Chapter Seven
After Samuel escorted Clarice back to the ballroom and begged off, he left without so much as a by-your-leave to Greyson or Hunter.
He hailed a hackney and headed to Brooks’s for a nightcap or two or three.
What did it matter how many he had? He’d tried drinking Clarice out of his mind for years, and he never succeeded.
Perhaps he would visit Tattersall’s in the morning to see the display of fine horses for sale.
Sundays were always a good day to see the new horseflesh available for sale come Monday.
Not that he was in the market for a new thoroughbred.
He’d had as many as six at one time, but he only had two now, and both of them were descendants of the Darley Arabian.
His horses, Zeus and Clover, were racing in the upcoming season.
He had more than he could juggle between that and his commitment to his title and lands.
Since this was his first season on the racing circuit, he wouldn’t miss a race or neglect caring for his horses.
But after the season ended, he had several difficult decisions to make.
Did he hire someone to oversee his two thoroughbreds while he focused on the dukedom?
Did he speak to Greyson and Hunter and ask them to invest in the stud farm?
If they refused, would he be able to drum up another one or two investors?
Of course, most of these decisions revolved around how well Zeus and Clover did in the upcoming races.
Meanwhile, in a sennight, he would travel to Newmarket. He was a new member of The Jockey Club, and he needed to prepare for the first race at Newmarket.
Was a week enough time to smooth things over with Clarice?
He needed to make his intentions known quickly before he lost her again to some other gentleman.
He needed to explain what had happened to him and why he had never come for her.
She must have believed he didn’t love her enough to rescue her.
Which was the farthest thing from the truth.
He wished he could go back to that night and do things differently.
Could he have reached her another way? What if he had contacted her maid for help sneaking her out?
He had gone over these different scenarios for years, but the reality was, you couldn’t change the past. It was what it was.
Only the future could be shaped, molded, and controlled into what you wanted it to be.
Well . . . to a certain extent, it could.
Nothing was etched in stone until it happened.
He knew for certain now that his love for Clarice had never died, only been dormant.
When they were in the private salon, his heart had decided to come out of hibernation and overflow with his long-suppressed love.
It had taken all his strength and willpower not to pull her into his arms. If he had, he never would have been able to let go. But before he declared himself to her, or kissed her, or showed her any physical affection at all, they needed to have a serious conversation about the past.
He finally signaled the waiter for a drink. “A glass of brandy and leave the bottle.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
No matter how much it would hurt her to hear about her father, she needed to know.
She needed the knowledge now that she had entered Society more fully, so her father could never manipulate her again.
She was a grown woman and a widow, free to do as she chose.
Her father truly had no control over her.
Yet somehow, Samuel didn’t think that would stop the man from using his daughter to get what he wanted.
“So this is where you ran off to,” said Hunter with a knowing smirk as he sat in the chair beside him and signaled the waiter. “A glass, please.” When the empty crystal tumbler arrived, he poured from Samuel’s bottle of brandy without so much as another word.
“I’ll have you know, I didn’t run. I walked, hired a hack, and sat my sorry arse down for some peace and quiet. That is, until you showed up.”
“Well, hold your horses, because Greyson’s heading this way.”
“I’m so glad we are creatures of habit,” said Greyson as he walked over.
“I almost went to White’s, but I knew better.
” He signaled the waiter, “A glass.” Once again, Samuel watched as a friend poured from his bottle of brandy, which was slowly disappearing.
Greyson took a deep swallow and exhaled.
“Nice and smooth going down. How did it go with Lady Chesterfield?”
So much for peace and quiet. Downing his glass, he refilled it and held it in his hands, staring into the amber liquid, hoping to find answers about his future.
But, alas, he wasn’t a fortune teller. Not that he believed in such things.
Still, wouldn’t it be nice to see something of his future?
Something to give him hope that Clarice and he would marry and have a family, as they should have years ago.
“The conversation was polite and strained until the end, when we discussed hating each other. Which neither of us does. Hate the other, that is.”
“Did you explain what happened that night and that you didn’t abandon her?” Greyson asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” Hunter added, “did you?”
Samuel couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing more from the relief of tension coiled tight inside him than from anything humorous. “You should see your faces; you’d think you each had something to lose.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Greyson said as he raised his ankle to rest on the opposite knee.
“Lady Chesterfield introduced me to her friend, the Marchioness of Rutherford. She is the woman I kept staring at across the ballroom. She is also a widow. I’m going to visit her tomorrow, and it would be good for me if you and the marchioness were on friendly terms again. ”
He snorted as he took a sip of his drink. “I want that. However, it’s not going to happen unless we talk about the past and make peace with it.”
“I know. Believe me,” Greyson added. “I want nothing more than for you two to reunite and enjoy a long, prosperous life together.”
“Me too,” Samuel muttered as his stomach turned. Not so much from thinking about Clarice, but because he had eaten very little today and was starting to feel the effects of the brandy. Still, he couldn’t get up and leave.
Hunter asked, “Are you going to Tattersall’s Repository in the morning?”
“What a stupid question to ask,” Greyson said with a smirk. “Whenever Stanton is in London, he visits nearly every day, regardless of whether there is any action happening. He has become quite friendly with the owner, Richard, who shares the same last name as the establishment.”
“We are not chums or friends. He likes that I visit and we have some fine horseflesh conversations. And he knows that when I’m in the market for new horses, I will always purchase from him. He sold me Zeus and Clover before he showed them to anyone else, and for that I’m grateful.”
“Are you excited and ready for the racing circuit?” Hunter asked.
“If being excited means you want to lose your dinner when you think about it, then yes. Once I arrive at Newmarket, I hope my nerves will settle down. As for Zeus, he’s in his prime and ready.
He was bred for racing, and I have faith in him.
And Clover gives her all every time she hits the track.
I just hope Mr. Tobias Burns, my jockey, is ready. ”
Hunter and Greyson shared a look, and Samuel prepared himself for what was coming.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Greyson began.
“Yes, you do.”
“Well, you’re right. I’m just worried. When you inherited the dukedom, it wasn’t that solvent. Which makes me wonder how you’re managing all the costs of owning and racing two thoroughbreds.”
“I’m managing fine. No need to be concerned.” He wasn’t ready to get into a conversation with Greyson and Hunter about money, his thoroughbreds, or anything racing related until the time was right.
Hunter said, “Come. Let us drop you home.”
Standing up and swaying, Samuel grabbed the chair to steady himself and mumbled, “I believe I’ve overindulged.”
The three friends left Brooks’s and headed home in Greyson’s carriage.