The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley (3 page)

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 looked 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.”