Chapter Five

M

iles closed his eyes, groaned softly and then walked after the carriage toward the mews. When he entered the soft golden light of the stable block, he sought out the head groom. “Gordon, please saddle the new bay hunter. I’m off to Newmarket as soon as I pack a few things.”

“Burning the candle at both ends, Lord Miles?” the short man replied with a laugh. “You have a long ride ahead of you, my lord.”

Miles smiled. “Yes. I’ve set myself up for two wearisome days. But, it can’t be helped. I’ve much ground to cover and little time to do it in. I can sleep anytime.”

The dark mass of London fell behind him as he rode toward Newmarket at a clipping trot. Maintaining a steady pace and stopping only briefly to have a hot drink at one of the posting-houses, he arrived at “The Sturdy Plowman” as morning light was beginning to streak the horizon with soft lances of pink and gold. He handed his bay off to the staff and inquired about hiring a fresh mount. Coming to an agreeable arrangement, he made his way to the common taproom for a light breakfast before he continued to the Woodward farm. He’d been up a full twenty-four hours straight. He’d stayed up until dawn many a night entertaining one of his patronesses, so long hours of physical exertion were nothing new. He figured he could catch a short nap later that evening before riding back to London. If pressed, he’d do without sleep entirely.

From The Sturdy Plowman, he found the private lane that meandered through a large wood of full-grown oaks and elms before opening onto a broad swath of cleared land, neatly fenced into paddocks of thick emerald grass where a dozen or more mares and colts grazed. The manor house and stable block occupied the horizon.

Yew and perfectly trimmed hedgerows lined a circular drive, and a fountain gurgled in the center lawn, its splashing water like crystals in the morning sun. Smooth rock walls, a subtle mix of gray and gold, formed the exterior of the two-story manor replete with mullioned windows looking out on the world. Spirals of smoke wafted from tall chimneys, and songbirds warbled, competing with the cluck of chickens and the honks of geese waddling near the stable block behind and to the east of the manor house. It was an eminently rural scene.

His gaze roved admiringly over the stone and timber perfection that housed the four-footed residents. Through open double-doors, an immaculately clean interior could be seen. Tan

bricks paved a long, wide, central aisle flanked by dark-stained, wood-paneled stalls with polished brass grills from which heads of inquisitive horses appeared, their attention captured by the activity in the stable yard.

As he rode toward the house, the sole occupant in the paddock on his right raised her sculptured chestnut head from grazing and pricked her dainty ears at him. A soft whicker preceded her all-out sprint to the fence line where she breasted the railing not more than six feet from him, wheeled and blew back across the paddock in a dazzling display of speed and infectious high spirits. She raced around the fence line and whirled to a stop facing him, bouncing on stiff legs and fracturing the morning air with explosive snorts. As he watched, a smile grew, and when his own mount blew in retort and pranced sideways with a waggle of his head, despite his physical fatigue, Miles laughed aloud at the antics of the young mare and the response she provoked from his sedate hired hack.

This…this…he thought to himself. I covet this life—a life removed from the artificialities of society that prescribed his every move. A life free of his suffocating, oppressive older brother. He pulled up and sat on his horse in the middle of the lane, surveying the natural beauty that surrounded him with abiding satisfaction and an unfamiliar sense of optimism. This will be mine.

“Lord Miles!” A rider approached from the direction of the stables and hailed him, and Miles raised his hand in greeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Weldon. I hope the notice of my impending visit reached you before I did.”

The farm manager chuckled and closed the distance between them with a pleasant smile. “Yes. We got word of your coming, though I didn’t expect you at dawn. The paperwork is in order and waiting for your signature. I’m just on my rounds to inspect the broodmares and babies and watch the morning workouts. Will you join me, my lord? You’ll get another look at the stock you’ve purchased along with the farm.”

“I’d like nothing better. Lead on.”

As they rode toward the crest of a nearby hill, Weldon indicated the young chestnut that had put on such a display of good spirits. “You are very fortunate in the timing of your purchase, Lord Miles. We have great hopes for that filly. She’s entered in the 1,000 Guineas for three-year-old fillies this spring. Very serendipitous how we came to have her. Lord Marlburl bought what we thought was an open broodmare from the Earl of Rutledge to cross on our old stallion.” Weldon grinned at Miles. “That season, we never got to breed her to our stud. Ten months and fourteen days after we purchased her, the mare dropped that lovely filly. The Earl of Rutledge has been trying to buy her back from Lord Marlburl ever since. Now it seems he will have her after all, even if by indirect means.” The farm manager looked at Miles, curiosity evident in his tone and expression. “I heard of your impending marriage to the Earl’s daughter. Congratulations, sir. Will you be adding this estate to the Rutledge holdings?”

“Thank you. No, this property will operate independently of the Rutledge stud.” He had little desire to expound on the details though Weldon was clearly leaving an opening to do so. Miles straightened in the saddle. “Rutledge didn’t know the mare was bred when he sold her to you?”

Weldon shook his head with a grin. “Rutledge has a young, unproven, five-year-old stallion, Dare To Dream. That filly’s momma was one of three test mares exposed to him when he was a two-year-old. The breeding manager slipped up and included this filly’s momma in a group of older mares that were sold. Needless to say, he is no longer in the Earl’s employ. Day Dreamer, that’s the filly, will be the first of Dare To Dream’s get to race. Lord Marlburl nominated her to the Newmarket 1,000 Guineas Stakes and the Epsom Oaks this year.”

“The 1,000 Guineas and the Oaks? She’s that good?”

Weldon smiled and nodded, then shot Miles a rueful glance. “Barring injury or other mishap, you will have the pleasure of seeing her run carrying your silks.”

Miles studied the chestnut filly with a horseman’s appreciation of her clean lines. It was hard to find fault with her.

Miles extracted every iota of knowledge he could from the wealth stored between Mr. Weldon’s ears about management of the physical property, the horses, and the breeding programs, the training routines—in short everything about which his lively brain had questions. Early morning stretched into late afternoon before he returned to the manor house to sign the documentation necessary for the transfer of property and chattel into his name. The housekeeper showed him into a small but beautifully furnished library where Lord Marlburl’s man of business waited.

“Lord Miles.” 

“Mr. Anderson.”

The two men nodded at each other and Miles seated himself where Anderson indicated.

“I trust you enjoyed your day with Mr. Weldon?”

“Very much. I’m more determined than ever to finalize this purchase.”

Anderson’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “If you will sign here, here and here…” He pushed papers toward Miles and watched as he scrawled his name where indicated. “Very good, my lord. And if you will also sign these here and here.”

Miles repeated his signature twice more and sat back.

Anderson scanned the documents one more time. “I believe all we need now is the exchange of monies.”

“To that end, here is my draft for the full amount agreed upon, written on my London bank.” Miles reached into his inner lapel, pulled out a long envelope and handed almost the entirety of his wedding settlement, less the monies he’d promised Ned, to Lord Marlburl’s agent.

The man opened the envelope and looked in. “Yes, this seems in order.” Anderson rose and walked around the desk where the signings had occurred and offered Miles his hand. “Congratulations on your purchase, my lord. Lord Marlburl wished me to convey his apologies that his health prevented him from being here in person, and he offered his thanks that you have chosen to retain the current staff. Some of them have been in his service for over forty years.”

“I can see no reason to interfere with management clearly doing an exceptional job.”

“Yes. Quite. I believe Mrs. Brody has set up the small dining room for us. Shall we continue our discussion over dinner?”

His sense of exuberance kept him going until he rode into Reggie’s yard in London as yet another morning dawned, marking forty-eight hours that he’d been without sleep. When Miles slid from his horse and handed off the reins to a stable lad, his head felt as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton wool and it took all the energy he could summon to drag himself up the steps and into the house. He called for the footman who did double duty as his valet, handed off his dirt-splattered coat and hat, and instructed him, “Under no circumstances allow me to sleep for more than three hours. I’m to be married this afternoon at 3:00 and I’ll need to be made presentable.”

He staggered up the stairs to his room and fully clothed, right down to his muddy boots, fell face-first onto his bed. Sleep claimed him immediately.