations that suggested English was not his first language; that hinted at a Continental upbringing. “Merely a lifelong interest in horses,” she replied.
“Ah, it must be more than that. The average rider boasts far less knowledge than you, miss.”
She smiled. “I suppose I was lucky in that the uncle who raised me was kind enough to indulge a young girl’s fixation. I was always happiest either in the saddle or trailing our grooms as they went about their business. I cannot think but they must have considered me quite the nuisance.”
“I am pleased you were not shooed from those stables. Your uncle raised you, you say . . . ?”
He strolled with her down the stable’s center aisle, the conversation turning to the pros and cons of purchasing either a filly or a colt for investment purposes. Again Holly answered his questions as best she could, advising him to wait for Colin’s return before making any decisions. Once she glanced back over her shoulder to see her sister walking with Sabrina and Bryce, but it was with the latter that Willow quietly spoke. A vivid blush suffused Willow’s cheeks, and in response to something Bryce murmured, her laughter echoed through the stables. Then Mr. Verrell once more claimed Holly’s attention.
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