Chapter Eleven

With an exhausted sigh, Flora looped her arms around the top rail and raised a boot to rest on the bottom. Dragging a crisp, earthy-scented breath into her lungs, she rested her chin on her arms. The sky was brightening, the night finally giving way to the morning.

She’d been up for three hours. A stablehand had awoken her with the news that a pregnant mare had gone into labor. Bonnie still had another month until her foal was due, according to Mr. Mubarak’s calculations, so an early morning delivery had not been expected. Nevertheless, Flora did her best to comfort the mare as she struggled through her labor pains. She washed down her upper legs, rear, belly, and udders, crooning softly to her when the horse stiffened through a contraction. Then she cleaned the small pen, ensuring that the straw was fresh and free of anything that could be harmful to a foal. Once she had ensured the mare was safe, she retreated from the stall, determined to give the horse her privacy. The mare had birthed three foals already, so Flora reckoned she knew what she was about.

Then, snatching a stool from the tack room, she had perched on it directly outside the stable door and pulled a piece of wood and a sheathed knife from her pocket. Keeping an ear trained on the sounds coming from Bonnie’s stall, she had set about whittling a small foal. A filly, perhaps.

Flora had not gotten far in crafting her filly when the mare began to pace about, pawing and grunting in unison. Sensing the time was quickly approaching, Flora wrapped the mare’s tail in a clean piece of linen and washed her down again. She had retreated quickly back out the stable door when it was obvious that her well-intentioned actions were only causing Bonnie stress. But she hovered just outside, watching her progress from the door. When amber-colored liquid stained the straw around the mare, Flora held her breath as the foal prepared to make its way into the world.

Now, more than an hour later, she replayed the moment the small, dark filly landed in the world with a plop. Flora performed a quick assessment of her while her mother cleaned her off, and although she was small, she appeared healthy. She had breathed a sigh of relief when the little filly latched onto her mother successfully.

“You, boy, where is His Lordship?”

Flora jumped back in surprise, banging her knee on the rail. Rubbing the spot, she turned to the culprit, and her stomach crashed to the floor.

The Duchess of Claremore’s eagle-eyed stare bored holes into her. Surely she knew.

Flora had been in such a rush that morning to see to Bonnie that she had failed to apply the black makeup to her chin and jaw. She was not even sure she had wrapped her breasts. She prayed that the duchess’ eyesight was not as sharp as she remembered it being.

Struggling to compose herself, she managed, “I have not seen His Lordship or Mr. Mubarak yet this morning. But I would be happy to escort you to the trainer’s office. They usually meet there to plan the schedule for the day.”

The older woman nodded, her gaze sharp. “I would appreciate that.”

Before they could depart, the duchess paused outside the mare’s door. Glancing in, her eyes widened. “That appears to be a newborn foal.”

Flora smiled as Bonnie cared for her young foal. “It is. A filly. She arrived an hour ago.”

“Were you here to assist in her delivery?”

“Oh, she did not require any help.” She scoffed. “If anything, she probably thought me a nuisance as I scrubbed her down and cleaned her bedding. I doubt most creatures want to be bothered when in the midst of labor pains.”

“You are a clever young man.” Her Grace waved a hand about. “When I gave birth to my three children, I was under the care of London’s greatest physicians and I wanted to plant each of them a facer and tell them to leave me be.” Her smile was devilish. “If only I had.”

“As a duchess, they should have stuck out their chins for you to do so,” Flora quipped.

Her Grace glanced at her sharply. Flora tried not to fidget under the woman’s stare. After a moment, the older woman chuckled. “One should never exploit their position, even if they are strongly tempted.”

Unable to think of a response that wouldn’t reveal her knowledge of such a subject, Flora gestured to the path. “This way, Your Grace.”

She followed close behind the duchess, impotent tears burning her eyes and clogging her throat. She’d revealed too much and had been too forward for a servant. Despite the dread turning to ice in her chest, she continued to put one foot in front of the other.

“How long have you worked here?” the duchess asked.

Clenching her fists, she said, “Only a few months, Your Grace.”

“And do you like working for Lord Amstead?”

“I do, Your Grace.” She looked out over the pastures. “He’s fair and good at what he does.”

Pivoting abruptly, she met Flora gaze to gaze. “And what exactly does he do?”

Fighting the desire to step back, she held her ground. “He trains the best racers in England.”

The duchess spun about again in a cloud of gray wool. “I had expected to hear that his reputation was a fabrication.”

“I had expected it to be, as well.” Good God, why could she not keep her mouth shut?

“And why is that?” the duchess asked, not breaking her stride.

Flora weighed what to disclose before deciding she should be honest. In for a penny and all that. “In my experience, rich, titled men show only a cursory interest in horse racing. The bulk of their attention lies in what horseflesh they can purchase at Tattersalls that would show best with their curricles. Which matching pair would win Lord Dunderhead his race from London to Newmarket. Which horse will win them a heavy purse at Ascot?”

“You speak as if you have much experience with men of the ton.”

Groaning internally, Flora kept her head down and thought it best not to confirm or deny the duchess’s assertion.

“Well, my experience with them has been much the same.” Of course it had been. The duchess was used to entitled, bored, aristocratic men who thought success meant seeing their names in the broadsheets at least twice a week.

“I had expected Lord Amstead to rely on talented trainers to guarantee his horses placed in the major races.” Flora crooked her mouth. “I was wrong. His Lordship has been very involved with every aspect of Asad’s training, and I have learned a great deal from him.”

Again Her Grace paused, glancing at her over her shoulder. “What would you say is the most important lesson you’ve learned from Lord Amstead?”

Flora considered this for a moment. “He’s taught me that each horse requires his or her own routine. What works for one might not work for another. Like people, each horse has their own personality, and that should be respected.”

“That pleases me,” the duchess said, continuing with her walk.

Within moments, they arrived outside Mr. Mubarak’s small office in the corner of the paddock. She could hear voices inside, but before she could knock and announce the visitor, the duchess swung open the door.

“Am I too early?”

Lord Amstead and Mr. Mubarak looked up in surprise from the sheets of paper spread across the small desktop. They stared at the duchess for a solid second before their gazes slid to her. Flora shrugged in defeat. “Her Grace of Claremore is here, my lord. Sir.”

Backing away, she disappeared down a side corridor, not waiting to be dismissed. She did not need to see the disappointment in the marquess’s eyes when he realized that the duchess had probably ascertained that Flora was a fraud. Her presence in the stables might become his ruin.

…

A multitude of curse words shot through Christian’s mind as he took in Flora’s pale face before she darted away, but he couldn’t identify just one. He thought of them in such rapid succession that identifying a single word was impossible.

Just as well, he thought, that the Duchess of Claremore had discovered Flora’s secret before she and the duke invested in Asad. But it was a disappointing blow.

Keeping Flora on had been a risk, but it had ultimately been one he’d been willing to take since Asad responded so eagerly to her hand. If they were found out now, he had only himself to blame.

Christian recovered quickly, rising to his feet. “Your Grace, good morning. I trust you had a restful night.”

“I did, Amstead.” She hesitated, her gaze sweeping about Baniti’s small office. “I know I arrived earlier than our eleven o’clock appointment, but I like to begin the day with business.”

“Then, let us see to our business.” He swept a hand to his trainer. “Mr. Mubarak and I always meet first thing in the morning to discuss our schedule for the day.” He paused, shifting on his feet. “I trust Mr. Grant found you quickly and escorted you here?”

“I actually found Mr. Grant.” She cocked her head. “Apparently, the lad has been here since an early hour overseeing the birth of a foal.”

“There was a birth this morning?” Baniti clapped his hands together. Executing a swift bow, he said, “I must confer with William. I’ll return directly.”

The duchess observed the trainer trot away, her forehead creased in thought. An odd sort of smile played about her lips. “I have not even had a chance to speak with him.”

“I apologize, Your Grace.” Christian spread his palms. “But in the stables, you never know when you might get pulled away by this crisis or the next.”

“I can see that.”

“If you would like to meet with him later in the day, as we had originally planned, I am sure he would be pleased to speak with you,” Christian offered.

“That won’t be necessary. I believe I have learned everything I sought.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow. “And what exactly did you learn, Duchess?”

Her Grace of Claremore linked her hands at her waist and inspected him with keen eyes. “I learned that your stables are clean. Organized and well-run. Your employees are competent and appear to enjoy their work.” She pointed a bony finger at him. “And they respect you.”

Christian dropped his gaze. “And I respect them.”

“I know you do.” There was a smile in her voice. “Expect a cheque for Claremore’s portion by later this week. Good day, Amstead.”

“It is indeed a good day, Your Grace.”

She snorted, walking away at a brisk pace.

And just like that, Christian had a new investor. Relief washed over him, and he let out a very undignified hoot and pumped the air. He observed in amusement as several horses dropped their heads over their stable doors to look in his direction.

“Oh, get back to your breakfasts, you busybodies,” he grumbled, although his words contained no heat. In fact, a grin lit his face.

“I take it the duchess did not threaten you with scandal and ruin.”

Pivoting, he spied Flora standing in the darkened interior of a nearby stable. Her face was pale, and any ire he may have felt toward her fled. The duchess had admitted to waylaying her as she saw to her work.

“Claremore has agreed to invest in the Gardens.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” She clutched a hand to her chest. “I thought she had surely seen through my disguise.”

“Not this time,” Christian whispered softly. But every moment Flora worked in the stables threatened so much. It was foolish and reckless to take such a risk.

“Congratulations, my lord.” She rushed forward, raising her arms as if to embrace him…and then pulling up short. With a bright smile, she instead extended a hand. “I am happy for you. I should have known Her Grace would be wise enough to see Asad’s many talents.”

As he shook her hand, basking in the warmth of her smile and the feel of her skin on his, Christian thought that perhaps the risk might be worth it.