The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley Page 2

  “Oh, dear. And you’ve put so much time in his training. But this is only the first of many races. He’ll have his day.”

  Yes, Patriot would do well in the future, but her main concern was whether Robert would continue to let her attend race meetings, or if she must wait to hear reports of his activities. She would simply expire from worry if she couldn’t watch Patriot compete. She glanced at the clock on the wall, then sighed. She still had hours to wait for the racing to begin.

  Joanna contemplated her mother again. The dark circles beneath her eyes were not as prominent today. “I’m very pleased you came with me to the race meeting.”

  “I always enjoyed the races with your father. I’m happy to chaperone you here.”

  Her words sounded earnest enough, and her face didn’t contradict them, but given the weeks where Mother would not even join them for meals, Joanna wondered what had brought about this gay mood. She would not press the issue, however. She would simply enjoy her mother’s company for as long as she had it.

  Chapter Two

  From the grandstand at the end of the Rowley Mile course, David waited to hear the roar of the crowd telling him the horses drew near. He tried to think of anything but Northcotte, to quell the acid burning in his stomach. Lass was entered in this event, and though she’d appeared small and slight when she’d warmed up next to the other horses, David could see she was ready to compete.

  He fidgeted in his seat, straining to see down the course, watching for the flash of yellow and orange. He heard the increasing sound of thunder as they grew close.

  Knightwick sat silently beside him, but his arms unfolded and he leaned forward in his seat when the noise grew louder. The runners appeared at the rise of the hill two furlongs out, and David spotted orange. Lass was gaining on Whiskey, passing his flank. “Atta girl,” David called out.

  She surged the next furlong on the downhill side into the Dip, getting a nose out beyond Whiskey and catching up to Fair Star. As they climbed the final furlong uphill, Lass closed in on Robin in second place. Canopus held the lead, right up to the finish.

  The judge called out the winning colors for the first three places, with Lass’s orange and yellow coming in third.

  Knightwick grinned and clapped David on the back. “Fine run. She did us proud in her first race.”

  David sat back in his seat, the tension of the day finally breaking. Now he could enjoy the rest of the races, knowing the meeting was not going to be a total loss. “She did do well, didn’t she? Peter promised me she would. She and Triton both. We’ll see how the colt does.”

  “I wish Father were here to see this.” Knightwick’s voice barely reached David’s ears under the crowd’s excited chatter.

  “I do, too. Maybe if Triton wins, it will bring Father around.”

  For the past five years, David and Knightwick had been attending the race meetings without their father, the Earl of Bridgethorpe. The year before that, their prize stud horse, a tall, well-muscled black called Zephyr, had been stolen from the Southampton Race Meeting, and found dead in a nearby field two weeks later. The three of them had attended the remaining races that year while waiting to hear the culprit had been caught. No one had seen anything out of the norm, or if they had, the man in question held such power and position that no one would speak up.

  Over the following winter, Bridgethorpe lost the determination to continue the search. “It’s no good, boys. My heart’s just not strong enough.”

  The last time he’d seen his father, David feared he would not live to see summer. The old man sat at his desk each day, staring out the window at whatever held his gaze. It was most likely something in Father’s mind, not the bleak gray weather and leafless trees beyond the glass. He’d grown thin, his pallor more pronounced, and he often had a tremor in his right hand.

  Knightwick nudged David’s arm, pulling his thoughts back to the racecourse. “Are you going to meet Peter at the weigh-in? Collect your winnings?”

  “What? Oh, no.” He shook his head and grinned. “I’m not done winning today.”

  He was determined to send home news of a first place before the weeklong event was through. A win was what they needed to bring their father back to life.

  Joanna grew restless in the grandstand as the day passed. She longed to be with Patriot, wherever he was. In the past, she’d attended various race meetings with her family and lost herself in the market tents, rather than watching other people’s horses compete. The fortuneteller was always a fun diversion, even if the grand love she predicted for Joanna had a different description for the gentleman each time she visited the woman.

  Not for her were the evening balls and theatricals enjoyed by the other young women and men while in Newmarket, either. Now, all she cared about were her family’s horses and how well they ran. Her mother would faint if she were aware of how much time Joanna spent at the course’s stables when she claimed she was investigating the ribbon vendor’s booth, or the town bookstore. Her maid, Molly, was easily bribed with a new bonnet or packet of sweets, and Joanna had a feeling the young woman took advantage of some of that time to flirt with a certain groom.

  Being required to sit the entire afternoon was too much to bear. “Mama, may I find Molly and go rest until Patriot’s event? I don’t wish to watch every sweepstakes and race. I cannot tell the horses apart, so it’s of no interest to me.”

  “Be still, dear girl. Your horse will run soon. We have only two sweepstakes to go before the Oatlands Stakes. If you leave now you mightn’t return in time.”

  Joanna chewed on her lower lip, unconcerned her mother could see her. Her horse needed her, of that she was certain. How was he handling the excitement, the crowds? The knot in her stomach had been growing all day, and she would never be able to eat supper if it didn’t loosen soon.

  The individuals who’d left their seats in the grandstand rushed to return, so word must have come the next race was lining up at the starting post a mile down the course. Joanna watched the men file down the rows, not really seeing faces, not really interested in who they were.

  Until he appeared.

  Taller than most men, yet not quite as tall as his companion, the gentleman with wavy chestnut hair made his way toward his seat in the center of one of the lower rows. He spoke to various people he passed, his smile friendly, open. He was not the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but something about him made her wish they were at an assembly where she could coerce an introduction from their hostess.

  Perhaps it was the way he carried himself. His bearing was almost military, shoulders back, revealing the broad chest covered in a plain woolen waistcoat and coat. Just before he sat, he laughed at something his companion said and she wished she were close enough to see if the laughter carried into his eyes. Were they fair or dark? Whatever the color, she’d wager they were quite expressive.

  The man following him had to be a brother, for the two were cut from the same cloth. The second was only a smidgeon taller, and perhaps that much more polished in his style. Perhaps he was titled. The difference in their bearing made her think of a son brought up to be an heir and one who was free to choose his own path. Yet this taller, polished brother didn’t hold a candle to the first, in her book. If she had to choose one as a suitor, she’d pick the first.

  Hearing her own thoughts, Joanna burst out in a laugh, which she quickly swallowed. A suitor was the last thing she wanted. Mama gave her a stern shake of the head and Joanna looked down the course for the horses to appear.

  She must be desperately bored for the thought of suitors to enter her head. All of her mother’s harping had finally sunk in. As much as Joanna hated to admit it, she must find a husband soon. But that was of no concern today.

  The next two races each ended in a flurry of cheers, and Joanna sat up straighter, clenching her hands around her reticule. The Oatlands Stakes, a two-mile distance, would be run next. Patriot’s race. Please, let him do well.

  Where was Robert? She l
ooked about the grandstand but didn’t see him. She wanted to ask him what strategy he had set, and why he thought it was a good plan. As the horses came in to sight at the rise, Patriot was pinned between two other runners.

  What idiot was riding him? How was Patriot supposed to make his kick while buried in the pack? “Ohhhh,” she moaned.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Mother leaned closer and took her hand briefly.

  “I’m fine, but Patriot isn’t.”

  “Yes, he does seem to be putting on a poor show, doesn’t he? Robert will not be pleased.”

  At the moment, Joanna didn’t care whether her brother was pleased or not. It was his own fault Patriot was behind. If Robert had let her ride…

  She held her breath until her throat burned, then released it in a huff. One of the horses dropped back at the base of the Dip. Patriot was free to make his move, at least, but was so far behind the front-runners, Joanna had no hope for a win.

  Her heart pounded in her ears. The horses began the final climb and the big bay began to pull away. A gray colt tried to keep up, to no avail. Patriot gained on the gray, but as they crossed the Finish Post, Patriot was still half a length behind.

  “Hurrah, he placed third!” Mama clapped her hands and smiled widely.

  Joanna’s stomach sank. Third place. She just knew he would have won if only Bruce hadn’t been ill, or she had been allowed to ride. Her disappointment weighed her down in her seat. There were no more races, but she had no desire to rush to see her horse like she normally would. If she saw Northcotte now, she’d probably forget her upbringing and rail into him in front of everyone. She folded her shaking hands across her lap and shut out the noise of the excited crowd, and hoped Mama was not eager to return to the inn.

  David sat unmoving for a moment, unable to believe what he’d just seen. Triton had done what no horse from Fernleigh had since Zephyr. He took the win in his first ever race. The gray colt finished half a length behind him, and Northcotte’s black stallion was third.

  Knightwick pulled him to his feet. “You did it!”

  From the corner of his eye, David noticed Northcotte’s sister and mother sitting a few rows back. The dowager countess appeared pleased with their horse’s third place, but the sister’s frown showed her disappointment. She met his gaze, then looked away when her mother spoke.

  Someone reached for David’s hand to shake it, offering congratulations, and several others slapped him on the shoulder, accepting their own losses as owners or bettors good-naturedly. David smiled, nodded, and hoped he said the right words, but something kept the excitement of accomplishment from fully engulfing him.

  Perhaps it was the fact his father was not there to share in the joy. Everything David did with the horses, he did with love of seeing the animals develop into well-trained, beautiful and fast creatures. But some small part of him, the boy he’d been, still longed for praise from his father. Still wanted to see the man smile.

  Now that the reality of the win was upon him, he had to admit to himself it would not change anything. It might have a year ago, before David’s aunt and uncle had died, but nothing their horses did would ease that pain. All David could do was hope his father might at least show some interest in the stables again. Show some interest in life.

  As he and Knightwick walked to the Coffee Rooms where the Jockey Club held court, David noticed a group of men standing near an open door at one end of the stables where those who didn’t own property nearby sheltered their horses. “Something looks amiss.”

  Knightwick followed his gaze. “I wonder what is happening. Perhaps two grooms are fighting over the outcome of their race.”

  “If that were the case, Old Edwards would be off to one side taking bets on the winner. I don’t see anyone betting.”

  His brother laughed. “Quite so. Let’s go investigate.”

  The voices of the onlookers reached the pair before they got there, with words such as ill and murder being tossed about. Knightwick spoke to a man on the edge of the circle. “What’s the excitement about?”

  “Near as I can tell, either a horse or a rider has been killed.”

  “You aren’t certain which?”

  The man shrugged. “They haven’t called for the horse doctor or the people doctor, so I can’t say.”

  In David’s mind, that just meant the victim was beyond treatment. He was about to ask if the constable had been sent for when the man pushed through the crowd and entered the stables. David strained to hear anything within the building, but the gossip in the crowd was too loud.

  A short time later, two stable hands carried out a body on a board, covered by a horse blanket. Knightwick nudged David’s arm. “Let’s go to the Coffee Rooms. They’ll know anything we need to know. We can get our winnings and take our horses home.”

  The Coffee Rooms were packed with people eating at the tables, and milling about talking about the day’s races. Knightwick led the way and stopped to speak to an earl. “Have they mentioned who was killed in the stables?”

  The earl nodded. “A groom, he was. Not a local boy. Worked for Lord Northcotte. Heard he took sick this morning and someone else rode for him. They found him dead in a stall during the Oatlands Stakes.”

  David met his brother’s pointed gaze, but neither of them spoke. After their discussion of Northcotte’s possible involvement in the death of Zephyr, and the near death of their horses last year, it seemed beyond coincidence his name should be floating about this current death. No one said murder, but the constable had just arrived. They’d have to see where the investigation went.

  Chapter Three

  Joanna stormed up to the library door of their London town house, her heels beating a clipped rhythm on the polished marble floor. Waving off the footman, she threw open the door without knocking. She marched to the massive oak desk where her brother sat. “How dare you!”

  Robert lifted his gaze from his papers without raising his head, peering out from beneath his heavy, fair eyebrows. “How dare I what?”

  Joanna forced her hands to relax. Fighting the urge to stomp her foot, which would only prove what she assumed her brother believed of her, she threw back her shoulders and glared at his receding hairline, for he had returned to scratching out a list. “You know what. How could you?”

  He set the pen in the inkwell and blotted the paper, then straightened in his chair. “Dear sister, this discourse would be completed all the sooner if you would simply tell me which action of mine has displeased you this time.”

  Joanna’s right leg twitched again with the need to stomp, but she remained stiff. “Mama tells me you have decided to select a husband for me.”

  “What would you have me do? You have shown no inclination to make the choice on your own.” With his elbows resting on the edge of the desk, he steepled his fingers, raising one eyebrow in that manner he’d adopted since the death of their father two years ago. Where some young men might find the weight of an earldom sat heavily on their shoulders, Robert seemed to relish the role.

  “I’ve only had one Season. How can you expect me to decide so soon? It’s not as if we can’t afford to remain in London until summer. And how was I supposed to properly entertain potential beaux last year when I had Patriot on my mind?”

  Robert’s lips thinned. “Does this mean he’s not foremost in your thoughts this year? I should never have agreed to let you train that horse. No gentleman will want you if word gets out what you’ve been doing.”

  She refused to say it, but that was exactly her concern. She had no intention of giving up horse training once she married, which greatly narrowed her chances of finding a suitable match. Northcotte’s Patriot was on the lips of most members of the Jockey Club to become the prominent three-year-old. His third place finish at Newmarket hadn’t dimmed her hopes her horse would come into his stride now that the first official race was behind him. While she had no plans of becoming a breeder of horses, or anything else for that matter, she enjoyed nurturing the
spirited colts and fillies in her brother’s stable.

  She would only be happy if she could marry a man with a good stable. A kind, gentle sort who would allow her to continue to train horses. She didn’t even care whose horses they were, her brother’s or her husband’s, just so long as she didn’t have to put her dreams aside.

  Robert would not be looking for that sort of man as he sought a husband for her, unless he hoped to have access to another man’s stud. He’d look for an heir to a title, or possibly a wealthy businessman who might be interested in backing the Northcotte stable. A marriage to suit his own whims.

  She must be allowed to make the choice herself. “If I promise to make a decision by the end of the Season, will you let me select my own husband?”

  He leaned back in his chair and contemplated her, his expression the composed mask she recognized. At last, he nodded. “I’ll continue to consider my own list of candidates, however, in case you fail to produce a satisfactory suitor. But we can put the decision off until later in the Season.”

  “Just promise me you won’t let anyone other than Bruce ride Patriot.”

  His brows dropped sharply. “I’m sorry, that isn’t possible. He didn’t survive his illness.”

  “What? But he was fine that morning. Did the doctor say what it was?”

  “The constable is still investigating. But I’m certain it’s nothing you might catch.”

  That hadn’t crossed her mind. Aside from feeling she’d lost a friend, she now had to worry they would find someone Patriot was comfortable with. And she wouldn’t be there to help him adjust. She was stuck here in London.

  After retrieving her pelisse, hat and gloves, Joanna stormed out the front door where the groom, Wallis, waited with a pair of horses. Just seeing Patriot awaiting her lifted some of her frustration. The handsome black towered over her, even though she was rather tall herself, but he was like a kitten when she sat on his back. That was another area of potential problem in finding a husband. Few men would allow their wives to ride stallions. Once she married, she’d not be able to ride him, however, since he belonged to her brother.