Love Unexpected: A Regency Romance (The Saunders Family Saga Book 1) Read online

  “She is having you on, my lord,” said Gweet. “My mama has a very devious mind.”

  “Oh?” he said, looking interested. “Somehow I would not have expected you to be a mistress of the chess board, Lady Deveridge.”

  Gweet apparently thought she should use this opportunity to puff up the man’s impression of her mama. “You would be surprised at her skills,” she said. “She waltzes ever so nicely.”

  “I can only imagine,” the man said. “Do you enjoy horse racing as much as your mama, Miss Marguerite?”

  “Surely, my lord, you realize my daughter is not yet out,” Marianne said.

  “I was speaking theoretically,” he said.

  “I think I shall enjoy horse racing someday,” said Gweet. “I love horseback riding. That is another thing my mama does exceedingly well.”

  “A woman who enjoys horseback riding, racing, chess, and waltzing—surely such a woman is a rarity.”

  Marianne allowed herself a short laugh. “Not among my friends, my lord. You obviously have a very narrow idea of womankind.” She was beginning to believe Captain Saunders’s warning that the man was a rogue.

  “I should be glad to have my perceptions enlarged,” he said with a smile she found disconcerting and that made her very glad Gweet was chaperoning her.

  Her uninvited guest walked over to the mantel and stretched his arm along it, putting the other hand in the pocket of his breeches, as though the room belonged to him. “I heard a rumor about our mystery today.”

  “Oh?” she said, trying to be discouraging but intrigued in spite of herself.

  “Greenwood, the trainer, is apparently deep in debt and was heard to have had a violent quarrel with Simpson the day he was murdered.”

  “I had not heard that,” she admitted. “How is your mare, Refulgent, doing?”

  “She is recovering but is still not up to snuff. I will probably not be running her again this Season. On the other hand, Nemesis is coming along nicely.”

  No sooner had he spoken these words than Captain Saunders strode into the room.

  His brow was furrowed—Zeus ready to throw a thunderbolt. “Webbingford! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to reassure myself that Lady Deveridge was on the mend from her injuries last evening.”

  Gweet bounced up and ran to his side. “Mama and I were playing chess,” she reported.

  The captain seemed to regain his customary good humor with difficulty. As he calmed himself, Marianne became quite relieved at the sight of him.

  “And you were winning?” the captain guessed.

  “No. I have yet to beat Mama. She is that cunning.”

  “I suppose I should not find that surprising. I seem to stumble on a new talent of hers with each new day.”

  Marianne noticed that Webbingford was studying Captain Saunders intently. Then his gaze switched to her. “It is a very refreshing thing to find a lady who has the capacity to keep one on one’s toes. Enchanting, as a matter of fact,” Webbingford said.

  His words caused Marianne to cringe inwardly. She had not sought the man’s good opinion, and it continued to make her uneasy.

  “You must cease to flatter me, my lord,” she said. “I shall get a swollen head. I am not the least different than dozens of other women. I should much rather discuss the coming race.” She turned to Captain Saunders. “Lord Webbingford is to run Nemesis, his two-year-old stallion, and he has come by an interesting rumor.”

  “Oh?”

  Webbingford repeated what he had heard about Greenwood’s difficulties.

  “Yes,” said the captain. “I have heard the same thing. But it is rumor only. It could have been put about by anyone as a diversion.”

  “Care to tell me upon which horse you are laying your blunt?” asked Webbingford.

  “As a matter of fact, I have not yet decided. I am waiting to see how Virginia’s Prize shapes up. Strangeways is here in London, and he says there is a guard on the horse, and he appears to be recovering well.”

  Now that they had settled into a comfortable gentleman’s topic, Marianne was happy to see that the captain’s temper had evened out. He obviously thought Lord Webbingford was up to no good as far as she was concerned, and she considered it vastly ironic. Was the captain not after the same thing?

  “If you gentlemen will excuse us, Gweet and I will leave you now. We are calling it an early night,” she said.

  The men ceased talking race horses and turned to her in the same moment.

  “You are not feeling the thing?” asked the captain.

  “Are you poorly?” asked Lord Webbingford simultaneously.

  “It is time Gweet was in bed. She does not keep the same hours we do. Good night.”

  Leaving the gentlemen staring after her, she departed from the drawing room with a recalcitrant Gweet.

  “But I wanted to stay! They were talking about the King’s Plate. Oh, how I wish I could go! It is vastly unfair that I cannot.”

  “I agree, but we must conform with society’s rules or you shall be socially ruined before you even make your come out.”

  * * *

  As Marianne lay abed and thought of the scene below in the drawing room, she grew a bit melancholy. Since Ian’s death, she had never thought much about remarriage, her mind struggling with its grief and anger. She missed the companionship of a husband, both physically and emotionally, but she had never had much of either during the eleven years of her marriage.

  When Ian had been home from his travels, he had been the best of good companions. She had enjoyed a fulfilling life in those times but had had to learn to enjoy her own company for most of her marriage. It was to this she owed her broad spectrum of interests.

  She could not deny that she felt more than a spark of reawakened desire where Captain Saunders was concerned, but it was more than doused whenever she realized the only thing he wanted was a short-term physical relationship. Though such relationships were not frowned on by society when the lady was a widow, the idea was not appealing at all to Marianne.

  She was not about to get involved with a man such as he when her heart was still so tender and sore from the very final abandonment she had endured from Ian. She had learned to get along, though Bertie’s marriage to Lady Catherine had been a blow at first. She did not want to come to depend on another human being who was destined to leave for heaven only knew how long and for whom she was seen only as a physical diversion.

  For her, such a relationship would involve her total self, including her heart—a deep commitment of both body and mind.

  It was beyond absurd that she now apparently had two men competing for temporary possession of her. What made the captain think he had any sort of claim on her over and above Lord Webbingford’s?

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Webbingford finally took his leave, Ernest took to pacing the drawing room. The man was obviously taken with Marianne. What man wouldn’t be?

  But to him, she was more than a pretty face. Though he desired her more than he had any woman, he found that it was not only her physical self he longed to possess. He wanted the gift of her whole self. If she ever gave herself to him, he wanted it all—her dreams, her wit, her interests. What he found surprising was that he found he wanted to give her all of himself, as well, if she would accept him.

  It was a blow to realize that he wasn’t such a great bargain. While he would expect all of her, he couldn’t give to her that part of himself that was wedded to the sea and the life he loved on board ship. His shore interests were generally shallow and fleeting—not only his associations with women but his relationships with his family and society in general.

  He was well read, thanks to long stretches at sea, but his general education was lacking. Unlike Marianne’s first husband, he knew little of art. Unlike the formidable Miss Braithwaite, he knew little of science or politics. He suspected that Marianne knew more than he did even of horses!

  Ernest wanted her, but it was no longer just
a primitive desire. He had progressed beyond ape-man, he hoped, but the way before him was not clear.

  Confound it! What is happening to me?

  * * *

  After a restless night, he rose to find out that Marianne and Gweet had already gone out to call on Miss Braithwaite and Lady Clarice. It disturbed him to find out that she had left the house without a male companion to provide protection. Especially so close to the race at Newmarket. They were to leave the next day. Her attacker might be getting quite desperate.

  The post brought a letter from his man of business. He perused it quickly, noting the names of bettors and owners who were in straitened circumstances.

  To his surprise, it included two names with which he was familiar.

  Joseph Abernathy is a heavy bettor and is considerably in debt. He hopes to make a more than provident alliance with the daughter of Henry Moxton, a man of reputed wealth in the City. In order to do so, however, he must discharge his debts. He is looking to do so with a big win at the track.

  Conrad Webbingford recently lost a great deal of money speculating on shares in a company in South Africa that proved to be nonexistent. He is rumored to be assuring his creditors that he expects an infusion of cash shortly. No doubt you are more aware than I about his situation vis-à-vis the upcoming King’s Plate.

  Though there were several others less known to him on the list, the presence of these two names alarmed Ernest with the intensity of a whack to the head.

  Is one of these men I thought I knew so well responsible for the attacks on Marianne?

  He went in search of Penelope, who was, as usual, in the nursery visiting her offspring. Sam was marching toddler-style around the room, beating a small drum suspended from his neck as Penelope sang a rousing version of “Rule, Britannia.” Wordsworth followed behind them.

  “Molding a budding fan of the Royal Navy? Excellent!” he said.

  “What are you doing in the nursery? Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

  “Did Lady Deveridge receive flowers again this morning, by any chance?”

  “She did. Orchids this time. Quite an extravagance.”

  “From Webbingford?”

  “She did not say. But I must say she did not seem overly pleased. She gave them to Gweet for her room. She has gone off to Lady Clarice’s to write invitations to your benefit ball. You’re not toying with her heart, are you, Ernest?”

  He wanted to say that it was rather the reverse but managed to refrain.

  “She has no interest in a sea captain. I’m certain she’s shared that bit with you.”

  “Well, yes. But you can be charming when you set your mind to it. Like all the Saunders men.”

  “Charm doesn’t seem to have any effect on the lady. I wouldn’t worry about her heart if I were you.”

  After taking leave of his sister-in-law, he walked the short distance to Blossom House swiftly. Pursley announced him to the ladies, who were writing invitations in the Chinese saloon at a table especially set up for the purpose.

  “Oh, Captain Saunders! Good morning!” Gweet was the first one to greet him, followed by Lady Clarice and Miss Braithwaite. After a brief smile, Marianne put her head back down, presumably concentrating on her calligraphy.

  “You are all busily at work, I see,” he said. “I appreciate your efforts on behalf of my sailor friends.”

  “The ball is going to be thrilling,” said Gweet. “It is to be a masquerade with an Italian theme. And guess what? There is a special peephole upstairs where I can watch!”

  “So I understand. That sounds thrilling, indeed,” he said, trying to muster the proper amount of enthusiasm. “I have come to ask your mother a question, actually.”

  Marianne looked up.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that Lord Webbingford was the man you saw the morning you were attacked?” he asked, avoiding pleasantries in his urgent need to know.

  “Really!” she said. “Your prejudice against the man is absurd. Of course it was not him. He is overlarge, not slight like the man I saw.”

  “It is no longer prejudice,” he said. “I have had word from my man of business. Webbingford is heavily in debt. He lost a packet on an investment in a spurious company in South Africa.”

  “Bad luck,” said Lady Clarice. “I have always liked the man, myself, though he is a bit of a rogue. He helps escort the ladies to my niece’s soup kitchen for wounded soldiers in the East End.”

  “He does like the horses,” said Miss Braithwaite. “He owns several racers, I believe. Mighty expensive hobby.”

  Ernest was frustrated by Marianne’s failure to respond to his news. “I believe you to be in danger from him, Lady Deveridge. He could have hired someone else to drug the horses.”

  “I thought your man was going to look into the finances of a whole list of people. I do not suppose that Lord Webbingford was the only bettor or owner in all of England who is financially embarrassed,” said Marianne.

  Ernest tamped down his aggravation. “No. Of course not. But he is the only one I know of who has access to your person.”

  “I have not been in the least danger,” she said. “How could you forget that just the other evening he was my rescuer? If he had intended me harm, he certainly could have carried it out on his own when I turned up on his doorstep.”

  “Lord Webbingford is a perfectly lovely man, Captain,” said Gweet. “Though not a patch on you, of course.”

  “I am concerned only with your safety,” he said. “As a matter of fact, there is another man who is a likely fit for our villain, and he is a friend of mine, as well. I should like to invite him to the house this evening, before we go to Newmarket tomorrow. You can give me your thoughts on whether he might be your attacker.”

  He watched as the lady shivered.

  “I shall be right at your side. He shall not have a chance to harm you.”

  “Who is this man?” asked Miss Braithwaite.

  “I don’t expect you to have met him. He is a retired sea captain. About my age. Name of Joseph Abernathy.”

  “And he is financially embarrassed?” asked Lady Clarice.

  “Are you personally acquainted with any of the others on the list?” asked Marianne with maddening calm.

  “I’m not, but Beau could be.”

  “Have you asked him about whether or not any of them could be our man?”

  “He’s at the FO today. Getting ready to leave for the races.”

  “You’ll have to ask him tonight.”

  “I’m having second and third thoughts about your attending the races at all,” he said.

  “Well, you might as well keep them to yourself. I do not foresee anything happening while I am with all of you, surrounded by hosts of other people as well,” the lady said with asperity.

  He sighed. He knew better than to insist when she held her chin up in that way.

  “You know,” said Lady Clarice, “It really might be better if you stayed here with us.”

  Marianne gave her lovely smile and said, “Thank you for the invitation, but I mean to see this through. I am very grateful to you for having Gweet to stay, however.”

  “I imagine I would feel much the same as you,” said Miss Braithwaite. “Women are not physically strong, but you have the advantage of quick wits.”

  Being quick witted would not protect her from a stealthy knife in the ribs, Ernest thought but did not say. Instead he offered to join in their project. “I have a decent fist. Put me to work. I intend to see the ladies home when they have finished.”“Then you must stay to luncheon. We are having a lovely saddle of mutton,” said Lady Clarice.

  “Thank you. That sounds good.”

  Tasking Pursley with informing the kitchen of this addition, Lady Clarice then gave him one of the pages of names, and he set to work.

  * * *

  Ernest was very glad to find Abernathy at Brooks’s that afternoon having a drink by the fire in the reading room.

  “When are you headed up
to Newmarket?” he asked the man, wondering now if he really knew him as well as he thought.

  “Leaving tomorrow. You?”

  “Tomorrow as well. I wonder if I can ask a favor of you?” The idea had come to him as he was riding in a cab to the club.

  “Anything,” the man said, his eye showing the familiar twitch.

  “I’m staying with my brother, Lord Wellingham, as I’ve told you. One of his guests, Lady Deveridge, is was knocked unconscious in Virginia Prize’s stall for a reason which she does not understand. The other day she was the victim of an unsuccessful kidnapping attempt.”

  “The devil you say!”

  “Yes. But she is very resourceful and managed to get away.”

  “How can I help?”

  “She is going to Newmarket. Never misses the King’s Plate, apparently. I could use another pair of eyes watching out for her.”

  “Don’t think I have ever met the lady,” the former captain said.

  “In order to remedy that, I’d like you to come to Wellingham House tonight for the purpose of meeting her. You are also invited to dinner.”“I am delighted to accept. Do I detect a special interest in this lady?”

  “She is a widow who happens to have a personal prejudice against forming romantic attachments to sea captains, unfortunately.”

  “Bad luck.”

  Ernest rubbed his chin, reflecting on this sad circumstance to which he still hadn’t resigned himself. “Yes. She is a stunner and a great fan of the horses, as a matter of fact. She competes in dressage.”

  “Where are you staying in Newmarket?” asked Abernathy, with a twitch of his eye.

  “With the Strangeways. They have a house just outside the town. It’s been in the family for eons. I couldn’t even tell you for how many generations they have been breeding race horses.” He tried to read Abernathy’s expression. It was maddeningly bland. “This is a dashed shame about Virginia’s Prize. I hope he recovers sufficiently for this race.”

  “I wouldn’t put money on him, if I were you.”

  “Still thinking of betting on Nemesis?” Ernest asked.

  “I am.” Abernathy’s eye twitched.

  “What are the odds running on him?”