“I’m on about Oscar marrying the kind of woman who can host dinner parties with the cream of the ton and make polite conversation. Who won’t open her mouth and say the first thing that occurs to her, no matter how inappropriate, or accidentally throw a roast potato in the Lord Chamberlain’s lap.”
Ella flushed, though whether it was from Bertie having guessed where her heart lay or the remembrance of one of the most humiliating events of her life, she could not be certain. Tears pricked behind her eyes.
“It was me that forced him to set the date,” she said, sounding waspish and angry now, though her heart felt as if it was raw and exposed on the wrong side of her ribs.
“I know, Bug,” he said, his tone soft. “And you did right. It will get easier, you know. Once he’s settled.”
Ella swallowed hard and urged the mare into a fast trot, guiding her from the lane and into a path that led across the fields. It was a longer way home and she was already cold, as the sun had hidden behind the clouds, but she didn’t care. She had to get away, away from the sympathy in her brother’s eyes, and away from the pity in his voice.
As if she hadn’t known Pearl was the right choice for him… though she could not help but worry, all the same. Did Pearl care for him at all? Ella knew she relished the title and everything it would give her, but was that all? And did Oscar care for Pearl?
There seemed so little warmth between them despite the fact they’d grown up together. She knew it was their duty to the family and she wasn’t foolish enough to believe marriages of that nature were based on love but… the idea of Oscar entering a loveless marriage when she was so filled to the brim with it….
Life was so unfair.
As if that wasn’t enough, now her brother knew the shameful, aching secret she carried. It had been painful enough to bear when she’d thought it hers alone, but if he knew…. It was too humiliating, and if Bertie knew, perhaps Oscar did too. That made her throat grow tight and her cheeks burn.
Bertie called for her to wait, but she ignored him and, as the land evened out, she pushed on faster, galloping flat out. Her hair whipped about, falling from its pins while tears streaked down her face.
***
April 12th. The Craven Stakes. Newmarket.
The usual hullabaloo covered the heath. This time, however, it was a professional meeting and only jockeys would be riding. Though she knew she’d pay for it, Ella slipped away from Pearl and Bertie and ditched her maid and the footman who had been told not to let her out of their sight.
They clearly did not understand who they were dealing with, though, as it took Ella all of five minutes to disappear into the crowd.
Not that she was looking for Oscar. Not this time. Today seemed like the last day of her youth in some strange way and she wanted to be alone. After the race he would announce the date of what would become the wedding of the year, and Ella would have to endure it. She would have to smile and laugh and pretend she was happy for them, when in fact her heart was shattering into pieces.
Ella remembered all the times she’d made Oscar laugh: real, side-splitting, proper guffaws of laughter that made his hazel eyes glint as he roared with the hilarity of whatever dreadful things she’d said. She did it on purpose, of course, wanting nothing more than to see his eyes filled with mirth. It made her happier than anything, the sound of his laughter. Try as she might, she could never remember Pearl making him laugh. Not once. Her guts twisted with misery and she blinked hard as the colourful scene around her blurred.
“Good day for it, Lady Ella.”
Ella composed her face at the sound of the familiar voice and turned to greet Tim Banks, Oscar’s groom.
“Hello, Mr Banks. Yes, indeed. A fine day, and how is Virago?”
Banks fell into step with her and looked proud as a new father.
“Oh, chomping at the bit, my lady,” he said, beaming at her. “Me an’ all, truth be told.” He held his arm aloft, showing a rip in his sleeve and Ella made a face.
“Oh dear, she is a spiteful wretch, isn’t she?”
“Aye, well, she’s a beauty and she well knows it,” Mr Bank said, with the air of a man who’d had experience of such things.
Ella bit her lip and refused to allow herself to think the unkind thought which had just entered her head.
“May I come and see her before you take her up?” she asked instead, thinking this would occupy her mind for a while and stop her brooding. Oscar had seemed bemused by the way Virago had decided that Ella might not be the enemy, and she wanted to try her luck again.
“Don’t see why not,” he replied, holding out his arm to her. “Willy will be right pleased to see you afore the race. Reckons you bring him luck.”
Ella grinned at him, hoping this would be true today of all days, and followed him to the King’s Stables.
Tim Banks was not much older than she was, around Oscar’s age she supposed, and so she knew him well from her days of trailing around in Oscar and Bertie’s wake. He was extremely tall, taller than Oscar, and weighed about half as much. His gaunt face was bracketed with large ears that stuck straight out and gave him the look of a carriage with the door left open. A kind young man, Banks had often given her a nod if he knew where it was the young men had gone off to—assuming it wasn’t scandalous—so she could track them down.
The stables were a hive of activity and they hurried across the yard to the building that housed Virago’s stall.
“Ho, Willy,” Banks called as they entered.
The familiar and welcome scent of horse, hay, and well-polished leather encompassed her. She stood beside Banks as their eyes adjusted to the gloom after the glare of the bright spring sunshine outside.
“Willy?” he said again, blinking as he stared about them.
Willy Camden was Oscar’s jockey, an experienced man who had won more than his fair share of races. In his mid-forties, he was skinny as a skinned rabbit, short as a lad, and currently on his hands and knees in the straw, clutching at his guts.
“Willy, what is it?” Banks demanded in horror, getting down beside him.
“Dunno,” Willy replied, groaning and shaking his head.
Ella stared at him in dismay. He was white faced and sweating, and looked as if he was about to be violently sick.
“Me guts is all in a knot. Bleeding hell, but it hurts like the devil,” Willy cursed and clutched at his stomach, falling to his side and bringing his knees up.
They all fell silent as the first call for the jockeys to lead their horses out echoed across the yard.
“Oh no,” Ella whispered, her eyes meeting Banks’. Poor Willy! She must fetch him help at once yet … if Willy couldn’t ride, Oscar would forfeit the race and Ranleigh would win.
She could only imagine Oscar’s disappointment and frustration. For the past six months he’d done little else but talk about this race. He’d spent every spare hour on training and exercising his horse. He’d lavished every care and attention on his precious Virago, so she would be fighting fit to meet Miss Skirmish and show the Duke of Ranleigh just what a superior creature she was.
Ella had never seen him take anything as seriously as he had this contest, and yet if Willy was too sick to ride… he’d lost before Virago had even left the stall.
“Fetch a doctor,” she said, taking matters into her own hands as Mr Banks seemed frozen with panic. “Now!”
The young man jolted, staring at her, wide-eyed with horror. “B-But, Virago… the race….”
“Never mind that, Willy needs attention. Now go!”
She hustled the man out of the stall and turned back to Willy who had pulled himself upright and was sitting with his back to the wall.
“I’ve never let him down afore, Lady Ella,” he said, sounding wretched. “Never been a race I didn’t finish. Bleeding ’ell! He’ll be sore disappointed.”
“It’s all right, Willy,” she said, patting his shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion, even though her heart was danci
ng a tattoo in her chest.
She wasn’t about to let Oscar lose this race. Not if it were in her power to give him a chance. Her mind whirled as she tried to consider any alternate possibilities. There was no chance of finding another jockey at this late stage. Even if she could find a free jockey, she did not have the time it would take to persuade them to ride Virago, infamous as she was for being an ill-tempered beast who loved to unseat her rider.
Ella could hear the grooms leading their mounts out into the yard now, there wasn’t time to consider any further. If she was going to act it had to be now and yet….
This wasn’t a silly prank.
This wasn’t like ditching her chaperones or falling headlong into a puddle or eating chestnuts with her fingers on top of the Earl of Stanthorpe’s carriage. This was a race… an honest to goodness professional race, where the best jockeys in the country fought to win the prize. Not only that, it was on Virago!
If she was very lucky, she might not break her stupid neck.
With panic clawing at her throat she saw Willy’s dark green silks hanging from a peg and snatched them up. Willy was in too much pain to notice her as she slipped into the vacant stall beside Virago and got undressed.
Cursing and uttering every filthy profanity she could recall, her fingers shook and her stomach churned as she dropped skirt, petticoats, and shift to the ground and put on the silks. They slithered, cold and slippery against her terror-flushed skin, and it was with relief that she pushed her feet into Willy’s boots and found them only a little too big. Sparing a moment to tuck her own clothes out of sight, Ella then reached for the saddle and bridle she’d be weighed in with, her hands trembling as they grasped the soft leather.
“Holy Mother of God!”
Ella jolted as she exited the stall to see Willy staring at her in abject horror. If possible, the man looked even whiter than he had before.
“No! No, no, no. Lady Ella, don’t you dare,” he pleaded. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a man turn such a deathly shade of pale.
Ella stiffened her spine, determined now despite the terror building inside her.
“But I must, Willy. You know how much this means to him.”
Willy tried to stagger to his feet. “I’ll ride,” he said, his face flushing as he tried to rise. “I’m feeling much—”
Ella gasped as his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the ground again.
“Willy! Willy!”
She sank to her knees beside him, patting his face until he awoke again with a groan. “Now don’t be foolish, you can’t go anywhere, and the doctor is coming for you. Now be a good fellow and lie still. I… I’ll b-be fine.”
Willy shook his head and at first she thought he would try to get up again but he grasped her arm, staring at her, his eyes feverish.
“You can’t get away with it… your hair,” he said, his voice rough. “If your cap comes off, they’ll see your hair.”
Ella touched a hand to the thick dark curls that clustered around her face and knew he was right. Oh, my word.
Her heart was skittering like a March hare, jumping erratically as the reality of what she was doing hit home, but she wouldn’t fail now. No. Oscar was never to be hers, she knew that, she accepted it, but… but at least she could do this for him, something that Pearl would never… could never dream of doing.
Well, in for a penny… in for two thousand pounds.
With a shaking hand she ran for the grooming kit and tossed curry combs and brushes aside until she found what she was looking for: a knife.
Ella pulled her thick hair tight and sawed at it, watching the dark curls fall into a little pile at her feet and wondering if she had really, seriously, lost her mind this time.
“You’re totally insane, Ella Aldous,” she murmured to herself as another curl tumbled to the floor. “Dicked in the nob, queer in your attic, touched in the head… completely and utterly certifiable.”
She stared at the remnants of her hair, soft against the sharp gold of the straw. It was too late for regrets now, though, and she snatched up the cap, stuffing any stray locks tightly underneath.
“Hold her back.”
Ella hurried to sit beside Willy again as his voice croaked. He grasped hold of her arm.
“If you’re set on doing this… you must hold her back. Virago hates to lose. You hold her back hard as you can until you’re two thirds round the track, then let her free… she won’t let you down.”
“I will, Willy… at least, I’ll try,” Ella promised, wondering how in heaven’s name she could possibly restrain the huge horse if she wanted her head free.
Willy clutched at her arm again, his eyes pleading. “Don’t break your pretty neck, my lady. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“It’s none of your doing, Willy. This is all my own mad idea; you’ll take none of the blame. You’re hardly in a position to stop me.”
She gave his arm a reassuring pat and then got to her feet.
“The doc’s on his—”
Ella spun around as Banks’ voice reached her ears. As he took in the sight of her, he looked almost as ill as Willy.
Banks stared at her and his head moving back and forth bearing a horrified expression that clearly stated no, no, no, without him uttering a single word.
“Yes, Mr Banks, yes,” she said, her voice firm. “And what’s more, you must help me, or this will never work.”
Banks backed up, holding his hands out to her. “No, my lady… not on your life! I won’t do it!”
Ella glared at him and folded her arms. There was no way on God’s green earth she’d chopped her hair off to fail now. With a grim set to her chin, she faced Mr Banks.
“Now then, Mr Banks, just you listen here….”
Chapter 4
“Wherein a young lady chases a prize.”
Oscar stared over the crowds. There was a dull thud in his chest, a tightening under his skin somewhere between exhilaration and outright panic. Where was Willy with Virago? They ought to be up by now. With a supreme effort he refused to fidget, keeping his expression cool and disinterested.
He wished Bertie was still here to break the tension, but he’d gone off in search of Ella who had done her usual vanishing act, the little wretch. He admitted to being disappointed she hadn’t wanted to stay to support him, but no doubt the girl was up to some kind of mischief.
“Oh, look, there’s The Duke of Ware.”
Oscar looked around as Pearl slid her arm through his. She gave a regal inclination of her head as Ware looked up and grinned at Oscar. Oscar bit back his irritation. Why it mattered that Pearl acted as though she knew the Duke when he knew she damn well didn’t, he couldn’t fathom.
“You will introduce me later, won’t you, Rothborn?” she said, her soft voice pitched just loud enough to be audible over the chatter of the crowds. “I should get to know your friends.”
“Certainly,” he said, not looking at her. “I’ll introduce you to Mr Banks and Mr Camden too.”
“Who are they?”
Oscar turned then, frowning a little as Pearl’s gaze followed the glorious figure of the Duke of Ware. Not that he could blame her, he was undoubtedly the most handsome man of the ton, but still….
“Virago’s groom and the jockey riding today,” he said, biting the words out.
Pearl frowned at him, looking perplexed. “Oh, one of your silly jokes, of course,” she said with a sigh as her face cleared.
“No, not at all, they’re friends too.” Why he was so set on riling her this morning he didn’t know, but he had the devil on his shoulder and he couldn’t hold his tongue.
She shot him a look then, her expression far colder. “In private it is acceptable to be on friendly terms with your servants, but it does your consequence no good to be too familiar with such people in public.”
“Stuff my consequence,” Oscar muttered, and then turned back to her feeling unaccountably belligerent. “They’re servants and friends and I do
n’t give a damn what anyone thinks about it.”
Pearl shook her head. “You’re a fool if you believe that; a bigger one to encourage it. They’ll take advantage of you if they don’t respect you.”
There was a rather bitter edge to the words and Oscar stared at the beautiful woman at his side in consternation. She looked glorious. Her golden hair glinted like ripe barley in the sunlight, her skin was perfect and her eyes such a dazzling blue… and without an ounce of warmth in them.
He shivered, a strange sensation of foreboding prickling down his spine.
“How do you see our marriage, Pearl?”
She looked up at him, apparently surprised by the question. “Whatever do you mean, Oscar?”
He turned to face her, hoping that perhaps he was being foolish. His marriage to her was an inevitability his father had forced him to accept from the moment he was old enough to understand. It was one of the last things he remembered the old duke talking to him about in the weeks before he died: the importance of his duty to the family name.
Oscar’s father had died when he was only seven. Duke at such a tender age and with no other siblings, his mother had indulged him… spoiled him rotten in fact, but his father’s voice had always rung in his ears. So, he’d accepted his fate, never questioned it, and never thought about it.
He thought about it now.
“I mean, how do you see our lives together?”
What on earth was he doing? He should watch for Virago and enjoy the moment, not waste it in questioning the woman he’d been engaged to his whole life. What a time to pick.
Understanding seemed to enter her eyes, a knowing look which disturbed him further.
“Don’t worry, Oscar. I won’t interfere in your pleasures. I’ll be a good wife to you, you’ll never have to worry about….” She paused, a pucker to her mouth as though she’d a bad taste on her tongue.
She smiled then, finding the words she needed. “About any silly jealousies. You shall have your life, your interests, and I shall have mine. We need not bother each other more than is necessary.”
The Corinthian Duke Page 4