Chapter 6
Nicholas fumbled with the cutlery as Kate strode into the breakfast room, catching him off guard. He hadn’t heard her coming, and she’d usually already had breakfast by the time he ventured from his room. It was strange to see her here now, unless she’d specifically sought him out.
She went to the sideboard, poured herself a cup of tea, and carried it over to sit opposite him. “Good morning.”
He frowned, unsure what to make of this. While he wasn’t such a creature of routine as Theo, life in their family had a certain rhythm to it, and she’d just altered the rhythm in an unforeseen way.
“Good morning,” he replied. “Were you late abed?”
That might explain this deviation from routine.
“No,” she said simply. She glanced at him, dropping her gaze down his torso before lifting it back to his eyes. “You’re dressed very dapperly. Where are you going today?”
He forked a piece of sausage and raised it to his lips. “Blackheart is racing.”
She nodded. “I’m looking forward to attending one of the larger races in summer. Theo promised that we could go.”
That was surprising. His brother had never been one for the races, but perhaps Kate had been curious enough to push him into something new, as she often was. He popped the sausage into his mouth and chewed.
Kate deflated, losing her smile.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
She bit her lip, peering at him from beneath her lashes as if she weren’t sure whether to say what was on her mind.
“Come on.” He motioned for her to get on with it. “I’m listening.”
She sighed. “You always said you wouldn’t marry because you have no inclination and because your mother wouldn’t like you to draw attention to yourself with a society wedding. Do you still feel that way?”
“Yes.”
The answer was automatic, but it was accompanied by a pang in his chest that made him wonder if it was completely true.
It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to fully explore his feelings about marriage. He’d tucked them away into a box of things he needn’t consider and threw away the key.
Now, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d find if he looked inside.
Kate’s eyes dropped. “I thought as much. Sophie isn’t ready to marry yet, either, but her parents have given her until the end of the season to choose a husband, or they’ll take charge of the situation themselves.”
“They’re trying to strong-arm her into marriage?” he demanded, his hands twitching instinctively into fists. Such a thing wasn’t uncommon for aristocratic women, but the idea of someone doing that to Sophie was intolerable.
Kate stared down at her tea. “I’ve spoken to Mother about it.
She thinks that the Duke of Wight’s death has unsettled the Carlisles.
The duke didn’t have an heir, so his title and assets are going to a distant relation.
The Earl of Carlisle also has no son. If he were to pass, his widow and unmarried daughters would rely on the goodwill of the new earl. ”
Understanding dawned, and Nicholas placed his cutlery down. “He’s trying to protect her, but he isn’t going about it the right way.”
“Who’s to say what the right way is?” Kate asked, far more dismissively than he would have expected, considering they were talking about the future of her dearest friend.
“Any option that smothers Sophie’s light is not the right one.” Nicholas straightened his back. “I’d have thought you would know that better than anyone.”
Was it just him or did the curl of her mouth look a little smug?
“We must ensure she marries someone who appreciates her character rather than seeing her liveliness as a flaw,” he continued, uncertain why she didn’t seem as upset as he was.
“I agree.” Kate drank more tea, far too calm for his liking.
Nicholas closed his eyes and mentally compiled a list of eligible gentlemen of his acquaintance. He couldn’t find a single one whom he thought would make a reasonable husband for Sophie.
Were all the men of London utter cads?
Surely there should be at least one worthy of her.
He tried to envision the sort of man Sophie might marry but came up blank. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine her married to anyone.
Opening his eyes, he noticed that Kate was staring at him as if she were waiting for something, but he had no idea what.
“I wish her the best of luck,” he said, wondering why he was so unsettled by the prospect that Sophie may be tied to a husband before the season ended. “Let me know if there’s any way I can help. I want to, but I’ve no clue how.”
Kate looked disappointed.
Determined to put this entire strange exchange to the back of his mind, he focused on finishing his breakfast. Kate excused herself at the same time he did, disappearing deeper into the house while he donned his coat and took a carriage to Hensley Racecourse.
The racecourse was swamped with carriages and open-air phaetons, many gentlemen out to enjoy a sunny day at the races.
Nicholas got his driver to let him out as near to the stable as possible and sent him home.
There was no point in the poor man lingering when Nicholas might well join one of his friends at the Regent today rather than heading home when all was done.
Theo had already assured him that he wouldn’t be at the club, so Nicholas need not worry about that.
Winding through the relaxed, well-dressed throng, he made his way to the stables, where the mood was decidedly more frenetic. Stablehands hurried around, running errands while jockeys and countless others organized the horses.
A tall, slim man with long hair was in the process of braiding Blackheart’s mane while another brushed his coat until he shone.
Nicholas approached the horse front-on and rubbed his muzzle affectionately.
“Sir.” The braider bobbed his head respectfully.
Nicholas inclined his head in return and stroked firmly down Blackheart’s neck. “You are magnificent. You’re strong, and you run like the wind. I know you’ll make me proud.”
Blackheart turned his face into Nicholas’s chest and nuzzled him. Chuckling, Nicholas rewarded him with more attention before backing away to let the others get on with their work.
“Feeling confident, Blackwell?” Lucas Archibald asked as he sauntered over from where he’d been checking on his own horse, Summer Storm.
Nicholas grinned. “I think I’ve got good reason to be.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Archibald folded his arms and leaned against the wall behind them. “Keeping busy?”
“More or less.” Honestly, Nicholas didn’t do a lot with his days. On the few occasions he wished he’d been the viscount rather than Theo, it was only because a title generated plenty enough to keep a man occupied. “How are the wedding arrangements coming along?”
Archibald groaned. “Good God, man. Do you know how much planning is involved in getting married? I made the mistake of inferring to my future mother-in-law that I was interested in the decor—because I didn’t want to seem rude—and now I’m getting quizzed about my opinion on everything from which church to hold the ceremony at, to which glasses to use for lemonade at the wedding breakfast.”
Nicholas covered his mouth to smother a laugh.
Archibald glared. “It’s no joking matter.”
Nicholas pressed his lips together as firmly as he could, but there was no suppressing the smirk that wanted to break free. “I’m sorry, but did no one warn you? It’s hardly a secret how much time and energy these things can consume.”
“For women,” Archibald insisted. “Not men.”
Nicholas laughed again. “If you gave them the idea that you care about the color of ribbons and flowers, that’s your responsibility. How are they to know any better?”
Archibald dropped his face into his hands. “I can’t wait until it’s over and we’re married.”
Nicholas angled himself toward Archibald and propped his hip against the wall, hoping it wouldn’t leave dust on his coat. “You don’t regret deciding to marry, though? Or the bride you’ve chosen?”
Archibald shook his head. “As I said, she’s a sweet girl. She hasn’t become a tyrant in skirts as some prospective brides do. Her mother is exhausting, but that isn’t her fault.”
Nicholas nodded. He well knew that no one could be held responsible for the actions of their parents.
“No, I don’t regret anything,” Archibald concluded. “I’m just eager for the business to be done. I think we’re well suited.”
The jockeys began leading horses toward the corral, so Nicholas pushed off from the wall, and he and Archibald circled around the stables and climbed the stairs to the restricted viewing platform.
Besides the main rotunda, there were two large viewing platforms. One was reserved for patrons who paid an annual stipend to the racing club, and the other was filled by the general public on a first-come-first-served basis.
On days like today, with so many people clamoring for a view, Nicholas was beyond grateful for his privileged position. He and Archibald easily found a small space beside one of the support beams, from which they had a clear view of the racecourse.
The horses lined up, and Nicholas reminded himself to breathe as he waited for the race to begin.
Three, two…
The horses launched into the racecourse in a flurry of hooves and hair, all vying for a prime position. Blackheart remained near the front, although Nicholas lost sight of him as they rounded a corner and got farther away.
When they looped back around, Blackheart was in second place, and he held steady for the duration of the race until the final leg, where he pulled ahead, his jockey flattened to his back.
He crossed the finish line in first place.
Nicholas threw his hands into the air and cheered. Not a very gentlemanly response, perhaps, but his beautiful horse deserved the appreciation.
Archibald cast him a sidelong glance. “I suppose you still aren’t interested in selling Blackheart?”
“No.” Nicholas rubbed his palms together, glad he’d remembered to bring a couple of peppermint sticks as treats for the horse. “His sire is available for breeding, though.”