Michael straightened. “True. I only know what I see and hear.”
“I am not to be trifled with.”
“So I hear. Thus, my ‘surrender.’”
The smirk returned. “That was merely an acknowledgment of the superior player in this game. You are not worthy of her.”
“True. And you think you are.”
Red flushed into Wykeham’s face, and his words snapped. “I am a duke! You are nothing but a rake. A failure on all accounts!” With that, he pivoted and moved away, the cane tapping ominously as he walked.
“What a complete arse.”
Michael jerked as Embleton stepped out of the next stall. The two grooms gave quick bows. Michael tipped his head. “Your Grace.”
Embleton sniffed. “Odious fool.” He stepped toward the gelding and slid his right hand along the horse’s neck and withers. The young horse calmed even more under his touch and turned his head to brush against the duke. “You do what you can to purchase my horses, and I will do what I can to prevent him from doing so. Especially this one.” He glanced at the groom, who nodded. “It is almost time, gentlemen.”
*
Monday, 22 August 1825
Beckcott Hall
Half past eleven
Clara stared atthe direction in her hand, a barely legible scrawl. “I cannot—” She looked up at Radcliff, who hovered at the side of Clara’s escritoire. “Where is this?”
“Bloomsbury, my lady. Quite respectable, I assure you.”
“I—I am sure. But—Radcliff, I cannot read this.”
The maid’s face flushed. “Oh. Sorry, my lady.” She snatched the small piece of paper from Clara’s hand. “My brother—he is not—he’s a farrier, my lady.”
Clara forced herself to remain calm. “Of course. He would not have much occasion to write anything.”
“No, my lady. He does know how to read and write—”
“I’m sure he does.”
Radcliff backed toward the bedchamber door. “I will rewrite—”
“What time?”
“Half past eight. Cook said the countess has called for supper at seven tonight so all can rest early.”
Clara nodded. They had not gathered for a family meal in several days. She had not seen her father in almost a week. “Mother is going to bed earlier and earlier these days, as is my father.”
Radcliff paused a long moment before giving a brief nod.
Suspicion reared in Clara’s gut. “Radcliff? What do you know?”
The maid took a step away. “It is not my place.” She turned toward the door.
“Hold!”
Radcliff stopped, her back stiff. Clara went to her, stepping around the maid to face her. “Radcliff. Do not deceive me. Tell me what you know.”
The younger woman trembled. “My lady—” She stopped, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Dr. Oakley—”
