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“Let’s see,” said the marquess.
Belvis brought Flying Davie to the stall. They placed straw inside the stall and ran a wooden plank on an incline to the narrow entrance.
“Now, my fine fellow, your carriage awaits,” said Belvis.
Flying Davie regarded the small, enclosed space, and balked.
Hawk watched his wife regale the stallion with tales of how well-treated he was—like an emperor, indeed—and how he would be very well-rested when he arrived at Newmarket. He wasn’t particularly surprised when Flying Davie, giving a final snort, dociley entered. His only sign of wariness was his twitching tail.
Frances beamed at the assembled company. “Flying Davie will win everything in sight,” she said.
“There’s a race near York next week,” said Belvis. “We shall try Davie there.”
Four days later, no one was more surprised than Edmund to see Lady Constance emerge from her traveling carriage in front of Desborough Hall.
“Connie!” Beatrice fairly shrieked, and darted down the front steps. “How delighted I am that you could come to visit! Such a bore, but you will add excellent ton to our group!”
The women embraced, Lady Constance looking a bit bewildered by this effusive greeting.
“What the devil!”
Edmund turned to see Hawk staring aghast at Lady Constance. “I am surprised myself, Hawk. I believe it is Bea’s doing.” He shrugged.
Constance was feeling altogether out of sorts. She had received Beatrice’s scribbled, urgent message and dutifully, hope in her breast, come to Yorkshire. She was beginning to think it was all a mistake, when she spotted Philip standing beside Edmund. She’d missed him dreadfully. She gave him a tentative wave, but was drawn up by Beatrice. “I am so pleased you came, Connie,” Beatrice whispered meaningfully in her ear. “The little nobody he married is perfectly dreadful, you will see. He simply needs to be reminded that everyone important in London would laugh behind their hands at him were he to introduce her to society. Seeing you, my love, will certainly open his eyes.”
Open his eyes to do what? Constance wondered, beginning to think her coming here was a vast and very stupid mistake.
Hawk greeted her kindly, seeing no other course of action. His father as well climbed onto his gallant charger and charmed the young lady. She was, after all, the daughter of one of his oldest enemies, old nibble-headed Lumley.
Beatrice fluttered about her friend, quitting her only when Edmund said with sincere threat, “I would speak to you, my love. Now. Constance will be just fine for the moment.”
Beatrice shot him a look, but dutifully followed him into the gentlemen’s smoking room.
“Why, Bea?” Edmund asked without preamble.
“You said it yourself, Edmund. Philip is refusing to sell to us—you—because of her. Once Connie charms him again, he will leave her here and return to London. He will quickly lose interest in all his newly discovered projects.”
To her relief, Edmund looked very thoughtful. “I believe,” he said finally, “that you are quite right, my dear. Your method is unsound, but your reasoning ... yes, your reasoning I applaud. At least I think I do. I shall give it further thought.”
Edmund and Beatrice joined the company in the drawing room some minutes later. Constance had made the acquaintance of Frances Hawksbury and wanted to take to her heels. A pity that her horses were blown. She wanted to kill Beatrice.
She was saying to Hawk in a very clear voice, “I trust I have not disaccommodated you, my lord. I was journeying to Escrik to see my Uncle George and decided—quite a spur-of-the-moment decision actually—to stop by and say hello and offer my congratulations both to you and to your wife.”
Beatrice looked at her with new respect. She’d firmly believed Connie to be something of a stupid block.
The marquess grinned behind his hand. Uncle George be damned! The fellow had been underground these many years, shot in a duel by his mistress’s lover.
Hawk merely smiled, and Frances, not realizing anything, offered more tea and cakes to their unexpected guest.
Beatrice, loath to relinquish all her plans, turned her attention to Frances and said with great kindness, “You know, Frances, Philip and Connie have known each other—so very well—for the longest time now.”
“Actually only about eight months,” said Hawk.
“So friendly you have been!” Beatrice pursued.
“I as well,” said Edmund unexpectedly. “Tell us the news from London, Connie.”
“Well,” Constance began, “you simply wouldn’t believe the spectacle Lord Mallory is making of himself with Lady Lawton! ‘Tis most disgraceful and Lady Mallory is creating quite a fuss!”
