Page 19 of The Trials of Alaric
That meant Versey led off, and despite Dhone’s best efforts, he kept the lead along the road that led intoBailecashtel—Castletown, in English.
Two other riders joined them, leaping a hedge from the left. Fairweather and Howard. They thundered into town, jostling for position, but a child darted out of a house after Versey had passed, and Fairweather and Alaric pulled up to avoid him. Howard put his horse into a leap without slowing, the horse’s hooves clearing the little head by fractions of an inch.
He looked over his shoulder as he rode to see that a woman ran out of the house to retrieve the boy, who was laughing as if it had been a game. Fairweather and Alaric raced the few hundred feet to the square, Alaric just in the lead as they arrived. Alaric all but fell from his horse but remained conscious enough to praise Dhone for his magnificent efforts. Versey hurried to his aid, and so did Lady Beatrice, but Alaric assured them he would be fine if he could just sit down for a minute.
One of Claddach’s grooms led Dhone away, and Colyn materialized from somewhere to offer him a shoulder. Lady Beatrice accompanied them to a chair, and Alaric sank into it with a thankful sigh. “We are waiting for the rest of the riders,” she told him. “And for the race stewards and others to report to Papa so he can decide the winner.”
Alaric had lost. He knew that. But he could hope he’d garnered enough credit to carry him through. He’d lost the archery, too.Please God, may I do better in some of the other trials. Especially now, as he beheld Lady Beatrice, he wanted to win the right to propose. He did not think she was impervious to him.
She was not fussing over him. She was chatting to the other ladies. But he caught the glances she aimed his way every minuteor so, just checking on his welfare without being obtrusive or embarrassing.
He wanted her. More, perhaps, than was good for him. He was, he realized, seriously in danger of falling in love. Or perhaps it was already too late.
*
Bea had along wait. Papa had people arriving every few minutes to give him information about the gentlemen and their conduct. In terms of who had arrived in the square, Lord Lucas Versey held first place. Beverley had arrived second, coming into the square only a few paces before Mr. Howard. Beverley was not on Looby, but on another horse. Looby, it turned out, had arrived at the stables riderless and appearing quite pleased with himself, long before any of the other horses or riders. The stableboys had groomed him and put him out to pasture, and then set about informing the rest of the household staff that the mischievous horse had come in first, though not as Lord Beverley had expected, much to their amusement.
Beverley told his mother that he’d borrowed another horse from someone who was watching the race. “He was reluctant to lend it to me, Mama, but I informed him that I was the earl’s nephew, and he would be rewarded for his trouble. Though I don’t know how a great gawk of a farmer had such a fine horse.”
Oh dear. Bea recognized the horse, which belonged to Viscount Stowell’s son, Hugh. How Hugh must be laughing at Beverley’s mistake!
Mr. Redhaven was fourth into the square, and then Mr. Fairweather. Misters Maddrell and Whittington arrived together some ten minutes later, and Mr. Meadowsweet was not far behind them. They were waiting for Sir Henry Dashwood, and his mother was becoming anxious.
Bea was more concerned about Mr. Redhaven. He had been deathly pale when he rode in and needed Colyn Mugtin’s help to stay upright and to walk to a seat. He was recovering, though. He had some color back in his cheeks and no longer looked as if he were about to swoon.
At last Sir Henry arrived, in a farmer’s gig, with his horse tied to the back. The horse was limping. “Oh, poor Henry,” said his mother. “His horse has let him down. Perhaps it was unfit when he took it out.”
Mama was offended. “Claddach would not offer an unfit horse to a guest,” she told Lady Dashwood.
“I daresay the poor beast was injured in the chase,” Aunt Joan commented. “I understand that these steeplechases are hard on both men and horses.”
“That is true,” Lady Dashwood decided. “Indeed, I was very concerned poor Henry had been injured. I must go and speak to him. Lady Joan, Lady Claddach, you cannot know how we mothers of sons suffer. Our boys will do these dangerous things, is that not so, Mrs. Howard?”
She bustled off to where Sir Henry was explaining to anyone who would listen about the stupidity of his horse and his own superior riding skills, which had saved him from a nasty tumble.
Papa finished conferring with his stewards and stepped up onto the platform. Everyone stopped talking to hear what he had to say. “Here are the results. Lord Beverley and Sir Henry Dashwood failed to finish the course on the horse with which they started, an automatic disqualification. Five gentlemen—those two, and also Mr. Howard, Mr. Fairweather and Mr. Meadowsweet—are disqualified for failing to comply with the rules, as laid out by me at the beginning of this trial. I am happy to meet with each gentleman individually to explain which rule they infringed and how.”
There was a buzz of comment, but the crowd hushed again when he held up his hand. “The winner is Lord Lucas Versey. Mr. Redhaven was second. Congratulations to those gentlemen and to all who successfully completed the course.”
Alaric had his hand pumped by an ecstatic Versey and then by various others. He had lost interest in the whole event. He just wanted to go back to the castle and go to bed, and when Colyn came to tell him that a carriage was available to take him back up the hill, he was only too happy to leave.
He took some of the laudanum the doctor had left on the first night and woke up three hours later. He was still groggy, and he couldn’t have named any part of his body that wasn’t sore, but Colyn was waiting to dress him for dinner.
“Perhaps I should make your excuses, sir,” Colyn said, looking worried.
That was enough to get Alaric out of bed. He wasn’t going to have the other suitors thinking him weak. Or Lady Beatrice worrying about him, for that matter, though it warmed him to be certain she would. “Nonsense,” he said. “I haven’t ridden for a while, Colyn, that’s all. A bit of pain is inevitable.” At least his head no longer felt as if someone was inside it with a hammer and a pickaxe.
He was glad he’d made the effort. Not so much at dinner, though he’d hate to have missed walking in with Lady Beatrice. It was Versey’s reward for his win, but he had declared he was already committed to Lady Eleanor Fairweather, so the privilege fell to Alaric as the second-place winner.
“Interesting,” Lady Beatrice murmured to him, inclining her head to indicate the other couple as they walked ahead of them into the dining room.
Alaric leaned close to her once they were seated, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard. “A match, do you think? Lord Lucas and Lady Eleanor?”It would be one less rival for meto beat. The thought took him by surprise. Had he made up his mind, then? His own thoughts jeered back at him. He had gone and fallen in love. Again. After he had sworn he would not. But perhaps it was not so bad. Perhaps it was just infatuation, and he would fall out of love with her as soon as he knew her better.
Lady Beatrice said something, and he had to swim up from the depths of his own thoughts to figure out what it was. An answer to his question. “Yes. I think so. She certainly has a high regard for him, and he requests her to partner him at every opportunity.”
She showed not a hint of chagrin that one of her suitors was looking elsewhere. In the same circumstances, Delphine, the first woman he had fallen in love with, would have been smiling sweetness on the surface but with barbs and poison in every remark. She could never stand anyone to have even the attention she herself had rejected. As for Eloise… No. He would not think about Eloise.
“They would be a good match, I think,” Lady Beatrice said.
