The Baron’s Dangerous Contract Read online

  Penny moved down to the last stall. Bella shook her mane and seemed happy to see her. The horse cautiously approached the front of the stall. Penny wondered if the filly had been backed up out of nerves or whether it was just happenstance. She would know more as the days wore on.

  As she and Doom had talked thoroughly of the steps they would take to prepare for the race, they had no need to converse now. Penny would ride Bella while Doom would get his practice on Zephyrus. They would go for a gallop and see how they went. Though some of the owners would cosset their animals before a race, overloading them with oats and keeping them quiet, neither Penny nor her father thought it prudent. Those other owners were of the opinion that the horse’s energy could be stored and used for one great burst at race time. Penny agreed with her father—leave a horse to do nothing and it would not only decondition, but it would be less mentally prepared when suddenly asked to race.

  They saddled the horses.

  An hour later, Penny was satisfied that she’d made the right choice in choosing Doom to ride Zephyrus. The boy was both skilled and confident, the confidence perhaps being the most important of the two. Penny had seen many a competent fellow go wrong with a horse when the horse sensed that it was in charge and not its rider. Zephyrus would not suffer any such delusions.

  Bella, much to Penny’s approval, seemed not the least shy of the many new sights and sounds she encountered. Rather, her ears were up and her eyes were bright, taking it all in with interest.

  After a long gallop, they had walked the horses back to the stable amidst Doom’s commentary on all he saw. Penny listened with one ear to his various opinions, her mind full of the upcoming meets. She was certain her horse would do well at the races this year.

  *

  Penny had woken early in anticipation of the arrival of her friend Kitty. She would see to it that Cook prepared an especially lovely tea, though they were not in the habit of such rituals at Newmarket. Here, there was generally so much coming and going that tea, ale, coffee, wine, biscuits, rolls, cheese, and cold meats were made available on the sideboard in the breakfast room, but nothing more formal than that. Kitty adored savarins and almond biscuits and Penny would see that she had them both.

  As a usual thing, Penny might have waited in the drawing room, listening for the telltale sound of horses’ hooves on the drive. Today was not so usual, though. Lord Cabot would arrive too, and she could not guess which of their guests would be the first through the door. She had repaired to her bedchamber directly after breakfast, as she had no intention of being caught alone in the drawing room when Lord Cabot descended upon them. Since then, she had been pacing the room like a tiger who had become bored of its cage. Pulling a chair near the window that overlooked the drive, she was determined not to leave the room until she saw Kitty’s sweet face popping out a carriage window.

  Hiding above stairs had seemed a likely plan, but it had given her far too much time to think. When she was out in the stables or driving her phaeton, she did not think too much. But she must be doing something to avoid thinking too much. Unlike Kitty, a book would not serve to distract. She had tried a novel once at her friend’s suggestion, but she found herself scolding Marianne Dashwood for being a foolish and imprudent ninny. Before she’d even discovered if Marianne was able to rectify her idiocy, Penny had fallen asleep.

  Mrs. Wiggins, ever the eyes of the house, had seemed to notice that she’d closeted herself away in her room. The housekeeper had kindly sent up a tea tray. As Penny chewed on buttered toast, her thoughts would keep returning to Lord Cabot.

  She wished to see him and did not wish to see him. She wished to cut him, and she wished they could go back to what they had been. She wished there was a way to go back in time and erase what he’d said to her. In particular, the way he’d spoken to her. But under all of that, was the sense of humiliation and the anger that went hand in hand with it that still lurked like a pot of water on the edge of a boil.

  At Lady Hathaway’s ball, she’d failed to steel herself. The insult had come from such an unexpected quarter that she’d let her hurt feelings show. It still made her face flame to think of it and to know it had been spoken of. She dreaded encountering looks of sympathy from anybody who may have heard of the circumstance, or worse, witnessed it. Sympathy, as she well knew, was just the sort of thing that might cause water to spring to her eyes. Only her aunt, her maid Dora, and Kitty Dell had ever really understood her two temperaments—one for the world and one for the privacy of a bedchamber. Now, others had gained a glimpse of what she had always kept so well hidden. She’d posited to the world that her armor was of silver plate, when in fact it was no sturdier than a French mallow.

  She crumbled her toast as if she were Doom himself on the verge of a temper, and then chided herself for being ridiculous.

  Carriage wheels and horses’ clip-clops interrupted these unpleasant thoughts. Penny peeked out the window to determine if the arrival would bring joy in the form of Kitty Dell, or uneasiness in the form of Lord Cabot.

  God be praised, it was Kitty.

  Chapter Four

  Penny had leapt up from her perch beside the window and flown down the stairs. She had been out on the drive before Kitty’s feet had touched the gravel.

  The two friends embraced, and Penny took Kitty’s hand and led her indoors as the servants unloaded her trunks.

  They might have gone into the drawing room, but Penny had come up with another idea. “Montrose,” she said, “might we have tea sent up to Kitty’s bedchamber? My aunt has made no little effort to make the room comfortable, and there are two very charming chairs grouped in front of the windows.”

  Montrose raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and Kitty glanced at her friend upon hearing the unusual request, though neither voiced any opposition to it.

  While Kitty’s maid Martha unpacked her things, Penny and Kitty spoke of casual topics. Kitty told Penny of her parents’ liberality in allowing her the trip and permission to attend dinners and local private balls though she was not yet officially out. Her mother had hesitated, but her father had pointed out that the entertainments would be small and well-supervised by Lord Mendbridge and Mrs. Wellburton. It would be good practice, as in the coming year, her brother intended to escort her to London for her season. Her father and mother would come too, of course, but her brother would do most of the squiring. He was being a jolly sport about it, as Kitty was convinced he had his heart set on a certain Miss Crimpleton from their own neighborhood. Miss Crimpleton, at this moment in her life, could only be encountered at a local assembly under the careful eyes of her mother and father.

  Finally, Kitty turned to her maid and said, “Martha, it has been a long day of travel and so I think that is sufficient for now. Do go below stairs and avail yourself of a cup of tea and whatever else the cook has on offer.”

  As the door closed behind Martha, Kitty said, “Now, dear Penny, do tell me why we have closeted ourselves up here in such an odd fashion.”

  Penny had not imagined that the situation would go unremarked. Kitty Dell was far too astute for that. She had not had the heart to write all that had happened in a letter, so Kitty would not have the first idea of what had occurred. Now, seeing her friend’s kind and inquiring eyes looking into her own, she poured out the whole story.

  When she had done, Kitty set her teacup down and said, “Goodness. The gentleman was shockingly rude and now he comes to stay.”

  “Just so,” Penny said. “I had fully prepared myself to meet him at some dinner or other, but now…”

  “Now he will be underfoot,” Kitty said. “You will have no notion of when or where you might encounter him—in the breakfast room, in the drawing room, in the library, or passing by in the corridors.”

  “Precisely, though I doubt an encounter in the library, you know I am not a very great reader,” Penny said. “And so here you find me, hiding above stairs.”

  “This will not do,” Kitty said thoughtfully. “It will n
ot do at all. This is your home and if anybody must be run out, it must be Lord Cabot.”

  “True,” Penny said, “but I cannot run him out. He is a guest of my father.”

  “Also true,” Kitty said, “though you must not be as a rabbit running from a fox. You might take on the demeanor of Olympias, mother of Alexander the Great. She was a fierce warrior afraid of nobody. I believe her stare to have unarmed the boldness of men. I do not find any certain fact of the power of her stare in my studies, but I think it may be surmised based on the evidence. She rode into battle many times.”

  “Ah,” Penny said, this being the first time anybody’d had the notion of her being a warrior. “Did the lady win all of her battles?”

  “Most,” Kitty said, “except for the last. But then, what was she to do when so many relatives of her victims wished to murder her? Somebody was bound to succeed.”

  Penny gulped at Kitty’s rather cheerful description of Olympias’ demise. And yet, she was also heartened by Kitty’s confidence in her ability to stand up against Lord Cabot. It was true, she was in her own house. She must hide from nobody.

  “I will only caution,” Kitty went on, “that it was said that Olympias worshipped snakes. So perhaps do not take the likeness too far.”

  Ever astounded by the bits and pieces of knowledge Kitty had picked up through her travels in her father’s library, Penny stifled a giggle.

  The distinct sounds of a carriage caused Penny to turn slowly toward the windows. A chill feeling spread over her, as if she’d just stepped out on a winter’s day with no overcoat. She leaned forward and looked down to the drive.

  A carriage had rolled to a stop, while Lord Cabot sat astride his horse.

  “So that’s him, is it?” Kitty asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “That is him.”

  “Come, Olympias, let us go down the stairs at just the right moment and get this insufferable first meeting behind you. Chin up and cold stare.”

  *

  Though Henry had ridden boldly up the drive to Lord Mendbridge’s house, he had not felt as bold as he supposed he looked. He’d left London bold enough, but as he traveled, numerous unwelcome ideas had presented themselves. The foremost was the knowledge that he’d never before found himself blithely entering a house that contained a person he had so recently wronged.

  Who knew of it? Only Miss Darlington, or everybody down to the servants? What if Miss Darlington had bided her time and only decided to tell her father of it this morning? Would he be thrown out as soon as he got in? Or, if she had told nobody, how was he to enact some sort of apology while others were about?

  Whatever was to be his reception, he would soon find it out. A stern-looking butler and two footmen were even now descending the front steps to greet him.

  Henry leapt off his horse, handing off the reins to a young footman and leaving his valet to manage the trunks. He followed the butler inside, comforting himself that he would at least have time to collect himself in his room before he was faced with any of the family at dinner. As well, he would remind himself that he was the guest of Lord Mendbridge. It was an invitation much sought after—here, he would be privy to the great man’s mind and all the equine knowledge contained in it.

  He entered a wide front hall, its floor devoid of carpets and showing signs of having been trod upon by muddy boots. A long bench and boot scrapers had been provided for those wishing to get most of the stable off themselves before proceeding in.

  As Henry thought of the remarkably good sense of it, Miss Darlington and another lady descended the stairs. Miss Darlington looked as wonderful as ever. Her copper curls framed her face in that lovely way they had, as if they found her visage charming and would stay close. Miss Dell was taller, dark-haired and pretty, but stern-looking. For that matter, Miss Darlington was looking rather stern too. They appeared as two queens regarding a subject come for alms.

  He was certain his face reddened and hoped it could be ascribed to the rigors of his recent journey. Neither of the ladies smiled as they regarded him. They reached the landing and, in a tone as serious as a vicar, Miss Darlington said, “Lord Cabot. Welcome. May I introduce you to my friend, Miss Dell.”

  As Henry bowed. Miss Dell nodded and said flatly, “Lord Cabot.”

  The two ladies sailed past him and into the drawing room, promptly closing the door behind them with a decided thud.

  It had not been just a cool greeting; it had been a greeting buried under a foot of ice. Henry might not know the status of everybody in the house, but he understood what he had just encountered. Miss Darlington was many miles away from forgiving their last encounter and Miss Dell was staunchly allied with her friend.

  It would be a long hike uphill to overcome the ladies’ enmity. As he followed the butler up the stairs, he had to finally admit to himself that it had been well-earned. His wishful thinking that Miss Darlington would just laugh off the unpleasantness at Lady Hathaway’s ball had been fanciful, indeed.

  Still, long road though it might prove to be, he would attempt it. But how to explain himself? He’d not even fully explained himself to himself. Ashworth’s engagement and his own recent poverty could not excuse cruelty. Perhaps he would just claim he was an idiot and leave it at that. At least it would carry the ring of truth.

  But what if she chose not to forgive him, no matter what he attempted? He could not rule the possibility out. After all, Miss Darlington had no need of his acquaintance.

  He would not like it, that much he must concede. Henry had never been so engaged by conversation as he had with Miss Darlington. She was jolly. At least, she had been. They’d engaged in lively debates. As well, he could not ignore her pretty face and her lively figure. Who could dance as well as she? He did not know. She was pretty and amusing and intelligent and, blast it, why go on with listing her good qualities? He’d found it had become a habit once he’d had an inkling that those qualities might not be available for him to admire in future.

  By the time he’d reached his room, Henry’s natural optimism began to resurface. Certainly, he would find a way through. After all, it was not as if he’d killed anybody. He’d said something stupid, but hadn’t everybody at one time or another? A man could not be condemned forevermore over it.

  He began to suspect that his cool reception was only the price that must be paid for his transgression. Certainly, he must be punished and now he had been. He supposed Miss Darlington would even now laugh over it with her friend and all would go back to what it had been.

  *

  Penny sighed in relief as the door to the drawing room closed behind them. Kitty took her hand and said, “Well done, Olympias. You have got past the first meeting. Every other encounter will be easier from here. Lord Cabot understands you, I think.”

  “Thank you, Kitty,” she said, “for giving me the strength to go right to it, rather than hide in my room until dinner. You are right, Lord Cabot knows my mind and will not trouble me further.”

  Though Penny thought she might sound as confident as Olympias, inside she had been shaken to see Lord Cabot’s handsome face gazing up at her as she descended the stairs.

  It was very hard to dismiss all the fun they’d had together! Very hard to dismiss the dances, where he led her expertly, his hand warm through her glove. Very hard to dismiss those deep brown eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners.

  He’d smiled at her. He wished to be friends again, no doubt. She would not allow it, though. She would not risk that his cruelty would resurface when she least expected it. She’d put her guard up and it would stay up. Lord Cabot would not make her cry again, she would never give him the power to do it.

  “Now,” Kitty said, “tell me of our plans for this visit. I know you will be much engaged with your horses and I am well able to amuse myself, but I suppose you will find some time to spend with me?”

  “Of course, I will,” Penny said, grateful to be pulled away from her brooding. “I have a schedule worked out that I thi
nk you will find convenient. I shall go to the stables early in the day to do all those things that must be accomplished before the race. I know you do not care to rise with the sun and so I will be back before you are up an hour.”

  “And your aunt will be nearby in the event that you run late,” Kitty said. “I think I can reliably count upon her to be the only person in the house, other than myself, that is not horse mad.”

  “Exactly,” Penny said. “Further, you have not yet had the chance to explore the library here. My father bought it from a retiring don at Oxford. We cannot make heads or tails of it so I think you will be delighted.”

  “I know I shall be. And, when I am not devouring a book that is new to me, we might go shopping. I’ve promised my younger sister a trinket from Newmarket and I will want to find something for my mother too.”

  “I will drive you myself, in my phaeton,” Penny said. “It’s a Hooper High Flyer and the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen.”

  “Goodness, a phaeton,” Kitty said, not appearing to find the idea as wonderful as her friend.

  Before Penny could expound on the wonders of the phaeton, Mrs. Wellburton came through the door. “Kitty, there you are. I missed your arrival as I was in town visiting a friend.”

  Kitty rose and made her curtsy. Mrs. Wellburton waved her off. “No need to be so formal dear, I’ve known you since you were a baby. Now, it seems I missed another arrival as well?”

  “Yes,” Penny said, “he has come.”

  “You would have been so proud, Mrs. Wellburton,” Kitty said. “Penny was Olympias to his peasant and rained ice down upon his head.”

  Mrs. Wellburton smiled indulgently at Kitty. “As usual, I have not the first idea of who Olympias might be, though I suspect you found her buried in a book. In any case, it sounds as if the meeting was got through creditably. I am glad of it—dinner will be less awkward, now that the first encounter is over. By the by, Penny, as you might expect, your father has made his way through town and invited as he went. There are to be three extra persons at dinner, a fortunate development given the circumstances, I believe.”