To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) (14 page)

“It appears Mr. White had an acquaintance, a man from his childhood, who was familiar with racing and has agreed to ride for Plumburn.” Henrietta let out a little breath. “I do hope you will forgive the earl, Albina.”

Sheer, unadulterated panic tore through Albina. Was it possible Mr. White had found another to replace her? Had he been lying to her all this time, only appearing to train her so as to collect on his payment? Kisses given with her own naiveté?

No
. She was acting foolish. Mr. White had assured her that she was the one to replace Mr. Abbot and must have concocted the childhood story to cover their ruse. He would not have invested so much of his time or driven her to such lengths were it not so.

Her thoughts were better focused on the marquess and the reasons behind his unexpected visit.

“I know how much you wanted to participate in the derby, especially given your logic,” Henrietta continued, “but the marquess is here now. Surely that must mean something.”

Albina blinked, then responded dully, “Yes. I suppose it does. It means he has come to see the horses so that he might compare them to his own. He is sizing up the competition.”

What had she been thinking? That the marquess would actually visit to see her, and her alone? She let out a derisive snort. He was no more here to see her than she was strolling out to see Napoleon.

Henrietta tightened her grip and pulled Albina closer, as though reading her thoughts. “The horses may be of particular interest, but they are merely animals without their riders. Their true abilities are revealed by the skill of the person on their backs. Prowess, you have in spades, Albina. The marquess would be hard-pressed not to notice you this afternoon. I daresay we shall all be put to shame by your natural talents and gift for riding. No doubt he will hold your expertise in high esteem.”

If he glanced in her direction at all. Albina shook her head. Lord Satterfield’s gaze would be on Mr. White and the Thoroughbred he chose to ride, not on her, regardless of the fashionable cut of her gown or the careful placement of her hat on top of her artfully arranged curls. She was a fool to think otherwise.

Tears pricked at the outer edges of her eyes. Sarah touched a finger to Albina’s gloved hand. “You did wish to impress the marquess with your riding, dearest. Why not showcase your accomplishments now? Whilst you have his undivided attention?”

Because she didn’t have his undivided attention any more than she would at Emberton. The only difference being that he would actually look at her at Emberton because she would be on the earl’s Thoroughbred. Her competition today was not another jockey racing for glory, but a horse. A beautiful and noble horse, yes, but a flea-bitten, stable-housed, tail-swishing animal. She was not competing against another woman seeking the marquess’s hand, but a horse he feared would take away his reign as champion.

If she were doubtful before, she was humiliated now. Lord Satterfield’s eyes would focus more on Mr. White than they ever would be on her. Unless… Unless she were the one riding the Thoroughbred, specifically the mare, on which she could display her expertise.

She wouldn’t be riding astride, of course, but the mare would give her the advantage of claiming Lord Satterfield’s attention. And that meant he would gaze upon the Thoroughbred’s rider as well. She had only to convince Mr. White of her plan without alerting him to her interest, however waning it may be, in the marquess.

Albina scrunched her nose. For some reason, the marquess’s allure had diminished, faded ever so slightly, though she could not put her finger on any one particular reason why.

Was it possible she was losing hope? That she had come to some realization that the marquess would never care for her? Why else did her heart no longer flutter at his awareness? Or her pulse race at the sight of his aristocratic chin?

Could it be his title was losing its luster? That she had only been dazzled by the opportunities it presented?

She bit her lip, the metallic taste of her blood sharp on her tongue. It did not matter if she was not as emotionally attached to the marquess as she once might have been. It would behoove her to give one last try—for the betterment of her family. She could, as of yet, salvage their future and bring everyone out of the mire of scandal.

Regrettably, she’d need a miracle in order to sway Mr. White to her persuasion whilst in the presence of the earl, the same man who had adamantly opposed her participation at Emberton. He would never let her near his prize horseflesh, not with the derby approaching and Lord Satterfield assessing the beasts. If Mr. White cared anything for his position he would deny her request, laughing at her as he did so.

Albina lifted her eyes toward the earl. As head of the Amhurst line, he cut an imposing figure in his tailored riding jacket and breeches, one eye covered with a black silk patch. While he wore the patch for the protection of his injured eye, it made him appear far more sinister and unapproachable than her sister touted him to be. Were Albina to believe Henrietta’s praises, the man was as gentle as the mother of a newborn babe and as kind as a benefactor to his charges.

Unless those charges asked to ride in a derby against his childhood friend. The earl lifted his brows and quirked his head toward the barn.

Henrietta quickened their pace, forcing Albina and Sarah to lengthen their strides to stay at her side.

“Ah, the daughters of Amhurst on time as always and not a minute sooner,” said the earl, his face split wide with a grin, his good eye centered on his wife.

Henrietta laughed. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint. We do, after all, have a reputation to uphold.”

“That you do,” the earl said, his gaze flitting to Albina. “I believe green is your color, Lady Albina. You look lovely this afternoon.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Her cheeks heating at his unsolicited compliment, she lowered into a curtsy.

She lifted her head to find the marquess and Mr. White peering at her. While the marquess bore a thin-lipped, stern expression, Mr. White’s eyes twinkled with something akin to laughter, as though he were privy to a secret.

Which, of course, he was.

Henrietta clenched Albina’s arm. “Lady Albina was just stating how much she was looking forward to our ride.”

Albina blinked and peered at her sister. She had done no such thing.

“Yes,” Sarah added. “So much so, that she doubts the services of the groom will be necessary. Lady Albina, of course, knows Plumburn better than any of us and is more than capable of leading us out.”

Both Henrietta and Albina turned toward their sister and stared. True, Albina was appreciative of Sarah’s strategy for relieving Mr. White of his duties, but she hadn’t expected her to be quite so…direct. Although Albina wished for the groom to be absent, she still needed the man to convince the earl she was capable of riding the Thoroughbred.

“I agree that Lady Albina’s knowledge of the estate is beyond extensive, which is why I thought it would be best for her to share her knowledge with Mr. White and have the two of them lead us out together,” the earl said.

“Together, my lord?” Blood roared in Albina’s ears, near muting his reply.

“Yes, indeed. Lady Sarah and the countess will follow behind, while the marquess and I bring up the rear.”

Oh, no.
This would not do at all. Not only would she be in the company of Mr. White, a man who grinned wide assuredly because he was laughing at her expense, but she would be a full half mile ahead of the marquess. However was she to gauge his interest when she would hardly be able to make out his face? Worse, she could not flirt with the man if she were forever a day away from him, especially while she struggled with an inner desire to keep her gaze on Mr. White riding handsomely beside her.

“My lord, I think—”

“I believe it sounds like an excellent plan,” agreed Lord Satterfield, cutting her off. He offered Albina one of his knee-weakening smiles—though, her knees were not near as wobbly as they once might have been. In fact, they were as firm and solid as they were a moment ago. “I look forward to seeing where you take us, my lady.”

“As do I,” added Mr. White. Her knees faltered, shaking ever so slightly as she peered at the half grin lighting his face.

“Well, then, everything is settled,” the earl said. He held out his arm to Henrietta and winked.

Dropping Sarah’s and Albina’s arms, she gave them each a smile and joined her husband. “Who are we riding today?” she asked.

“Mr. White has already selected our horses. I think you will all find them to be excellent choices.” The earl’s gaze once again lingered on Albina.

Frowning, she glanced at Sarah. Was the earl acting differently, or was it simply her nerves at having learned she would be riding out with not the marquess, but Mr. White? Her sister’s expression matched Albina’s, her forehead puckered, her brows furrowed in thought. She lifted her shoulders, seeming equally befuddled by the earl’s behavior.

It would be near impossible for Albina to request her preferred horse after the earl’s speech, as she would appear to distrust Mr. White and discredit him in front of the earl. And while his continual smirk annoyed her to no end, she refused to injure his pride by voicing her displeasure. She had no wish to damage his reputation or make him appear less knowledgeable, especially as it was on his recommendation that the “new jockey” had been acquired.

She ground her teeth and did her best to appear satisfied with the current predicament. Riding out with Mr. White, unable to voice her selection of a horse…she was beyond flustered—she was agitated. Upset. And in need of a good ride.

The first stable hand exited the barn, the prized bay mare alongside him. She glanced between Mr. White and the earl. What the devil was going on? What was her mare—her racing mare—doing out of the stables? Mr. White’s riding preference was the stallion, not the mare. Had the stable hand made an error? Had he somehow confused her usual, non-racing mare with the prize Thoroughbred in front of her?

She glared at Mr. White as his smile deepened. “I think you’ll find the Thoroughbred an excellent ride this afternoon, Lady Albina,” he said.

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced at the earl, who merely grinned in return. Surely he could discern his own horseflesh from the other and know which beasts were intended for racing, like the black currently sniffing at her shoulder eagerly seeking her acknowledgment, and which were allotted for casual riding.

“I say, Amhurst, is this not one of Lord Stanley’s line?” Even the marquess questioned the earl’s sensibilities.

“That she is,” said the earl, his chest lifting ever so slightly.

“Are you not racing her at Emberton?” Doubt and disbelief tainted the marquess’s voice.

The earl chuckled. “As if I would relinquish such information to a competitor. You will have to wait and see for yourself which one of the horses will be entered.”

“Just as I will have to wait to meet this new jockey of yours, I suppose,” scoffed the marquess, disappointment heavy in his voice. “I have never heard of the fellow. Indeed, neither have any of my jockeys. It is as if he was conjured out of thin air or selected from outside the racing world. It is not like you to gamble on inexperience. Especially not with premium horseflesh at a noted derby.”

Albina’s face burned, her lungs near bursting from their inability to take in fresh air. Her gaze flitted between the three men, from Mr. White’s smiling, serene face, to the marquess’s bewildered expression, to the earl’s relaxed and jovial countenance.

Nothing was as it ought to be. The universe had tilted on its axis, or the cosmos had misaligned and was intent on reigning anarchy on her afternoon.

The earl patted Henrietta’s hand resting on his forearm. “I have decided on a different approach. One I think will knock you out of the winner’s circle.”

The marquess’s eyes flashed, his perfect nose flaring ever so slightly.

“Come now, Satterfield,” said the earl. “It’s only a race after all.”

“And one I will continue to win.”

“Let us not boast in front of the ladies.” The earl tipped his hat to Albina. “Your ride awaits, my dear.”

Albina glanced between the earl and Mr. White. “You wish me to ride this particular Thoroughbred, my lord?”

“I trust Mr. White’s selections.”

She gave a slow nod and stepped toward the beast. Mr. White swept in beside her, his callused hand reaching for her gloved one.

“My lady,” he said, still smirking. “Allow me to assist you.”

Oh, he would assist her all right. Right over the edge of a cliff. She didn’t know what was going on, but something was afoot. And she had every intention of finding it out.

Albina clutched his hand and squeezed it harder than necessary as a wave of something hot and fierce rose up from deep between her thighs. Hiding her embarrassment, she forced her lips into a smile and said, “Thank you, Mr. White.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He returned her squeeze, hefting her onto the mare as he did so. She clenched her jaw against the pain, refusing to give in to his childish antics. Especially in front of the marquess.

Certain his eyes must be on her, she lifted her gaze to search for the dark-haired Lord Satterfield. For if there was one good thing about her current predicament, it was that her wish to ride a beast intended for Emberton had been granted. The marquess would no doubt be focused and trained on her. For the entire ride.

Her muscles relaxed, her smile melting from forced to real—until her gaze lit upon Lord Satterfield, and she noticed he was not looking at her. Or in her general direction.

No, his face was turned to his right, where Henrietta stood, gazing up at the earl and batting her dark lashes. Albina’s chest hollowed, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. Tears pricked at her eyes. She had thought…had naively believed…