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the two could provide, he watched the three ladies converse in the waning afternoon sun, while his mind considered Penelope’s somewhat illogical explanation and false show of bravado. For as much as he could tell, she appeared a very scared young woman attempting to accomplish a nearly impossible task.

Chapter Four

      Phineas pushed through the door of Tattersalls and into the crowd, packed front door to rear, a sense of anticipation and wealth heavy in the air. No mere coincidence brought him to the club. Like everyone else, he wished to see Lord Trumpington’s grey go up on the block. The auction promised to be the most anticipated bloodstock offering at the horse house in months. Not one to spare a pound to improve his stable, Phineas aimed to purchase the animal. With careful planning, his unexpected trip to Brighton hadn’t interfered. Waving his hand in greeting to a friend across the room, the two met at the doorway and walked further down the ramp toward the stable area.

      “Have you had a look, Dev?”

      Devlin Ravensdale, Duke of Wharncliffe was a venerable expert with horses of every kind. Phin hoped Devlin’s report proved pristine so he could proceed with the sale.

      “He’s remarkable, Phin. You’ll definitely want to win this auction. I haven’t seen a better example of horseflesh in the entire General Stud Book. As a direct descendant of one of the foundation sires, he’s a pure thoroughbred. If you weren’t so set on buying him yourself, I would steal him out from underneath you.”

      They chuckled and then, reconsidering, Phin dropped all humor. “No, you wouldn’t.” He eyed his friend sincerely. Devlin possessed enough money to buy Tattersalls, never mind a single thoroughbred, so Phin held no doubt he would purchase the horse if not for their friendship. They had grown up together and couldn’t be more loyal comrades.

      “Of course I would, so I could turn around and gift him to you.”

      “No matter how much you appreciate our friendship and attribute your marital happiness to my interference, at one point you will need to stop buying me extravagant gifts. There is no debt to repay.” With the next breath, another subject leapt to the forefront. “I returned from Brighton to find my mother in house.” His voice held a dubious tone.

      Devlin arched a dark brow. “You don’t say? I thought she’d decided to spend the rest of the season at Betcham Manor.” He swung open the stable door so his friend could pass.

      Phineas grinned. “So did I. But she was there when I arrived home accompanied by two houseguests. Three, if you include her annoying parrot.”

      Devlin followed him into the stable. “So, you haven’t gotten rid of the bird?”

      “Not yet. But I may be able to recruit Jenkins to the dirty deed if the opportunity presents itself.”

      Devlin nudged Phineas before replying. “Well count me in if it turns out to be a three man job.”

      “As you wish.”

      They neared the livestock area, aisle after aisle of wooden stalls, where a soft nicker or objecting whinny rent the air to interrupt their conversation despite the humid scent and fragrant straw proved a constant reminder of their purpose. Their steps quickened as they approached an outlying stable.

      “I assume it was difficult for your mother to plan your future from the countryside.” Devlin indicated a booth just ahead. “Is there more to this story?”

      “Actually there is. Quite a bit more.” But Phin stopped short in the retelling as his eyes swept over the magnificent animal in true appreciation. “I’ll tell you about Maman later. Let’s have a look.” Phineas stepped closer and ran his palm down the stallion’s fetlock. The horse stood at least fifteen hands high. Strong and well built, lean and fit, the thoroughbred was undoubtedly a sweetgoer.

      “I am determined to win this auction. No matter the cost.”

      The thoroughbred snorted and side-stepped, causing the men to shift their attention to the wooden ramp where a stranger lingered.

      “A pure beauty that one. I’ve heard it’s the prize of the auction block today.”

      The interloper eschewed a polite introduction and instead leaned against the gate wearing a cocky sneer. He continued to speak even though both men declined to reply.

      “I heard the horse is damaged goods though. Too bad, it is.”

      “Heard from whom and where?” Devlin stepped forward, annoyed with the rude pup who thought to interrupt and invite himself into a private conversation.

      “I’ve heard it about. Some fool will purchase the horse and wind up with a problem instead.”

      Phineas stepped to the forefront, the same annoyed insolence marring his face as displayed on Devlin’s. Something in the ostentatious nature of the interloper’s tone made him readily defensive. “This horse is in fine condition. Rumors circulate before auctions all the time. You’d do well to ignore them.” And then, against his better judgment, but with the same impeccable manners he always employed, he continued, “Viscount Fenhurst. Have we met before?” He initiated a handshake, skeptical of the man’s intentions.

      Devlin watched the exchange with cautious interest.

      “I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Lord Ridley. My friends call me Arlis.”

      Devlin interrupted with a mutter meant for Phin’s ear only. “I wouldn’t doubt the entire audience knows you’re vying for this horse. Don’t let your guard down.”

      Phin nodded in agreement.

      “Are you new in town? New to Tattersalls?” Phin continued to assess the dark-haired gentleman with narrowed eyes. As a good judge of character, something did not sit right. He frequented the horse house often and recognized everyone. Undoubtedly he’d never seen this man. The contrasting shock of white hair near his temple guaranteed he would remember such an uncommon appearance.

      Ridley didn’t answer, posing a question of his own. “Are you fixing to bid on Trump’s horse then? I could only aspire to purchase such a fine animal.”

      Phineas deferred to ignore the rude inquiry. Devlin spoke in low tones, discussing the horse and simultaneously dismissing Ridley.

      “You have nothing to worry about, Phin. No one can match your bid and even if they do, you’ll have me for reinforcement. The animal is too good to pass. I spoke with Trumpington last evening at the club. He knows you’re his prime investor. I’m confident you will be riding this animal in two days’ time. More’s the pity you will house him at Betcham Manor when he’s a natural for the Ascot Racecourse.”

      Phin could not stave off a smile. “You never gamble anyway. The horse is better off with me. Now let’s get back to the main floor. I have a lot to tell you. I may have been in Brighton for a fortnight, but I feel like it’s been more akin to a month.”

      The two friends left the paddock and walked past Ridley with nothing more than a nod.

      “So tell me about your houseguests.” Devlin glanced up from his perusal of the auction pamphlet.

      The two men reposed in one of Tattersalls subscription rooms enjoying a brandy. The auction holding their interest wouldn’t start for another hour and there would be many other animals for bid before Trumpington’s horse took the block.

      “After the morning I experienced returning from Brighton, breaking my fishing reel—”

      “Not the Nottingham rod I just gave you?”

      His friend’s immediate interjection voiced disappointment that mirrored his own and Phineas cursed himself for the slip of tongue.

      “Unfortunately that’s the one. My entire morning proved unbearable, but it didn’t end there.” Phineas released a sigh of frustration. “I arrived home to find Jenkins with his smalls in a twist, my entire staff

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