She couldn’t have him.
He would always deserve better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MORNING
Bran stepped out of Somerton’s grand cathedral that called itself a Thoroughbred stable, and onto the freshly washed cobbles of the stable yard.
He’d come at dawn to get a feel for Rakesley’s operation without the duke around.
It was precisely as Bran thought—Rakesley ran a tight ship. Beneath the watchful eye of the head groom, Wilson, the stable lads and grooms set to their duties, whether that was brushing a horse, mucking out a stall, washing the cobbles, leading a horse out for a ride, changing day-old water for fresh … Everyone knew their duties and set to them.
A groom that Bran had noticed bouncing from one duty to the next crossed his path. “Do you know where a donkey would have spent the night?”
The groom cocked his head. “Did ye saydonkey?”
“The one Lady Artemis brought in yesterday.”
The groom’s eyes brightened. “Ah, yeah, Little Lady.” He pointed in the direction of the opposite stable. “She’s got her own stall in the wing with the hunters and hacks.”
Bran nodded his thanks, tightened his grip around the tree branch that was serving as a walking staff, and began making his way. Behind him, he heard, “Milord?”
He turned to find the groom watching him. “Ye got a limp.”
“Yeah,” said Bran, taking no offense. “I’d rather noticed.”
An impish grin flashed across the groom’s face. “Me pa does a bit of whittling. He could have ye a right nice cane in no time.” His grin widened. “Or a staff, if yer the wizardy sort.”
Bran snorted. The groom had pluck. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Cal.”
“I’ll give it some thought, Cal, and let you know.”
The lad gave a parting nod and sprang off to his duties.
Bran began walking with considerably less bounce. He was familiar with lads like Cal from his years in the cavalry. Possessed of a lightness of attitude and mind, they helped create an atmosphere of energy and vibrancy. From what Rakesley had outlined over supper last night, Bran wouldn’t only be Somerton’s trainer, but its stable manager, too. Unlike Sir Abstrupus’s stables where he’d trained a single horse, at Somerton, Bran would take on myriad duties. There would be the training of the Thoroughbreds from foal to retirement, but also the management of the hunters, hacks, and carriage horses, an undertaking Bran was uniquely qualified for from his years in the cavalry. He knew horses and what it took to manage them.
What Rakesley had proposed was the beginning of a career.
Further, during cigars and brandies, the duke had gone into the specifics of pay. Bran would have a yearly salary, but also a cut of the winnings to the tune of twenty-five percent. Another twenty-five percent would go to the jockey, with the remaining fifty percent to Rakesley. When one considered the number of Thoroughbreds in Somerton’s stables and the scope of the racing season, it wasn’t difficult to see that he would have attained a substantial amount of wealth within the first five years.
How easily he could envision a career—afuture—unfolding before him.
Yet there was a problem.
Artemis.
She hadn’t joined the evening meal last night, and Bran wasn’t sure where he stood with her. Further, it was obvious Rakesley knew nothing of Bran’s past with his sister. If he had, his offer of a job—and a future—likely wouldn’t be on the table.
And while Bran was on the subject of problems, there was yet another one.
The duchess.
The duchess, in fact, did know about the events of a decade ago.
She’d orchestrated them.
