Fortune's fools Read online

  Kate looked away. Her mother could never get to the point when she had something unpleasant to relate.

  "How is Auntie?"

  "She is fine, dear. I asked her about the status of our neighbors, the Darby brothers."

  "Oh, what sort of status?" asked Kate, twisting one curl around her ear and pretending not to be interested in the least.

  "You know, whether or not they are suitable."

  "And what did she tell you? Not that I care," she added.

  "That they are suitable as far as lineage, but, my dear, they are shockingly poor. Perhaps poorer than we are. I mean, we at least have land and horses. They have nothing except their good names."

  "Oh, I see," said Kate, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  Her mother rose and came to stand behind her, placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I thought you should know."

  Kate managed a brave smile and said, "I really had not begun to think about Mr. Darby in those terms, Mama. Really, I had not."

  "I'm glad. I knew you would be sensible," said Mrs. O'Connor, patting the slender shoulder. "I also wanted

  to warn you that, before you came down this afternoon, Mr. Darby did mention that he was interested in Philippa Beauchamp. After finding out about his lack of funds, I understand why."

  "Of course. One cannot blame him for trying to better himself through marriage. Is it not what you want for me?" asked Kate with a glittery smile that failed to bring that telltale animation to her emerald eyes.

  "For you, my dear child, I want happiness, only happiness." Mrs. O'Connor gave her shoulder a last squeeze and glided toward the door. There, she said, "Do hurry, Kate. You know how your father hates to be late to the theater. He wants to have plenty of time to settle in for his nap."

  "I will be down in five minutes, Mama."

  The maid gave her hair a final touch and pronounced her finished. With a smile, Kate dismissed her.

  Alone, Kate had the most immoderate desire to tear at her hair and throw herself across the bed in tears. She chided herself for the emotion. How could she possibly have thought that Mr. Darby had any interest in her—any romantic interest? Had he shown her that he did, beyond their lighthearted banter as Sir Milton and Iseult? Certainly not. He had been a perfect gentleman and was even offering to help her out of her difficulty. He did not deserve anger or tears. He had not betrayed her in any way.

  Kate rose and walked to the window, her willowy frame draped to perfection by her elegant blue silk gown. Her steps were regal, and she held her chin high. At the window, she gazed into the garden, staring at the wall where she knew the shrubbery hid the old gate.

  No, Max Darby had not betrayed her. Her heart had done that, without her even knowing it was happening.

  Kate smiled as her father winked at her and then leaned closer to her mother, saying, "You will put all the young ladies to shame tonight, my dear."

  "Whatever do you mean, Kieran?"

  "What do I mean?" he asked. "Why, with that pretty gown and that golden hair of yours, every man's eye will be on you, my love."

  Her mother gurgled with laughter and slapped him playfully with her fan. "Gold with gray streaks," she said.

  "Gold and silver, my dear. There is nothing a man likes more than gold and silver."

  Kate turned and looked out the window as the carriage carried them to Covent Garden and the theater. She knew that Max would be there, and she was gathering her fortitude to withstand the onslaught of her own emotions when she saw him. It was a shame that he was poor and that he was interested in someone who was not. But her mother's speech had sealed her fate, and she knew it did not lie with Max Darby.

  When they entered the lobby of the theater, her aunt and uncle were waiting for them. Her uncle, Lord Murray, took her mother's arm, trailing along after her father and her aunt. At the last minute, her uncle turned and offered his other arm to her, saving her from walking behind them like a child.

  The gas lights flickered in their sconces, highlighting the beautiful fabrics of the ladies' gowns as they passed through to their box. Kate had been to the theater only once before, and she was looking forward to it.

  As if he had read her thoughts, her uncle said, "Are you looking forward to the play tonight, my dear?"

  "Oh yes."

  "So you are fond of the theater?"

  "Yes, uncle, I think it would be wonderful to act on the stage. Only think of all the roles one could play."

  "True, but afterward, one would have to leave off the role of queen or knight and return to the mundane world. That might prove quite trying, puss," he said.

  Kate laughed, tossing her head at his witticism. Raising her eyes again, she saw him. He was striding toward them, his handsome face eager. His brother followed more slowly.

  She must have tensed, for her uncle asked, "What is it?"

  "Nothing, only someone we know."

  "Mr. Darby, how nice to see you again so soon," said her mother, nodding to his bow. "Allow me to present my sister's husband, Lord Murray. Alfred, this is Maxwell Darby."

  "How do you do, my lord? Good evening, Miss O'Connor."

  "Mr. Darby," said Kate, quite proud of herself for her polite tone.

  "Allow me to present my brother Tristram. Tris, this is Lord Murray, Mrs. O'Connor, and Miss O'Connor. The ladies are our neighbors."

  "How do you do?" said the young man, sweeping an elegant bow.

  Kate curtsied in reply, marveling at the resemblance between the brothers. She had been too upset that afternoon to notice. Tristram was every bit as handsome as his older brother, but his blond hair and pale blue eyes made him a watercolor image of the darker Max.

  They continued on their way to the boxes, and Kate found herself by Max's side.

  "I have already put out feelers for our match race. I think Palmer may take the bait."

  "Excellent," she whispered, quite pleased with the normality of her tone.

  "Perhaps we should meet tomorrow morning, in the park. I would certainly feel better if I could put Thunder-light through his paces again."

  "What a good idea," she said. "At nine o'clock?"

  "At the entrance to the park. I will be there. Ah, here we are, Tris. Delightful to meet you, my lord," said Max, sketching a bow to them before leading his brother away.

  "Pleasant young men, though the dark one, Max, has something of a reputation," said her uncle, watching Kate keenly.

  "What sort of reputation?"

  "A bit of a daredevil, so they say. Of course, he could not be much different from your papa in his day," added her uncle.

  "Papa had a reputation?" asked Kate, loudly enough for her father, who had come looking for them, to protest.

  "Completely undeserved," he said. "And I'll thank you, Alfred, not to be disparaging me in front of my own daughter."

  "Never disparaging, Kieran, just taking off some of that polish."

  Kate entered the box and took the seat beside her mother. Her aunt and mother were already busy discussing the parade of fashions in the opposite boxes. She was glad, for it gave her time to search for Max Darby.

  She had no trouble spotting them as the brothers made their entrance into the Beauchamp box, since Mrs.

  Beauchamp exclaimed loudly, "Mr. Darby, do come and sit right here beside me. Do move over, Philippa."

  Kate's sharp eyes detected his expression of distaste as he allowed the vulgar Mrs. Beauchamp to drag him into the seat next to hers. His smile appeared forced, but he did not draw away from her.

  Kate's attention was diverted by a cackle from the box next to theirs. She cocked her head to one side to better hear the masculine voices.

  "There they are, Tavistoke. I told you, this is going to be better than the play. Look, the woman's practically throwing herself at him."

  "I told you my boys would not let us down, Craven-well. Max will have the Beauchamp girl all sewed up within the week. Just watch and see."

  Kate closed her eyes
and swallowed. It was just as bad as she had thought. Max was nothing but the basest fortune hunter. Even his father, Lord Tavistoke, knew about it and was egging him on. Was the entire family devoid of honor?

  "Hen, heh. Look at her now. Giving him a real show. Too bad her weasel of a husband is in the back of the box. Puts a bit of a damper on the show," said Cravenwell.

  "Not too much," said Tavistoke with a crude laugh. "She's put her hand on his knee. Watch out, my boy! Don't let the creature go too far!"

  The next four hours were a pantomime of torture for Kate as she watched Mrs. Beauchamp flirt outrageously with Max Darby, their actions crudely narrated by the two men in the adjoining box. For his part, Max seemed willing to withstand with everything she could serve up, despite the fact that Mr. Beauchamp remained in the box until the second interval. Sitting at the back of the box, he had a clear view of all his wife's shocking posturing.

  It would have been amusing if it had been anyone else, but for Kate, watching Max's efforts to ingratiate himself with the mother made her ill. When the intervals came, other men arrived in the Beauchamp box to leer at Miss Beauchamp and bow over the vulgar mother's hand— men equally desperate, she supposed, to gain a fortune. In all of this, the husband never moved, never reacted.

  By the time her mother and aunt rose at the end of the final act, Kate felt numb. All the way home, all she could think of was Max and that woman. Or worse yet, Max and that insipid girl. Not insipid. She had appeared to be enjoying Tristram's earnest conversation.

  Kate suddenly realized any regard she had been harboring for Max Darby was dead. How could she possibly respect someone so sunk to good taste and decorum?

  When she finally reached the sanctity of her room and laid her head on her pillow, she sighed at the touch of the cool, soft cotton on her heated cheek. There were no tears, only sadness at what might have been.

  Kate comforted herself with the thought that any man she chose would have to put honor before fortune— even if he were a beggar. Max had chosen fortune.

  No, Max Darby was not the man for her.

  The next morning, clouds covered the sky as well as Kate's spirit. She had settled the matter of Max Darby in her mind, but her heart was having trouble being converted. She knew she should give up on him, but a part of her, the part that wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled, wanted to rescue him from this awful situation. She was torn between disgust and attraction, despair and hope.

  Hope won out, and she dressed in her dark green habit and sent for her groom and Thunderlight. She would meet Max in the park. She would accept his help in her efforts to keep her father from selling Early Girl.

  Entering the park, she could not help but smile. Max sat astride the big gray gelding, his seat perfection as he watched her approach. He was the consummate horseman, communicating by silent commands with his mount.

  "You look lovely this morning," he said.

  Kate frowned slightly, and then said, "Oh, I thought you were speaking to Thunderlight."

  "No you did not," said Max, bringing the gray closer until his thigh touched hers.

  "Very well," she said, her breathing erratic. "Thank you, Mr. Darby. May I say you look quite dashing, too."

  He chuckled, and Kate found herself relaxing again. This was the Max she knew, the Max from the garden.

  Leaning closer, he whispered, "Can we talk in front of..."

  He nodded to her groom and Kate said, "Yes, Bobby knows what we are about. He does not like it, but he will keep it to himself. Will you not, Bobby?"

  "Aye, miss, that I will. Else Mr. MacAfee will have my heart for breakfast. If it were anyone else goin' t' ride the big stallion, I woulda tried t' talk the mistress out of it. But I remember you from before, I do. If anyone can win the race, you can, Mr. Darby. An' then Mr. O'Connor, 'e won't hafta sell Early Girl."

  "Early Girl has been in Bobby's charge since she was foaled," confided Kate.

  "I see. Well, I appreciate your confidence, Bobby. I shan't let you down, any of you."

  The groom nodded and kicked his pony, guiding

  him away from them. Max slid to the ground and turned to help Kate dismount. The saddles were soon switched, and Kate allowed Max to throw her into the saddle before he climbed onto Thunderlight.

  "Palmer has taken the bait," he said.

  "What is his horse like?"

  "I don't know," said Max, grinning when her eyes grew wide. "I know Palmer's sort. He'll have a showy, prime piece of blood, but when it comes down to it, he won't have the faintest idea how to get the best out of his horse. But don't worry, I have sent Needham, Lord Cravenwell's groom, to find out all he can about the horse."

  "When is the race?"

  "Tomorrow morning. It will be a near run thing, I can tell you."

  "Oh, Max, I hope ..."

  He placed a finger against her lips before winking at her and giving her another of his warm smiles. He was so handsome, she thought. If only ...

  "Do not worry. I will not fail you. And in the afternoon, when your father is getting ready to take your mare to Tattersall's, you will calmly present him with Palmer's horse as a substitute."

  "He will be so angry," she said. Then, with a giggle, she added, "Mostly, he will be angry that he did not think of it himself."

  "And that he missed the race."

  "There is that, too," she said, and they shared a laugh.

  "Well, no time like the present to put the old boy through his paces. Will you ride with me?"

  "You know I will," said Kate. "Bobby, give us a signal, will you?"

  The groom nodded, took his handkerchief out of his

  pocket and held it in the air. "Ready ... steady ... go!" he shouted, letting the handkerchief flutter to the ground.

  Thunderlight leaped ahead, but the big gray soon caught up. The two huge horses careened through the park, their hooves churning up the turf. Kate watched as Thunderlight slowly edged ahead. She marveled as the gray began to tire, but Thunderlight continued on, as strong as ever.

  When she finally reached their starting point, Max was already there, cooling Thunderlight by walking him in a wide circle.

  Joining him, she said, "He is the fastest horse I have ever seen—at least, when you are riding him. He really wants to please you."

  "And he does," said Max, leaning over the big stallion's arched neck and patting him fiercely.

  Kate felt her heart catch in her throat. She fought the urge to shout at him, to demand that he cease all the nonsense about courting Philippa Beauchamp. Max Darby was perfect, but not for such a retiring little chit. He was perfect for her—Kate O'Connor! Why could he not see it?

  "Is something wrong? No, no, don't tell me. You are still worried about tomorrow. We will win, Kate. Trust me.

  He put one hand over hers and gave a squeeze. Kate gazed down at the strong, leather-clad fingers and wished with all her heart she could tell him what she was really thinking. She could not, of course. For one thing, he would be shocked. She was certain he had no idea what wild emotions he had stirred in her heart. And secondly, he had given her no indication that he might share those sentiments. No, she would have to keep her thoughts and emotions to herself.

  She lifted her eyes and smiled at him. "I do trust you, Max. As a matter of fact, I am placing all my trust in you."

  "I will not let you down," he said, bringing her gloved hand to his lips and kissing it.

  With a jaunty grin, he released her hand and slid to the ground. Taking her by the waist, he took her off the gray as if she weighed no more than a feather. When she was on her feet, she looked up at him, the smile freezing on her lips.

  With the horses on either side of them, he pulled her close and kissed her mouth—a deep, searching kiss that made her forget all her good resolutions.

  Then he released her, and the horses moved apart. Without a word, he signaled her groom, and they quickly switched the saddles back. Max threw her onto Thunderlight's back before swinging onto the b
ig gray gelding.

  "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Bobby. See that you have your mistress here, with Thunderlight, on time."

  "Aye, guvner," said the groom.

  "Good-bye, Kate. Until tomorrow morning."

  And he was gone before she could say a word. Not that she was capable of speech at the moment. That kiss had absolutely shocked her—and warmed her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. She had received a number of kisses, but never one as earth-shattering as Max's—or as disturbing.

  "So much for my good, sensible intentions," she muttered under her breath as she turned Thunderlight for home.

  "Wot was that, miss?" asked the groom.

  "Nothing, Bobby, nothing at all. Just remember what

  Mr. Darby said. I shan't send to the stables, for it might arouse suspicion. Instead, tell Mr. MacAfee that I am joining a group of friends for an early ride. He will not question that."

  The groom looked incredulous at this, and Kate grimaced. "Oh, just tell him. The only way he can question it is by coming to the house and asking me, and he will not dare do that so early in the morning."

  "Yes, miss," said the groom. After a moment, he asked, "This isn't something we're goin' t' be doin' on a regular basis, is it, miss?"

  "No, Bobby. This is a one time thing. After tomorrow, it will all be over."

  "I hope so, miss. I surely do hope so."

  "So do I," whispered Kate.

  After returning his horse to the Marquess of Craven-well's mews, Max walked back to the small town house he and his brother shared. With a distracted greeting for their servant, he made his way to his room and pulled off his boots.

  He was restless, though he did not go so far as to question his plan to win another horse for Kieran O'Connor. He was certain he and Thunderlight would win. As for Kate...

  Max rose and took a quick turn around the small room. He picked up his boots and placed them in the cupboard. Then he took them out again.

  "Barton!"

  "Yes, sir," said the servant, appearing immediately.

  "These need shining," he said, pointing at the boots.