Chapter 2
Dorian had never liked mornings that began with paperwork.
At Ashford Hall, years of effort had turned the estate into something that functioned, whether he cared for it or not, but there were still hours that demanded his attention in ways even he could not charm away.
That morning, the study felt colder than usual, the fire still catching while a stack of correspondence sat untouched beside his desk.
His solicitor, Mr. Harrington, stood opposite him as though about to deliver terrible news, which he was growing accustomed to.
“I have reviewed the trust terms again,” Harrington said.
Dorian did not look up from the letter in his hand. He was yet to read it, but he preferred to have something in his hands when having such discussions.
“You only reviewed them last month.”
“Yes, Your Grace, and I am reviewing them again because your circumstances have changed.”
That made Dorian glance up.
Harrington adjusted his gloves slightly, a gesture that suggested he had already decided this conversation would not improve with any delay.
Part of Dorian was grateful for it, because he did not wish to have it all dragged out for longer than necessary, but he also wished that such conversations did not have to take place. He was doing what was expected of him, so why would everything not go as planned?
“The estate is under strain,” Harrington continued.
“The racing division, in particular, faces difficulties. The loss of your champion horse has created a gap in both performance and investor confidence that has not been filled, and that new stallion of yours does not seem likely to be a replacement.”
Dorian’s jaw tightened. That horse was already more trouble than he was worth, but he had the qualities of a perfect horse if not for how temperamental he was.
“The investments will recover once the next season begins. Once I have control over Diamond, the investors will be on side once again.”
“That is not the concern. There is a clause, and it is going to become bothersome.”
Of course, there was. There always had to be something.
Dorian was growing weary of there always being a caveat despite his efforts, and yet with this, he knew it was going to be even more difficult than usual.
“Summarize it,” he sighed.
“If you do not establish clear stability in both conduct and household structure within the next year, control over a significant portion of the racing division will pass to the Northbridge branch of your family.”
For a moment, there was no movement in the room at all. Then, Dorian released a short, humorless laugh.
“My cousins,” he said.
“Yes.”
“The ones who think that horses are decorative furniture and gambling is a moral failure.”
Gambling, he believed, was a moral failure when it came to religion, but his cousins were extreme about it. They were terrified that everything they did would send them to hell, and if they were in charge, there was no telling what they would do with what he had built.
Dorian stood slowly and turned away from the desk as if distance might change the meaning of the words. “And what exactly qualifies as stability in their assessment?”
Harrington did not answer immediately. His silence was answer enough.
“Say it.”
“Marriage. A stable household. Something to indicate that you are no longer… volatile.”
A faint, sharp laugh left Dorian before he could stop it.
“Volatile,” he repeated.
Harrington did not correct him.
Dorian walked to the window, looking out across the grounds where the stables stretched in long, ordered lines. From there, everything looked controlled. Everything looked managed. It was a lie that had been easy to maintain until recently.
“You are telling me,” he said, “that I am expected to solve the structural incompetence of my family by marrying someone on their schedule?”
“I am telling you that the legal structure of the estate no longer tolerates delays.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then they will take what they can justify taking. The choice is yours to make, Your Grace, but I would be sensible.”
A heavy silence followed, one that Dorian could not easily escape. It was a simple choice to make—either one option or the other, but neither sounded inviting at all.
He moved back to the desk, picked up one of the letters waiting for him, and read nothing of it in any meaningful way before setting it down again.
“We are done,” he declared.
Harrington blinked once. “Your Grace—”
“There is no need for you to say anything further. I understand the concept.”
Harrington hesitated. “There is also the matter of investor confidence. Several have already expressed concern regarding the future of the stables.”
“Let them leave,” Dorian said.
“That would accelerate the financial instability.”
Dorian’s expression tightened slightly, but his voice remained even. “If they do not have faith in me after I have proven myself, then they are not investors. They are spectators with money, and I do not need them.”
Harrington gave a faint nod, though not in agreement.
Despite his annoyance, Dorian understood that. In truth, he did need the investors, and he had to be careful.
Harrington waited for a moment, then sighed. “There is one more issue.”
Dorian looked at him again, his tiredness now beginning to edge into irritation. “Of course there is.”
“The new horse, Your Grace. Tempest—”
“It is Diamond now. I do not need an animal named after a storm when I am trying to prove that we are stable.”
“Very well. Diamond is proving difficult to manage. There have been several incidents in the yard. Staff injuries have been narrowly avoided, and there are concerns from the trainers that he cannot be prepared for racing under current conditions.”
“I purchased him because I was told he was exceptional,” he said. “I was told he was seen as much.”
“He was.” Harrington nodded. “But that is only in speed, apparently, and not so much in temperament.”
“Then we will fix it. It is an animal, Harrington.”
“This one is not responding to standard methods.”
Dorian walked past him without speaking, out of the study and down the corridor that led toward the stable wing. Harrington followed after a moment of hesitation.
The noise reached them before the stables did. Voices carried in sharper tones than usual, interrupted by the occasional snap of reins or the sudden shift of hooves against wood. By the time they reached the yard, Dorian could already see the disturbance before it was explained.
Diamond stood apart from the others, as seemed to be usual for him, held by two trainers who looked increasingly uncertain of their footing. He pulled against the reins again, violently enough that one of the men nearly lost his grip.
“Hold him steady,” a trainer shouted. “Don’t let him break the line.”
“He’s not listening,” the other answered. “He’s not listening to anyone.”
Dorian stopped at the edge of the yard, his eyes fixed on the animal. The horse struck the ground sharply, his head tossing and his breath harsh and uneven, refusing every attempt to settle him.
“It was fine when it first arrived.” A groom grimaced. “That has certainly changed.”
Dorian did not look away from the horse. “What changed?”
No one answered immediately.
“We do not know, Your Grace.”
Diamond pulled again, harder this time, and the reins snapped taut between the trainers’ hands.
Dorian’s expression did not change, but his focus sharpened.
“Fix it,” he ordered.
The trainers exchanged a look.
“We are trying.”
Dorian’s gaze did not move from the horse. “Then try harder.”
The yard fell into motion again, but they were still struggling. He knew they were trying. Of course, he did. But it was not enough, and he needed them to do something that was enough.
But he was not heartless.
As he looked into the horse’s eyes, he saw it. Fear. Regardless of his behavior, this animal did not belong in the condition it was in.
Despite what the trainers thought, Dorian was quite convinced that there was someone who could be of assistance.
He did not tell anyone where he was going.
The ride to Rosemere House cut through open countryside, the wind sharp against his face, the horse beneath him steady in a way he only wished that Diamond would be. By the time the estate came into view, the choice had already settled into something irreversible.
He may have asked Lady Anne to repeat what she had whispered, but he had heard her.
Rosemere House was quieter than Ashford Hall, not smaller in value so much as different in character. He slowed only at the outer drive before dismounting, ignoring the hesitation of a footman who recognized him immediately.
“Your Grace—” the man began.
“I have not been invited,” Dorian cut him off without looking at him. “But I must enter. I need to speak to Lady Anne.”
“But—”
“If she refuses to see me, I will go, but I think she would like to hear what I have to say. It pertains to that horse of hers.”
At once, there was no defence in the footman’s eyes. He led him inside.
Voices carried before Dorian reached the drawing room. He paused at the threshold when he heard Lady Anne speaking. She was as furious with whoever she was speaking to as she had been with him, perhaps even more so.
“And I have already told you my answer,” she said.
Another voice responded, smooth and self-assured, belonging to a man that Dorian recognized.
Benedict Holloway was a widower of considerable wealth, a practical and ambitious man with whom Dorian did not have any personal qualms.
“You are making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he said. “Your circumstances are not what they once were. Estates do not survive purely on sentiment.”
“Then I am fortunate I am not an estate.”
Dorian stepped inside at that moment.
The room shifted subtly at his arrival. Lady Anne turned first, her eyes narrowing as though he was intruding, which he supposed he was. Holloway straightened slightly, assessing him. Lady Carlisle, whom he had not expected to see, remained still, her attention divided between all three.
Dorian did not acknowledge Holloway immediately, his focus instead remaining on Lady Anne.
“I need to speak with you,” he said.
Lady Anne’s gaze did not soften. “Now is not the time.”
“It concerns your horse,” he added.
That sharpened her attention.
Holloway made a faint, dismissive sound. “Even dukes are now consulting Lady Anne on matters of livestock. This is precisely what I am—”
“I do not recall asking for your opinion,” Dorian said firmly.
Lady Anne stepped forward slightly. “If this is about Tempest, I already know what you are going to say.”
“Then this will be quicker,” Dorian replied.
“I will not go to Ashford Hall,” Lady Anne said, before he could continue. “I have no intention of coming to assist you with my horse.”
Dorian’s jaw tightened. Truly, she was as stubborn as anything.
“You have not heard the request.”
“I have heard enough requests,” Lady Anne scoffed. “They usually mean I am expected to fix something I did not break.”
“The horse is not settling,” Dorian said. “He is getting worse.”
“And you believe that makes it my responsibility? You told me he was yours now, so—”
“I believe he responds to you in a way he does not respond to anyone else.”
Lady Anne softened at that.
It was not a difficult thing to confess, for it was simply the truth, but it seemed to matter a great deal to her.
Dorian took a step closer to her, hoping she would not retreat into herself once again. “I am not asking you because it is somehow convenient for me to do so. I am telling you he is becoming unmanageable.”
“And I am telling you I will not be part of your racing problems,” Lady Anne insisted.
“You are the only reason he calms down.”
“Then you should ask yourself why that is,” she sniped.
Before anything else could be said, a shout came from outside.
Dorian went to the window to see none other than Diamond running across the open fields while being chased down by several servants.
Lady Anne joined him, but only for a moment before she ran out of the room. Dorian followed her without hesitation.
Outside, the yard had already given way to chaos. Diamond was visible across the open fields, black against the pale grass and running without direction. Two stablehands were still shouting after him, but the distance was widening too quickly for it to matter.
Lady Anne, however, did not call out. She simply moved toward him.
Dorian caught up to her as they crossed the yard.
“He will not stop for you at this distance,” he said sharply.
“He will,” Lady Anne replied without slowing down.
They reached the open fields where the land began to fall away toward the cliffs. The wind was stronger there, and the horse’s panic grew as the terrain changed.
“Lady Anne,” Dorian said, his voice tighter, “if he reaches the edge—”
“He will not,” Lady Anne assured him.
Then she stepped forward.
Dorian stopped. He watched her cross the distance without hesitation, moving into the space between the horse and the cliff as though the risk itself was non-existent.
Diamond turned sharply, his hooves striking the uneven ground, his eyes once again wide with fear.
Lady Anne stopped a short distance away and spoke softly, “Easy.”
The horse hesitated. The panic did not vanish, but it fractured, losing its momentum.
Lady Anne moved closer and raised her hand. When she touched his neck, the change was immediate. At once, there was recognition. Diamond lowered his head slightly, his breath still uneven but no longer ragged, and the fight in him loosened before giving way.
Dorian did not move. He did not speak. He simply watched.
As he did, something that had been forming since the first time he had met Lady Anne settled into place. The horse did not simply respond to her; it belonged with her in a way he had never seen in his life.
And he had separated them.
Lady Anne kept her hand on Diamond a moment longer before turning her head. Her eyes met Dorian’s across the field, and he did not look away. The thought had already formed fully, with no hesitation left in it.
He did not simply need her help. He needed her at Ashford Hall.
For the first time ever, that idea no longer felt like a walk to the gallows.
Not for him, at least.