The Rake's Rainbow (8 page)

The illogic of this idea never occurred to him. How could she challenge someone whose existence remained unknown to her, for he had also been less than honest, neglecting to mention the love of his life. But he could no longer keep them separate. Neither could he allow his wife to surpass his love. That would call into question the legitimacy of his continued adoration and turn his agonizing debauch into a childish tantrum, affronting his honor.

He remained in the library, morosely drinking and pondering his life. Again, he relived the agony of the past year, now worsened by a new awareness of just how permanent marriage was. And how far from utopian. Unwilling to question his own actions, unable to accept an imperfect Alicia, he could only blame Caroline.

His initially favorable impression had now swung in the other direction. She was too secretive. And far too retiring. Her refusal to introduce herself to their fellow passengers had resulted in their forced marriage. Her reticence concerning her accomplishments was causing untold agony. Though he had established a policy of open honesty, she clung to her secrets. What devil had forced him to wed someone bent on making him miserable? 

And why had he been so anxious to accept her partnership?  He had rushed his fences unpardonably in trying to befriend her before she had proved herself worthy. He knew little about her. How could he assume that she deserved his friendship?  Now he was faced with the unpleasant chore of pushing her to a suitable distance. Too bad he was tied to Crawley... Of course, he could always manage some business trips. Setting up a breeding stable would require travel to buy stock. Needing time to sort out his ideas, he might as well start immediately.

By the time he determined the proper course, it was well past midnight and the brandy decanter was empty. He briefly considered sleeping somewhere else, but there literally was not another comfortable bed in the house. Sighing, he slipped beneath the sheets, resigned to one more night with the wife he now resented.

* * * *

“Alicia!”

Caroline awoke with a start, not sure what had disturbed her slumbers.

“Alicia, my love!”

Tremors shook her from head to toe. Thomas was dreaming, agitation and passion vibrating through his voice.

“Alicia!  How can I live without you?”  A sob wracked the plaintive cry.

She slipped from bed, unable to breathe through the sudden pain. Her first reaction was to dismiss the episode as a meaningless dream, but his aching desire was hard to ignore. Who was Alicia?  She padded softly to the window and noted that it was just past dawn.

“Alicia-a-a–”

She drew in a shaky breath. Tears trickled down his cheeks. She had felt increasingly comfortable, her hope of developing a solid partnership seeming a reality. She had not anticipated anything beyond mild affection, knowing that a man of his ilk was unlikely to care deeply for someone lacking both beauty and background. Not a day passed without her stern self-reminder that she was merely the lesser of two evils. She had never expected love, but neither had she expected to find he already loved another. He had certainly been less than forthright when urging marriage, claiming his dissolute behavior was the worst she would discover about him. An attached heart was far worse.

She paced across to the fireplace, but no coals remained to warm her. Why had he not married Alicia when he found he needed a wife?  Had she died? 

Dear Lord, I hope so.

Grief would eventually pass and they could continue to build their partnership. In the meantime, she could not remain here listening to this continued mourning for his love. Nor could she awaken him. Admitting that she had overheard his impassioned cries was impossible.

She slipped into the dressing room, quickly donned a warm gown and cloak, then headed for the garden. Perhaps an invigorating walk would clear her brain and lift the gloom that had enveloped her at the first sound of his voice.

Half an hour later she had achieved a measure of peace, and common sense again ruled. She had not expected love. Nor was there anything of which she could complain in their relationship. If his heart still grieved, he was not allowing it to interfere with their marriage. Did he know he talked in his sleep?  Was that why he had insisted that she complete her own suite as soon as possible? 

She dropped onto a bench to consider this idea as the rising sun cleared the eastern hills, bathing the garden with golden light. Her rooms were nearly ready. With a little extra effort she could move in by nightfall. Then he could cease worrying about accidentally exposing his heart.

“Yer wits are addled!” a male voice exclaimed from the other side of a hedge.

“You ain’t been here long enough to see the way the master and mistress work together,” rejoined a second man. Caroline recognized him as Willy, the estate’s groom.

“Bah!” responded the first in disgust. “I been driving the guv since ‘e first come up from Oxford. ‘E’s allus known ‘ow to cozen the ladies. But the only one ‘e ever cared for was Miss Alicia. Lived in ‘er pocket for months, ‘e did. I’ll never forget the night she pledged ‘er love to ‘im for all eternity. Floatin’, ‘e were. In a reg’lar trance. Coulda carried the coach ‘ome on ‘is back an’ not noticed.”

“And how would a coachman know the master’s thoughts?” scoffed Willy.

“Oh, ‘e’s a dab ‘and for the ‘orses,” the second man bragged proudly. “Ain’t never put on airs, neither. Allus ‘elpin’ in the stables. Talks to me like a friend, ‘e does.”

She had by now recognized him as Jacobs, Thomas’s coachman and trainer who had arrived with the remainder of his stable the previous afternoon.

Jacobs seemed anxious to parade his superior knowledge before the country groom. “Rode up top that night,” he related. “I reckon ‘e needed someone to talk to. Excitement fair bubbled out. Described ‘er as the most beautiful angel in the world. An’ the wittiest. An’ the most talented. ‘E ‘spected to pay ‘is addresses the next day. ‘Ardly surprisin’. All Mayfair’d been lookin’ for an announcement for weeks.”

“So how did he wind up with Mrs. Mannering?  Not that she ain’t a fine woman. Did the lady turn him down after all?”

“Worse. Turned out she was already pledged to Viscount Darnley – old goat must be past sixty, though still randy as the devil by all accounts. The guv took it ‘ard. Fell into a black melancholy from that day to this.”

Caroline was shaking so hard she could scarcely stand, but she had to flee before she was discovered.

The pieces fit all too well, she acknowledged, almost running toward the lake. Thomas had admitted wasting the past year in debauchery. Now she knew why. He had been trying to forget Alicia. And obviously failing. But whatever had or had not happened, her own future was perceptibly bleaker. Though she daily reminded herself that he would never love her, a stubborn hope had lingered that time would prove differently.

That hope was now shattered. Nor did the future seem at all comfortable, for the aging Darnley would undoubtedly die before many more years had passed. What would happen when the beautiful and most cherished Alicia was free? 
Dear Lord, help me cope with this!  Can I really ignore his actions if he turns to her?  And how am I to react?

Two more hours of vigorous exercise failed to restore any trace of peace, but shock and fatigue finally numbed her thoughts. She returned to the house in a trance.

Thomas was already at breakfast, dressed, as always, for riding. Neither offered their usual morning greetings. Neither noticed the omission.

“I am going to Graystone Manor to purchase some horses,” he announced baldly some minutes later, pushing his barely touched plate away in disgust.

She kept her expression neutral. “I wish you a pleasant journey, then. And luck in your endeavor.”

“Thank you.”  He strode quickly from the room.

She remained at the table for some minutes, shredding a piece of toast and repeatedly rearranging ham bits on her plate. This sudden departure was perfectly logical, given his morning dream. And most welcome. He needed time to get his emotions back under control. So did she. A period of calm would allow her to adjust her ideas and come to grips with this new scenario before having to face him either in a discussion, or worse, in bed.

Thank you, Lord.

Chapter 5

Thomas left immediately, driving the carriage himself. Handling the ribbons kept thought at bay. Jacobs accompanied him, for he would perform much of the actual training, making his input important to the success of the breeding enterprise.

Thomas deliberately avoided thinking of his marriage as he drove along the lanes and highroads. With morning had come the realization that he was too close to the problem. Events had swept him along without pause, but whatever imbroglios he had fallen into, the undisputable permanence of his union remained. And honor demanded that he accept and adapt. He must set aside his love for Alicia and carry out his duty to Caroline. The best course was to concentrate on horses for a time. Perhaps a different perspective would emerge in a week or two that would suggest a workable solution.

Turning his mind to business, he determinedly talked horses, concentrating on his plans for Crawley’s future. He drank sparingly at the inn and fell instantly asleep. The previous night had been far from restful. Anger, pain, and resentment over lacking control of his life had kept him awake for most of the few hours he spent in bed, and Alicia had invaded his dreams when he slept. But this night afforded sound refreshment, and he awoke in better spirits.

It was late afternoon when he turned through the gates of Graystone Manor, unwillingly comparing the immaculate grounds with the desolation that was Crawley, overwhelmed yet again by the magnitude of his dilemma. Atlas shouldered a lighter burden. How many years of uphill battles did he face?  Was success possible with his limited resources?  He shook the question away. He
must
succeed. No other outcome was tenable.

The Earl of Graylock was renowned both for the excellence of his own horses and for the quality of those he offered for sale. It was his remarkable success that had first piqued Thomas’s interest in raising hunters himself. Besides purchasing stock, he hoped for advice about his own fledgling business, for Graylock was not only a top breeder. Ethical in a field that attracted the greedy and sleazy in droves, rich enough that he continued his endeavors out of love – though his stables returned a handsome profit – Graylock welcomed newcomers and unhesitatingly assisted their efforts. He had already been instrumental in directing Thomas’s interest to hunters rather than racers.

“You are honorable, Mannering,” he had expounded over a bottle of wine at White’s two years before. “Stay away from racehorses. Too many copers in that line. You cannot make a living and remain honest.”

“Why?”  He had long suspected that truth, but wondered what reasons Graylock would give. And the track did exert a glamorous fascination.

“Your honor could not survive,” stated the older man baldly, a note of regret tingeing his voice. “Cheating and sabotage are firmly embedded. It is all too common to find promising horses maimed and even killed by rival trainers. And plenty of lesser crimes occur – inflicting minor injuries that affect performance, shocking horses with nervous dispositions, even bribing riders. Men are trying to root out the problems, but it will be a long battle with no guarantee of success. That is why I seldom wager on races. Regardless of bloodlines, training, and track conditions, cheating and sabotage make the outcome too chancy. Just last year fire destroyed Lord Dunhollow’s stable before Newmarket. Injured the odds-on favorite, and the rest of his horses couldn’t compete for months. Jockey up on the second favorite blew the horse out at the start and limped home in eighth. Not the careful handling one expects from an experienced rider.”

“Who did it?  The ultimate winner’s trainer?”

“Possibly. Or his owner. Or any of the half dozen gentlemen who bet heavily on him at long odds. Or someone connected with one of the other top finishers. Or perhaps another individual whose scheme failed. There is no way to know and the imprudent jockey disappeared.”

“But surely an honest breeder can survive.”

“Possibly. As I said, there are efforts underway to clean out the scoundrels. But there are other factors. Consider the horses. Racers have been bred for short bursts of speed over a flat course. It is true a top runner can pull down big purses and stud fees. But what happens to those who cannot win races?  They lack the stamina to cover longer distances. They tend to be nervous, which makes them unsuitable for riding or carriage work. Many are prone to leg injuries, rendering them useless for jumping. And a slow horse is hardly likely to breed speedier offspring.”

Thomas slowly nodded as the truth of the earl’s comments sank in.

“Now consider the hunter,” Graylock continued. “The best can be sold in the shires for top dollar. The terrain requires speed, stamina, strength, heart, and great jumping. But a horse lacking any of those attributes is still useful. One with less stamina can become an excellent hunter over more benign terrain. And even the least talented jumpers make outstanding riding hacks.”

Thomas reviewed that and other conversations he had held with Graylock over the years. Without question, the man knew hunters. His estate lay but a few miles from Melton. Four of his horses had sold for more than a thousand pounds each to top Quorn huntsmen.

He sighed in envy when the house came into view. Sprawled over an area several times larger than Crawley, Graystone Manor was the product of many generations and almost as many styles. From a great hall barely postdating the Conquest, it had mushroomed into a maze of wings and towers. Gothic arches graced a chapel. One tower boasted narrow archers’ slits, a second displayed leaded Elizabethan windows. Greek columns graced a neo-classic addition and Palladian austerity characterized another. But surprisingly, the gray stone from which the estate took its name unified these disparate parts into an attractive and welcoming whole.