An Event at Epsom, page 2
Oh dear. Hopefully no untitled persons had been ousted from their beds to accommodate her and Georgiana. “How exciting for you.”
“It is—but here, I shouldn’t keep you ladies out here. Step this way to the private parlour—one of our private rooms, I should say. We have three.” Mrs. Bunwich herded them past a set of stairs to a green-curtained room set with chairs and a small table. “Now where’s Liz? That girl has the brain of a grasshopper—”
“Here we go!” Liz backed her way into the room, bearing an enormous tray. “Butter on the bread was churned this morning, and the jam’s our own blackberry—picked before Michaelmas, so the devil didn’t drag his tail ’cross ’em,” she announced as she set out a pitcher of lemonade and plates of sandwiches and cakes. “And yer things’ll be brought up directly. I just gave yer maids a cup o’ tea in the kitchen. Give ’em a minute to drink it, and I’ll show ’em where yer rooms are,” she called over her shoulder as she vanished again with her tray.
Mrs. Bunwich handed her and Georgiana glasses of lemonade. “She’s a good girl, Liz is, but she does tend to rattle on. Sandwich?” She offered them one of the platters, then took a sandwich herself. “I must say, I was a bit took aback when your footman told me it would be two ladies looking for rooms. It’s usually the gentlemen what want to come for the racing. Not that I don’t know you’re a widow, ma’am,” she added, nodding to Annabel. “Fond of the races, are you?”
“I—er, don’t know. That is—” Annabel said, thinking fast. “It happens that a—an acquaintance of Lady Bathurst has a horse that’s doing frightfully well this year, and since I’d never been to Epsom, she invited me to come along to see her race. What was the horse’s name again, Georgiana?”
Georgiana raised an eyebrow but didn’t drop the line Annabel had tossed her, thank goodness. “Maharahnee. She belongs to Sir Oswald Broxley—but he’s more my husband’s acquaintance than mine. Have you heard of her, Mrs. Bunwich?”
The landlady gave a most ungenteel snort. “Heard of her? Who hasn’t? The betting on her’s been through the roof, I hear. That Sir Oswald will need a cart to bring home his winnings if his horse runs as she’s expected to.”
“My goodness.” Annabel made herself look suitably impressed. “Where might we see this paragon?”
Mrs. Bunwich’s brow wrinkled. “I hear Sir Oswald’s putting up at the Red Boar—they only have the one private parlour, by the way—but I don’t know where he’s keeping his horse. There’s tempo’ry stables set up near the race-course, but I don’t think you’ll be wantin’ to go down there without a gentleman to go wi’ you. It’s not a place for ladies to go to alone if you catch my drift.”
Annabel caught Georgiana’s glance and grimaced ever so slightly. Drat, they should have thought of that; a racecourse probably wasn’t the place for them to be alone. Odd that Mr. Almack hadn’t said anything about bringing an escort—but how could they, while doing Lady Patroness work? Yes, most of their actual work would be done in secret, most likely by night—but first they needed to discover where Maharahnee was, which would require actually wandering about the Down. It was too bad that Quin wasn’t here; she would be able to count on him to help without asking too many difficult questions. That was one of the things she liked about him—
“Annabel!”
Georgiana and Mrs. Bunwich stopped talking. Annabel turned in her chair and beheld Lord Glenrick, staring at her from the doorway of the parlour.
Chapter Two
“Annabel, my dear!” Glenrick crossed the distance to her in two strides and took possession of both her hands, drawing her to her feet before she’d had a chance to utter a word. For a moment she thought he might embrace her, directly before Georgiana and Mrs. Bunwich. But he contented himself with raising her hands to his lips in quick succession, devouring her with his eyes as he did.
“L-lord Glenrick—what a lovely surprise,” she stammered. “I did not expect to see you here.”
For a brief instant he looked reproachful, and she realized she’d not called him Alec as he’d requested—was it only a week ago? How much had changed in seven days—
“Nor I you,” he said, his expression smoothing over as he gazed at her. “I’ve never been so delighted to be surprised. It has been too long since we met. Much too long.” He squeezed her hands fervently.
Annabel gently detached them from his grasp. “But you have been occupied with family matters. Your great-aunt—she is better?”
“Poor Aunt Elspeth pulled through. This time.” He sighed. “Perhaps I should not say so, but it might have been better if she had not. Her condition remains precarious, but Frances and I thought it safe to return to London for now.”
Annabel blinked. His Aunt Elspeth? Hadn’t Frances said it was their Aunt Mary who was on death’s doorstep? But before she could say anything, Mrs. Bunwich had leapt from her seat with a broad smile.
“You know each other!” She clapped her hands in glee. “Well, of course you do—don’t everyone in Lunnon with a handle to their name know each other? But you ain’t just acquaintances, I can see. Fancy that you both should end up at my inn, all coincidental.” Her sharp eyes softened as she looked at Annabel. “It’s as if it was meant to be—you stayin’ here instead o’ that bad-tempered Sir William and his sons. I knew it as soon as I saw you.”
Annabel winced under her smile. So their coming had lead to evictions.
“My sentiments exactly, Mrs. Bunwich,” Lord Glenrick said. “I too knew, as soon as I saw Lady Fellbridge, that it was meant to be.” He smiled at Annabel.
Mrs. Bunwich looked as if she were on the verge of swooning. “Oh,” she sighed.
Georgiana gave a faint sniff. Annabel started; she’d forgotten Georgiana was here and had to fight a strong urge to drive Lord Glenrick from the room with the fireplace poker. How embarrassing this was!
And how embarrassing that she was embarrassed. Shouldn’t she find Lord Glenrick’s behavior thrillingly romantic? Instead, all she wanted to do was sink through Mrs. Bunwich’s scrubbed oak floorboards. How was she supposed to respond to such a statement?
Fortunately, she didn’t have to, as Lord Glenrick was still speaking. “You must be my guest for dinner this evening, Annabel. That is, if I might prevail upon good Mrs. Bunwich to produce one of her delicious meals…” He quirked an eyebrow at that lady.
Mrs. Bunwich practically inflated. “I should say you could—and have it here in this parlour.”
“You are most kind,” Annabel said quickly. “But as I am here with Lady Bathurst…”
“Good afternoon, Lord Glenrick,” Georgiana gave him a small, thin-lipped smile.
To his credit, he appeared highly abashed. “Lady Bathurst! My apologies.” He bowed. “I fear that my delight at Lady Fellbridge’s presence overcame my manners—and my eyesight. You must both be my guests for dinner.”
Annabel hesitated. “Georgiana?” It was most kind of him, but she and Georgiana had planned to dine early and pretend to retire soon after, so that Georgiana could survey the city of tents that clustered near the racecourse for Maharahnee’s “stable.”
“We should be very happy to join you, sir,” Georgiana nodded her acceptance. “If I may ask that we do so earlier than later. It is a long trip here, as you well know, and we are tired.”
He looked rueful. “I’m being selfish. Of course you are tired after that drive. I shan’t keep you late, I promise. Nor should I keep you from your refreshments. Mrs. Bunwich, a word, if you please…”
He and the landlady withdrew to the doorway to discuss the dinner. Under cover of their conversation Annabel murmured to Georgiana, “Oh, thank you! I was too disconcerted to think of a way to do that. I had no idea he would be here.”
Georgiana took a sip of tea. “Lord Glenrick appears to be most particular in his attentions to you,” she observed.
Annabel looked at her quickly, trying to detect a hint of judgment. Then she gave herself a mental shake: Lord Glenrick had made plain his interest in her by the involuntary warmth of his greeting. Georgiana was simply stating the obvious. She had to stop expecting the worst from Georgiana if they were going to work together on this investigation. “Yes, he has been,” she replied, as neutrally as Georgiana had spoken.
They were both silent, listening to Lord Glenrick order a most elegant meal. Annabel remembered her mother’s comments on the state of his finances; was he at Epsom to attempt to fatten a lean purse, as Quin had warned her against doing?
Quin. If he had been the one to stroll into the room, what would her reaction have been?
Lord Glenrick and Mrs. Bunwich returned, both evidently very pleased with each other. “Ladies, I have ordered dinner for six o’clock. I trust that will be an agreeable hour?” Lord Glenrick asked, his eyes on Annabel.
“Indeed, yes. You are most kind.”
He bowed. “I look forward to this evening with the greatest pleasure.” He gazed at Annabel a moment longer, then left.
“Ooh!” Mrs. Bunwich fanned herself with her hand as she fell into her chair. “He was looking at you as if he hoped you’d be on the bill of fare, Lady Fellbridge.”
“Oh, no.” Annabel felt herself blush furiously.
“Oh, yes he was. Mark my word, if he don’t go down on one knee by the end of the week, I’ll eat my kerchief.”
Georgiana made a small noise that sounded suspiciously similar to a laugh and took another sip of tea.
Mrs. Bunwich got a dreamy look on her face. “And just think, it might happen right here in my inn!” The dreaminess shifted into calculation. “Won’t that impress folks when they hear ’bout it!”
Annabel began to feel a little desperate. “No, indeed, Mrs. Bunwich, I have no intention of remarrying at this time—”
“Not even a future dook?” Mrs. Bunwich managed to look both scandalized and skeptical at the same time. “Dooks don’t grow on trees, m’lady. There’ll be no time to be missish when he ups and pops the question if you don’t mind my saying so. Oh, lud, I’d better get started on his lordship’s dinner!” She jumped up and hurried from the room.
Dinner with Lord Glenrick was not as difficult as Annabel feared it might be. He was dressed with the utmost elegance in dark blue satin knee breeches and a black coat, with a silver pin in the shape of a thistle set with glittering jet and surmounted by a golden bee fastening his cravat. He made certain that his seat was as close to hers as possible, but Georgiana’s presence seemed to restrain him; she received only a few meaning looks and one lingering hand pressure, for which she was grateful.
To her further gratitude, the dinner proved helpful as far as the investigation went, for Lord Glenrick turned out to be an acquaintance of Sir Oswald Broxley and familiar with his extraordinary filly.
“Broxley’s luck with his horses turned not a moment too soon,” he told her and Georgiana over the savory of stewed celery and cheese toast that Mrs. Bunwich served to end their meal. “He was within a whisker of losing his stud farm when Maharahnee started winning races for him. The only reason he hadn’t lost Broxley Park was an entail.”
“I feel for his wife and family!” Annabel’s sympathies lay entirely with that poor woman.
“The man’s unmarried—there’s an older sister and a much younger brother from his father’s second marriage. He cares far more for his horses than he does for them—or at least, he cares more for what his horses can do for him.”
“And yet I understand this Maharahnee goes from race meet to race meet without rest in between,” Georgiana said. “Exhausting your horses does not seem a prudent action when one is hoping to repair one’s fortunes by that animal.”
Lord Glenrick lifted his hands. “It doesn’t to me either, and if he’s exhausting her in such a way, he’s a fool. He’s possessed of a devilish bad—your pardon!—an excessively bad temper. He’s fortunate to have a good man looking after his stud, an old retainer inherited from his father. I don’t think Jem Salter would allow Maharahnee to be mistreated. And they say she’s always seemed in high, frisky form before the races. I’ve only seen her run once, myself.”
“How intriguing! I should love to see this Maharahnee.” Annabel hoped she’d put the right amount of wistfulness in her voice. How fortunate he knew all about this! It would solve the problem of how they were going to find Maharahnee without wandering about on Epsom Down unaccompanied by a gentleman.
Glenrick smiled at her. “It’s a fine evening for a stroll. Perhaps we could find her if we looked.”
“Oh, could we? I confess I am prodigiously interested in seeing her.” Annabel returned his smile.
“I will leave you to enjoy your stroll, if I may,” Georgiana said, rising. “I think it time I retired. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Glenrick.”
“Oh, no, Georgiana!” Annabel rose too. “I expect it will not be too long a walk. Do you not wish to see the famous Maharahnee?”
Georgiana hesitated, casting a quick look at her then at Lord Glenrick. “Not tonight, I think. You shall show me her tomorrow, when Maria comes.”
Lord Glenrick had immediately risen when Georgiana had. “I understand perfectly, Lady Bathurst. Long carriage rides are exhausting. But I promise you that Mrs. Bunwich’s beds are as excellent as her dinners.” He cocked an eyebrow at that lady, who had just bustled in to clear the table.
“Oh, my lord, you are a one.” Mrs. Bunwich was practically preening.
Annabel tried to catch Georgiana’s eye. It wasn’t vital that she come too—Annabel was certain she’d be able to find Maharahnee’s stable again later on. But she was not persuaded that she wanted to be alone with Lord Glenrick, despite it still being well before sunset and the race grounds teeming with other race-goers out enjoying the evening. He would almost certainly steer their conversation down paths she was not certain, at this point, that she wanted to follow.
“Georgiana?” she asked quietly, under cover of Lord Glenrick’s banter with the landlady and with as speaking a look as she could muster. “I—”
“Annabel?” Lord Glenrick had finished reducing Mrs. Bunwich to a fawning puddle.
“I don’t care to leave you alone here,” Annabel said, a little desperately.
“I assure you, I don’t mind in the least.” Georgiana rose. “Have a pleasant walk.”
Oh, bother! But she could not beg Georgiana to accompany her. So she went upstairs to retrieve her shawl and bonnet then rejoined Lord Glenrick waiting by the door. He held out his arm; she took it because to not do so would be rude, and he tucked it firmly over his so that she was drawn close to his side as they stepped into the yard.
The Horse and Oak was situated on a lane that ran along the rise at the edge of Epsom Down itself, south of the village of Epsom. Annabel saw at once that their evening stroll would not be a short walk; the majority of the stabling tents appeared to be at least a quarter-mile away or more. It was probably for the best that Georgiana had not come with them, then; walking there and back twice in one evening would not have benefited her sciatica.
But she could not help wishing for her presence now as Lord Glenrick drew her still closer to his side. “I never suspected, when I rose this morning, that the day would close in such a fashion,” he said quietly. “When I beheld you in Mrs. Bunwich’s most superior parlour, it set my heart racing like—”
“Like Maharahnee?” Annabel suggested.
As she’d hoped, he laughed. She took the opportunity to insert a little more space between them.
He promptly closed it again. “Precisely like Maharahnee. Indeed, my next impulse was to gallop across the room and clasp you in my arms, Bunwiches and Bathursts notwithstanding.” His voice lowered. “I spoke truly, my dear—I’ve missed you deeply, especially after that golden afternoon at Hampton Court. I’ve relived certain moments of that day over and over in my mind this last week.”
Annabel bowed her head. She had been doing the same thing these last two days—only it hadn’t been memories of time spent with Lord Glenrick that she’d pored over like a miser with his gold. A sodden, mischievous Quin, standing knee-deep in the Thames, inviting her to hug him; the warmth of his back against her cheek as the farm horse Lucifer carried them down the footpath; the catch in his voice when he’d said please on their drive in the park—
Good heavens, this would not do!
Two weeks ago, Lord Glenrick’s words might have thrilled her to her core. Today they merely left her melancholy. She could not return his feelings because hers—much to her surprise—were seemingly already engaged. Somehow, between his teasing and his steadfast presence when she needed him, Quin had managed to insert himself into her life—and into her heart.
Well, the question she’d asked herself about Quin on the drive here had been answered; it had merely taken another man’s attentions to clarify her own feelings. Poor Lord Glenrick! If only she could find someone else for him… Did she know of any especially charming and wealthy (keeping Mama’s comments on the state of his finances in mind) heiresses to whom she could introduce him? Perhaps the Colchester girl who had come out this year—a little on the gauche side but she would outgrow that—and there was her ₤30,000 dowry to consider—
“You are quiet, ma belle,” he said, his voice caressing.
The endearment—and his tone—made her uncomfortable. “I was woolgathering,” she said brightly. “My goodness, is this Bartholomew Fair or a race meeting?”
They had come to the edge of the temporary canvas village. Tents large and small, threadbare and ragged or beflagged and caparisoned, were pitched side by side with booths selling pies and gingerbread, handkerchiefs and ribbons, draughts of Epsom water, and tinware. A fiddler played nearby, his cap laid on the ground to collect pennies, almost drowned out by someone else shouting the particulars about a cockfight to be held that evening. A wizened woman wearing dozens of thin bangles about her wrists called out to passers-by, offering to tell their fortunes. And persons of every quality, from beggars to aristocrats, rubbed shoulders in the spaces between the tents. Although a few women could be seen here and there, they were not many, and Annabel was grateful for Lord Glenrick’s arm as they passed groups of lounging, staring men. When she and Georgiana came back tonight to visit Maharahnee, they would have to take care to stay well hidden.
