The Deception (31 page)

I loved the races because I loved to watch the sheer beauty of Thoroughbreds running, but men went to the racetrack to bet. Papa had been a great gambler, and his gambling had accounted for most of the ups and downs of our economic life. He made a great deal of money selling horses, and he lost a great deal of money betting on them.

Adrian had been abroad for so long that he was almost completely unacquainted with English racing, and the previous night I had made a list for him of all the horses he should bet on when the men put their money down with the “leg” who did business with Lord Barbury.

These “legs” were professional gamblers who accepted bets at varying prices on every horse in a race, a system they called “making a book.” They were heavily patronized by racegoers, but I thought they were a scourge. Poisoning a horse’s drinking water or slipping him an opium ball were common tricks legs used in order to stop a favorite. The Jockey Club was supposed to try to keep legs honest, but they were not as successful as they should have been.

Adrian started off the day beside us, but then—as usual—he was claimed by first one man and then the other and we saw him only in snatches during the remainder of the day. But Louisa and I were scarcely neglected. Many old friends stopped by to chat and to tell me how nice it was to see me at the track again.

It should have been a perfect day. The sun continued to shine and by early afternoon the breeze had died down and the weather was pleasantly warm. The races all went off smoothly, and if the favorites did not always win, at least they put up a good enough show to make one feel that they had not been poisoned. Four of the horses I had recommended to Adrian came in first, and he congratulated me on my astuteness, which pleased me.

It was the world I had grown up in: the thundering Thoroughbreds; the smells of leather and horses and manure; the exuberance of the winners; the downcast faces of the losers. All of these things had been part of my life for eighteen years, and I loved them.

But Papa wasn’t there. For some reason, I hadn’t expected to miss him the way I did. He had been dead for a year and a half, and I had thought that my grieving was done with, but it seemed that it was not.

The ache inside me grew more and more painful as the afternoon went by, and I became quieter and quieter. When the last race was finally over, I said to Louisa, “I want to stop by Papa’s grave before we return to Harley Hall.”

Louisa had twice asked me during the course of the afternoon if I was feeling well, and now she began to search the crowd. “I don’t see Lord Greystone at the moment, Kate.”

“He is probably settling up with the leg,” I said to Louisa. “It may take some time, and I told him I was going to leave directly after the last race.”

Louisa frowned worriedly. “I think you should wait to go visit the grave until he can accompany you.”

But the need had been growing inside me all afternoon long, and I didn’t want to wait. I said, “Papa is buried in the churchyard just outside of town. It will not take me long to pay a quick visit, Louisa.”

I lifted the reins to back the horses out of our spot, but my cousin put a restraining hand on my arm. “Wait one moment, Kate.” I threw her an impatient look, but she was signaling to someone. I followed her eyes and saw Paddy threading his way through the crowd of men and horses. He had been by to talk to us several times during the course of the day, and the sound of his soft Irish voice had made me feel even more bereft.

“Are you ladies after leaving?” he asked as he rode his pretty chestnut mare up to the side of the phaeton.

“Kate wants to stop by her father’s grave before we return to Harley Hall,” Louisa said. “Will you come with us, Paddy?”

“Surely,” he returned, his light blue eyes on my face.

“I haven’t been to his grave since the day of the funeral,” I said.

“I stop by every time I am in Newmarket,” Paddy told me gently, “and I know a few of the lads who stop by whenever they are in town.”

Papa had always had the gift of making himself loved.

I smiled a little tremulously. “Well, then, shall we go?”

“Drive on, Miss Cathleen,” he said, and moved his horse out of my way.

* * * *

Someone had planted bluebells on Papa’s grave. They were the exact color of his eyes, and they broke my heart.

Stade will pay.
I was dangerously close to losing control of my emotions, and these were the only words I could find to keep myself from falling apart. I clenched my fists.

Don’t worry, Papa. I
won’t let him get away with it. I will make him pay for what he did to you.

The ache in my throat was unbearable; the bluebells were a blur of blue against the white stone.

Oh God, Papa. Oh God. Papa... Papa...

The wind had picked up and it was blowing across the graveyard with a chilling bite. A sparrow pecked in the grass nearby, searching for a worm. I couldn’t see Papa’s name anymore.

“Come along with you now, Miss Cathleen,” Paddy said, and I felt his arm come around my shoulders.

I felt so alone. I was so terribly cold. I needed comfort so desperately. “I want to go home,” I said.

He was guiding me toward the phaeton. “We’re too far from Greystone, darlin’,” he said. “I’m going to take you back to Harley Hall.”

“I don’t want to go to Greystone,” I said. I could feel the tears start to roll down my cheeks, and I blinked ferociously to chase them away. “I want to go home.”

“Up you go,” Paddy said in that heartbreakingly soft voice, and he lifted me to the seat of the phaeton. A moment later, Louisa followed.

I reached for the reins and wondered if I would be able to keep the horses on the road. Louisa said, “Wait a moment, Kate. Paddy is tying his horse to the back of the phaeton. He will drive us back to Harley Hall.”

I didn’t even object. The three of us squeezed together on a seat that was meant for two, and Paddy drove us all the way to the front steps of Harley Hall.

Adrian was standing on the graveled drive talking to Richard Bellerton. We drew up and I heard his voice say, “Has something happened, Paddy?”

I was squeezed in the middle of Louisa and Paddy, and it was Louisa who answered, “We stopped by the grave of Kate’s papa and it upset her.”

“Ah,” he said. Then, quietly., “Let me help you down, Louisa.”

Louisa disappeared from the phaeton’s seat and I slid over to take her place. Then Adrian was reaching his arms up for me. I put my hands on his shoulders and felt him lift me from the phaeton, out into the air, and then down to the ground in front of him. To my utter dismay, I felt a sob rising from deep in my chest.

“Oh, Adrian,” I said. “Oh, Adrian.”

He didn’t reply, he simply picked me up as if I were a child and carried me up the front steps of Harley Hall. I buried my face in his shoulder so that no one could see my tears. The butler let us in. I heard his voice, and then we were going up another flight of stairs. Adrian bent a little to open a door, and at last we were safely inside in our own room. He kicked the door shut behind us and carried me over to the rocking chair in front of the fireplace. He sat down with me in his lap.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said gently, “now you can cry.”

And I did. I sobbed as I had never sobbed before, deeply, uncontrollably, and he held me until the storm was over and I was limp with exhaustion.

I lay against him, and listened to the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, and felt the strength of his arms cradling me, and knew that at last I had come home.

I said in a voice that was still woefully unsteady, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. I never cry like that.”

“There is nothing to apologize for in crying, Kate,” he said.

I didn’t agree. “Crying doesn’t change anything,” I said. “All it does is waste energy.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

He was silent.

“You
don’t cry about things, Adrian,” I said.

I felt his chest expand and contract as he took a deep breath. He did it again. Then he said, speaking very slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of him, “Do you know how many men I killed in that famous charge of mine, Kate?”

I was so surprised at this change of subject that I lifted my head. “You took out the whole of the French left center,” I said.

There was an oddly strained look on his face, and suddenly the strangeness of his phraseology struck me. “Do you know how many men
I
killed,” he had said.

“Did you lose a lot of your own men, Adrian?” I whispered.

He said, “
I
made the decision to push on well beyond the British position.
I
made the decision to go for the guns. And on the way back we were caught by a company of French lancers. Our losses were severe.”

He looked so bleak. I hated to see him look that way. “No one blames you for that, Adrian.”

He shook his head impatiently. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

I ran my finger between his brows, trying to smooth away the tense line that had appeared there, and wondered why he was telling me this story. He began slowly to rock the chair in which we were sitting, and once more I rested my head against him.

He said, “When at last the battle was over, I decided to ride back across the field to the place where we had been caught—to see if there was anyone left alive whom I could help.” I could feel the tension in his voice and in his body as he faced the horror of this memory. “How can I describe the sight of that field? There were thousands of dead men lying there, and thousands more of the wounded, calling out in agony. It was like a vision of hell, Kate.” I felt his mouth touch the top of my head, and his breath stirred my hair as he said harshly, “I cried. I could scarcely see where I was going for the tears that were pouring down my face.”

The rocking chair continued its slow, regular, soothing rhythm. I lay against his warmth and strength, and thought about what he was telling me. He said, “So you see, I
do
cry, Kate. And I am not ashamed of it. Just as you should not be ashamed of crying for your father.” He put a finger under my chin and tipped my face up so he could look at me. “There are some things that deserve that kind of emotion,” he said.

He was a man of incomparable generosity. I loved him so much. I gazed back into his eyes and almost blurted out just how I felt. I don’t know what stopped me. Well, actually, I suppose I do know. It was pride.

It was inevitable that I would tell him one day, but not just now.

I said instead, “Thank you, Adrian.” I rested my head back against his chest. “You have made me feel much better.”

We continued to rock.

Chapter Twenty-three

Friday morning dawned bright with the promise of another brilliantly clear spring day. The Guineas would go off in perfect weather over a perfectly conditioned track. Louisa and I drove to Newmarket under an almost cloudless sky, and all along the road the early-blooming cherry trees were a froth of white, and bluebells and violets were sprinkled through the grass at the edges of the road.

Louisa chatted cheerfully as the phaeton rolled along, and I knew that Paddy had not told her about his projected business. I answered her as best I could, but my own mind was not easy. I could not forget what had happened the last time someone had tried to ascertain the real identity of Alcazar.

Dear
God, keep Paddy safe,
I prayed.
Please, please, keep him safe,

The racetrack was as crowded as I’ve ever seen it, and all the talk was about the Guineas and the chances of Castle Rook. Stade’s colt was the overwhelming favorite, a situation that was a perfect setup for a leg to try to nobble him. Much as I hated Stade, I didn’t want to see anything happen to the colt, and I hoped Castle Rook had been well-watched these last twenty-four hours.

I looked for Stade all morning, but I didn’t see him until after the second race had finished, and then I spied him in the company of Sir Charles Barbury.

Harry saw him at the same time I did. “There’s the bounder now,” he muttered. Harry had not gone off with friends as he had the previous two days, but was sticking close by the side of my phaeton.

“I haven’t seen Paddy yet,” Louisa remarked.

Harry and I exchanged a look. Then Harry said casually, “He mentioned something to me yesterday about going to see a horse this morning.”

“Goodness,” said Louisa. “I hope he is back in time to watch the running of the Guineas.”

I forced a laugh. “You sound like an inveterate racing buff, Louisa. One would never know that this was your first meet.”

Louisa looked pleased. “It’s fun,” she said.

“Have you won any money, Louisa?” Harry asked.

My cousin shook her head. “I haven’t bet.”

I felt a pang of guilt as I realized that the probable reason Louisa hadn’t bet was that she hadn’t any money. I had planned to share my allowance with her, but before I could do so I had squandered it all at that wretched gaming hell.

“Broke like Kate and me, eh?” Harry said sympathetically.

To my surprise, Louisa shook her head. “I have scarcely touched the allowance Greystone made me,” she said. “I just think it’s foolish to put money down upon a horse.”

Adrian rides to the rescue again,
I thought ruefully.

“If people didn’t bet, there wouldn’t be any racing,” Harry said.

I sighed. “Unfortunately, that is true.”

A man on a bay Thoroughbred mare was picking his way through the crowd, and I remarked to Harry, “Isn’t that a pretty mare, Harry? She reminds me a little of Elsa.”

Harry grunted.

“I hope she will be all right cooped up in that stable in London,” I worried.

Harry hooted. “Cooped up! I heard the orders you were barking before we left.” He imitated what he thought was my voice:
“Now make sure she is hand-walked for an hour at least three times a day, Georgie. And don’t forget to give her her treats.”
He snorted. “Between your orders for Elsa, and Adrian’s equally extensive orders for Euclide, the grooms won’t have time to see to any of the other animals.”