“And if he throws me over because of that?”
“Clara!”
The dowager paused, then slowly smiled. “If he does, you write to me immediately. I will take care of it. You will not be ruined just because he is a fool.” The smile turned sly. “I may no longer be the duchess, but after forty years, I have learned a thing or two about how Society—and my son—works.”
A knock on the door got their attention, and it opened to reveal the butler, who looked at the dowager expectantly.
“Ah.” She pushed forward on the settee. “It is time for Clementina’s walk. Please see the ladies out first.”
Honora and Clara set aside their cups and plates and stood as the dowager did.
“I am afraid I must rest.” With that she stood and waited as Clementina hopped to the floor. They both tottered toward the butler, who accepted the dog’s lead from his mistress, then turned his gaze back on Honora and Clara as the dowager headed down the hall.
He held one arm wide. “My ladies.”
They left the room, silent until they settled in the carriage waiting for them outside. As the door closed, Honora muttered, “How extraordinary.”
Clara felt numb, overwhelmed. But as she pondered over the dowager’s last words, which at first had seemed supportive, an underlying message suddenly rang clear.
She believes he will throw me over. She does not think he will marry me.
And Clara was not sure if she felt relieved... or devastated. She did know one thing for certain. She needed to see Michael Ashton.
Soon. If Radcliff’s plan works... soon.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday, 22 August 1825
Tattersall’s
Half past ten in the morning
The cacophony ofTattersall’s began long before they reached the actual facility. The roads heading to the auction house had been crammed with people and horses for some time, and Michael fought the urge to flee down a diverging road toward Old Smithfield Market, where other livestock was bought and sold, including horses of less worthy lines and ponies perfect for a boys’ school. More than once, Robert, riding at his side in a kit of purple and lavender, had declared, somewhat unprompted, “Do not think of it!”
No explanation of the words was needed. Whether his brother meant strong drink, a solid retreat, or Lady Clara Durham, Michael knew Robert meant for him to stay focused on the task at hand. But the crowd of magnificent beasts and highly skilled riders on the increasingly crowded road only served to remind Michael that he was far out of his depth here, more so than even at the most elaborate of Society ballrooms.
The thought terrified him.
Not that this was his first trip to Tattersall’s. Philip had brought his sons to Tattersall’s even as children. And then, as now, Michael had ridden with his father and brothers, and he had to admit they made for an impressive entourage. Philip led the group on a gray stallion of Arabian descent, a gift from his father-in-law. Philip’s large frame on a horse that stood almost eighteen hands tall presented a regal bearing, resplendent in an emerald-green topcoat and hat of brushed silk, gold cravat and cream waistcoat with gold embroidery. Thomas, in indigo and silver, rode at Philip’s side on the ebony stalwart Maximilian, his preferred mount for many years. Whitby Little and the Ashton House groom, who would lead the three horses Michael planned to buy back to their own stables, followed them. The horses, the stable boys, and the grooms bore the green and gold livery of the Kennet duchy.
Michael straightened in the saddle, trying to find courage in the family around him.
On his previous trips, however, he had been an observer, a boy fascinated by the process and exhilarated by the presence of so many horses of fine quality and distinction. Never before had so much been at risk. Michael knew he had only one chance to make an impression, to reveal to nobility and gentry what he had to offer. If this did not go well, he could struggle for months to bring recognition and favor to the fledgling company. His two-month window to persuade the Earl of Beckcott to consider him for Lady Clara’s hand would slam shut.
The raucous noise of the crush escalated as they closed in on Hyde Park Corner, and Michael had to focus hard to fight both his anxiety and his abrupt craving for drink. Copper, who had been placid so far, picked up on his nervousness and pranced suddenly to the left. It was exactly the rush of motion Michael needed to ground himself, and he used his knees and a soft pull on the reins to bring Copper back in line behind his father. With Copper settling, Michael stroked his neck.
“Excellent move, Ashton.”
Michael looked left, and the Duke of Embleton moved up beside him. “Thank you. It has been some time since Copper has been in this large a gathering.”
The duke nodded. “Stallions can be a bit unpredictable, even well-trained ones. But you sit him as if you were born to it.”
Michael could not help but smile. “If you listen to my father, that is an absolute truth. According to him, the first time I was on a horse, they had to secure me with my leading strings.”
Embleton chuckled and nodded to the rear. “So you have major plans with these three?”
Michael twisted in the saddle. The two geldings, one a white-gray and one a bay with a coat as rich as Copper’s, trailed behind the duke’s entourage, led by two grooms; the black stallion brought up the rear. The geldings walked easily alongside each other, but seemed nervous, their heads jerking occasionally. “Have you raced them?”
