Chapter Nineteen
“We should put forth a bill to have the road from London improved,” Langford said. He stood beside Adam while they gazed out over the crowd to the ground that the horses would run. On Langford’s other side stood the fashionable and lovely Mrs. Harper. From the way she and Langford traded smiles, Adam assumed Mrs. Harper was a new and accommodating mistress.
Brentworth watched on Adam’s other side. Brentworth had left his mistress back in London. Adam assumed that most of the ton did not even know he had one.
Others milled in the stand. As the owner of one of the horses, Brentworth had created a celebration here and invited at least twenty guests to join him. At the back of the stand a table set with silver, tableware and fine cloth held enough food to feed fifty.
Langford and his new lover drifted away to sit on the comfortable chairs provided. They turned their attention solely on each other.
Brentworth glanced over at Mrs. Harper. “I daresay Langford will be much the poorer before she is done with him.”
“They both appear euphorically happy, so I doubt he will mind the cost.”
“Langford has looked like that at least a dozen times in my memory. We are all euphorically happy in the first blush of passion. Except you, apparently. You are brooding, despite your efforts to hide it.”
“It is passing.” And it was. The effect of seeing that place again had been soul shaking, and much worse than he expected. As he stood there it had all come back. The shock and the grief, and also the rage. He had known all of that waited for him out there. He had avoided returning for a reason.
“Perhaps when Lady Clara joins us, it will pass completely. Here she comes.”
“I don’t know how you can see anything in that horde.”
“I have my servants wear livery so I can spot the gold braid on their tricorner hats. Whenever I think of casting off the antiquated traditions, I think of that gold braid and how handy it is for occasions like this.”
Adam spotted the hat and the two women behind it. Clara looked up as she started up the stairs. She saw him immediately. Her smile appeared tentative.
He had behaved badly this morning when he found her at that pool. He had spoken too sharply. He had allowed the past to govern his reaction.
She had guessed why. He could tell she did from the gentle way she spoke to him and the manner in which she had urged him away from that place.
He watched her come, her lovely eyes glistening with humor while she laughed at something Althea said. He had been a chaos of dark emotions this morning, but her mere presence had provided what comfort he knew.
She and Althea entered the stand. He and Brentworth went to them, and Clara introduced her friend. They both thanked him for his kindness in inviting them to watch from this elevated spot.
Adam lured Clara aside. He could see the signs of her hesitation with him. The deep intimacy of the night seemed far away.
“Are you displeased that it took so long to find you and bring you here?” he asked.
“Not at all. With such a crowd it is a wonder the footman managed it.”
“Then why the tight smile and hooded glances, Clara?”
She remained silent, subjecting him to a long examination. “I am wondering which Stratton I will be with today. The one from last night, or the one from this morning.”
“I am always the same man.”
“Are you? I was a stranger in that house this morning after we returned from the garden. A stranger to you. In turn, you were a stranger to me. I think I know why, and how finding me at that pool affected you badly. However much I sympathize, I did not care for being packed off this morning with less ceremony or kindness than some whore you found at a tavern.” Emotions other than anger colored her little scold.
“You exaggerate. I was not so cold as that.”
“I doubt you remember well enough to know. You were thoroughly immersed in your thoughts, and none of them had to do with me.”
“Of course you were in my thoughts.”
She cocked her head. “Not in a good way, then.”
He did not want to have this argument, here of all places. He spoke the words needed to ensure that would not happen. “Then I ask you to forgive me for this morning, Clara. You did not deserve the way I spoke to you when I found you at the pool and the way I then spoke little afterward. My distraction had nothing at all to do with you.”
Only that was not entirely true. It was all of one piece, wasn’t it? What had happened in that clearing had sent him away from England and brought him back, and she was not totally separate from it even if he tried to tell himself she was.
She knew that too. He could see it in her eyes.
“Familiarity, even passion, does not change who we are,” she said.
It sounded like a condemnation of who he was, and an epitaph for their love affair.
“Althea has suggested that I stay in Epsom with her tonight. Actually she wants us to take advantage of that house for several nights at least.”
“You can do that if you choose. However, I hope you do not.”
From the smile she gave him, he could not tell what she would do. She turned her attention to the grandstand beside them. “If we stroll near that wall ever so casually, do you think I can ogle the royal dukes without being too obvious?”
“I will introduce you to some of them, so you don’t have to ogle at all.”
He escorted her over and did so. The royal dukes each had a fine eye for women, and all had known her father. A few appeared surprised to see her in the company of the Duke of Stratton. They chatted for a while and were only interrupted by the shouts from the crowd indicating the race had started. They returned to the front of the stand.
Clara watched the race with a rapt expression. Brentworth shouted his horse on, and all around them a din of excitement grew. When the horses moved out of view, Clara steadied herself by grasping Adam’s arm and bent out of the stand as far as she could to keep them in view.
It ended within minutes as the horses charged to the finish. Money began changing hands.
“Almost,” Adam said to Brentworth, who scowled mightily at the results.
“That does not save me from this.” He felt in his pocket and extracted a stack of banknotes. Peeling off a hundred, he handed it over to a waiting Langford.
“You bet against his horse but ate his food and enjoyed his hospitality?” Clara asked.
“I knew Moses would win. I have been watching him for a year. I even tried to buy him from the Duke of York.” Langford grinned down at the banknotes. “It is much like finding money lying on the street. It begs to be wasted on decadent behavior.”
“You will think of something appropriate,” Brentworth said.
Langford looked over his shoulder at the lovely Mrs. Harper. “I think I will at that.”
Down below, the crowd shifted like a huge animal coming to life. It grew tentacles as people walked away in streams. There would be entertainments on the field for those looking to make a day of it, but the main performance had ended.
Still flushed with excitement, Clara peered around the stand. “Ah, there she is.” She waved to her friend, who sat near the rear, talking with a woman.
Althea excused herself and came to join them. “Should we look for Mr. Brady?” she asked Clara.
“I suppose we should. I will take my leave of Brentworth.” She walked away.
Althea remained. Short, fine and blond, she smiled serenely. “I should explain something, Your Grace.”
“What is that?”
“She has trusted you with little reason to do so and much reason not to. If you misuse her in any way, if you bring hurt and humiliation down on her, you will answer to me.”
Never had a person so small threatened him so mightily. He would have laughed except she meant it. For all her smiles, she was dead serious.
“I will not do that.”
Nodding, she walked over to join Clara. He watched until they both left.
* * *
In the stand, the ladies sat to dine at the table. The gentlemen gambled at a makeshift bar set up in front. One of the footmen dealt the cards for vingt-et-un.
“This is far better than fighting one’s way through all those carriages,” Langford said while he eyed his cards.
“I am glad to oblige. Also, the longer you stay, the more certain I am to win back that hundred,” Brentworth said.
“We are not playing each other, but the bank.”
“And who do you think provided the bank?” Adam asked.
Langford glanced at the footman and the stack of money in front of him. “Excellent point.”
Down below the crowd had much dispersed, but noise could still be heard from the field in which so many vehicles waited. Adam wondered if Clara and Althea had even been able to leave yet.
He also wondered whether yesterday’s subterfuge would be repeated or if he should assume Clara would remain with her friend. Probably the latter. Since returning to Kengrove Abbey meant finding out the truth of that, he was in no hurry to leave.
Nor were his two friends. Both were guests at the Oaks and of the Earl of Derby, after whom the race had been named. Derby had joined them and sat at the card bar for a while. The Duke of Clarence, who now had become heir to the crown with his brother George’s ascension, settled in for a longer visit. Others came and went. It reminded Adam of boxes at the theater, since other stands also hosted little parties.
The stakes ran high. The wine and whiskey flowed. The men took to talking the way they might at their clubs. With a few raised eyebrows, the ladies left to seek more genteel company. Even Mrs. Harper disappeared. The footmen brought out cigars.
Word must have spread that a fine time could be had at Brentworth’s stand, because more men entered. A group shoved the food down the serving table and used its end for better purposes. The footmen kept producing more bottles.
“Luck is with you today, Stratton. You are up, what, two hundred?” Brentworth said.
“Am I? I haven’t been counting.”
“What ho, I like a man not noting his wins and losses. Mostly his losses,” the Duke of Clarence hooted. “Feel free to gamble with me anytime.”
Langford had left for a while but now reclaimed his seat. “Your food far surpassed that in Portland’s stand. He did not even have champagne.”
“Nor do I,” Brentworth said.
“Hence my little search mission.”
“You visited the enemy camp to see if the provisions were superior?” Adam asked. “That is disloyal of you.”
“I had hoped for champagne. Just one glass. Brentworth here does not care for it, so we all must suffer.”
Brentworth tipped a glass with far more power in it than mere champagne. “I cannot abide wine that sends bubbles up your nose.”
“You never developed the taste. You missed out on it in your youth because your father was the consummate duke, just as you are now. My family, on the other hand, managed to procure champagne all during the war somehow.”
“There was only one way to do that, somehow,” Adam said. “You have just admitted to buying smuggled goods, Langford.”
“Someone had to. Otherwise the roads from Kent to London would have been covered with shipment boxes.”
Brentworth shook his head. “We had plenty of champagne in our house during the war. My grandfather laid in a goodly amount when he saw the headwinds, so our cellar remained well stocked. While he was not the—how did you put it?—consummate duke, it is true my father did not hold with enriching smugglers. If you were not in your cups, you would not admit it was done by your family either. It sounds disloyal.”
“Not as disloyal as the doings of some of your families, not mentioning any names, of course.” The voice inserting this observation came from behind them. Adam turned his head to see the Marquess of Rothborne hovering at his shoulder, looking down with a drunken smirk and moist eyes. Not a young man, the marquess had ruined his health long ago with drinking.
“Excellent whiskey, Brentworth,” Rothborne said, waving his glass. “Scottish?”
“Irish, and you have enjoyed it rather too well, I think.”
“I heard you had the best, so here I am. Of course, no one told me about your company. I am a bit fussier than you are, I guess. I avoid sitting at a table with a man who only has his title because his father escaped judgment by blowing his brains out.”
Rothborne chuckled at his own wit. Brentworth froze. Adam began deciding which friend to have as his second. No one at their table said anything. It seemed none of them breathed much either.
“You are drunk, Rothborne,” Langford said. “Apologize, then sit and play. I am losing big, and fate decrees I stop for a spell.” He stood. “Here, use my chair. I can ruin my fortune another day.”
“I’ll be damned before I sit next to him.”
With an affable smile, Langford clasped Rothborne’s shoulder. He pressed hard, bringing his weight and strength to bear. “I insist you take my chair. Sit.”
Rothborne’s body slammed into the chair. His face turned red. He slowly turned his head until his gaze met Adam’s, right beside him.
“I am sure you want to apologize,” Brentworth said from Adam’s other side. He gestured to the footman to deal him another card. “Before this hand is finished would be wise. I doubt I can hold Stratton back longer than that.”
“Apologize, hell.”
Brentworth sighed and shook his head. “And this was such a pleasant day. Now it will end badly, and all because a drunken fool did not know to hold his tongue. I am sorry, Stratton. As host I feel responsible.”
“It had to happen eventually. If not this drunken fool, then another one. I have grown somewhat accustomed to killing them.” He turned his gaze back on Rothborne and hoped this particular fool would come to his senses in the next two minutes.
Langford bent low to speak in Rothborne’s ear. “Lest you are so far gone as to forget how this works, let me remind you. Stratton here must now call you out. Your pride will not let you stand down, even when in the morning you awake sober and realize you will die soon. It was not a small insult to his honor, and he was an expert shot by the time he was fifteen.”
“I won’t die, he will, with more honor than his father at least.”
Another tight silence claimed the men around the table. Adam noted that a few of the others in the stand watched now. Hell.
“Rothborne, you give me no choice but—”
“Apologize.” The Duke of Clarence, who had been watching with rapt attention, spat out the command. “Am I to explain that I sat here while a duke and a marquess arranged a duel? Stop being an ass, Rothborne.”
“But I—”
“I said apologize now, or I will have George call you to the palace like a schoolboy and send you down to the country. A few years’ rustication might do you good.”
Rothborne looked miserable. His chin went down to his chest. He muttered something. Langford, still bending close, looked over at Adam and shrugged.
“We cannot hear you,” the Duke of Clarence said. “You threw insults loudly enough. You can speak clearly now too.”
“My apologies, Stratton. I am not myself today.” He barely got it out, his voice was so strangled.
Langford released his hold on Rothborne’s shoulder but gave him a very hearty clap on his back that shook the man’s body. “Ah, there we are. Now, stay and play a round or two, so everyone can see what good friends we all are.”
Rothborne played two rounds, then rose and staggered away. Langford retook his chair. His gaze met Adam’s in one meaningful exchange. Adam said nothing. He would thank both Langford and Brentworth later.
“We appreciate your help,” Brentworth said to the royal duke.
“Yes,” Adam said. “You spared me considerable unpleasantness.”
“I couldn’t have him ruin a fine day when I am enjoying such good whiskey. Irish, you say?” He drank a swallow.
“I will have a case sent to you,” Brentworth said.
“No need, no need. My physician has me mostly drinking barley water these days. Although I would not mind some of that champagne your grandfather squirreled away, if any is left.”
“Brentworth will tell me the vineyard and vintage, and I will have some sent from France,” Adam said.
They played on. Adam stayed because to leave now would look bad. He joined in the camaraderie, but the close call with Rothborne weighed on him.
There would be another fool eventually. Even if by some miracle he cleared his father’s name, he doubted it would stop.