Page 15 of The Love Potion
The very thought depressed her. She’d grown up blissfully ignorant of the financial pressures on her family. They lived in the vicarage and had food and clothing. That was a fortune compared to others in the parish. She hadn’t known that her father maintained their lifestyle thanks to a moneylender. And now her poverty stole any hope of what she most wanted: a husband who loved her and children of her own. She could bringnothing to a marriage contract, and therefore was doomed to the life of a poor relation companion or governess.
And yet, she clung to her dream anyway. “I hope that there is some man who will see my worth beyond my prospects.”
“Assuredly there are,” returned the duke. “But not, I think, in Zoe’s circle. You must look among the merchants.”
There was no cause for him to say it like she was dropping into the sewers. “There are fine men among the lower orders,” she said, her tone sharp.
He glanced down at her, his expression open with surprise. “Of course, there are. Many better than theton.” He grimaced. “But you will never meet them while dancing attendance on Zoe. If you want something different than being a paid companion, you should meet those men while your looks are still striking.”
Good God, did he think she was fading with every breath? “Thank you for your advice, Your Grace.” Her tone implied the exact opposite. “I am not exactly in my dotage, you know. But I shall strive to remain hale enough throughout my time in London so as to attract some of the—”
“I’ve insulted you. I did not mean to. My gravest apologies.”
She sighed, seeing that he was truly sorry. But the idea that she could not have reasoned such things out for herself was ridiculous. She did not need him to explain her options to her. Nor did she enjoy his commiseration, as if marrying a merchant was a choice akin to death. It might be societal death for him, but she had never had such lofty goals.
Or rather, she hadn’t since the day she learned the state of her finances. Once upon a time, she had dreamed of marrying a prince. But didn’t all girls? And then they grew up and faced a life of work in their wealthy cousin’s shadow.
Good God, she was tired of feeling this wretched. “I believe I should enjoy a brisk canter, Your Grace.”
“A canter?” he asked, clearly grateful for the change in topic. “Why not a gallop?”
Why not, indeed? “A gallop, then.” With a jaunty wave, she kicked her mount and set off at a bruising pace. Naturally, he kept pace, but she didn’t care. The wind was in her face, the world rushed past in an exhilarating rush, and she felt younger than she had since her parents’ passing. She lost herself in it much as Zoe did, and she laughed in true delight. His Grace certainly did have fine horses.
They rode for nearly an hour, Zoe leading the way. Her cheeks were in high color, her eyes sparkling, and when Kynthea finally caught up to the party, she could hear that her charge had launched into the list of questions for the love potion.
“Think about it, Your Grace,” Zoe was saying. “What would you do if you had to spend a million pounds in a week?”
The man was confused by such a bizarre question. She wasn’t sure why. She had loved ‘What if?’ games when she was younger. What if she were a man? What if she possessed all the gold in the world? What if she had to choose between the man of her dreams and becoming a queen? They were silly hypotheticals meant to pass the time. But apparently, no one had ever played such a game with His Grace.
“But I don’t have—”
“That’s not the point,” Zoe huffed. “See, if I had a million pounds to spend right now, I would buy several very good Irish sport horses perfect for breeding. And I would sell them to you one by one at great profit once you see how important they are.”
“And why would I need an Irish sport horse?”
Oh my. He’d stepped right into the trap, and Zoe grinned as she pushed her answer. “Thoroughbreds are all well and good,” she said, fondly stroking her mare’s neck. “But their bones are too thin. They’re built for racing and nothing else. Your Grace, you’ve been hunting with your thoroughbreds, and that’s notgood for them. Breed in a little Irish and they’ll be strong enough to do what you want.”
“And you think I want to hunt?”
“You have been, haven’t you? Didn’t you put down two horses already this year because of broken bones?”
His Grace’s eyes narrowed. No one in their party needed to ask how Zoe knew that. Obviously, she’d learned it when working as his stable hand. And far from being apologetic about her indiscretion, she was blatantly using the information she’d gleaned to challenge His Grace on the composition of his stable.
“From everything I’ve heard, your father had a talent for racehorses, but you’re more of a hunting man. Personally, I prefer the racetrack.” She giggled. “Well, I prefer racing, but ladies can’t be jockeys, though I think that’s a silly rule. Anyway, your stables have declined somewhat. Good showings overall, but I gather it was your grandfather’s passion, shared in part by your father. But it’s definitely not yours. Which means you should stop pretending to be a racing stable and get the horses you truly want.” She dimpled as she smiled. “Get Irish sport horses. They’re the best for what you want. And that’s what I’d do with a million pounds.”
“That you had to spend in a week,” prompted Lord Nathaniel.
“Right! In a week. What about you, Your Grace?”
The man still looked dumbfounded. Kynthea was making a study of his expressions, and she guessed that he wasn’t shocked by Zoe’s audacity, but startled by her knowledge of his cattle. Which made Kynthea laugh.
“She can get a great deal more specific about what she thinks you should do. Breeding stock is the least of it. She has very detailed opinions about their food, training, and even sleeping quarters. She’s quite knowledgeable and—”
“And I have a stablemaster who has performed excellently without her advice.”
“Well,” Zoe inserted. “I wouldn’t quite say excellently. There are the two horses you had to put down, but even more, you haven’t won a race in years.” She softened her gaze and moderated her voice. “Mr. Barnes is an excellent man, but he’s old-fashioned and narrowminded. He will never bring your stable back into prominence without help.”
“You mean, without your help,” the duke said, his tone icy.
