Read Chapter 24: Aftermath: Two in a Derby

Dawn came gray and damp, the exercise yard at Selwood House still pooled with last night’s rain. Helena had been up since five, her riding habit already streaked with mud from the first circuit, when she heard the crunch of boots on gravel and turned to find Julian approaching with a saddle over his arm and Ned Stokes at his shoulder.

She straightened. “You’re late.”

“I’m early,” Julian said. “You’re simply earlier than I expected.” He glanced at Ned, who touched his cap to Helena with the easy familiarity of a man who had known her since she was a child. “Mr. Stokes arrived at my lodgings before dawn. Claims he owed your father a promise to see you race one day.”

Ned’s weathered face creased into a grin. “Said I’d train the horse that carried Lady Helena to a win. Never thought it’d be this one, though.” He patted Julian’s gelding’s neck. “Good bone. Good temper. Shame about the owner.”

“The owner can hear you,” Julian said dryly.

“Then the owner can stop sulking and mount up.”

Helena laughed despite herself. Ned had always spoken to everyone the same way—stable lads and lords alike—and her father had prized him for it. The sight of him here, in the soft morning light, brought a sudden ache to her chest. For a moment she could almost see her father standing at the fence, arms crossed, watching her ride.

She shook the image away. “We’ll start with a simple gallop, side by side, to gauge the horses’ pace against one another. Then we’ll try a staggered start, to practice the handoff.”

“Handoff?” Julian’s brow furrowed. “We’re not passing a baton, Lady Helena. We’re racing together.”

“Together means coordinated. The Whitbury is run on a loop, and the rules allow partners to exchange positions at the halfway marker. If one of us can pull ahead to block Eastman’s line, the other can break free on the inside stretch.” She mounted her bay mare in one fluid motion, settling into the saddle with the ease of long practice. “We’ll need to know precisely how fast you can close a gap, and how well I can hold a lead.”

Julian swung up onto his own horse with less grace but solid competence. “You’ve done this before.”

“I’ve done everything before. I’ve simply never had to do it with a partner.” She met his eyes, and something unspoken passed between them—an acknowledgment that partnership was the one thing neither of them had ever trusted.

Ned cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s see what we’re working with.” He waved them toward the long stretch of turf that bordered the estate’s south wall. “First circuit, easy pace. Let ’em find their rhythm.”

They rode in silence for the first hundred yards, the steady thrum of hooves on damp grass filling the space between them. Helena felt her mare settle into a comfortable stride, ears flicking back to catch her signals. Beside her, Julian’s gelding matched the pace without visible effort.

“He’s responsive,” she called over the wind. “Your reins are too tight. Loosen them—he’ll lengthen his stride.”

Julian adjusted his grip, and almost immediately the gelding’s movement smoothed. He shot her a glance. “You could have mentioned that before we started.”

“I wanted to see if you’d notice on your own.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“Then we’d have had a very short training season.” She urged her mare forward, opening up into a faster gallop. The wind whipped her hair loose from its pins, and she felt the familiar, reckless joy of speed take hold. For a few glorious seconds, she let herself simply ride—no schemes, no debts, no grandmother’s manipulations. Just the horse beneath her and the ground flying past.

Julian caught up to her, his horse surging alongside hers. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m racing. It’s the same thing.” She eased her mare back to a trot, then a walk, turning to face him. “You hold your seat well for a man who claims to have spent his life in counting houses.”

“I grew up in Kent. Every boy learns to ride.” He paused, and something flickered in his expression. “Though my father was never one for horses. He preferred the ledger to the stable.”

There was an edge to his voice that Helena recognized—the same careful flatness she used when speaking of her own father. She said nothing, letting the silence stretch as they circled back toward Ned, who stood waiting with a stopwatch in one hand and a flask in the other.

“Two minutes, fourteen seconds across the half loop,” Ned called. “Not bad. Not good, either. You’ll need to shave at least ten seconds off that before race day.” He squinted at them. “You talkin’ about the strategy or the feelings?”

“We were discussing—” Julian began.

“I know what you were discussing. You were discussing the thing you’re both avoidin’.” Ned capped his flask and tucked it into his coat. “Race day, you’ll have no time for talk. You’ll have to read each other’s moves on the fly. That don’t come from practice. That comes from trust.” He looked between them with the frankness of a man who had outlived his patience for polite evasion. “So I suggest you sort out whatever’s sittin’ between you before the horses are in the gate.”

He walked away toward the stables without waiting for a response, leaving them alone in the gray morning light.

Julian dismounted, letting his gelding graze at the edge of the turf. “He’s direct.”

“He’s been saying what he thinks since I was eight years old. I’ve learned to listen.” Helena slid from her mare and stood beside him, both of them watching the horses. “You mentioned your father. You said he taught you ledgers.”

Julian was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was low, careful. “My father was a man of modest means and immoderate ambitions. He invested in a shipping venture that promised great returns. Instead it foundered, and he lost nearly everything.” He paused. “He had borrowed money to fund it. From an old family with racing interests in Sussex.”

Helena felt her stomach drop. “Ashworth.”

“Yes.” Julian’s jaw tightened. “Your grandfather extended the loan personally. When my father defaulted, the debt was called in full. My father spent the rest of his life trying to repay it. He died owing your family a considerable sum.”

She had known, of course, that her grandfather had been ruthless in business. But hearing it from Julian’s mouth made the abstract knowledge feel suddenly, painfully real. “That’s why you came to London. To collect the land.”

“To settle the debt,” he corrected. “I wanted to pay off what my father owed and clear his name. I thought if I could secure the Ashworth land, I could use it to negotiate an erasure of the debt and restore my family’s standing.” He turned to face her. “I didn’t come to destroy your family, Helena. I came to finish what my father started—to make things right.”

“By taking our estate?”

“By settling a debt that your grandfather never should have called in.” His voice was gentle, but unyielding. “My father was a proud man who made a foolish mistake. He paid for it with his health and his peace of mind. I’ve spent my life trying to restore what he lost—not the money, but the honor.”

Helena looked away, her throat tight. She had spent so long seeing Julian as an adversary, a threat, a man who wanted to take everything her father had built. But he was standing before her now, stripped of the London finery and the sharp edges of negotiation, and he looked simply tired. Tired and determined, in the way of a man who had carried a weight for too long.

“Your father,” she said slowly, “would be proud of you.”

Julian let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I don’t know about that. He would probably tell me I was wasting my time on sentiment when there was a balance sheet to balance.”

“He would be wrong.”

The words hung between them, weightier than either had anticipated. Helena felt the morning air cool against her cheeks, and she realized she had been holding her breath.

Julian reached out, his hand hovering near hers before he let it fall. “Ned said we need to trust each other. I’m not certain I know how to trust anyone, Lady Helena. But I find I’m willing to try.” He paused. “If you are.”

She thought of her grandmother, of the decades of manipulation that had shaped her life. She thought of her father, whose love had been real even if his judgment had not. She thought of the race ahead, and the estate that hung in the balance.

“I don’t trust easily,” she said. “Everything I’ve ever trusted has been taken from me or turned out to be a lie.”

“Then we have that in common.”

She looked at him, at the quiet openness in his face, and made a decision. “All right. We’ll try. But if you cross me, I’ll use that stopwatch to measure how fast you can run from Ned’s wrath. He’s surprisingly fleet for a man his age.”

Julian’s laugh was startled, genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The sun had broken through the clouds now, casting long golden stripes across the turf. In the distance, Ned emerged from the stables with two buckets of water, and the horses nickered at the sight of him.

Helena gathered her mare’s reins. “We’ve got six weeks until the Whitbury. Let’s not waste them.”

Julian mounted his gelding, and they turned back toward the track, side by side. They didn’t speak, but the silence felt different now—less wary, more companionable. The horses fell into step with one another, and Helena allowed herself, just for a moment, to imagine what it might feel like to cross the finish line with him.