Chapter 20

MURDERESS INTENDED DIVORCE. It is with great pleasure I can reveal, at last, Lady Allen’s motive for the heinous murder of her husband, the Earl of Allen. The earl, having grown suspicious of his wife, discovered a cache of paperwork that suggested she intended to petition for divorce. Enraged by her disloyalty, the earl confronted his wife and informed her he would oppose the petition. In doing so, he sealed his fate.

It had been years since Thel had regularly ridden a horse, but the steady clip-clop of horse hooves on the path and the wind rustling the leaves drew him back to his youth and the afternoons spent hunched over the neck of his chubby, gray pony, determined to impress his father.

Unfortunately, his daughter’s excitement meant he could not fully enjoy the moment.

“A spring wedding would be best, but winter is so beautiful,” she said. “I wish I could tell everyone. Are you certain I must wait? John was not happy when I insisted on secrecy.”

He had gone over this point enough that he was comfortable answering. “They need time to adjust to the idea of you being courted at all, my dear. It will be years until you marry. We will tell them about your betrothal when the time is right.”

That was also the reason they were awake far earlier than usual, while the rest of his family lay abed.

Constance huffed. “I suppose. Do you think grandmother would lend me her pearls? I’ll need a sprig of myrtle for my bouquet, of course, and carnations to symbolize faithfulness…”

He only realized his daughter’s brown and white-spotted mare was straying off the path when her voice grew quieter.

He pulled his horse up short. “Constance, keep next to me.”

She returned to the path, but in less than a minute, her mount was wandering away again.

“Constance,” he said.

“Give her a moment; the poor dear is hungry.” She patted her horse’s neck as the animal delicately plucked dandelions from the grass.

Olivia trotted her mount up next to him. “Have you seen Mr. Ringwell?”

“No, but the day is yet young,” he said.

Mr. Ringwell was meant to meet them during their second rotation of the park, which they had nearly completed. Thel’s idea was to show Constance that Mr. Ringwell was more than a silly village boy by displaying his more positive traits. As the boy was skilled with horses, and the park was a neutral enough ground, they started with riding.

“No Mr. Dawson, either,” Olivia said.

“He’ll come,” Thel said, speaking with more confidence than he felt. Dawson’s presence was another part of their plan. Thel presumed that having come from America, he would not be as confident on horseback and would serve as a contrast to Mr. Ringwell’s skill.

“I grow weary of playing the downtrodden lady already,” Olivia said. She stuck a finger between the high, black collar and her neck. “I did not expect to wear my widow’s weeds again so soon, but I needed them to settle into the role of the overwhelmed, downtrodden woman I must play to keep Mr. Dawson unaware of our plans. I wasn’t sure it would work until I closed the top button of my collar. It was like I was thrust back to those first few weeks after the funeral when I kept expecting the earl to rise from his grave and haunt me.”

Thel adjusted a black ostrich feather in her hat that had fallen forward. “It is not too late for me to get my dueling pistols out of storage.”

“Absolutely not.” She grasped the bottom of her bodice and tugged it down. “I will think of it as playing the role of myself from the darkest years of my marriage, with Mr. Dawson as the earl.”

Thel gave an exaggerated shudder. “Please do not speak of such things.”

Olivia’s giggles were interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats. Thel turned in time to see Constance shift from cooing over her horse to gaping at the transformed Mr. Ringwell.

Thel could hardly recognize the boy. He was dressed as regally as a duke in a tan tailcoat with notched lapels. The high collar of his snowy-white shirt was held in place by a dark-green cravat, and his black leather riding boots gleamed.

“Good morning, Lady Constance,” he said. His horse dipped its head and drew one leg back in a rather spectacular bow.

Constance stared at Mr. Ringwell for so long that Thel wondered if she had even heard the boy speak.

“Connie,” Mr. Ringwell said softly.

She snapped her jaw shut and flicked her reins, but her mare refused to budge.

Mr. Ringwell rode next to her mare and peered at her saddle. “Looks like she sucked in air. Shall I fix it?”

“That would be most convenient, Mr. Ringwell.”

As Mr. Ringwell dismounted, Thel leaned closer to Olivia and whispered, “I think it’s working.”

Samuel Ringwell had not been “Mr. Ringwell” to his daughter for as long as he could remember. He hoped her referring to him in a more formal manner suggested she was seeing him as more than a childhood friend.

When Mr. Ringwell finished cinching Constance’s saddle, they continued along the loop.

It was comfortable riding beside Olivia while watching over his daughter. It almost felt as if she were his wife. If they had not been waiting for Dawson to swoop in and disrupt the moment, he might have suggested they find a chaperone for Constance and sneak off to enjoy themselves.

“I wish we were somewhere more private,” Olivia said. She licked her bottom lip. “Perhaps when this is over, you might pay me a visit. I have several fascinating implements I believe you would quite enjoy.”

He remembered the glint of metal on her breasts, and his trousers were suddenly too tight. He had learned more about intimate acts from her in a few short days than he had ever gleaned from his dusty texts.

He sidled his horse closer. “It would be my pleasure.”

She squeezed his thigh. “My dear, there would be enough pleasure for both of us.”

Despite his better nature, he was about to suggest they ride back to his house when a fast-moving dark splotch across the park drew his attention. He took Olivia’s hand and squeezed it. “Tonight. For now, we must resume our roles.”

She straightened. “Mr. Dawson?”

He did not have a chance to answer, as in the next moment, the man in question trotted toward them on a dark bay stallion. Without the crescent moon mask, Thel got a different impression of the man. Dawson was older than he had realized, nearly Olivia’s age, and the cut of his suit was inferior, especially compared to Mr. Ringwell’s. However, he handled his mount with the same level of skill and confidence as his rival.

“Lady Allen,” Dawson said, with a slight incline of his head. “I am impressed with your resolve. There are few women who would dare venture out with such grave accusations levied against them.”

“The rumors will pass,” Olivia said. There was a slight tremor in her voice, and she stared directly ahead with an expression so still, it reminded Thel of a porcelain doll.

“Such confidence.”

She curled her shoulders inward. “My affairs are none of your concern.”

Thel flexed his hands, stiff from clutching the reins. He did not dare speak up for fear of disrupting Olivia’s act. Part of their plan involved keeping Dawson feeling as if he were in control. If Thel made his displeasure known, Dawson might realize they were aware of his scheme. Thus, he held his silence.

Dawson lifted his chin and moved his horse ahead.

Olivia joined him as he increased speed. He was willing to grant Mr. Ringwell the privilege of speaking with Constance in private, but not Dawson.

“There must be another young lady in this park who would enjoy your company, Mr. Ringwell,” Dawson said. “There are matters I wish to discuss with my betrothed in private.”

The hair on the back of Thel’s neck rose, but he held his tongue. If Mr. Ringwell was going to have any success in bringing Constance to her senses, he needed to do it without her father interfering.

As it turned out, Mr. Ringwell did not need to respond.

“We will have plenty of time to discuss the wedding before I turn one-and-twenty,” Constance said. “Mr. Ringwell, when was the last time you visited the village? I find I am missing home.”

“I was there a fortnight ago and will be returning soon to inspect our horses before the derby.” He patted his stallion’s neck. “Murphy was a prize winner, back in my father’s day.”

“Rather fond of the derby myself,” Dawson said loudly.

A change came over Mr. Ringwell then, one Thel recognized from the many times the boy’s father had forbidden him from driving the carriage, or swimming across the gushing river, or climbing behind the wool pile. As such, Mr. Ringwell’s next words were no surprise.

“Fancy a wager, Mr. Dawson?”

An hour later, Thel found himself amid a crowd of curious ladies and gentlemen. A section of the path had been cleared and lines drawn in chalk about a hundred yards apart. To carry out this task, Mr. Ringwell and Dawson had engaged a dozen riders to wait along the edges of the track at equal distances to keep anyone from accidentally straying too close. Several of said gentlemen had already made discreet wagers, and from what he could gather, Mr. Ringwell was the favorite.

A shot rang out, and the riders were off like a blur, spraying gravel in their wake. The crowd erupted into cheers.

“Go, Mr. Ringwell!” Constance yelled.

The horses remained within inches of each other as they approached the end of the path. The next section was the most difficult, as it required them to slow down enough to make a complete turn before returning the way they had come. Mr. Ringwell completed the task gracefully, hardly even cutting into the grass. Dawson followed close behind but was steadily losing ground.

A cloud of dust kicked up by galloping hooves made it difficult to see. It also started a chorus of coughing and sneezing. Thel held a handkerchief to his nose with one hand and grabbed his saddle horn with the other.

Constance’s horse shifted and rolled her eyes. If they were not flanked by other riders, he suspected the animal would have bolted.

“They’ve rounded the turn,” Olivia said.

He barely heard her over the increasing volume of cheers.

In the few seconds it took for both riders to pass them, Mr. Ringwell earned a slight lead.

“Come on, Mr. Ringwell!” he yelled, even as the dust became so thick, he could barely see. He peered closer and caught a flash of silver from Dawson. There was a faint whinny, and then Mr. Ringwell fell back, just in time for Dawson to thunder across the finish line. He was immediately mobbed by a deafening wave of well-wishers.

As the dust settled, he turned, only to find his daughter’s saddle empty.

He searched the surrounding area but did not see her. “Constance!”

The riotous noise of celebration dimmed to a shush, and the enormous crowd seemed to expand until he could see nothing else. There were so many people. Any sudden sound could spark a stampede, and his daughter might be trampled.

A second voice joined him, shouting Constance’s name as Olivia shoved closer. Some of the excited winners had realized the danger of the situation and were urging people to back away.

He spun his horse around, his heart in his throat, until at last, he spotted Constance lingering near the finish line next to Mr. Ringwell.

A sense of lightness passed over him so quickly that he was momentarily dizzy.

“That was too close for my comfort,” Olivia said. “I am not sure how she even dismounted on her own.” She tugged Constance’s horse forward. The mare stopped the moment Olivia gave her slack and then dropped her head to the ground, nostrils flaring.

“Stubborn beast,” she said. “Shall we reunite them?”

Constance laughed at something Mr. Ringwell had said, completely unaware of the chaos she had caused by disappearing.

“Not that I am complaining,” Thel said. “But shouldn’t she be congratulating the winner?”

Olivia clucked her tongue. “You have much to learn about women, my lord.”

As they approached, a horse in the middle of the chaos bucked, starting a chain reaction that rippled through the crowd. Thel stayed astride, but Olivia had to drop the reins to Constance’s horse to avoid falling, and in the process, the horse bucked free and charged toward Constance.

He shouted his daughter’s name, but she remained frozen, like a deer staring down the barrel of a musket.

He was too far away to reach her in time. Unless the horse veered away, she would be trampled. The scenario unfolded in his mind. He would race toward her, scramble from his horse, and bundle her body in his arms. She would slip through his fingers the same way Marguerite had, and he would be alone again.

Then Mr. Ringwell tackled Constance, and they rolled out of the path of the stampeding animal.

Thel dismounted with such haste that he nearly got caught in his stirrup. He shook his foot free and stumbled across the grass, his heart thundering, then fell to his knees beside his daughter.

Mr. Ringwell clutched Constance to his chest as she stared, unseeing, over his shoulder.

“That was too close,” Olivia said from behind him.

Thel cupped his daughter’s cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Father?” She pulled away from Mr. Ringwell and looked around. “Where’s John?”

He wanted to hug her and strangle her at the same time. “You nearly got yourself killed, and that’s all you say? It wasn’t Mr. Dawson who saved you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “He didn’t? He didn’t even try?” Then she tucked her head into Mr. Ringwell’s shoulder with a sob.

“This is my fault,” Mr. Ringwell said, his face grave. He met Thel’s gaze squarely. “I should not have challenged Mr. Dawson.”

That Mr. Ringwell was right did not blunt the bone-deep feeling that Thel had failed to protect his daughter. She’d barely been able to control her horse, and the animal had shown signs of bolting at the beginning of the race, but he’d pushed his concerns away in the hope that watching Mr. Ringwell win would tip Constance’s favor in his direction.

“She’s had a shock,” Olivia said as she crouched beside him. “We should return her to her room before we attract any more attention.”

He reluctantly rose to his feet and allowed Mr. Ringwell to guide Constance back to her horse. She refused to mount but accepted the mare’s reins and walked alongside her. Then the sound of a horse galloping had them all turning to see Dawson racing toward them.

“Constance!” Dawson cried. He pulled up his horse, hastily dismounted, then ran toward them, alarm written across his features.

“I’ve got her,” Mr. Ringwell said, holding out a hand as if to ward Dawson off.

“Nonsense,” Dawson said. He shoved past Mr. Ringwell and reached for Constance, but she flinched.

Dawson dropped his arms and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I have to go home,” Constance said. She stepped closer to Mr. Ringwell, who crossed his arms and pressed his lips into a thin line. Thel suspected it would not take much for Mr. Ringwell to escalate to violence.

“But…” Dawson looked at Mr. Ringwell, seemed to freeze in place for a moment, then shook his head. “Fine. Do as you wish.” He spun on his heel and walked back to his mount without a single glance back.