The Race For Love Read online

  The other pack, which she was permitted to join, belonged to the farmers who could not afford to pay the fees of a fashionable hunt and who therefore felt out of place amongst the gentry.

  They had come to an amicable arrangement over which part of the County the different packs hunted and naturally the Quexby took the best of everything. Only that which they did not want was left for the farmers.

  It was enough as far as Alita was concerned and they were all very pleasant to her, although she was aware that she did not fit in amongst them.

  All that really concerned her was to try out the horses she was training, to be in the front of the field and in at the kill.

  This she always managed to achieve and she would in fact have been surprised if she had heard the compliments on her horsemanship that were paid her behind her back.

  She was thinking, as she went towards the stables, that if Clint Wilbur bought the majority of her uncle’s horses and there were few left for her to hunt with, she would at least still have Flamingo.

  It was more important to her than anything else that she and Flamingo, whom she loved and who loved her, should not be separated.

  She reached the stables and found that Sam too had smartened himself up, having polished the silver buttons of his waistcoat as well as his boots.

  What was much more important was that the stables themselves were exceedingly spick-and-span.

  A neatly plaited piece of straw had been placed in front of the door of each stall, every horse had been freshly bedded down and even the yard had been freshly watered and brushed.

  “Keep your fingers crossed, Sam,” Alita told him.

  As she finished making sure that everything was as she wanted it to be, she heard the sound of her uncle’s voice coming from the direction of the house.

  “It’s up to you, Miss Alita,” Sam said.

  They both waited, looking not at the Duke but at the tall handsome man with blue eyes walking beside him.

  Chapter Three

  Clint Wilbur’s inspection of the horses in the stables was finished and the Duke looked at him with an unmistakable expression of greed.

  He had been so overwhelmingly effusive about his horses that Alita felt embarrassed.

  She could understand her uncle’s need of money only too well. At the same time some pride within her made her feel that it was undignified of the Duke of Langstone to play so unashamedly the part of a supplicant.

  ‘It is very bad for a young man to have so much power,’ she thought.

  In consequence she could not help, although she knew that it would annoy her uncle, speaking in a colder voice about the horses than she would have done under other circumstances.

  She even pointed out two or three faults, which brought a frown to the Duke’s forehead, but she was certain that with his expert knowledge Clint Wilbur had already noticed them.

  They finished by looking at two or three of the younger horses that were not yet fully trained.

  “You would not be able to hunt with them this year,” Alita said, “but they will undoubtedly be in excellent form by next autumn.”

  “Of course I might not be here another year,” Clint Wilbur replied.

  Alita thought that he was only pretending a reluctance because there was going on between them a duel of words that was somehow stimulating.

  If he was disparaging, she found an answer and, if he sounded effusive, she cooled him down.

  It was for Alita a thrilling experience to spar with a man and to know that as they did so they were both using personal experience and exceptional knowledge of horsemanship in a way that the Duke would not understand.

  Nevertheless she waited to hear what Clint Wilbur had to say, knowing that he was impressed despite the fact that his face was expressionless.

  “I congratulate Your Grace!” he said to the Duke. “I have seldom seen so many horses in such outstanding condition and for that I suppose I should commend Miss Blair.”

  “She certainly works very hard,” the Duke answered, “but I was fortunate to inherit from my father bloodstock that is almost unequalled in this country.”

  “You also inherited some exceptionally well-built stables,” Clint Wilbur observed.

  “They certainly had enough money spent on them,” the Duke replied drily.

  “I noticed you have a Racecourse near our boundary,” Clint Wilbur remarked.

  “That also was laid out by my father,” the Duke answered, “and I hope you will avail yourself of it. I believe Miss Blair has had the fences repaired.”

  “Thank you,” Clint Wilbur smiled. “I feel sure that these horses, if they are transferred to Marshfield, would miss the jumps.”

  The Duke waited with a glint in his eye.

  “What I am going to suggest,” Clint Wilbur said slowly, “is that I purchase a great number, perhaps all, of your horses – on one condition.”

  “Condition?” the Duke queried.

  “It is that you assist me in providing them with the accommodation that they are accustomed to.”

  The Duke looked surprised and Clint Wilbur went on,

  “I imagine that the person who will know best what they want and what is unsatisfactory with the stables at Marshfield House is Miss Blair.”

  Alita turned to stare at him with startled eyes.

  She remembered that he had given her an invitation to visit his stables and tell him what was wrong, but she had not thought that he meant it seriously.

  “What are you suggesting?” the Duke asked.

  “I am asking you to lend me Miss Blair to show me how the stables can be improved and what alterations should be made before the horses are moved there.”

  The Duke was astonished and Alita was aware that he was thinking that it would be extremely unconventional and would certainly earn her aunt’s disapproval if she went to Marshfield House unchaperoned.

  “I already have a great many workmen in the house,” Clint Wilbur carried on, “and an architect, who has a big reputation in London, but I am quite certain that he knows nothing about housing horses.”

  “I don’t think I can spare Miss Blair,” the Duke said at length.

  “I quite understand,” Clint Wilbur replied. “In which case, I shall be sorry to lose your horses, but I daresay I can manage with those I have already.”

  As he spoke, he walked out the stable door to stand in the yard.

  Alita gave the Duke a frantic glance and he hurried after the American.

  As he joined him he said,

  “Surely, Wilbur, you cannot mean that your purchase of my horses is entirely dependent upon having Miss Blair’s advice?”

  “I am afraid so,” Clint Wilbur replied casually, “I would not like to take these horses from their excellent accommodation and place them in stables that I know to be unsatisfactory.”

  Alita knew that the Duke was turning the problem over in his mind.

  Then his desire for money overcame every other consideration.

  “Of course, if it means so much to you, my dear fellow,” he said, “I am sure that Miss Blair would do anything you require.”

  “Thank you,” Clint Wilbur said quietly.

  There was an unmistakable look of satisfaction and amusement on his face as he turned to Alita.

  “His Grace has very kindly asked me to luncheon”, he said, “but I will send my groom back with my chaise and tell him to have one of my horses here at two-thirty.”

  With difficulty Alita found her voice.

  “Perhaps – you would care to – ride one of ours?” she suggested. “I can – easily lead it back when we have finished our – business together.”

  There was a faint smile on Clint Wilbur’s firm mouth as he replied,

  “A good idea, Miss Blair! And I leave you to choose which horse you think will suit me best.”

  He walked away with the Duke and Alita gave a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her being.

  “I believe he meant wha
t he said, Sam,” she remarked to the old groom when the two gentlemen were out of earshot.

  “I’m sure ’e did, miss,” replied Sam who had listened to the whole conversation. “And if you asks me, ’e’s a gentleman as knows ’is own mind.”

  “He certainly does!” Alita said. “And I have a feeling, Sam, that we are going to have a tough time bargaining with him.”

  “I’ll leaves that to you, Miss Alita,” Sam replied with a grin. “You be a darn sight better at it than I am!”

  *

  The Duke’s horse was waiting for Clint Wilbur when, after an excellent luncheon. he walked down the steps.

  “Miss Blair will join you when you are away from The Castle,” the Duke said in a low voice.

  He had in fact sent an urgent message to Alita to be waiting for Mr. Wilbur in one of the fields that led towards Marshfield House.

  She had anticipated that that was the best course anyway, being quite certain that the Duke would wish to keep any knowledge of what was happening from the Duchess.

  When Alita went back to The Castle before luncheon, she had gone into her cousin’s room to find Hermione in a flutter over which gown she should wear.

  “I want to look my best, Alita,” she fussed, “and I cannot make up my mind whether the blue gown with the velvet ribbons suits me best or the pink with the big bow on the bustle.”

  Alita considered the question seriously before she replied,

  “I like you best in the blue, because it matches your eyes.”

  “Very well, I will wear the blue,” Hermione said to her lady’s maid. “And hurry up! I want to make an entrance as soon as Papa takes Mr. Wilbur into the drawing room.”

  She would certainly do that, Alita thought, for Hermione was looking exceedingly pretty, with her fair hair waved onto the top of her head and with the small fringe that had become the universal vogue amongst the fashionable young ladies.

  In the light of the sun streaming in through the window, Hermione’s skin was flawless and the perfectly fitting blue gown accentuated the curves of her breasts while the tight corset she wore reduced the size of her waist.

  “You have laced me so tight,” Hermione complained to her maid, “that I can hardly breathe.”

  “Never mind,” Alita pointed out with a smile. “You look very elegant and very lovely!”

  She thought that Clint Wilbur would be blind if he did not think so and, being an American, he was certain to be impressed with the fact that Hermione was the daughter of a Duke!

  Besides, what could be a more grand and romantic background than The Castle?

  ‘In fact everything an American millionaire could want,’ she thought as she went back to her own bedroom.

  When she reached it, she looked in the mirror with a little grimace of amusement.

  Despite her efforts to try to look smarter and more prosperous, as Hermione had advised, the exertion of inspecting the horses had brought the usual wisps of hair falling round her cheeks.

  Her top hat had slipped to an angle and the white shirt, which she had buttoned tightly round her neck, had once again burst a button.

  ‘What does it matter?’ Alita asked herself. ‘He was not looking at me. I am sure that he made up his mind to buy the horses when he took King Hal and Rajah over the jumps.’

  At the same time she had the uncomfortable feeling that if her uncle had not acceded to Mr. Wilbur’s request that she should advise him concerning the stables at Marshfield House, he would have stuck to his decision and left the horses where they were.

  There was a steel-like quality about Clint Wilbur that she had never found in any other man.

  ‘I expect I will be able to tell him what is wrong with his stables this afternoon,’ Alita thought to herself. ‘Then, once the horses are at Marshfield House, I shall never see him again.’

  She wondered just why the thought was so depressing.

  Then she remembered that at Marshfield there was no Racecourse and she was certain that Mr. Wilbur would want to use theirs.

  As she expected that nobody would trouble about her luncheon, because there was a guest, Alita went down to the kitchen.

  She helped herself to the dishes that came out of the dining room, talking to Mrs. Henderson while she did so and assisting her by whipping up the cream for the apple tart.

  “I’m a-givin’ the gentleman proper English fare, seein’ as ’e’s American and all,” Mrs. Henderson said. “If he’s goin’ to live over ’ere, ’e’ll ’ave to learn to enjoy what we eat.”

  “I suppose there is not much difference between our food and the sort they have in America,” Alita replied, “except that we eat turkey only at Christmastime, while they have it at other times of the year as well.”

  “That’s all right for a big family” Mrs. Henderson said, “but His Grace’d soon get tired of turkey if I served it up to ’im often.”

  “I am sure he would,” Alita replied. “He is looking forward to the pheasant season.”

  As she spoke, she wondered if Clint Wilbur would enjoy cover shooting.

  The estate of Marshfield House in its late owner’s day had provided excellent shooting. It had belonged to a rich man whom Alita remembered as being a friend of her father and mother when she was a child.

  He had a very large family and in a most unusual manner for an Englishman, had divided his fortune equally amongst them.

  This meant that the eldest son could not afford the upkeep of a house as big as Marshfield and it had therefore had to be sold.

  The Duke and, Alita gathered, most of their neighbours, had been horrified at his ignoring the custom of primogeniture, which was absolutely traditional amongst the great landowners and those who had titles.

  Certainly her grandfather, who had given her father, his second son, a mere pittance as an allowance during his lifetime and had left him little more at his death, would have been scandalised at such a revolutionary idea.

  ‘Uncle Lionel will leave everything to Cousin Gerald,’ Alita told herself, ‘which means that, if Hermione receives one hundred pounds or so a year on his death, she will be very lucky.’

  The Duke was therefore right in looking for a rich husband for his only daughter and Mr. Wilbur could certainly give Hermione everything she desired and a great deal more besides.

  When the last course was being taken into the dining room, Alita went upstairs to put on her riding hat again and tuck every wisp of hair she could find into the chignon.

  She realised that the elastic was loose and told herself that she should try to buy a new one.

  However, it was difficult for her to buy anything for the simple reason that she had no money.

  Everything she required was, as far as her aunt was concerned, provided for her by Hermione’s castoffs and if she asked for anything personal it invariably meant a long argument and usually also a lecture on ingratitude.

  ‘I will manage without it,’ Alita decided. ‘Who will notice me anyway?’

  Picking up her whip, she left The Castle by a side door and went to the stables.

  “Which horse have you sent to the front for Mr. Wilbur?” she asked Sam.

  “I thinks Sparkling Knight took ’is fancy, miss,” Sam answered, “and the boys ’ave saddled Flamingo for you.”

  “Thank you, Sam. You had better start praying that I will bring home the bacon!”

  Sam chuckled at her use of a stable boys’ expression.

  “Don’t you let ’Is Grace hear you a-talkin’ like that, Miss Alita, or ’e’ll be sayin’ as we’re a bad influence on you!”

  “He will say that only if I cannot persuade Mr. Wilbur to pay up,” Alita answered “and I can assure you, Sam, I can only do my best.”

  “I’m sure you will, Miss Alita.” Sam smiled. “Then we can buy some new yearlings from the local Horse Fairs. I ’as me eye on one already which I think’ll take your fancy.”

  “Oh, Sam, how exciting!” Alita exclaimed. “But I had better go now in case Mr
. Wilbur leaves earlier than we expect him to.”

  She knew that once Sam started describing a horse it took a long time and, as she rode out of the yard towards the fields on the other side of it, she knew that it was going to be a hard tussle to make her uncle relinquish as much money as she and Sam wished to spend.

  She was putting Flamingo through some of his tricks when she saw Sparkling Knight coming towards her.

  Clint Wilbur was riding him with that easy grace that she knew must be born in a man and could never be taught.

  He took off his hat when he was level with her and said,

  “I might have guessed that you would be busy exercising Flamingo, so I am not going to apologise for keeping you waiting.”

  “You are actually exceptionally punctual,” Alita replied. “Did you enjoy your luncheon?”

  “Everybody was extremely affable,” he answered, “but the Duke informs me that I am to do my bargaining with you, which I consider most unfair.”

  “Unfair?” Alita enquired.

  “You are aware better than their owner how much I want his horses.”

  “Do you really want them?”

  “I would find it very hard to resist jumping King Hal again or racing Rajah.”

  “I am afraid that they will cost you rather a lot,” Alita said tentatively.

  “We will talk about that later,” he replied.

  They rode for some way before Alita asked,

  “Would you really have refused to buy His Grace’s horses if he had not agreed to my helping you with your stables?”

  “I think perhaps I was being rather unsporting in betting on a certainty,” Clint Wilbur replied.

  Alita laughed.

  “Do you always get your own way?”

  “Always!” he replied. “Which is one of the compensations for being so rich!”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “Do you need any compensations?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He seemed to consider the question for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “I think a man who is born rich misses the struggle to survive and to reach the top, which to his contemporaries is a natural part of their development.”