The Wagered Wife (19 page)

“I suppose that
is
a consideration,” she said, grudgingly accepting this argument.

Ratcliff chuckled. “Harrison actually did himself a disservice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know your cattle and their lineage very well—remember? I doubt his will show to better advantage than those from Jeffries Farms. He would have done better to let potential buyers be distracted by a woman as whipster.”

She laughed. “All right. You have convinced me. I shall stop feeling so put upon.”

“Good.” They stood in companionable silence for a moment, then Willard cleared his throat. “I . . . uh . . . I wonder if you are fully aware of how much importance is being attached to this . . . competition . . . especially between your cattle and Harrison's?”

“No more than is customary, I assume.”

“But it is. I have an idea your husband is not fully aware, either.”

She felt herself coloring up. She did not want to discuss—even with Willard—the fact that Trevor had only recently learned of Willard's close association with Jeffries Farms. “Why is this particular meet so extraordinary?”

“Perhaps it happened after you left the city—but there was a—
discussion,
shall we say?—in one of the clubs. White's, I think. I was not there, but it seems Lord Carstairs was bragging rather forcefully about the merits of a mount he recently purchased.”

“Black Knight. A wonderful horse.”

“Harrison was there, and when Carstairs made known where he had obtained this splendid animal, Harrison made a slighting remark.”

“Did he now?” She could feel her hackles rising.

“Then someone else said that Jeffries Farms was producing some right smart looking carriage teams as well. Harrison took singular exception to this. One thing led to another, and the upshot of it all was a number of bets placed in the books.”

“Wagers? On what?”

“Harrison's stock versus yours. To be decided at the Newmarket meet.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes briefly. “Good heavens.”

“I thought you and Trevor should know. There will be a goodly number of people in the crowd at Newmarket who have a vested interest in the outcome.”

“I suppose you mean to say half the
ton
'
s
male element will be there.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps not
half,
but a goodly number. Newmarket is drawing as much interest as Brighton this year.”

“Oh, good heavens,” she said again. The races at Brighton were the premier competition for race horses, with the Prince himself keenly involved. “No wonder Mr. Harrison seems so self-confident.”

“Smug, you mean.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Changing the subject—”

“Please do.”

“I hope I am not out of line in saying this, but you seem happier—more content—now than when we were in town.”

“I am always happier here at Atherton.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I think it is more than that, my dear.” He laughed. “And judging by that scowl your husband is directing my way, I am sure of it.”

Startled, Caitlyn looked at Trevor who stood several feet away and was, indeed, scowling. She smiled at him and withdrew her hand from Willard's grasp. Did Trevor's scowl indicate genuine feeling for her alone? Or was this merely a male creature asserting territorial rights? She hoped it was the former.

“In any event, Caitlyn, I am glad to see you happy.”

“Thank you, Will. I have always valued your friendship.”

“Mutual, my dear.” He looked around the room. “What do you think of the Brentley chit?”

“Belinda? She seems a tolerable sort. I do not know her well. Why?”

“My mother is pushing her as a candidate to become the next Mrs. Ratcliff.”

“Oh. Well, then, I shall have to become better acquainted with her.”

“There is no hurry.”

They were joined then by two other couples, and the talk became more general.

Later that night, she and Trevor lay together in his big four-poster bed, his arm around her, her head tucked into his shoulder. They sleepily congratulated themselves on the success of the ball. She told him of the heightened interest of the
ton
in the Newmarket meet.

“Hmm. That puts a slightly different light on things, does it not?” he observed.

“I should think so. Uh—Trevor?”

“Hmm?”

“I know that racing is not something you truly
want
to do. . . . We might be able to find a replacement for Tom.”

“Other than you, you mean?”

“Yes.” She told him of Ratcliff's reasoning about a woman driver.

“Ratcliff's right, of course. But it would be most difficult to replace Tom at this point with someone unfamiliar with our stock.”

“Then you truly do not mind racing them yourself?”

“No, of course not.”

But she thought his answer was a bit too glib.

“Let us get some sleep,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing her tenderly.

She snuggled into the warm protectiveness of his embrace and was soon asleep.

 

 

Trevor lay awake for some while thinking about what had transpired and contemplating the coming race.

Caitlyn's announcement that
she
would drive the Jeffries team had struck sheer terror into his heart. Instantly, he had seen the wreckage and broken bodies of the accident that had claimed Terrence and Jason. A flashing image of Caitlyn lying sprawled, injured and unconscious, had sent a wave of nausea through him. There was no way in this world he could stand by and watch her engage in such a madcap scheme, though he readily admitted that she was assuredly the most skilled horsewoman of his acquaintance.

No! He could not run the risk of losing her, too. Not now. He kissed the top of his sleeping wife's head and drew in the faintly flowery scent of her hair.

Yes, he was doing the right thing in rescuing the reputation of the farms that bore his name—farms for which Caitlyn had worked so hard. But he could not shake a profound sense of guilt and betrayal. Had he not sworn never to do again precisely what he had just agreed to do? What kind of hypocrite was he, anyway?

With this question gnawing at him, he seemed to see Terrence and Jason as they sat across from him arguing that they should take his place in that long-ago race. Only now Terrence was saying, “This is different, Trev. This is not just a sporting event—a mindless competition of boys trying so hard to prove themselves as men that they ignore the dangers of an open road. The purpose here is to display the results of the work of many people at Atherton and to ensure proper reward for their efforts.”

Jason nodded agreement.

And Caitlyn deserves this chance, Trevor thought, before drifting off to sleep himself.

Most of the Atherton household arose rather later than usual the next day. The morning post brought several items that had been forwarded for Melanie and Andrew and a few for other guests as well. Caitlyn was pleased to see that their guests were casual, comfortably reading their mail or newspapers, occasionally sharing tidbits of gossip.

“I see the Princess of Wales has not curbed her behavior at all,” one matron noted.

“That quarrel between the Prince and the Beau seems to be taking on the proportions of a feud,” grumbled a gentleman.

“One has to admire the sheer nerve of Brummel,” another expounded. “Even after his ill-timed remark about Alvanley's ‘fat friend,' he continues to place himself in situations where he might encounter the Prince.”

“Who never acknowledges his
former
friend.”

“Brummel does seem to inspire a greater degree of friendship and loyalty than does George, Prince of Wales.”

This bit of desultory conversation was interrupted by a little squeal of delight from Melanie. Caitlyn lifted her eyes and waited for Melanie to explain. Trevor was less patient.

“Are you planning to share, Mel?”

“Marcus is coming home!”

“Really?” Trevor seemed as delighted as Melanie. “When?”

“It says a month here—but this was written a fortnight ago. He will be in London and then proceed to Timberly. That means he will be there for the Harvest Festival. Oh, Trevor, do say you will be there, too. It will be a marvelous reunion.”

Trevor demurred. “We shall discuss that prospect later.”

Undaunted by his lack of a clear response, Melanie began to regale others of the company about her fabulous diplomat brother whose exploits were apparently second only to those of her fabulous diplomat husband.

Later in the day, she did manage to corner Trevor and drag him into the library, where Caitlyn was stealing a moment to catch up on accounts.

“I have persuaded Drew to keep the gentlemen occupied in the billiards room, and Aunt Gertrude is instructing the ladies on the particulars of raising prize roses,” Melanie announced. “So now we can talk.”

“About what?” Trevor asked with brotherly suspicion.

“About your visiting Timberly for the Harvest Festival.”

“Visit Timberly?” Caitlyn's voice was weak as a distinct feeling of trepidation overtook her.

“The Harvest Festival is a Jeffries family tradition that goes back nearly two centuries,” Melanie said. She turned to Trevor. “Have you not told her about it?”

He shrugged. “It just never came up.”

“Well, it has now.”

Caitlyn looked at Trevor, then at his sister. “Umm . . . Melanie, dear, has it escaped your notice that we—that is—Trevor and I—are not precisely on the best of terms with
all
of the Jeffries?”

“Yes, and it is beyond time that that situation was changed.”

“And you plan to change it unilaterally, do you?” Trevor asked.

“Not exactly. I spoke with Father about it, and he truly wants to mend the breach, Trevor.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

“You may recall,” Melanie said with an ultra-patient tone, “that it was Father who asked to be presented to your wife at the Prince's ball.”

“And it was
his
wife and
his
heir who made a point of cutting her.” Trevor's anger was evident. “Why are you urging this now, anyway?”

“I suppose the fact that Marcus is coming home pushed me over the top. However, I fully intended to broach this topic with you before I left.”

“Why?”

“Trevor! It has been six years since we were all able to attend the festival. It is important that we do this.”

Caitlyn could see how very important it was to Melanie, and despite her own reluctance to put herself in the path of Lydia's and Miranda's contempt, she felt sympathetic toward the distraught Melanie.

“I do not see why it is so crucial,” Trevor said. “As you say, the family has missed the last six to one degree or another.”

Melanie sighed, and her voice was solemn. “Because this may be the last chance we get to celebrate together.”

Trevor seemed startled. “What do you mean?”

“Surely you noticed that our father is not as robust as he once was?”

“Are you saying the earl is ill?” Caitlyn asked.

“He is very ill,” Melanie answered. “Not even the countess knows how truly serious it is.”

“How did you learn of it?” her brother asked, seemingly stunned by the news.

“Well, I noticed little things, and I kept nagging at him until he told me.”

“You always could get 'round him,” Trevor said with a hint of long-standing sibling rivalry.

Melanie went on. “He has the wasting sickness. The physicians give him a year—perhaps more, perhaps less.”

“My God!” Trevor ran his hand through his hair. “I knew something was amiss. . . .”

“Had you been able to have the longer visit I had, I am sure you would have seen it, too.”

“You say the countess does not know?”

“Not yet.”

“Gerald?”

“He knows, but in his blustery way he ignores the reality of it.” Melanie's tone became embittered. “However, Miranda is already planning changes she will make in Timberly.”

They all sat in silence for a moment as Trevor and Caitlyn digested this news. Then Melanie spoke again.

“Father wants to try to put things right with you, Trevor. He truly is sorry about how things were handled after the accident and . . . and with your marriage. I know he would very much like you to be there this year.”

Caitlyn could see how affected Trevor was by this news. She spoke softly, but firmly. “I think you must go, Trevor.”

“And leave you and Ashley here in East Anglia? Not for an instant.”

“No. Father was very clear. He wants Caitlyn there, too. And Ashley. He even insisted on Aunt Gertrude's presence—if she will come.”

“I will not have the countess—nor Gerald and Miranda—belittling my wife and pretending my daughter does not exist.”

Caitlyn was heartened by this affirmation, but would treasure it later.

“I rather think they can be brought around.” Melanie did not explain this enigmatic statement, but went on, “Besides, Marcus and I and Drew—
and
you, I assume—will be able to forestall and protect as necessary. No one—not even the countess—would dare insult a guest to whom Father had extended a particular invitation.”

“Caitlyn?” Trevor's gaze clearly told her he would support her view. He was leaving it to her to decide whether she should subject herself to possible censure.

“I think this is something we must do, Trevor. You would never forgive yourself for rejecting such an overture.”

“We shall think on it and discuss it later and let you know,” he said to Melanie, but Caitlyn thought the decision to go had, in truth, been made.

 

 

The Jeffries Farms planned to show a number of horses at Newmarket, though attention focused on the grays. The cattle were taken to Newmarket the previous day and installed under canvas awnings that served as temporary stables.

When Trevor and Caitlyn arrived with their entourage of houseguests, they found the normally sleepy little town to be the proverbial “beehive of activity.” On the show grounds there were kiosks offering food and drink and a few souvenirs. Grooms stood around with particular animals, ready to describe their merits to prospective buyers.

Would-be buyers mingled with a multitude of people who seemed to be searching, not for an improved means of transportation, but for adventure and amusement. Trevor noticed many who sported the garb of well-dressed members of the
ton.
All of the serious buyers and most of the spectators were men, but there was a generous sprinkling of females in the gathering. Trevor had attended only one other such event in his entire life, but he would have known—even if Caitlyn had not passed on her information—that this was an unusual crowd for a country fair.

Small groups of men collected here and there, talking and gesticulating excitedly. Trevor surmised that they were laying bets on various races. He was pleased to see that the track on which the races were to be held was laid in a grassy field. The harness horses were on display in a separate location, and he nervously checked on his, noting that Mason and the boy, Jack, had been assigned to watch out for the grays. Jack, especially, was highly excited to be here.

Trevor examined each of the horses carefully and watched as Mason and Jack hitched them to the vehicle he would drive. It would be some minutes before their race was called.

“Trevor! ”

He turned to see Theo approaching.

“Thought you might need some moral support about now.”

“You know me too well, my friend.”

“Nervous?”

Trevor leaned closer to Theo and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, “Very.” Then in a normal tone, he added, “I took them out yesterday before they were brought here. Just to get used to them. They really
are
a fine team.”

“Seem to be.”

Trevor's attention was distracted by Jack's voice. “What are you doin'?”

“Just checkin' their feet and legs,” Mason responded.

“Mr. Jeffries already done that.”

“Did he now? Well, never hurts to double check. You wanta remember that, boy.”

“Good luck, Trev.” Theo held out his hand. “I shall make myself available to hold your wife's hand through this ordeal.”

Trevor grinned. “Better you than Latham or Ratcliff.”

“I am not at all sure you have not just cast aspersions on my reputation as a ladies' man.”

Trevor grinned even wider at this. Theo was a fine man, a courageous soldier, but hardly the Don Juan type. Theo liked women well enough, and Trevor knew his friend was more sought after than even Theo himself was aware.

“I shall see you after the race.” Trevor climbed into the driver's seat and took the reins and whip that Jack and Mason offered. “Here we go.” He flicked the whip to urge the team to take their position on the course.

Standing with Melanie, Andrew, and others of her guests, Caitlyn watched nervously as Theo approached.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Looks fine.”

“Is Trevor all right?”

“He is fine, too. You must not worry about Trevor. Any man who can hold off seven or eight Frenchies single-handedly can surely manage a team of fine carriage horses.”

She felt herself relaxing at this sally.

Melanie cut in with, “Seven or eight? Single-handedly? Is that true?”

“Actually, it is, but I doubt Trevor would thank me for bandying it about.”

“Oh. They are starting,” Melanie cried.

With Theo's and Andrew's help, the two women moved closer to the rope meant to hold back spectators. Caitlyn saw Harrison standing with some of his cronies several people down the line from her.

“Ah, Mrs. Jeffries.” He tipped his hat to her. “May the best team win.”

She nodded acknowledgment and turned her attention to the race. While there were three teams involved in this race, Caitlyn knew the crowd to be truly interested in only two of them—Harrison's and Atherton's. The race would consist of three laps around the track.

Harrison's blacks were off the mark first, but gradually Trevor maneuvered his vehicle even with theirs. At the beginning of the second lap, the grays shot ahead and there was an excited reaction from the crowd. As some cheered and others groaned, they all watched eagerly as Atherton's grays established a commanding lead over the other two teams.

Then, as the leading grays rounded the curve ending the second lap, the crowd noise took on a more subdued tone.

“What's he doing?”

“What's wrong?”

“Is he forfeiting?” This was a burst of surprised outrage.

Craning her head to see beyond the much larger men who also strained for a view, Caitlyn saw Trevor pulling hard on the reins. Despite his efforts, sheer momentum kept the team going at a furious pace. However, the grays responded to the driver's commands, and as they approached the area where Caitlyn stood, she saw with a sinking heart both Harrison's and the other team pass the team from Jeffries Farms.

“What's going on here?” Harrison sounded both curious and angry. He shot a baleful look at Caitlyn.

She shrugged helplessly even as she tried vainly to see what was going on. Then other snippets of comments registered.