Page 38 of Betting on a Duke
Chapter Sixteen
Samuel had spentthe past few days preparing Zeus for the 2000 Guineas Stakes. But he couldn’t neglect Clover since the Sunday after that race, the 1000 Guineas Stakes would be held.
In the small stable he rented from Ramsbury, he was checking on Zeus after his morning exercises and practice runs on Ramsbury’s half-mile track he had recently built. Zeus had run the half-mile track twice for a good time. He knew Zeus was not a favorite for the 2000 Guineas, but Samuel believed he would surprise those running the betting books at The Jockey Club. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but Samuel thought he’d place second or third.
Every day since he’d arrived in Newmarket, Samuel’s mind had wandered to Clarice and how she was doing. Had her father tried to see her again? It was a constant ache in his chest whenever he thought of her and her father’s devious plans for her.
Tonight, Baron and Baroness Ramsbury were hosting a pre-race ball. He would have begged off, except he needed to be involved with the racing enthusiasts and other members of The Jockey Club as much as possible. But it didn’t mean he had to enjoy himself when every lady he saw would remind him of Clarice.
He had left the main house at Ramsbury Ridge Farms before sunrise and returned now with tired, aching legs and a growling, hungry stomach. The butler immediately handed him a note. Before he lookedat it, he said, “Jerome, could you please have a tray sent to my room? Anything the cook has left from breakfast will be fine.”
Jerome bowed, “Yes, Your Grace.”
The moment Samuel entered his room, he sighed with relief upon seeing Wallace straightening up.
“Your Grace, I didn’t hear you come in.” He examined him critically and shook his head, clearly displeased with the dirty and disheveled appearance he presented. Wallace never minced words and often said he didn’t think a duke should be getting his hands dirty with racehorses. It was one thing to own thoroughbreds, but another to care for them and get one’s hands dirty during training. His man was quite the gentleman’s valet and Samuel knew he shocked him from time to time. “I’ll ready your bath,” he said as he exited the room, presumably to order a tub and hot water.
What was the point of owning thoroughbreds, though, if you didn’t spend time working with them? He knew many owners did nothing but oversee their care and cover the costs of feeding, housing, training, and managing them. But Samuel had always felt a connection to horses and didn’t care what others thought about him being involved in their day-to-day needs.
It was then that he realized he was still holding a letter, now quite crumpled. He raised it up, noticing the handwriting, and began to tremble. He quickly unfolded the piece of paper, scanned the contents, and couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Clarice was in Newmarket and staying at the Red Lion Inn. How on earth had she managed to get a room there on such short notice? Everyone involved in the racing business had booked rooms months or even a year in advance. He himself hadn’t been able to secure a room. He had hoped not to impose on Ramsbury, but was thankful he always had a guest room available. Not to mention it was quite convenient having his horses on site with him.
Dear Stanton,
Lady Rutherford and I have arrived at the Red Lion Inn. It was probably unwise to come to Newmarket, but I couldn’t stay in London with my father’s men watching my every move without losing my mind. Please forgive me if this causes any trouble with your upcoming races. You don’t need to make time for me. Seeing you from afar is enough to soothe my worried mind.
Yours truly,
Clarice
He folded the letter and placed it on the table beside the bed, then smiled like a fool. She was here. Bloody hell, she had risked much to come to Newmarket. His heart raced, and his vision blurred with the overwhelming urge to see her. He wanted to jump on his horse, Smokey, and ride like the wind to the Red Lion Inn. Pull her into his arms and kiss her. Drag her into her hotel room and make love to her.
Slow down and avoid doing anything rash that might draw attention.
It was a good thing Wallace returned at that very moment with a footman as they wheeled in a bathtub, followed by several other footmen carrying buckets of hot water—much-needed hot water to loosen his tired and sore muscles. And when he was done bathing and presentable, he would seek out the baroness and ask her to invite Clarice and Lady Rutherford to tonight’s ball. He knew it wasn’t the wisest thing to do, having Clarice and him at the same function, but he needed to lay eyes on her. Even if he couldn’t speak with her or dance with her, seeing her safe and well would be enough.
Or so he told himself. He knew himself well enough to suspect he wouldn’t be satisfied with just that when the time came.
While he bathed, a tray of food arrived, and Samuel hurried to scrub off the dirt and smell of the stables. With Wallace’s help, he dressed and got a shave. Being in desperate need of a trim, Wallace snipped an inch off his hair and brushed it into some semblance of control. “Thank you, Wallace. Where did you put my paper? I need tosend a letter.”
“Everything you need is in the middle drawer of the writing desk.”
“That will be all for now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Wallace bowed and exited the room. Samuel knew that once he went downstairs, Wallace would be back to take the tub out and tidy up once again. Wallace was extremely fastidious.
Finally, he lifted the cup of coffee from the tray and drank it, lukewarm and all. He grabbed a piece of toast and went to the desk against the far wall, sat in the chair, and just as Wallace said, paper and writing implements were in the middle drawer. He wrote a short note to Clarice, telling her he had received her message and to expect an invitation to tonight’s ball. He folded it, sealed it with wax, and used his Stanton ring, with the letter “S”, to seal it.
Exiting his chambers, he made his way down the stairs, stopping to speak with Jerome. “Could you please have this letter delivered? But wait for another from the baroness.”
“Yes, Your Grace. And please forgive me but I mistakenly gave this letter for you to Lord Ramsbury.” He handed Samuel the letter, the seal still intact.
“Thank you,” Samuel said as he tucked it inside his coat pocket. “I would like a word with the baroness. Where can I find her?”
“She is in the ballroom, Your Grace.”
He continued on his way to the large ballroom, where the baroness, a petite, beautiful woman with two young children, was overseeing the placement of flower arrangements with the housekeeper. “Excuse me, Baroness, may I have a word?”
She turned around and placed her hand on her chest. “Stanton, my goodness, you surprised me. Yes. How may I help you?”
