Incomparable Lord Meath Novella: A Rebellious Sons prequel (Rebellious Sons .5)(7)

As Lord Belden solicitously asked after Bell’s well-being and offered her dishes from the tray that had been carried up, Evan leaned toward the managing Miss Hoyt. “You’re speaking of the same ill-tempered, stubborn termagant I tried to prevent from racing? Young ladies do not gear themselves as men and anger a mob of drunks by robbing them of their expectations. She brought this on herself, just as Wexford has.”

“By robbing, do you mean she was winning despite all odds?” She poured herself tea from the pot left on his table.

“In a fair and reasonable world, any race would set her up for a tumble and a loss. And this is far from a fair and reasonable world. She was playing with fire.”

“Says the man who gambled to pay his tailor.” She daintily picked up one of the sandwiches the kitchen had served.

“Blame it on the stars, if you will, but I have the gods’ own luck, and Wexford does not and never has. But he keeps on gambling and has taught Bell to do the same. The cycle must end before she breaks her neck.” He rubbed his own sore limb in sympathy for what was in store for a young girl who knew no better.

“Has Belden made an offer for the earl’s stable?” she asked demurely, apparently choosing not to argue with him on the dangers of gaming—probably because she’d already lectured him on the evil path he’d once set on.

At the time, he’d laughed at her, and then his father had died. “Wexford is willing to sell him carriage horses, which is all your uncle really wants. I take it the marquess is not normally a racing man.”

“Heavens forbid,” she said fervently. “Belden is a cautious investor. He’s only here to look for carriage horses and because he is discussing an investment with some associates who insisted he come look at whatever it is they want him to participate in. I cannot convince him he should invest equally in people.”

“Only soft-hearted females think like that,” he said with a laugh. “There has to be something in it for him. If the marquess doesn’t race and doesn’t need thoroughbreds, then Wexford has only one bargaining chip left on the table.”

She sipped her tea and nibbled her sandwich. Evan remembered her as a quiet young woman, barely out of the schoolroom, who had strong opinions once he pried them out of her. At the time, he’d been a fledgling and delighted with himself for persuading a lovely lady to look at him with approval. They both had a little more experience of the world these days, it seemed.

Seemingly dismissing his comment, Miss Hoyt listened to the rambling discussion at the other table, interceding to mention a few of Belden’s friends who might be interested in purchasing a racing stable. That drove the other conversation down a more enthusiastic path.

At which point, she turned back to Evan. “What bargaining chip?” she demanded, proving she hadn’t dismissed him at all.

“Bell,” he answered bluntly. “Belden needs an heir. He can support her and her sisters.”

Her big brown eyes got bigger. “Belden? Marry? That can’t happen.”

She almost seemed to be in a panic. Evan had no desire to alarm her, but this was obviously the best solution if Wexford was about to be flung into debtor’s prison. The girls needed protection, and Evan wasn’t suitable. They needed to be taken out of this environment or their drunken uncle would continue dragging them down the earl’s path.

“Later,” he murmured, offering her a tea cake while returning to listen to the horse discussion.

“Never,” she said in the same low tone, taking the cake and ripping into it as if it had caused offense.



* * *



“I must go home,” Lady Isabell insisted again as Honora led her back to the bedchamber where Sally waited to help her prepare for bed. “My sisters need me, and Little Dream will fret.”

“I dislike being the one to explain this, my lady,” Honora said, clenching her fingers in her skirt, still appalled at Meath’s alarming suggestion to marry this young thing to her uncle. “But the men most certainly won’t give you honesty. As I understand it, the debt collectors are on your father’s doorstep. With a word from a judge, they can have him thrown in prison until he finds the funds to pay them. You need to start looking to your future.”

“Funds won’t happen,” Lady Isabell said unhappily, slumping to the bed, unsurprised. “I know that. It’s the only reason I took the risk of racing today. I’m not a complete fool.”

“So you know he has run out of options. If he sells his stable, I take it there will be nothing else to put bread on the table?”

The girl hugged her bandaged wrist against her chest. “Horses are all da knows. He might afford a few sheep after paying his debts with the proceeds of the sale, but wool prices won’t pay the cost of food and coal for that great hulking manor we live in, much less pay for a sheepherder. And he’d forget the sheep and find someone with a grand horse at a grand price and we’d be right back where we are now. If I had won the prize today, we could have paid his debts. Then we could have lived well off the breeding fees, race winnings, and selling off the stock a little at a time, as we used to do, before my stepmother died. He’s not been the same since then.”

“Yes, it’s difficult,” Honora said with a sigh, settling in a wing chair. “My father wasted his fortune investing in unsuccessful ventures, always thinking he’d live long enough to see one come to fruition. It’s a different form of gambling. Men think they’ll live forever. Unfortunately, they don’t, and they leave their women helpless.”