Chapter Eighteen

April twenty-third dawned brisk and pleasant. Flora stopped Banrigh at the entrance to the long drive into Amstead Gardens and looked back. Early morning mist drifted above the lush green lawn, partially shielding the manor house and the paddocks that lay beyond it in white fluffy clouds. She inhaled deeply, trying to breathe in the land as much as possible before her long ride to London.

She had said her goodbyes to Asad and the other horses earlier that morning. The big stallion had stamped his foot in annoyance at being awoken so early, but relaxed when he saw that she had come bearing oatcakes as a parting gift. Flora had given him a good rubdown while he munched on her offering, and she reflected on how she would miss him. True, she only planned to be in London for two days, but for the last few months, her life had revolved around Asad and his training. Would she be able to slip back into her role as Lady Flora Campbell after living so long as William Grant?

Banrigh snorted, her breath opaque clouds. Flora patted her and crooned, “I know, my lass. I just wanted one more look.”

With that, she turned the mare back toward the road and nudged her with her heels. Banrigh dashed off at a quick canter, and Flora peered over her shoulders for one last look at the Gardens. Mr. Mubarak would be livid when he discovered she had left earlier than she had told him. But she did not want to risk being discovered, and any grooms sent to escort her would insist on delivering her directly to her final stop.

And she had not lied about being perfectly capable of riding to London on her own. Mr. Mubarak might know her as a woman, but no one on the road would. That still didn’t mean he wouldn’t send riders out to meet her. She smiled, her heart warming as her mind conjured a picture of the big-hearted older man. He was inordinately stubborn—but so was she.

She urged Banrigh into a gallop, determined to put as much distance between herself and Amstead Gardens as possible. She would apologize for her hasty departure upon her return.

…

“The Guineas is next week. Are we ready?”

Baniti did not pause in his inspection of Horatio’s back hoof. “Asad continues to break cleanly, which has been a relief off my shoulders.”

“Mine as well.” Christian ran a hand over the gelding’s back, pleased to see that the beast no longer attempted to bite him. He had made it a point to spend at least an hour every day with the horse, getting him acquainted with his touch and scent. Apparently the time he had invested had worked. “Do you think we should have raced him beforehand? I know we discussed allowing him time to settle and perfect his breaks, but was it wise to wait until the Guineas to debut him?”

The Egyptian man lifted a shoulder but not his head. “Does it matter? We made a decision, and it’s too late to change it.”

It was not at all what Christian wanted to hear, but Baniti was right. There was no point in second-guessing things that could not be undone. With a reluctant smile, he realized his father would have expressed a similar sentiment.

Damn, but he missed the man.

Exhaling, he stepped back to consider the chestnut gelding. “And what of this fellow? Do you think he’s up for racing in some of the summer races?”

Baniti rose to his feet, dusting his hands on his breeches. “William was making great strides with him, but I’m not convinced he would not try to unseat another rider.”

“If we did run him, who would you want to ride him?”

“Well, David would be an obvious choice. The lad has impressed me with his innate ability to read horses and draw on their strengths. I’m pleased that William proposed we bring him to the stables permanently.”

Christian nodded. Young David had impressed him as well. “I have no problem with David riding Horatio, but Asad is the priority.”

“Of course.”

Satisfied, Christian closed his eyes in thought. “Surely Fl-William can ride him. The grumpy lad responds to him anyway, and William’s small enough not to be too great of a load.”

“It’s a consideration. I will not be able to discuss the possibility with him until he returns, however.”

Christian went still, his mind zeroing in on one word. “Returns? Where is sh-he?”

Baniti cocked his head to the side. “London. William requested two days’ leave to attend to family matters. I assumed you knew.”

Annoyance set his teeth on edge. “No. I did not.”

Why hadn’t she told him? He had seen her just the night before, when he had visited her room and they had talked long into the night. Thankfully, no one had been about when he had stolen back to the manor early in the morning.

She’d left after he had departed.

Tugging on his waistcoat, he asked, “Did you offer to send grooms with her as escorts?”

“Of course I did.” The older man drew himself up, indignation sparking in his black eyes. “I insisted upon it, stating that it was the only reason I would approve it. I wanted to make sure she arrived and returned safely.”

“Why did you grant her permission to leave with the race so close?” Christian asked, narrowing his eyes. He never would have considered such an ill-timed absence…which is probably why she didn’t tell him, despite ample opportunity.

“She has never requested leave before. And she works hard. She knows what’s at stake with the race, so I reasoned that her need to return to London must be great.”

Christian was grudging in his agreement. Flora would not depart so soon before the Guineas if it were not important. So why had she gone? A burning desire to find out swamped him.

“How long ago did she depart?”

“Before I arrived at the stables.” Baniti scratched his cheek. “Four o’clock, I would guess.”

Christian pulled out his pocket watch and considered it. “She’s probably been on the road for about four hours or so.”

The trainer nodded. “You won’t catch her. She’ll be in London before you even make it out of Suffolk.”

Christian knew that, but the thought that Flora had simply stolen away in the darkness with no explanation made his stomach turn. She could be hurt in any sort of accident or her identity discovered along the road, and either possibility made his heart thunder in his ears.

Such thoughts were on his mind later as he walked into his study. A stack of correspondence lay waiting for him on his desk, and he flipped through the pile absentmindedly.

Until his eyes snagged on a note from his investigator. Half of the letter had been torn free, the parchment smudged with dirt and marred with watermarks. Some sort of calamity had obviously befallen it. Gingerly, he pried the seal open, and his eyes grew wide when he read the script.

I believe I’ve found her. In London at C—

The rest of the message was missing, and Christian frantically searched through the pile to see if the other half was amongst the letters. Finding nothing, he swore violently. He snatched up the tattered note and reread the message again.

The investigator had tracked a Flora Grant to London. His Flora had just taken leave, right before the race, to go to London. Without telling him.

Suspicion raced through his veins, and his skin hummed with tension. He knew what he had to do.

A half hour later, he prowled back into the stables to find Baniti.

“I’m for London,” he declared without preamble when he found the man in his office. “I’ll meet with investors, provide them in-person updates on Asad’s progress, and then I will look for her.”

Baniti did not rise from his seat, but he did lift a brow. “It sounds like a solid plan, my lord. What is the phrase? Kill a bird with a stone?”

Christian snorted. “It’s ‘kill two birds with one stone’.”

The older man’s face brightened. “Oh, that makes more sense.”

“I’ll return in a few days.”

“Safe travels, my lord.” Baniti lifted a hand in farewell.

Leading Loki from his stall, Christian waved off the groom who appeared to saddle him. After securing the saddle and tightening the girth, Christian stowed his bags. It contained reports, weekly summaries of Asad’s training that Flora had compiled, as well as several invitations. One was to a dinner party at Claremore House, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Claremore. The other was from the Marquess of Inverray to a ball at Campbell House. According to a note his secretary had attached to the invitation, rumor had it that Inverray would be announcing his bid for Prime Minister at the event. Although Christian had not seen the Scotsman in several years, he had still invested in Amstead Gardens and Asad when his support was needed the most. The least he could do was be there to support his old friend during this pivotal time.

With his belongings stowed, Christian climbed into the saddle and directed Loki onto the path toward London.

…

Flora’s heart lodged somewhere between her throat and her gut as soon as she turned the corner into Grosvenor Square.

It had been months since she had last set foot in Campbell House and yet, by all appearances, it seemed as if no time had passed at all. The facade of the grey-and-black Georgian-style townhouse looked just as pristine as she remembered, the white lilies in the window boxes a cheery sight.

Directing Banrigh to the mews, Flora prayed the grooms would be in the kitchen for luncheon. Without her in residence, she was certain only two stablehands would be working, the rest having stayed in Scotland in her absence. Niall rarely rode, unless he was with her, and with his intense schedule, she doubted he had time to take holiday visits to Loch Kilmorow. She always considered this fact so sad. Her brother had not returned to Scotland since he’d collected her and Juliana five years before, and she was not sure when he would again. His life was in London and, even when he became duke upon their father’s death, she doubted the Highlands would ever be his home again.

Sliding off Banrigh’s back, she grabbed the reins and walked her as quietly as she could into the small stable. The Campbell House mews contained four stables and a tack room. It was large by London standards, and Flora was relieved to find it empty. Of human occupants, that is.

After tending to Banrigh, Flora paused to consider the back walk to Campbell House.

No one was about. She had snuck in and out of the townhouse more times than she could count, but this time, she was dressed as William. If she were caught by the butler or housekeeper—or worse, Niall—she was not sure what she would tell them. The possibilities made her nauseated.

Squaring her shoulders, Flora shoved down her fears and eyed the back door again. Scanning the garden one more time, she ducked from the mews and made her way to the door, her heart thudding a staccato with every step.

Miraculously, she found herself panting with relief in her chamber a scant few minutes later. Although she’d heard the voices of the kitchen staff as they went about their business, she hadn’t encountered anyone as she’d made her way up the servants’ staircase. But now that she’d returned to her old room, she didn’t know what to make of it. Or of herself.

It looked much the way it had when she’d left it. It was decorated in the rich greens and vibrant golds of which she had always been fond, the teak wood furniture was arranged in its usual manner, and every surface was devoid of dust.

Running her fingers along the bordered design on the counterpane, Flora’s eyes took in details she had never noticed previously. Like how the room was easily four times larger than her small room in Amstead Gardens. Four times too big, she thought, knowing now that she could easily live in less space. She glanced at the green velvet bed hangings and wondered why she’d ever found them attractive. Reaching up, she snagged a tassel, dragging the feathered end across her fingertips. When she had departed to Amstead Gardens, she had been a spoiled, cynical lady. She had returned a weathered, bruised woman.

Setting her jaw, she stood and walked to the attached dressing room, selecting a simple day dress from amongst the garments arranged by purpose and color. Her maid had stayed behind in Yorkshire when she had left for Suffolk, but would be returning later that afternoon with Juliana and Ashwood. Until she arrived, Flora was comfortable dressing herself. She’d been doing it for several months, after all.

Once she was properly attired and had pinned her hair up in a style that masked her shortened locks, she left her room and went in search of her brother.

Arriving in the foyer, she stopped to listen. Was Niall in the study or the drawing room? It was late afternoon, and he was usually at a committee meeting, but she sensed he was somewhere about. Years of sneaking around had given her an uncanny sense of his whereabouts.

Deciding to check the study, she stepped down the hall when a voice behind her made her jump.

“My lady, I did not realize you had arrived!”

Pressing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart, she turned to Mrs. Patterson, the housekeeper, with a smile. “I arrived ahead of the carriage not long ago.”

The older woman pulled her into a brief, but firm, hug. Releasing her, she inspected Flora with shrewd brown eyes. “It is wonderful to see you. You have been missed, and not just by me.”

“You cannot count the horses in the mews.”

Mrs. Patterson pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t muffle her laughter. “But I’m sure they missed you as well.”

The housekeeper’s words were a lovely welcome. Flora had missed the staff at Campbell House, but only understood it at that moment. Swallowing, she said, “And I have missed all of you.”

The older woman dipped her head, pink touching her cheeks. “Were you searching for his lordship, my lady?” Mrs. Patterson gestured in the direction of the study with a tilt of her head. “He should be working in there now.”

“Thank you.” Before she walked away, another thought occurred to her. “Mairi will be arriving later this afternoon. When she does, please ask her to choose a gown for tonight. I had not thought of it before now, but hopefully she can find one appropriate for the festivities.”

“But his lordship had a gown made for you.”

Blinking, Flora said, “He did?”

“As soon as he received word you planned to attend, he assumed you would not think of your attire and had your modiste create a gown for you.”

“Oh.” Flora could not think of what else to say aside from that simple sound. Her brother knew her so well. A year ago, she would have been offended by his high-handedness. But now all she felt was gratitude.

Fighting a smile, she took a step down the hall and stopped. Without turning, she asked, “What color is the gown?”

“Red, my lady.” There was a hint of laughter in the woman’s voice.

Niall had always wanted her to dress in light pastel colors, as befitted her unmarried status, he claimed. She despised such boring shades and had insisted she be allowed to dress in whatever colors she chose, which were usually jewel toned. The fact that he had chosen red for her made her heart sing.