How To Marry a Rake

Stephen’s smile grew wry. ‘Which is only one reason why Nicholas, at least, has been happy to have me tucked away in Sussex.’

‘Ah, yes, I recollect it now. The estate you inherited from your mother is out there, is it not? But Good God, man! Surely there was no need to cloister yourself away like a novice in a nunnery!’

Good humour swiftly abandoned him. ‘I’m afraid it was necessary. The estate needed … attention.’

‘Attention?’ The viscount gaped. ‘I’m sensing one of your infamous understatements. I shudder to imagine what sort of shape the place must have been in to have required nearly two years worth of attention.’

Stephen stiffened. Deliberately, he forced his muscles to relax and reached for a quip to turn the growing intrusiveness of the conversation, but Landry beat him to it.

‘No, please.’ The viscount held out a staying hand. ‘None of your witticisms right now. And do spare me the details. The heavy yoke of my own responsibility is weighing me down. I’ve no need to add yours to the mix.’ He shook his head, his movements gone slow and heavy as if the weight of the world did indeed rest on his shoulders. ‘I never thought it would all come so soon. But look to your family—you, farming out in Sussex, Nicholas happy with his duchess, and your sisters all married and spitting out brats as prodigiously as they used to stir up scandal.’ He sighed heavily. ‘If the notorious Fitzmanning Miscellany has bowed to convention, then who am I to resist?’

The music drifting from the ballroom ended with a flourish. As if it had been the signal he’d been waiting for, Landry straightened and adjusted his neckcloth. ‘Well, let’s to it then, shall we?’ He set off, but had only taken a step or two towards the ballroom before he stopped abruptly. ‘I say, Manning.’ Tension hardened his face as he turned back towards Stephen. ‘You’re not here after the new heiress as well, are you?’

Startled, Stephen laughed. ‘God, no.’

Landry relaxed. ‘Ah. Good, then.’ He bit his lip, considering. ‘Not that it’s a bad idea, particularly if your estate’s coffers are poorly. But I’ve got first crack at this new girl, I say. She’s just back in England.’

‘And thus unlikely to have heard anything untoward about you?’ Stephen asked with a grin. ‘Have at it, man.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘If you stopped to think a minute, you’d recall just how we Mannings and Fitzmannings came by our epithet. My father married an heiress, did he not? And considering how that all turned out, do you think I would be so eager to repeat his mistakes?’

‘Hmm. I hadn’t considered it from that angle.’

Stephen gave a shudder. ‘You’re looking for a leg-shackle? Consider the field open, man. I’ve far too many irons in the fire to even contemplate such a thing.’ Fincote was his priority and deserved all of his focus.

Landry brightened. ‘But your father did have the right idea about one thing, at least. Marriage needn’t make a monk of me.’

They had nearly reached the ballroom. Groups of guests had spilled out and gathered in the passageway here. Landry nodded at an acquaintance, still musing. ‘Of course, I cannot see that I would abandon my heiress to live out my days with my mistress, as he did.’ He cast a hurried glance in Stephen’s direction. ‘Not that any man could blame your father. Catherine Ramsey … that is, your stepmother … the duchess, eventually … Well, there will never be another like her, will there? Women like that come as rare as hen’s teeth.’

Stephen didn’t respond. It wasn’t much of a struggle, really, to keep his face carefully blank. Someone like Landry could never understand the wealth of conflicted emotions he held towards his father, his mother and the woman who had split them apart, but still welcomed him into her chaotic home and happy family. He’d become accustomed to this sort of awkward commentary—just as he’d become accustomed to deflecting it with a jibe.

Scandalous parents and an unconventional upbringing were burdens that Stephen shared with all of his siblings and half-siblings—and each of them had developed their own tactics to endure them. Redirect, reflect, sidetrack—it was a bag of tricks that worked for Stephen as a child. As a course of action it had proven ever more valuable as he grew and had to face even more difficult challenges.

One of which waited within. He and Landry had come to a stop just outside the wide, sweeping doors into the ballroom. Light, heat, noise and the chatter of many voices emanated from within. It might only be the diehard members of the racing community here in Newmarket nearly a week ahead of the start of racing, but it appeared that Toswick had encountered no difficulty filling his guest list.

Landry hung back, obvious reluctance in his eye as he faced the glittering assembly. ‘Damn if I’m not envious of you, Manning. You are free to enjoy the evening as it comes, while I must assemble my weapons and enter the hunt.’

‘Well, there you are wrong. There’s more than one sort of hunt afoot at an event like this. And more prizes to be had than just heiresses.’ In fact, the thought of chasing down a woman and her money to solve his problems sent his every feeling into revolt, and not only because of his parents and the mess that they had made of their relationship.

He’d come so far in the last gruelling and backbreaking months—a thousand leagues beyond the attention-hungry young man that Landry had known. And he had done it on his own. He wanted to see this through, must see it through, to prove to himself, and to the people at Fincote, that he could.

Interest, spiked with a bit of mischief, lifted Landry’s brow. ‘Oh? On the hunt, but not in the petticoat line? What is it then? Shall you rescue your fortune and your estate at the card table?’ The viscount looked wistful. ‘Perhaps I will join you there, later.’

‘No, not cards,’ corrected Stephen. ‘Something entirely different.’ He grew exasperated at his friend’s lifted eyebrows. ‘It’s not farming that I’ve been up to in Sussex. I’ve been breaking my back—and my bank account—turning Fincote into a world-class racecourse.’

Only Landry could convey so much scepticism with a blink.

Stephen shrugged. ‘It’s true, old man. Ah, but I wish you could see it.’ His heart thumped. With calculation, he allowed his enthusiasm to leak into his words. ‘Two courses, both smooth and done up to every modern standard. One with a climbing start and a section along the Downs where you can feel the sea wind in your face. The other a demanding track through the woods with an uphill finish. New stables, accommodations, everything.’

‘By God, you’re serious!’

‘I am. The town’s merchants put together a cup and we held a local meet to test the waters. It went off smooth as silk. Fincote is ready and waiting, and now I need to catch the attention of the racing world. It’s why I’m here.’

Landry stared as if he’d never seen him before. ‘Passion, purpose and planning. My God, it truly is the end of an era.’ His mouth twisted into a grin. ‘But what do the signs tell you?’

Stephen laughed. ‘Rest easy—I haven’t changed that much. I kept my eye open for portents every step of the way here—you’ll be happy to know that they were all favourable.’

‘Well, that is a relief. I confess I would have been distraught had you given up your superstitions entirely.’ Landry chuckled. ‘And gaining attention was always your strong suit. Have you a plan?’

Stephen lowered his voice. ‘What I need is to arrange a truly remarkable private match. A spectacular race that will launch Fincote with a noise heard throughout racing, gain the attention of the Jockey Club and bring every owner, trainer, spectator and stable boy flocking to our doors.’ He ran an eye over the shifting crowd before them. ‘That’s why, even as you are angling after your heiress, I will be angling after an introduction to the Earl of Ryeton.’

Landry’s mobile face went perilously still. ‘Ryeton?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘Enough to warn you away from the man.’ Even Landry’s voice had gone cold and flat.

Stephen stared at his friend. ‘Why?’

Landry shook his head. ‘I cannot elaborate. Only believe that I mean this as a friend—you’d do best to stay far away from the man.’

‘That’s not an option.’ He frowned. ‘The earl is the reigning king of the turf. His string of winning horses is a mile long. The depth of his stables is amazing. But, most importantly—he owns the most talked-about racehorse since Eclipse.’

‘Pratchett.’ Landry nearly chocked on the horse’s name.

‘Yes, Pratchett. That horse is why I’m here. He’s incredible. If I can convince Ryeton to race him at Fincote, our success will be assured. People will flock from every corner of the kingdom to see that thoroughbred run, no matter who he’s matched against.’

Landry snorted. ‘It’s a sound enough idea. Unfortunately, Ryeton’s not likely to go along with it.’

Stephen bristled. ‘Why not?’

‘The man’s an elitist. A racing snob. Some of the old guard is like that, you know—if you haven’t been breeding and racing since the time of Charles II, then you are nothing. And Ryeton’s the worst. He decries the entrance of the nouveau riche or even the newly interested into his snug little world.’ He made another dismissive sound. ‘Although he’s not above taking their money.’

Stephen’s jaw tightened in determination. ‘I have to try. This plan is the best and quickest way to Fincote’s success.’

‘Try, then.’ Landry sighed. ‘But you would do best not to hint at an association with me. It won’t do you any good in Ryeton’s eyes.’

‘It’s as bad as that?’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ The viscount stood tall and smoothed his coat. A footman sidled by, heading into the ballroom with a full tray of champagne flutes, and Landry reached out and snagged two as he passed. He handed one to Stephen and held his aloft. ‘Success to us both,’ he toasted.

‘And my thanks for the advice.’ Stephen took a sip and watched as Landry drained his in one long drink.

‘Ah, the music begins again.’ Landry handed his empty glass to a footman positioned just outside the ballroom door. The poor man looked at him and at it in bemusement. ‘It is our call to the start, Manning.’ He tossed a last cheeky grin as he moved forwards to melt into the crowd. ‘And we’re off.’

Stephen laughed, then he squared his shoulders and slid into the crowd in another direction. The race had indeed begun. And he did not mean to lose.

Miss Mae Halford hovered at the entrance to Lord Toswick’s ballroom, a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth, a sense of anticipatory excitement swelling in her breast. Tension stretched tight across her shoulders and settled into the valley between, but she welcomed it. She was a soldier, and the glittering battlefield lay before her.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ her mother said at her elbow. ‘Your father has promised not to abandon us until we’ve mingled a bit and made the acquaintance of the right sort of people.’