Authors: Andrea Pickens
Branford found himself liking the lad for his honesty. He liked him even more for his concern for his sister — not many young bucks would give a thought to such things when tempted by the offering at Tattersall's. There was also something in the young man's demeanor that kept reminding him of Jeremy — so much so that it was painful. He turned away, pretending not to notice Justin's discomfiture. A chestnut hunter caught his eye, one that was not fifteen hands, but a compact horse with nice lines and sound legs. A good mount, if not spectacular."
"Have you inquired about the chestnut?"
Justin's eyes flared in admiration when he caught sight of the animal in question. "No sir. I'm sure he's way above my means."
"What do you have to spend?"
Justin told him the figure. The earl was careful to show no reaction to the ridiculously paltry sum. Contrary to what he had told Alex, he did remember what it was like to be young and without funds.
"I am acquainted with the dealer. Perhaps if I have a word with him, I might arrange a favorable price for you."
Justin's face betrayed the war between his longing to acquire a good mount and his reluctance to accept a favor from someone he wanted to dislike. His shoulders stiffened as youthful pride won out. "There is no need to put yourself out, my lord," he replied.
Branford raised an eyebrow at the young man as he stood negligently tapping his crop against the side of his boot. "Mr. Chilton, I am merely offering to help you acquire a decent horse, nothing more," he said pointedly. "If you don't wish to accept, it is of no matter to me."
He turned as if to walk away.
Justin colored at having had his thoughts so easily read. And besides, he had been rude, when the man had already saved him from making a big mistake "My lord, " he called. "I'm... I'm sorry for my bad manners. I should be very grateful if you would speak to the dealer."
"You are showing some sense, Chilton. By the way, be advised that one doesn't come to Tattersall's the first couple of times without someone experienced to show you how things are done."
Justin swallowed. "I shall remember that, sir."
"Wait here." Branford strolled over to the dealer and, taking his elbow, guided him out of the young man's hearing. "Miller, how much are you asking for the chestnut?"
The man rubbed his chin. "For you, my lord, fifty guineas."
Branford nodded. "A fair price. Now listen carefully. You will sell the animal to my young friend there. You will tell him the price is twenty pounds. My man of affairs shall send you the rest around this afternoon. But if you breathe a word to anyone that I had anything to do with the purchase, you will never see any of my business again. Is that clear?"
The man's head bobbed. "Oh yes, sir. Very."
Good. "
Branford stood aside as Miller hurried over to Justin. In a few minutes the matter was settled, money had changed hands and Justin's face was giddy with elation. He approached the earl with a huge grin on his face. "Sir, thank you. I am well aware that without your help I would never have gotten such a good price."
Branford smiled to himself, happy that the young man was too green to realize it was an absurd price.
"I never dreamed to own such a horse, " continued Justin with boyish enthusiasm. "He is beyond all I could hope for! Of course, he is nothing compared to your magnificent black stallion, Hades. I have seen you ride him in the park — he goes like the wind..."
Justin trailed off, feeling a fool for blubbering on so to the earl. His expression was one that indicated he expected a cutting set-down.
"Hades is a prime one," agreed Branford pleasantly.
At the earl's friendly tone, Justin recovered his tongue and ventured another question.
"Is it true that he ran at Newcastle in the Haverill Cup?"
"Yes. Came in second by a stride. Strained a hock that made him unfit for racing, but he suits me."
Justin gave a low whistle. "He must have cost a veritable fortune in any case."
"No more than I could afford. Speaking of which, you should have enough left over to be able to see to it that your sister has her new gown as well." He paused for a fraction. "Just make sure it is dark green rather than mauve." he added under his breath.
Justin looked as if he was about to say sharp, then reconsidered. "Green?"
"A very deep green — I am accorded to have an excellent eye for matters of fashion as well as horseflesh."
"It is my aunt who likes mauve," mused Justin, half to himself. "Alex never bothers to overrule her."
"It may very well suit your aunt. It does not suit your sister." He thought for a moment. "If you wish to make a special present to her, you should go to Lady Marie's on Bond Street and trust her choice of style — she is the best modiste in Town. Mention my name and she will see you get a favorable price." He made a mental note to send his man around with a full purse to the dressmaker as well as the horse dealer.
Justin nodded. "Thank you for the advice, sir."
"You might also look into new tack — and check it carefully before you ride. It would disturb your family greatly were you to suffer another accident."
The young man's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry Alex felt the need to air her concerns. She gets rather overwrought on the subject, as females are wont to do, when there is nothing to be upset about."
"Your sister does not strike me as the hysterical type, Chilton," replied Branford dryly. "Have you any enemies?"
Justin shook his head, a look of bafflement on his face. "I can think of no reason anyone would have a quarrel with me, much less wish me harm. I'm afraid my life has been rather tame, to say the least." His eyes flicked up shyly to meet the earl's. "Not nearly as interesting as yours."
"You should wish it to stay that way, " snapped Branford. "Therefore, I suggest you have a care when you go out so that your sister has no reason to be upset further."
"I will, sir." promised Justin.
The young man excused himself to join a pair of friends he had spotted in the crowd, no doubt to share with them his remarkable good fortune.
The earl's crop tapped at his boot with a little more force. He was not a great believer in coincidence. Yet if it were not coincidence then the accidents befalling young Chilton seemed to make no sense.
And that, in his experience, was the time to be concerned.
The man stopped his pacing only long enough to pour a large glass of brandy. His fingers played with the knot of his cravat as if to loosen its folds before he resumed walking back and forth in front of the fire.
"Sit down, Arthur. You are acting like a cat on a griddle." The low voice came from a figure seated in a large, overstuffed wing chair, his booted feet propped nonchalantly in front of him. "You are becoming skittish over nothing."
"Bloody hell, I wish we could have done with it, that's all," muttered Standish. "Things are getting riskier — someone might have seen me near Chilton's horse. It was bad enough in the country around that damnable, moldering farm." He took another gulp. "And I don't know why you had to drag Branford, of all people, into this."
Hammerton regarded his cousin through half-closed eyes. "It's nothing to be concerned about. It would have made things easier had he risen to our bait and ruined the girl so that the family would have been forced to return to Sussex. But it is of no matter, believe me. I have things well in hand.
"But I've noticed him dancing with the chit lately, and even conversing with her!"
"Come now." Hammerton smiled. "Do you think the earl is developing a tendre for a plain bluestocking with no family, and poor as a churchmouse in the bargain?" He gave a harsh laugh. "Really!"
Standish let out a breath. "Alright, I suppose I am being absurd. But I don't like having him involved in the least."
"Does the earl frighten you?"
Standish dropped his gaze to the floor.
"You see, Arthur, that is why you should leave the thinking to me. Branford will not pose a problem, that I promise you."
"Then let us get it done, by God, and as quickly as possible."
Hammerton shot him a look of contempt. "It will be done, but in such a manner that no suspicion will ever fall at our door. You do not fancy the noose, do you? I for one, do not."
Standish swallowed hard, then drained the rest of his glass in one gulp. "Maybe we don't have to get rid of him at all," he said nervously. "I mean, he has no idea! His father never had a chance to... "
"No, he has no inkling, nor do any of them. But I've always told you he would have to be eliminated some day. Now that he has come to Town, the chances, however slim, increase that he might somehow stumble onto the truth."
"Hell and damnation," swore Standish as he grabbed for the bottle on the mahogany sideboard.
"Come now, Arthur. Think on it. Are you really willing to forgo all that you have enjoyed these past years? How long do you think you would be welcome at your clubs, your gaming halls, the beds of your various mistresses and all the other pleasures you indulge in without the steady stream of money I provide from the Hammerton fortune? Remember where it comes from and think well, cousin. It is a little late to be developing a conscience — or feet of clay." The voice was soft but there was no mistaking the note of warning.
"I've done all you've asked of me," he shot back. "I'm the one who's taken the risks, so don't bloody worry about me. I'm not backing off."
"Good." Hammerton gazed into the fire and swirled his own drink. Standish would have to be watched, he thought. But then he always was a loose screw. He would have to be dealt with at some point in time, but not until he had served his purpose. "As for Branford, he may have unwittingly helped us in a different way that I had planned, but one that may be even more useful. I understand he helped the pup get into Manton's. It is the perfect place for me to strike up an acquaintance with him, become a friendly confidant. It will give me a chance to pick just the right opportunity." His eyes narrowed, the coldness in them sending a chill through even such a hardened jade as Standish.
"The next accident, I promise you, Arthur, will be the last."
"Well," said the soft, throaty voice. "It is about time you finally put in an appearance." A delicate white hand patted the plump down cushion in a meaningful manner. "Come, sit down here beside me."
Branford smiled as he crossed the elegant drawing room. "When you issue a summons, I dare not ignore it." He settled his tall, muscular form onto the sofa and casually stretched one arm up along its back.
"Fustian," retorted the lady sitting next to him with a matching smile. "You know as well as I that you do whatever you please."
He gave a low chuckle. "Tell me," he said bending lower towards her ear. "Is your husband at home?"
"Is that how you begin?" exclaimed Lady Ashton. "It seems a rather unimaginative way to start a flirtation."
"No," he admitted. "I do try to be slightly more creative than that."
They both laughed, the comfortable laugh of good friends. Lady Ashton rang for the maid to bring the tea tray.
"I haven't seen you in an age," she said, her expression growing serious. "How are you — truly?"
Branford's expression changed too, "Cecelia, I take it that Henry has been voicing his concerns to you as well, but I should appreciate it if you wouldn't ring a peal over my head too."