To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) (15 page)

She cast her gaze to the ground. A sick, sour feeling washed over her along with the realization that even on a prize piece of horseflesh, she was not worthy of Lord Satterfield’s gaze. Because for better or for worse, she was not her elder sister. Albina would have her place firmly on the shelf, the only candidates for her hand the aging lords with no teeth.

Shooting Albina a sympathetic gaze, Sarah veered her horse, a lovely bay gelding, alongside Albina. “I thought I might ride ahead with Mr. White and Lady Albina.”

Albina let out a breath and straightened her shoulders. If Sarah could see her frustrations, then so, too, could Mr. White, and the last thing she wanted was for him to discern the connection, or rather the lack thereof, between the marquess and her.

Fiddling with her hem, she glanced at Mr. White out of the corner of her eye. Even he was distracted by Henrietta, his strong arms assisting her sister onto a chestnut, the brown of her skirts complementing the copper-colored hairs of the horse’s back. Was he, too, bewitched by her sister’s charms? Enchanted by her alluring smile and her glowing complexion?

Shaking her head, Albina took a deep breath. No. Mr. White was merely adhering to his duty. Such as assisting her kin onto a horse.

With a frown, she returned her gaze to Lord Satterfield. She took in the readjusted tilt of the marquess’s head, comparing it to Mr. White’s position near Henrietta and her horse. Perhaps Lord Satterfield was not distracted by her sister at all, but by Mr. White.

Tiny seeds of hope sprung in her chest. The marquess was a man known for his pride, especially in the realm of racing. He no doubt wished to speak to Mr. White in hopes of gleaning something of the new jockey and which of the earl’s horses would be entering the derby. In that case, the marquess’s eyes would not only be directed toward the front of the party, where Mr. White would be riding alongside her, but on her mare as well. The ride could still be salvaged, the time with Lord Satterfield not entirely lost.

She allowed her lips to lift into a smile. Sarah caught her gaze and frowned, but Albina only smiled deeper, her mood buoyed by hope.

“I believe Lady Albina and Mr. White are sufficient in the lead, Lady Sarah,” said the earl. “Where would you have us ride, Lady Albina?”

She peered over her shoulder at the earl, who was wielding the ribbons of a white stallion. Frankly, she hadn’t given the idea much thought. It mattered not where they rode, only that they did. With her in the lead and the marquess in the rear, with a full view of her profile. She sat up a little straighter.

“The upper pasture,” Albina mumbled. She nibbled on her lip, watching as Mr. White took his place on top of the black stallion he had ridden earlier that morning.

“Is that a question or a decision, my lady?” asked the earl.

Albina gazed first at Sarah then at Mr. White, their expressions identical, their brows lifted as they waited for her reply.

The upper pasture was not far and fairly level, providing easy terrain for riding free of molehills and any other obstacle that might injure the horses. She was also very familiar with the area and would therefore appear confident and knowledgeable, two traits the marquess would undoubtedly admire.

Albina nodded to the west and the green fields of the upper pasture. “It is a decision, my lord.” She clicked her tongue, urging her mount away from the rest of the group. “Mind my pace,” she called. “The mare rode rather fast this morning.”

“Your mare?” Henrietta asked.

“She meant another mare, of course,” said Sarah, the slight breeze playing with the feathers decorating her hat. In a silent reprimand, she flashed her eyes at Albina.

“Of course,” said Albina. “I thought it implied, but I should have made myself clearer. My apologies. I fear my mind has been rather distracted as of late.”

“With illustrations of the latest fashion plates, no doubt,” remarked the marquess. He steered his horse away from a patch of clovers. “I am eager to see the upper pasture, my lady.”

They were the first words spoken directly to her from the marquess’s lips in…in, well, she had lost count how long. She gave an eager nod. “Of course. This way, my lord.”

She directed the mare alongside the black stallion Mr. White had chosen for himself.

“Are you ready, Mr. White?”

“Waiting on you, my lady.”

Albina peered back at the marquess. He smiled and tipped his hat. Her heart pounding, she dug her heels into the mare’s side, feeling as carefree as she had racing the mare that morning.

…

Edmund did not even try to divert his eyes from the erect, posture-perfect form of Lady Albina swaying proactively on top of the bay mare. He had every right to stare, for she had assumed the role of leader, which played nicely into a valid excuse for his fixed stares and appreciative glances.

He did not need to look at her, having fully acquainted himself with the vast acreage of Plumburn’s holdings, in particular the upper pasture where just this morning they had visited the lush grasses and flat, broad spaces perfect for racing.

But though he may not require his sight, he was thankful for it. He wanted to look at Lady Albina, for how could he not? Her rich, dark-brown tresses pinned tightly to her head bounced with every step, itching for his fingers to free them from their hold. The gold cording and brass buttons perfectly aligned on her riding habit set off her trim figure. Her skirts dangled over the side of the horse, held down with precision, skill, and sheer muscle control. She was a sight to behold, a picture of grace and elegance, every bit the lady and earl’s daughter her title proclaimed.

Yet, when he pulled his eyes off her to gauge the rear of the party, his eyes were the only ones upon her. Not that he wished for the cunning marquess to appreciate the girl’s form, but he had thought, out of ignorance, the man would keep his eyes on the lead.

The lord’s steel gaze, however, continued to flick toward the earl. Or rather to the earl’s right, where the countess rode, her cheeks flushed, laughter spilling from her lips. One need not be versed in the ways of love to see the man was smitten with a woman who was clearly taken. And, were Edmund any judge, she was quite smitten herself. With her husband. As she ought to be.

And the earl with her. The man’s protective stance toward his wife made it perfectly clear to any male within a measuring distance that she was his. It was a warning, however, that appeared lost on the marquess. Though he hid it well, the earl seemed aware of the marquess’s interest, keeping his wife to the right and away from Lord Satterfield’s bold gazes.

Edmund shook his head and returned his gaze to the delightful profile to his left front. Lady Albina held her ribbons loose in her hand, allowing the mare to do most of the work, leading by memory. Edmund relaxed into the molded leather of his saddle, the leather leads slack in his grip. He could not have planned a better afternoon had he tried. It was on the earl’s insistence that Edmund take front with Lady Albina and that she rode the mare Edmund had informed him was his preferred entry into Emberton.

This afternoon’s ride was, no doubt, an assessment of her riding capabilities and her progress. Edmund was not a fool—he was being judged right along with her, her riding a reflection of his instruction, a tutelage that was thus far exhibited by her poise and confident stance on the mare.

Settling farther into the saddle, Edmund allowed a smile.

“You can take your eyes off my person, Mr. White,” Lady Albina said, her words barely audible over the horses’ stomps and snorts. “I believe you know the way to the upper pasture the same as I.”

He urged the stallion forward, coming as close as he dared to Lady Albina’s steed. “I’m not looking at you because I need direction, my lady. I look at you because I take pleasure in what I see.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet at his candor. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the party, and he followed her gaze to Lord Satterfield, his gray gelding a good distance in the rear.

“He is here to study the horses,” Edmund mused aloud. “He’s been pestering me since he arrived at the stables, asking questions about the latest acquisitions…and the jockey.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He’s quite interested in my ‘childhood friend.’”

“What did you tell him?”

Edmund shrugged. “The truth. Or at least as much of it as I could. You are an acquaintance with a talent for racing.”

Her lips twitched, her skin blushing further. “And did you expound on this talent of your…acquaintance?”

He adjusted his hat and grinned. “Only that I thought the person competent and capable of taking first at Emberton.”

Lady Albina laughed. Her entire face brightened, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth. “That may explain his agitated countenance.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded toward the countess. “Although some of it may be in part to his earnest interest in the countess.”

The light in Lady Albina’s eyes faded, the laughter on her lips dead as she stiffened in her seat. “I can only hope he has sorely underestimated your friend’s talents, Mr. White. For there is nothing more I would like than to see his face when that acquaintance takes first.”

She tightened her grip on the ribbons and directed the mare left.

Edmund’s stallion naturally followed, content to walk behind the mare. Only Edmund did not want to walk. He wanted to trot to her side and inquire after her sudden change of demeanor. Had he said something off-putting? Offensive?

He had, he supposed, crossed the line of familiarity, but she was not his master, and he was not her servant. Theirs was a business relationship between a student and instructor…that was quickly becoming more.

His thoughts were consumed with her. Not only because he wished for her to succeed and win the race at Emberton, but because he was enchanted by her determination. Her spirit. And the hint of a promise that she may see past his lack of title and return his affections. He had, ever so briefly, questioned his decision to remain at Plumburn, in his current role as the earl’s groom. Were the horses worth more than a possible future with Lady Albina? Were the privileges granted him by his station greater than those allowed by a viscount?

He was being foolish. Overthinking the possibilities. The stallion, firm and solid beneath him, was real. His fanciful dreams were not.

But however outlandish the direction of his woolgathering may be, the idea he may have injured her feelings with a careless observation irked him. She was no doubt embarrassed by the marquess’s overt interest in her married sister. He clicked his tongue, urging the stallion to move at a faster pace. Lady Albina glanced at him and replied in kind, encouraging the mare into a canter.

He leaned forward, the stallion matching his cues, hastening his pace, near galloping across the pasture. As he guided the stallion to match Lady Albina’s ever-quickening gait, he held fast to the ribbons.

“My lady,” he called, but his voice was silenced by the sound of an animal going faster than a mere ride in the upper pasture. They were racing. And Lady Albina was not at all outfitted for the venture. Her voluminous skirts flapped against the side of the mare as she sought to maintain form while sitting in a sidesaddle best suited for leisurely walks through a springtime meadow.

She faltered, her hands fumbling for something to hold on to as the mare’s racing instincts took over and she bolted across the upper pasture. Edmund kicked his heels into his stallion’s side. He had to reach the mare and coax the animal into slowing.

His head low, he kept his eyes on the mare and Lady Albina’s bouncing body. Her saddle restricted her movements, preventing her from throwing a balancing leg over the back of the galloping horse, and she full well knew it. Other than maintaining control and form, there was little she could do to prevent injury to both her and the horse. He only prayed she continued to stay in the saddle while he came alongside her.

The stallion raced forward, his hooves pounding, his nose snorting with the exertion of the run while Edmund poised like the jockey he trained. With his bottom lifted, his knees bent, his head lowered, he came alongside Lady Albina’s charging mare. Her terror-filled eyes wide, her knuckles white where they gripped the saddle, Lady Albina mouthed words that were ripped away by the wind, though Edmund needn’t hear them.

She needed help, and he would do his damnedest to provide it. With the ribbons wrapped firmly around one hand, he reached for the mare’s lead with the other. The mare, trained for racing as she was, saw his horse as a competitor and unleashed another burst of speed.

Edmund grappled with his saddle, struggling to maintain his position as he strove to catch the mare barreling across the clover-studded field. With another jab into the stallion’s sides, he surged forward, again maneuvering alongside the wayward mare.

He had one shot to grab the ribbons and yank the mare into submission. One shot before his stallion was taxed and unable to keep pace with a horse who, for all intents and purposes, appeared unresponsive to Lady Albina’s commands.

Edmund lunged his hand toward Lady Albina, who flung the ribbons into his grasp. With a firm yank, he forced the mare to slow, his horse reducing speed alongside her.

“That’s a girl,” he whispered to the mare. “Nice and easy.” The horse shook its black mane and eased into a walk. Returning the ribbons to Lady Albina, he sat back into his saddle and took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” Lady Albina whispered. She peered at him, her cheeks flushed, her hair loosened and wild about her face. “I did not—”

“You did not have proper handling of the horse,” he retorted. “I need you to be fully confident in your role as her master.”

“And I will,” Lady Albina said defensively. “Had I been in proper attire on a cross saddle I would have better handled—”

“You need to establish your dominance. She needs to know you are in control.” He raked a hand through his hair, his hat somewhere on the trail behind them. “I cannot have you making mistakes like this at Emberton. It’s bad enough you did it in front of the earl.”