Because Father didn't demand an explanation behind my proposed plan of moving to France, I guessed that he had not been told. A part of me dreaded the time when he would, due to his already strong dislike for my traveling. I did not doubt that the news, coupled with the fact that I was no longer courting Phoebe and thus would not be marrying her, would infuriate him.

For the moment, it was pleasant to be in his good favor. He could not have been more pleased with my actions to fix the Millers' roof. Besides his condemnation on the failure to locate the highwayman, it was all he wished to speak of at dinner. Apparently, when he rode around the estate, the Millers had praised me to the sky.

He didn't seem to hear Rosamund's snide comments on the subject. I was surprised and suspicious when my sister-in-law failed to enlighten him on my 'disagreeableness.' This was just the sort of thing I had expected her to use to her advantage, namely casting me in a bad light.

Philippa refused to meet my gaze all evening. Miles glowered at me with unconcealed anger matched only by George's irritation. Strange to have only Father in charity with me.

There was nothing to keep me from going to my bed early that night, eager to escape the tense atmosphere of my family. In the privacy of my room, I discovered the skin around Skriven's stitches was red and irritated. Resolving to ask Mama discreetly about a possible poultice to keep infection at bay, I went to my bed for the night.

Nerves woke me just after dawn. My sleep had been fitful all night, and I felt barely rested. With my arm even sorer than the day before, I dressed and walked downstairs. I disturbed one of the maids making up the fire in the hall, while a footman scurried through the green baize door. I passed the dining room and went out to the garden.

Dew glistened on the grass and dampened my boots as I walked. The smell of wet dirt and spring flowers filled the air. Early birds chirped in the trees with a few taking flight when I drew too close to their perches.

As I took it all in, I caught sight of Geoff riding towards the stables. The groom's worn face held a grimness I had never seen before. Abandoning my quest for peace, I changed my course and quickened my steps.

"You went out earlier than I expected," I said as I approached where Geoff had engaged a younger groom in conversation. At Geoff's nod, the other man hurried off. Curious, I asked, "Was the course clear?"

"It was not," Geoff said bluntly. In his hands was a length of rope. "I found two holes placed in front of the gates you and Mr. Ward will jump. And a line across the road in front of Oakcrest."

Worse than I had expected.

"I'm sending Jim and Bobby to walk the course again. They'll fill in the holes and make sure no more mischief is done as I assume you cannot be persuaded to call off the race."

Sighing, I shook my head. "Thank you, Geoff."

"An opponent who cheats is not an honorable man."

I reached out and patted Geoff's shoulder. "I cannot prove it, but I am certain Mr. Ward would not stoop so low to win a friendly race. In fact, I suspect it to be the same man behind the hole that felled Mama."

Lamotte had already displayed antagonism towards Ward and me. I did not doubt he was willing to go to any length to keep us from interfering with what he saw as his affair.

"I will warn Ward, and we will both ride with care, I am sure."

Geoff didn't look any less worried, but he gave a brief nod. He hurried on his way, and I returned to the garden. The hour I spent pacing there did nothing to calm my mind. I finally gave up the effort and went into breakfast.

Father and George were at the table when I walked in. "You're up early," Father said as I filled my plate. "It's gratifying to see your traveling didn't ruin the good routine your mother taught you."

"He is only up because his race is today," George said before I could form a response.

I couldn't help but wince as I sat at Father's left hand. I had avoided telling him of the race for good reason. Father had only negative opinions on racing. When I dared to glance over, the disapproval was written on his face.

"Lucas, what does he mean?"

"One of the guests at Braglow declared his mount superior to Phaeton," I said with as much calm as I was capable of displaying at the moment. "We are meeting to settle the matter by means of a race."

"Your pride in your horse is unseemly."

"I cannot agree, Father."

With a scoff, Father rose from his seat, food still on his plate. "As ever, my opinion holds no weight with you," he said as though I had not spoken. "If you come to harm from this ill-advised venture, it is on your head, and you will get no sympathy from me."

As he strode out, I said under my breath, "I would expect nothing less."

"What did you say, Luke?"

Swiftly, I glanced at my brother. His expression was entirely too smug. "I suppose I ought not to expect you to be there to cheer me on," I said, turning my attention back to my breakfast.

"When Father is so against it? I won't be anywhere near that race."

"Your filial support is unmatched."

A loud thud made everything rattle on the table as George's fist slammed into the thick oak of the table. "Why must you treat everything as though it were a jest of some kind?" he asked, his voice taut with anger.

"I will not argue with you, George," I said with a sigh. "I suggest that we both keep our own council until we are finished eating. I, for one, am not inclined to forego a meal to revisit a topic we will never see eye-to-eye on."

He threw down his fork and stood up. "You are impossible," he said, looking down on me. George walked out of the room and slammed the door behind himself.

"Well, if this is what it takes to get some peace and quiet, it is almost worth it," I said half-heartedly to the empty room.

****

An hour before the appointed time for the race, I walked Phaeton to Braglow. When I arrived there, I found Ward at the stable, checking Tesoro's tack. He came over to shake my hand, looking more animated than I had ever seen him.

Concisely, I informed him of the problems Geoff had encountered and of the measures my family's grooms were taking to keep the course clear. Ward scowled and shook his head. "The lengths some people will go to avoid repaying a debt," he said disdainfully. "It is nothing less than criminal."

"You think it is Lamotte's doing?"

"I can think of no other person who could have anything to gain."

It was no comfort to hear my own suspicions stated by another person. As if sensing my concern and unease, Ward shifted the conversation to the races and the bloodlines of this year's winners. He knew much more on the matter than I did due to being present in person for the races.

As the start time drew close, Mr. Ramsey and Miss Darkin came from the house to spectate. The older gentleman informed me in a low voice he desired an audience with me immediately after the race was concluded. From his grave expression, I gathered he had been told my plans for the future and wished to talk me out of them.

At least one thing was going to plan.

Cheerfully, Miss Darkin wished us both luck and cautioned us, in polite, tactful terms, not to be idiots.

While Ward mounted Tesoro, my family's carriage arrived. Philippa came into view first, and to my shock was followed by a sullen George and Rosamund. "We have come to wish you luck, Luke," my younger sister said as she rushed to my side. She patted Phaeton's neck. "Mama desires a detailed account of your win."

If Mama had ordered George and Rosamund to come, it was no wonder they appeared angry. Miles joined them, his expression neutral. I nodded at them before smiling at Philippa. "Thank you, Philly. Though my victory is not assured, you know. Tesoro is a fine steed and Ward a worthy opponent."

I pulled myself into the saddle, feeling a twinge of pain from my injury as I did so, and then nudged Phaeton into motion. Ward and I lined up in the middle of the driveway. Mr. Ramsey held his pocket watch in his right hand, his left upraised. As if they sensed the excitement and tension, Tesoro and Phaeton kept shifting, eager to be off.

"Bywood, if there should be a trap, we call the race off," Ward said abruptly in a low voice I barely heard.

Startled, I sent a glance in his direction. At that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Ramsey bring his hand down. Tesoro surged forward as I swung my focus back. Phaeton responded to my kick, and we were off!

A delighted laugh filled my throat as we drew closer to Ward and Tesoro. My opponent must have heard me for he glanced over his shoulder. For a moment, the expression on his face was one of open amusement. An answering laugh floated back to my ears as he refocused on the race.

Once we were on the road, where it was straight and relatively smooth, I was able to make up for my poor start. Phaeton needed no urging to increase his speed and drew abreast with Tesoro. Ward didn't even glance my way this time, and my competitive spirit flared into action.

Several spectators were along the road, waving and cheering as we went past. Though I didn't give them much attention, I had the suspicion that most of them were from my family's estate and were cheering for me. I did, as I passed the edge of the Miller cottage, raise my hand at them and excited shouts sounded behind me.

Phaeton edged past Tesoro, and I could hear Ward speaking to his horse. I took the lead, determined to keep it. However, I recognized the border of Oakcrest, and I reined Phaeton back. To his credit, Ward didn't try to take advantage. "Lamotte?" I heard him ask.

Glancing over, I gave a brief nod. When I refocused on the stretch of road in front of us, I let out a shout. Three children had run out into the road not more than ten yards in front of us. Ward's exclamation included language Mama would never have approved of.

The smallest child, a girl no more than three years old, screamed in terror, her eyes as round as saucers. Phaeton reacted to the shrill sound, trying to lock his legs. I jerked on the reins, knowing that to come to a stop was not an option. My poor horse objected to the whole thing and reared onto his back legs.

It was in vain that I tried to remain in the saddle. My wounded arm gave out and, as my luck would have it, I landed on it when I hit the ground. A pained cry left my lips as Phaeton trotted off the road.

Blackness filled my vision as I tried to force the pain down. After a few moments, I became aware of someone speaking over me. Blinking, I focused on Ward's face where worry and concern were written.

"Have you broken something?" he asked, seeming to realize I understood what he was saying.

"I don't think so," I said honestly. The only pain was coming from the bullet wound, and I suspected I had torn the stitches. In fact, I could feel warm blood trickling down my arm. "None of the children were hurt, were they?"

"No, and they've run off back the way they came," he said with a scowl. He offered his hand to help me up. "They ought to know better than to run into the road like that. A horseman with lesser skill would not have been able to avoid striking them."

Accepting his help, I got back on my feet. "Somehow, I don't think it was completely their idea."

Ward's eyes darkened with anger. "Lamotte has gone too far if he is inciting children to endanger themselves," he said, balling his hands into fists. "And for what? A miser like him would have only offered them a penny or two, I am sure."

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Turning, I spotted Phaeton nibbling at grass alongside the road. "If it's all the same to you, Ward, perhaps we can postpone this race until we can be sure no one will attempt to sabotage it?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth." Ward sent one last glare at the property before facing me. "You are uninjured?"

Ruefully, I nodded, though my arm was sending streaks of pain down to my fingertips. "Nothing worse than bruised pride," I said, anxious to turn his attention away from me.

The intense fury fading from his eyes, Ward gave a scoff. "Somehow, I don't think that is true, Bywood. Come along. We may as well return ourselves to Braglow."

****

When we trotted up to Braglow, I groaned as I saw the small crowd that had gathered. Confused looks and questions were exchanged as we drew closer. "What's this then?" Mr. Ramsey asked, hurrying to meet us.

"Regrettably, there was an unfortunate incident involving Bywood and a trio of unthinking children," Ward said, swinging down. I followed suit a moment later. "Therefore, we agreed to put off the race until another time."

"How provoking!" Rosamund said with a pout. "We were all dragged out here for nothing? I do hope you scolded the children soundly and punished them."

"Mrs. Bywood, you are so unfeeling!" Miss Darkin said, her tone horrified. "Mr. Bywood, please tell me the children came to no harm."

"Ward assured me that all three ran off on their own," I said to her. I raised my voice as I glanced around the crowd. "I apologize that you all came out expecting a definitive end to our race. Ward and I will complete our friendly competition another day."

To my surprise, the worry did not leave Miss Darkin's face. "Why, Mr. Bywood! You are bleeding!"

Every gaze focused on me and I lifted my hand, realizing at that moment that my fingers were sticky. Sure enough, blood had run down my arm, coming into view on the back of my hand. Many inappropriate words ran through my mind as I raised my head. "Thank you for your concern, Miss Darkin," I said, striving and failing for a light tone. "It's nothing."

"Luke! Why did you not say something?" Philippa let go of Mr. Talbot's arm and rushed to me. Rather roughly, she grabbed onto my arm and examined the sleeve of my jacket, clinging tightly as I tried to get away from her. "Mr. Ward, how could you allow him to ride back like this?"

"He said he was unharmed," Ward said to defend himself. He held his hands up and took a step back as if to distance himself from the situation. "If he chose to keep such information to himself, it is obviously not serious. He rode the whole way back here with no trouble."

"I am fine," I said, grateful to have him on my side. "Philly, let it go. It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Why, there is not a rip or tear! How is this possible?" Philippa asked, her voice puzzled. She stared at me, a frown creasing her forehead. "How can you be bleeding but not have any damage to your sleeve?"

Rosamund gave a loud gasp and brought her hand to her chest. "He was injured before the race!" she said. She spun and grabbed George's arm. "Mr. Bywood, did you not say you shot one of the highwaymen?"

George gave a start. "Surely you don't think—"

"Lucas Bywood is the highwayman!"