The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley (4 page)

“Just promise me you won’t let anyone other
than Bruce ride Patriot.”

His brows dropped sharply. “I’m sorry, that
isn’t possible. He didn’t survive his illness.”

“What? But he was fine that morning. Did the
doctor say what it was?”

“The constable is still investigating. But
I’m certain it’s nothing you might catch.”

That hadn’t crossed her mind. Aside from
feeling she’d lost a friend, she now had to worry they would find
someone Patriot was comfortable with. And she wouldn’t be there to
help him adjust. She was stuck here in London.

After retrieving her pelisse, hat and
gloves, Joanna stormed out the front door where the groom, Wallis,
waited with a pair of horses. Just seeing Patriot awaiting her
lifted some of her frustration. The handsome black towered over
her, even though she was rather tall herself, but he was like a
kitten when she sat on his back. That was another area of potential
problem in finding a husband. Few men would allow their wives to
ride stallions. Once she married, she’d not be able to ride him,
however, since he belonged to her brother.

With Wallis following, she set out for Hyde
Park. Unlike most runners, Patriot had been trained to accept both
a lady’s saddle and a man’s. Pressing her crop against Patriot’s
right side as she rode, she could mimic riding astride. It was more
awkward to ride that way, but it was a small price to pay to be
able to ride him where others might be shocked at her riding
astride.

Hopefully, Rotten Row would be empty at this
early hour, with gentlemen of the
ton
likely sleeping off
last night’s revelry. While in London, Joanna was unable to let
Patriot have his head and she feared he would lose some of the
speed they worked so hard to gain. At the end of the week, Robert
would take him back to Newmarket for the Second Spring Meeting. She
would follow a day later, if he allowed her to attend, making
faster time in a carriage than the walking pace the race horses
traveled.

A swelling in her throat threatened her
breath when she considered the training of her beloved horse was
most likely to end soon. She’d done all she could. She would have
to be content to watch him from the sidelines with her brother.

The trails of Hyde Park were occupied by
nannies and dog walkers, their charges doing their best to run
wild. Joanna kept Patriot at a calm pace, only urging him faster
when they reached Rotten Row. She allowed him to trot the length of
the path before turning him. As she again approached Park Lane, she
heard shouts above the thundering of hooves.

A handsome bay stallion raced past her in
the opposite direction. A block behind him, a man in riding dress
ran after him. Without hesitation, Joanna urged Patriot around and
took chase. She clenched the pommel tightly with her bent leg, and
pressed her crop firmly against Patriot’s side. Holding her horse’s
mane, she bent as low over his neck as possible while sitting
aside.

She gave Patriot his head and he lengthened
his stride, slowly gaining on the other horse, whose course kept
shifting around the traffic. Ahead of them, men shouted to clear
the road for the runaway. Joanna waited until she was beside the
stallion’s head then reached for his reins while speaking to him in
calming tones. Her left leg trembled with the tension of staying
mounted. The other horse shied away, his eyes wide with fear.

Joanna nearly fell, but caught herself in
time. Patriot continued to keep pace with the bay, and she kept
talking to it. Seeing a familiar street corner ahead, she guided
Patriot toward the right, forcing the bay in that direction. The
horses slowed slightly, and she heard Wallis’ mount in the distance
behind them. Somehow, she managed to make the turn onto the narrow
side street, which was a dead end.

The bay slowed drastically in the crush of
street peddlers, carts and shoppers. Joanna grabbed his reins,
encouraging him to a walk. He whinnied and shook his head, but his
ears responded to her voice. His eyes narrowed almost
imperceptibly. Whatever had spooked him was now a distant memory.
Patriot sidestepped beneath her, vocal in his displeasure at the
other stallion’s presence. “Easy, boys, easy. There’s no mare here
to challenge for.”

She got the horses turned and met Wallis at
the corner. The groom was panting as hard as his mount. “My lady!
His lordship would ‘ave my ‘ide for lettin’ you ride off like that.
It’s a wonder you weren’t thrown.”

She handed off the stallion’s reins,
noticing the deep crease between Wallis’s brows before she put some
distance between the two stallions. Some years ago, he’d told her
that more than half of his grey hairs were attributable to her
escapades on horseback. He no longer spoke to her that way since
her come out, but the fondness he held for her shone in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Wallis, but I knew Bertie would not carry you fast
enough to catch the bay. I had to ride after him before he hurt
himself.”

“A runaway horse is
not
sumthin’ what
should concern a lady. What will his lordship say? What will the
Dowager Countess say?”

They turned the horses back toward Rotten
Row while Wallis lectured her in his fatherly way. She bit her
tongue when she wanted so badly to defend herself and her love for
speed. Riding fast was not ladylike. Defending oneself to the
servants was even less so, even one who overstepped his place out
of concern for her well-being.

The horseless rider she’d seen earlier now
trotted up on foot, obviously winded. He grinned at Wallis and
reached for his horse’s bridle. “My thanks, good man.”

Wallis leaned forward with the reins. “It’s
milady you should be thanking, milord.”

Something was familiar about the finely
dressed man, and Wallis seemed to know him. She couldn’t quite
place the handsome face, but was certain she’d seen him quite
recently.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. “Ah, my
lady, then. I am much in your debt. Triton was not of a mind to
take a leisurely stroll this morning.”

“Fernleigh’s Triton?”

“Yes, the same. You’ve heard of him?”

“Heard of him? I’ve seen him race.” She
laughed, now realizing she must be speaking to Lord Bridgethorpe’s
son. She looked again at the large bay with no distinguishable
markings. “Had I known it was him I chased, I might have let him
escape. We lost to him at Newmarket.”

“We? Forgive me, my lady, but while you look
familiar, I cannot place you. I’m certain I’ll know your husband’s
name, if we are competitors.”

“I speak of my brother Northcotte’s horse.”
She patted Patriot’s neck and tipped her head to one side, holding
back a smile. He was the man who’d beguiled her in the stands.
“This is Patriot, who, I believe, just ran down your horse, Lord
Knightwick.”

Recognition registered on his face before he
schooled his expression into a mask of politeness. “Of course. But,
I am not Knightwick. You find his brother, Lumley, in your debt.
You are Lady Joanna?” He inclined his head, eyeing her with a cool
gaze.

She nodded, quelling a shiver, trying to
determine what she’d said that made all the warmth flee from his
manner. Surely, the man was not so competitive he couldn’t hold a
casual conversation over horseflesh. Perhaps it was the thought of
a woman rider overtaking his winning stallion. She was suddenly
grateful to have met him in passing on the street and not in a
ballroom where she might have considered him an eligible match.
Their families were equal in status. His father’s stables bred some
of the top runners until recently. Her own father had raced a few
good runners before his death.

Thank the heavens she saw the real man
before she fell victim to that charming smile and rakishly wavy
brown hair that made her fingers itch to touch.

He bowed stiffly. “Please offer your mother
my belated condolences. Your father was generous with his knowledge
at the track. He is missed. I won’t keep you from your outing.
Again, I thank you for catching my horse. Good day.”

With that, he mounted up and rode off
without looking back.

Joanna watched him go. Such an odd exchange
of words. She must remember to ask Robert what he knew of the man,
to find some answers to this puzzlement.

Chapter Four

David willed his legs to relax, to keep from
sending the wrong signal to Triton. His horse walked calmly back
through Hyde Park, but David’s thoughts still raced. How had he not
recognized that horse?

He grunted.

He knew damned well how. He had eyes for
nothing more than Lady Joanna. He’d heard her name mentioned as one
of the fairer of the second-Season hopefuls on the market, but
she’d been just another pretty face when he saw her at the race
meeting. Now that he’d seen her up close, the fact she’d not been
called an Incomparable made him wonder what the other young ladies
looked like.

But her beauty was second in his thoughts,
or should have been. Seeing her brought her brother to mind, and
the dead groom at the Newmarket stables. David had heard there’d
been no sign of injury on the body, so they were investigating the
apparent illness he’d suffered that morning. The fact the groom
worked for Northcotte didn’t ease the concern David and Knightwick
had for the safety of their own horses.

As he considered possible reasons someone
would want to kill a groom, David paid little attention to where he
guided Triton, and found himself in Shepherd’s Market where his
friend, Laurence Pierce, had rooms. Just the man he needed to
see.

The portly butler led David to the library
to wait for Pierce, who stumbled in with his hair freshly combed
and his face still puffy from sleep, fussing with the knot of his
cravat. “Good God, Lumley. Why don’t you sleep half the day like
normal men?”

David chuckled. “Too much time in the
country. I’m up with the cows most days. You would be too, if you
stayed out of Lady Kemberton’s bed.”

Pierce leaned back in his chair and propped
his feet on the hassock, throwing an arm over his eyes. “And why
would I want to do that? Why would any man forego her warm, plump
pillows for a cold, hard mattress?” He sighed, a sound more tired
than wistful.

“Far be it from me to suggest a man give up
pleasure while he can take it.” David sharpened and aimed his barb.
“All too soon one might find oneself too old for that type of
entertainment.”

Pierce peered out from beneath the brown
sleeve of his coat. “There is only a year between us, old man, so
any evil you wish upon me might soon fall upon yourself.”

A footman entered laden with a coffee tray,
which he set on the low table between the gentlemen. Pierce poured
one black cup for David, then loaded another cup with as much milk
as coffee.

David took a sip of the hot brew. “What do
you know of Northcotte?”

“Skinny lad, a few years ahead of us at
Oxford, was he not?”

“I was hoping for more recent news, say the
last four years?”

“He came into his title in ’08, as I recall.
But he’s been the main force behind his family’s stud for longer
than that.” Pierce’s right eyebrow rose. “Is that why you’re here,
now? You’ve always suspected him, or his father, in Zephyr’s death.
What have you learned?”

“I haven’t learned anything, but there were
some odd goings on at Newmarket, and I saw his three-year-old in
Town this morning.” David went on to explain his meeting with Lady
Joanna.

Pierce barked with laughter before David
could finish. “You were rescued by the fair Lady Joanna on Rotten
Row? Perhaps I should rise with the cows, if that’s when the best
entertainment is to be found. This will be on all the wagging
tongues at Lady Henderson’s ball this evening.”

“I was not rescued. A cat darted out from
beneath a parked cart and startled Triton, causing me to lose my
seat. He got a head start whilst I was lying on my arse wondering
why the stars were still out. It could have happened to
anyone.”

Pierce choked out his next words between
guffaws. “And how lucky for you an expert horseman—er,
horsewoman—was nearby. Triton might have run all the way to
Newmarket without you.”

“I am delighted to have provided you with
this morning’s merriment. If you are quite through making sport,
I’ve more news. The dead groom was supposed to ride the horse Lady
Joanna was on in Hyde Park.”

Pierce’s mustache twitched. “The lady rode a
stallion and overtook Triton? Really, Lumley, it’s too early for
these tales. Next you’ll tell me she rode astride for all the
ton
to see.”

David searched his memory. “No, she sat
aside. I realize how unbelievable that is, but it’s beside the
point. Her horse is the point. Or the groom who was supposed to
ride it.”

“I’m not following. What does one have to do
with the other? Lady, horse, groom? And why am I losing sleep over
all of it?”

“It’s too odd that it’s Northcotte’s groom
who was killed, when he’s the man I suspect was behind the other
poisonings.” David tapped his fingernail on his cup, then set it
aside to keep his fidgeting from being obvious.

“Are you certain this groom was
poisoned?”

“No, they haven’t reported anything beyond
finding the body, and since I was at the race meeting, I knew about
that.”

Pierce stretched and yawned loudly. “Perhaps
it’s my lack of sleep speaking, but I don’t understand why the man
would kill his own groom. Surely not to throw suspicion from
him.”

“I doubt that would be the reason. But the
boy might have known too much. Or he could have accidentally
ingested the poison. The times before, the horses’ water buckets
were tainted, so anyone drinking from them took ill to varying
degrees.”

“Do you intend to speak to the constable
about your theories?”