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

  “Proceed, Captain.”

  “On the matter of Lady Deveridge. Have you any idea what it is she has against me?”

  Holding the cigar in his teeth, Beau grinned broadly. “I thought the wind might sit in that quarter.”

  “You’ve known her eons,” said Ernest.

  “She’s not a coquette,” Beau replied. “She had a disappointing marriage, I’ve always thought.”

  This surprised Ernest. “Married to Deveridge? He would seem to be just the adventurous type who would appeal to someone like her.”

  “Women like a man to pay them a bit of notice. Deveridge only ever had time for his adventures.”

  “Hmm,” Ernest said. “She’s not the type to be bowled over by a sea captain, then.”

  “I imagine not. And I see her point, actually.”

  Ernest thought on this and had to admit that a woman like Lady Deveridge was not the type to wait like Patience on a rock, looking out to sea. She had too much life in her.

  Nevertheless, he was not able to dislodge the woman from his mind. But neither was he able to believe that a quick conquest was in the cards. Or even that such a transitory thing was what he desired.

  * * *

  On Sunday, Lady Deveridge was dressed all in butter-yellow with a saucy befeathered bonnet. Viewing her, it was hard to believe that this divine creature loved horses and everything to do with them.

  As they left the sanctuary of the church, he said, “After over a week indoors, you surely must be ready for a ride in the park. I have Beau’s curricle. Will you accompany me?”

  He could see the struggle as it played across her features. She wanted to come, but she was wondering if she wanted to come with him.

  Finally, she said, “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  The park was crowded on such a glorious spring day, and Ernest’s spirits revived now that Lady Deveridge was beside him. She was talking about Lady Clarice’s plans for the benefit ball.

  “It is to be a masquerade, you say?”

  “Yes. Will that not be grand?” she asked, her eyes lit.

  “Whom shall you go as?”

  “An Italian Renaissance lady. Did you know that Beau has a book in the library with sketches of famous Renaissance portraits? I shall set my dressmaker to copying one at once.”

  “You must tell me about your fascination with Italy. After you were struck, I heard you promise to Gweet that you would not die until you had seen it.”

  She blushed. “I said that? Oh my.”

  “Where specifically in Italy would you like to travel?”

  “Florence. I love studying about the Renaissance. I took Italian lessons from my governess, and I have always longed to go there. I have never told anyone, even my husband about that, so you must be discreet.”

  Ernest wondered at this. Why would she not tell her husband such a core desire? Was she ashamed of her lust for new places and climes? Surely he of all people would understand.

  He sought to tease more out of her. “We put into Venice and Naples on occasion,” he said. “But I have never been to Florence.”

  “Bertie is taking his wife, Catherine, there,” Lady Deveridge said. “Maybe now that the war is over, I shall pack up Gweet and go myself. I am sure Miss Braithwaite would go with me as chaperone.”

  Ernest said, “I understand the lady is enamored of beetles. Think of all the foreign species she could find there!”

  Lady Deveridge chuckled. “Yes. She is very eccentric. She collects and catalogs them for the Royal Society. She studies medicine, too. I adore Miss Braithwaite.”

  Ernest grinned. “I found her delightful.”

  “She is companion to Penelope’s aunt. Did you meet Lady Clarice when you called there?”

  “I did. She has the most enormous Siamese I have ever seen.”

  “She is fairly eccentric as well. For ages she has been writing an opera about cats. In Italian.”

  The talk seemed to be cheering the lady, and Ernest was glad. Was she mellowing toward him, or was her confiding attitude because they were talking about her dreams?

  “Would you like for me to sing some rollicking sailor ditties? I think it would cheer you no end,” he said.

  “No, Captain!” she protested. “You can safely leave them to my imagination.”

  “I don’t know if you can truly imagine something you have never heard.”

  “Have you a good voice?”

  “An excellent baritone.”

  “Of course you have.”

  There she went surprising him again. He cudgeled his brain to think of a way to keep this enlightening conversation afloat. “Who are your favorite artists?”

  “Michelangelo and Da Vinci. Everyone I know would be scandalized if I told them I long to see the statue of the David.”

  “I know nothing of art. Why would they be scandalized?”

  “He is a perfectly lovely nude.” Lady Deveridge blushed. “The Renaissance artists restored the great classic art of Greece and Rome. Have you ever seen the pathetic pre-Renaissance art? People looked deformed.”

  Ernest was enjoying hearing the lady uncensored. It must be hard for an upper-class female in today’s England. She had to stand guard on her tongue continually. But that still didn’t explain why had she never confessed her desire to see foreign climes to her explorer husband. Was their marriage not a close one?

  “Shall I buy a yacht and sail you, Gweet, and your Miss Braithwaite to Italy?” he proposed lightly.

  The lady brightened. “Oh do, let’s! It would be ever so daring and so much fun! Could you really buy a yacht?”

  “Let us just say, I took quite a few prizes. I’ve been at sea, so I’ve spent nothing. I should like having a yacht.” Indeed, the more he thought of it, the better he liked the idea.

  Lady Deveridge said, “How splendid! Would that society would permit such a thing. But thank you for chasing away my blue devils and giving me something to think about besides my head. I’m afraid I was very rude to you yesterday. I apologize. Whom you choose to associate with is certainly none of my business.”

  Indeed, the lady appeared immensely cheered. What would she think if she knew his proposal to whisk her away to Italy was halfway serious?

  When Ernest looked up, he saw Webbingford, a race horse owner he knew from his club. As his phaeton approached, he hailed him, “Webbingford! I haven’t seen you this age!”

  Heavy brows raised in surprise, the man halted his lavender phaeton. “Saunders! Have you actually gotten leg shackled to this pretty lady?”

  Now it was Ernest’s turn to be embarrassed. “Actually, this is Ian Deveridge’s widow, Lady Deveridge. Lady Deveridge, please meet Lord Webbingford, who may love horses almost as much as you do.”

  Webbingford was handsome in the classic way—tall, blond, with a well-formed head and features. He looked Lady Deveridge over with some interest as he raised his hat.

  “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady. In what capacity do you love horses? Riding? Racing? Training?”

  “I compete in dressage,” she said. “And I love the horse races.”

  “Will you be at Newmarket for the King’s Plate? I have a horse running there. Refulgent. She has a sporting chance of taking the whole thing.”

  “I was going to put a bet on Virginia’s Prize,” she said, looking up at him with a coquettish smile, waving her fan. “But I understand he has not been performing up to snuff this year. Perhaps I shall have a look at Refulgent. Will you tell me about her?”

  Seeing her playing the flirt both surprised and delighted Ernest. Studying her in this new role, he completely missed Webbingford’s description of his prized horse.

  Realizing that he had not been attentive to his friend, he looked up at him on his high perch, just in time to hear him say, “You wouldn’t be throwing away your money, I promise you. She took two of the races at the April Meetings.”

  “What does she run?”

  “The Four Forty.�
��

  “The same as Virginia’s Prize,” said Lady Deveridge thoughtfully. “Tell me, do you have any idea what ails him?”

  The man leaned forward in his eagerness. “You mean you haven’t heard about the murder?”

  Ernest watched as the lady feigned surprise, her eyes growing round. “Murder? Pray tell, what do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry. It really is not fit for a lady’s ears, but I thought perhaps you might have read about it. It was the stallion’s jockey. They are saying he drugged Virginia’s Prize and that someone paid him to do it. That someone had him murdered.”

  Lady Deveridge’s gloved hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness. Surely not!”

  “Any guess as to who did it?” asked Ernest.

  “No, but there’s Greenwood, the trainer, to think about, too.”

  Lady Deveridge was all innocence. “What do you mean?”

  “He could have been doing the drugging, and the jockey caught him at it.”

  “This is just terrible,” she said. “Why, it is enough to give horse racing a bad name.”

  Ernest said, “So you’re saying someone could have been paying Greenwood to drug the horse? And the jockey found out about it?”

  “The prevailing opinion is that the jockey—Simpson is his name—did it, but I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss Greenwood as a suspect.”

  “The poor horse,” said Lady Deveridge. “I just hate to think of someone she trusted abusing her. It’s all wrong.”

  Ernest knew that however much she had played the silly blonde, that last reflection was sincere. It had the effect of bringing the situation home to him in a way he hadn’t previously realized. Looking at Webbingford, he sensed that the man felt the same way.

  “The jockey or the trainer must have been hired,” Ernest said. “Have you any idea who is behind it?”

  “No. And I don’t know that we’ll ever know.”

  “Well, I just came ashore, so I know nothing, of course, but it seems to me there would be rumors if someone was in over his head,” said Ernest.

  “Do you mean in debt?” asked Lady Deveridge.Webbingford scowled. “I don’t know why, exactly, but I feel there’s more to it.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Ernest. “Well, it was dashed good to see you. I’ll probably run into you at the club sometime soon. I’m fixed in London just now.”

  “Jolly good.” Turning to Lady Deveridge, Webbingford raised his hat once more. “It was a delight to meet you, my lady. I shall hope to see you in Newmarket.” He saluted Ernest smartly with his whip. “Captain!”

  Ernest returned the salute, and soon they had driven off out of earshot of the man.

  “And here I didn’t think you knew how to flirt. Well, what do you think, my lady?”

  “His eagerness to bring up the subject would seem to indicate that he is innocent of any wrongdoing, do you not think so?”

  “I believe you have the right of it. But I think we must keep anyone in mind who has a horse that is in contention to win. In fact, it would seem that he has already won a couple of races because of Virginia’s Prize being off his game.”

  “We should probably find out the names and owners of the other horses that have a good chance of winning if Tony’s horse does not resume his form at the King’s Plate.”

  “We already know Vulcan, but I shall have to ask Beau if he knows the owner. All we need to do to find the other horses is to take a look at the racing sheet in the newspaper.”

  They traveled slowly through the park, both of them virtually unknown by most of the ton.

  “Will you take me to Newmarket for the King’s Plate ?” Lady Deveridge asked him, her voice artificially sweet. He looked at her, and she batted her eyelashes playfully.

  “You act the innocent flirt abominably ill,” he said with a grin. “Notwithstanding, I should be happy to take you to the races. For the sake of appearances I suppose we need to persuade Beau and Penelope to come with us.”

  “Oh, lovely,” she said, clasping her hands together beneath her chin like a schoolgirl who has been given a treat. “I haven’t been to the horse races in ever such a long time.”

  The sparkle in her eyes was now genuine. “You can be another pair of ears and eyes,” he said. “I mean to find out what is going on.”

  “Oh, so do I, Captain. I have every intention of unmasking a villain who would be so cruel to a horse.”

  “Don’t forget he almost murdered you. Not to mention the jockey. I would say he was somewhat poorly treated as well.”

  Lady Deveridge looked at him with reproach. “Of course.”

  After a few moments of silence between them, she said, “Thank you so much for bringing me out today. I have grown terrifically bored with this injury of mine.”

  “It has been my pleasure. Your artless appeal to Lord Webbingford was a masterpiece to behold. Likely you got more information out of him than I would have.”

  “Glad to be of help. I wish we could talk to more of the owners. The high-flying bettors, too,” she said.

  The keen light in her eyes caused him to grin. “Do you suppose they will break down under your threatening glare?”

  “Hmph. I think I can do very well at feigning artlessness. Someone may let something slip.”

  He mimed horror. “Oh, you are a dangerous woman, I can tell! Remind me not to cross you!”

  “Do not laugh,” she said, giving every sign of being annoyed.

  “I shall have to keep my ears open at the club. I will study the racing sheets first, of course.”

  “Do you promise to give me a full account?” she asked, her brow furrowed in earnestness.

  “I do hereby so promise.”

  “Good, then.”

  As they pulled up to Wellingham House, Ernest was full of satisfaction. It had been a very entertaining ride. He looked down at her with an upsurge of fondness. “You are a determined little thing.”

  She laughed. “I can use only a woman’s tools, and alas, they are but few.”

  “They may be few, but they are powerful. I think you very clever.”

  “Thank you, Captain. That pleases me, as you knew it would.”

  He laughed. Was she at last becoming a little fond of him?

  Chapter Eleven

  The following day after luncheon, Marianne was feeling quite sunny. She had yet to have a headache and she, Captain Saunders, Beau, and Penelope were sitting down in the apricot sitting room to play a hand of whist.

  The butler announced Mrs. Octavia Langdon. “I do not know a woman of that name,” said Penelope. “I wonder why she is calling.”

  Marianne froze, and the charity she had been feeling toward Captain Saunders went out the window. “She is undoubtedly here to see the captain,” she said.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Penelope.

  Beau looked at his brother with an annoyed frown. “Not the done thing to have your bits of stuff calling on you,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine why she’s calling,” said the captain. “Take her to the drawing room, Wilson. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Standing, he threw Marianne a glance. For a moment, she thought he would say something; then he left.

  This is what comes of letting your guard down, Marianne. He is not for you. You dwell in different worlds. He is a SEA CAPTAIN, and he is on leave. Of course he will seek out willing female companionship.

  Penelope looked at her. “Perhaps it is not what you think,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon, Pen, but I’m afraid it’s exactly as she thinks,” said Beau. “Jolly bad form, too.”

  Gweet appeared in the doorway to the morning room. “I am going to call on Henry Five with Arabella,” she said.

  Perfect. Marianne rose and said, “I shall come with you.”

  As she left the room, she was disconcerted to find that her hands were shaking.

  Never mind. This is good. It is a reminder. You have been going willy-nilly down the wrong road with you
r eyes closed to reality. A snake has just struck.

  “Is anything wrong, Mama?” asked Gweet. “You are as white as anything.”

  “No,” she reassured her daughter. “Of course not.”

  * * *

  During the week that followed, Marianne tried her best to stay out of the way of the captain. Living in the same house made this difficult. She spent a good deal of time in the nursery with Penelope and Sam. His language development was entertaining. He referred to her as “Lady Beveridge.”

  On the third day after Mrs. Langdon’s visit, while working a wooden puzzle with her son, Penelope said, “Beau has taken me to task. I am so dreadfully sorry, Marianne, for throwing you together with his brother and hoping something fine would come of it. Beau says Ernest will never marry as long as he is at sea.”

  “And I will never marry another man who will be away for long spaces of time,” Marianne said. “Do not be concerned. I admit that for a while there I forgot myself, but I had made that decision before I ever met him.”

  “I keep hoping that now that the war is over, Ernest will resign his commission and settle down, but he loves life at sea.”

  “Some men are like that. For Ian, it was Africa. It drew him like the proverbial magnet.”

  “I am certain that Ernest admires you tremendously, but I admit, were I in your shoes, I would not consider him seriously as a husband. I will not even let Beau leave me at Somerset Vale when he comes to Town to do his Foreign Office business, though I prefer the country. I have had to get used to living in London so as not to be separated from him. And, of course, this year we are bringing Arabella out, so there is no chance that we will retire to Somerset until the Season is over.”

  “Do you mind very much?” asked Marianne. She knew that her friend had had reservations about marrying Beau in the first place because she did not see herself fitting in with the ton lifestyle.

  “I am growing a bit more used to going to so many balls and entertainments, but it will never be my favorite thing. It helps a lot that you are visiting.”

  Marianne had almost forgotten Sam and wondered how much of the conversation he had followed. For a two-and-a-half-year-old, he had a large vocabulary.

  “What do you like to do best, Sam?” Marianne asked.