Chapter 3

“Wherein Ella goes above and beyond recklessness.”

April 1820

 

Oscar relished the crisp spring air against his skin, still chilly at this hour of the morning as Virago thundered across the fields. The Craven Meeting was in a few days and Virago in peak condition. Ranleigh wouldn’t know what hit him. His Miss Skirmish would surely be left in the dirt.

With immense satisfaction, he slowed the horse, patting her neck and crooning all manner of extravagant praise. He would have to thank August Bright, Lord Marchmain for his sterling work with the filly. Oscar had wanted to oversee Virago himself for the Craven Meeting so had moved her to his own estate. Marchmain, who had bred Virago lived nearby and had worked closely with Oscar during her training. What the man didn’t know about horseflesh wasn’t worth knowing.

Ambling back across the fields, the sun caressing his shoulders with pleasant warmth he turned at the sound of a shout. Galloping towards him on a sweet little grey mare was Ella. Her dark hair had escaped its pins, her bonnet bouncing against her back where it had tumbled free, and she was grinning like a lunatic.

“Good morning!” she said, breathless as she drew level with him, her cheeks and nose red from the chill morning air.

“Trespassing, Bug?” he said, trying to frown and sound severe. Whether he managed it, he didn’t know but she snorted and rolled her eyes at him.

“As if you care.”

“I’m a duke, you know,” he said, tutting at her and making a show of putting on airs. “You ought to show more respect.”

Those thick eyebrows lifted. She was unimpressed by such inanity as usual, though her lips twitched. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Oscar shrugged, relieved she didn’t treat him with the deference some did, even if he enjoyed teasing her over it.

“Your sister calls me ‘your grace,’” he said, meaning to teach her a lesson and wondering why the words sounded so sad and bitter.

Ella laughed then, shaking her head. “Yes, but only in public.”

Oscar looked back at her, lifting one eyebrow as Ella stared at him in horror.

“Not… not really?”

“Come on,” he said briskly. “Come back to the house. Your brother will be there by now; you’d best stay for lunch.”

He urged Virago into a canter, moving ahead of her so she had no time to question him further. That he was using her as a reason not to talk to her brother alone was something he didn’t like to contemplate. Ella’s father, the Earl of Eghampton, had cornered him a few days ago, demanding to know when he would marry Pearl.

Pearl herself had been asking the same thing with increasing frequency of late, which disturbed him too. She’d seemed in no hurry before but all at once she was pushing for him to get on and do it. Oscar felt like a rabbit in a snare and would have cheerfully chewed off his own foot to get free if it had been an option. It felt as though a net was closing in on him and the sensation of being suffocated by degrees only grew more intense as the days passed.

He didn’t doubt that poor Bertie had been strong-armed by the earl into forcing a date out of him.

They clattered into the stables and Oscar went to help Ella down but found she’d jumped to the ground with no assistance. Shaking his head with amusement, he called for a groom to take her mare and busied himself undoing Virago’s girth.

“Hey, watch out there,” he shouted, looking up too late to see that Ella had approached his vicious mount and reached to stroke her.

Ella looked at him in surprise as her hand slid over Virago’s soft muzzle and the horse did nothing but make a soft harrumphing sound.

“Well, I’ll be blowed.” Oscar shook his head in astonishment.

Grooming Virago was a job most of the grooms would toss a coin for as none of them wanted to get close to her if they could help it, knowing they’d likely come out black and blue. She did not allow petting. Ever.

Virago turned her head and bared her teeth at him in a silent laugh.

“Wretch,” he muttered, and led her back into her stall.

***

As predicted, Bertie was waiting for them in the library. He’d made himself at home, and was sitting, reading a book and smoking a cigar.

Ella spluttered as she strode through the blue smoke. She went to a window and opened it wide.

“Revolting stench, Bertie,” she said, pulling a face at her brother.

“Oh, you here too, Bug?” Bertie looked rather brighter at this turn of events and Oscar suspected her brother was just as relieved as he was that they wouldn’t be able to speak in private. “Jupiter, look at the state of you. Did you fall in another puddle?”

Ella returned a dignified look. “No.”

They watched as she hurried to inspect her reflection in the mirror over the mantel.

“Oh!”

Oscar snorted and handed her a handkerchief as she rubbed the mud splatters from her face. This done, she gave a cry of dismay as she noted the skirts of her riding habit were spattered too.

“I say, Oscar,” Bertie said, a wicked glint in his eyes that boded ill for his sister. “Do you remember that time we went fishing at the lake and Bug followed us? We tried to lose her, and she took a shortcut to catch up, got stuck up to her knees in the mud on the bank. You have an affinity for the stuff, Bug, swear you do.”

Ella sent her brother an unloving look as Oscar laughed, remembering the sight of an eight-year-old Ella in a once-white frock, wailing for help. It had been a long, hot summer and the lake had been much lower than usual. They’d both laughed themselves stupid as she’d floundered on the sticky, grey banks and cursed them to Hades with language ripe enough to make a sailor blush.

They’d taught her to do that, too.

No matter how hard they’d tried to ditch her over the years, Ella was hard to shake. So, they’d amused themselves at her expense, teaching her to curse, how to bait a hook, climb a tree and generally do a lot of things most girls avoided like the plague. He supposed the muddy hoyden before them now was a product of their own making.

Ella muttered something unladylike—which had undoubtedly come from their teachings—and held out his handkerchief for him to take back. Oscar looked at what had been a pristine white square and was now a crumpled and patchy grey colour. He wrinkled his nose.

“You keep it.”

Lunch was a pleasant affair. Ella and Bertie were always good company, the two siblings enjoying their bickering with each other as much as with Oscar. It was an agreeable thing to be in the company of such old friends. Oscar wondered why Pearl had never joined in that easy friendship. He never remembered trying to keep her out, but then Ella had just foisted her company on them whether or not they liked it. Though he supposed they could have driven her off if they’d really objected.

Pearl going fishing or putting a maggot on a hook, however… he almost choked on a morsel of pie he was chewing at the idea.

If he’d thought he could escape the subject of his impending marriage, however, he was sorely disappointed.

“So, have you decided on a date, then?”

Oscar glanced up from his plate, startled, as the demand had come from Ella and not Bertie. She wasn’t looking at him, her attention fixed on her lunch, though he noticed she’d eaten little. Bertie was staring between him and Ella with interest, perhaps relieved that she had discharged his duty for him.

“I….”

“Oh, come on, Oscar. You’ve known the day is coming. Why not put us all out of our misery?”

There was an edge to Ella’s question he couldn’t interpret, but she sounded a little impatient. He admitted himself surprised and somewhat dismayed that she would nag him too, but then Pearl was her sister. They’d never been close, but he supposed there must be a sense of loyalty there.

“I… I have,” he lied, wanting to escape the strangling sensation that was closing about his throat.

“Oh?” Bertie replied, eyebrows rising.

“Yes.” Oscar reached for his glass, taking a fortifying swallow of wine. “I’ll… I’ll announce it after The Craven Stakes.” The race was Monday, so it gave him the rest of the weekend to ponder the problem, at least.

“Good,” Ella replied, still staring at her plate. “Pearl will be pleased.”

***

“You all right?”

“What?” Ella looked up to see her brother giving her a narrow-eyed look as they hacked back down the lane towards home.

“I said, are you all right?” Bertie repeated.

Ella did her best to return a bright smile and shake off the feeling that her world was about to end. It was nothing but foolishness in any case.

“Of course,” she said, trying to make the words convincing and wishing she didn’t want to cry. “Never better.”

Bertie made a noise which suggested he was unconvinced. He looked away from her, staring ahead, and when he spoke again the words were full of sympathy.

“You’ve always known it would happen, Bug.”

A crawling sensation prickled under her skin as the sickening suspicion her brother knew of her feelings flared to life.

“What would happen?” she asked, striving for a light-hearted tone and hearing the slight tremor to her voice.

Surely, he hadn’t guessed? Bertie was not the most observant fellow in the world. He was a handsome man but remained oblivious to the many women who fluttered in his vicinity, preferring his horses or an evening at cards to anything in the petticoat line. It was why he and Oscar got along so well, but if he’d figured it out then….

She felt the colour drain from her face.

Ella forced herself to look back at him and was not the least bit reassured by the pitying look that confronted her.

“He’s a duke, Ella. He needs a duchess.”

There was such a soft look in his eyes that Ella felt her throat tighten.

“Forgive me, Bertie, but what the devil are you on about?” she retorted, doing her best to sound disgusted.

Perhaps a good offensive was what she required. Her impatient tone went unrewarded, however, and the rather crooked smile he gave her made her heart lurch.

“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 dancing 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….”