Page 65 of Managing the Major

“Well, keep an eye out. I have to say I was standing nearby, and she watched you and Octavia like the proverbial hawk. I never thought I’d say it, but the look in her eyes wasn’t pretty. Of course, when I went to re-introduce myself, she wouldn’t give me the time of day. Look, here comes Lord Hope. I hear he’s coming up for Saturday.”

After greeting Evan Hope, a lively discussion ensued between the three of them regarding the Saturday-to-Monday visit at Epsom and the merits of the Thoroughbreds in the race. By the time that conversation ended, Alastair felt obliged to spend some time with his sister and niece.

He also found the opportunity to speak with Richard once more—this time to tell him privately about his idea of building a soldiers’ hospital and what that might entail. The earl listened attentively and asked several astute questions, then assured him they would talk further over the course of the week. Alastair left him feeling buoyant with hope.

Unfortunately, by the end of that encounter, the crowd was starting to wane, and Alastair barely wished Octavia goodnight and assured her he would be at Merrick tomorrow to ride before she and Lady Amelia went home for the evening.

Once back in Ovington Square, he started a letter, but found himself falling asleep over the paper, so he retired to bed, content to see Octavia in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Journey to Epsom

When Marie knocked on the door at seven thirty on Friday morning, Octavia already had on her chemise and petticoats and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of dark stockings as Freya lounged on the pillows.

“Good morning, miss.”

“Good morning, Marie. I’ve laid out the turquoise velvet dress and a light cape. The day looks a bit overcast. Did you sleep at all—I certainly didn’t.” Octavia could hardly believe the day they planned to travel had finally arrived. Three whole days of Alastair’s company in Epsom with Richard as host…and her best friend was joining the party. It was heaven!

“I slept perfectly well.” The prosaic answer didn’t dampen Octavia’s spirits because her maid rarely displayed any hint of Gallic temperament.

They packed her things yesterday, and the leather trunk stood in one corner with a portmanteau sitting on top. As she stood for Marie to lace her corset, Octavia’s body hummed with anticipation. She stepped into the velvet dress, and it seemed to take forever as Marie fastened the hooks. She went to the mirror and clapped her hands in delight. The gown was the newest style, with trimmed gigot sleeves and a wide belt in the same dark teal grosgrain. The bodice nipped in at the waist and fit perfectly.

“Madame Brigitte est la toute meilleure.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Madame is the best.”

Octavia could barely stand still as Marie swept her hair up and secured it with hairpins, then applied hot tongs to the clusters of curls around her face. She was fortunate to have natural waves, but Marie used heat for tighter curls.

“Jewelry, Miss Octavia?”

“The opal necklace and earrings, please. Has the earl arrived yet?”

“He is taking breakfast downstairs with Major Fairfax, I believe.”

Both gentlemen rose to their feet as Octavia entered the breakfast room, followed closely by Freya.

Richard pulled out the chair next to him. “Good morning, Octavia. We were just discussing Firefox.”

“Good day, Miss Merrick.” Alastair looked splendid in a gold jacquard waistcoat and indigo clawhammer coat; like Richard, he wore buckskin breeches and tall boots for travel.

His gaze took in her new gown, and with a tingle of pleasure, she sat down at the table, arranging the velvet skirts. “Good morning to you both. Richard, may we dispense with formalities, please? Major Alastair and I are together often these days and call each other by first name now.”

“Of course,” he answered, taking his seat. Her brother, impeccably dressed as always, employed the best tailor in London, and it showed. His charcoal-gray coat fit every impressive curve of his tall figure, and his cravat was intricately tied above an embroidered waistcoat. “Firefox didn’t breeze well earlier this week, so Audley and I gave him yesterday off. We’ll exercise him this afternoon.”

“Is the match race in heats?” Alastair sat down across from Octavia.

“No, it’s a mile and a half, just like the Derby will be in June. My horse has all the speed in the world, but I’m not as certain of his stamina.”

The footman put a teacup and table setting in front of Octavia, and she debated, then took a croissant, too excited to eat much. “What does Mr. Audley think?” Richard’s longtime trainer kept the best racing stable in Woodcote, very close to Epsom Downs.

“He has nothing able to keep up with him, and when they fall back, Firefox stops trying. We hope the two horses today will challenge him to stay in the race.”

“Don’t you dare lose tomorrow, Richard,” she teased. “I plan to make a substantial bet in your favor.”

“I can’t promise anything, dear Scamp,” he said lightly. “Fellingham and Lord Ehnes have strong contenders as well.”

“There’s a good crowd attending. It was all the talk at my club last night,” Alastair said, taking a forkful of scrambled eggs.