Anabelle Bryant - Society's Most Scandalous Viscount

By the time Bitters retrieved him from the study where he’d passed time mulling over correspondence and financial documents, the clock struck midday and his comrades had arrived as planned, deposited in the sitting room. Kell approached with an odd mixture of enthusiasm and reservation. Both men were loyal, dependable gentleman, Oliver Nicholson, his comrade for over a decade. R. James Caulfield, Earl of Penwick, more or less a fresh acquaintance—an association formed through Jasper St. David’s investment business—though the new earl proved an amiable gentleman.

Kell smiled as he made way down the hall. The buffoonish diversion of his friends was welcome, although news from London would need to be approached with caution. Their visit seemed a double-edged sword. Not one to cower from inevitabilities, Kell entered the room and greeted his guests.

“What warrants this unexpected visit?” No need to chase his own tail. He may as well discover why his friends had appeared on his doorstep without advance notice. With a nod for Bitters to enter with refreshments, Kell waited for the servant to vacate the room before continuing. “Not that I’m displeased to see you.” His life was rife with contradictions and perpendicular purpose. As much as he wished to separate from the distraught scene left in London, another part of him yearned for a sense of ordinariness befitting a proper gentleman, instead of the role of an emotional cripple to a bastard-making sire and a mother who knew no love other than of herself.

“Just passing through.” Oliver aimed a conspiratorial wink in Penwick’s direction and selected a sandwich, taking a hearty bite. He chewed for what seemed a ridiculous length of time before he spoke again. “Truth is, Penwick asked me along to Bexhill where he committed to purchase several new horses. We have a stallion with us now and agreed you’d be the perfect person to confirm the grade. The animal waits for your approval in the stable.” He swung his attention to Penwick. “By the by, I’m inviting my older brother Randolph to London next month and I’m certain he’ll need a new mount. Something to keep in mind, along with Kell’s inspection of the newly purchased cattle.” Oliver took another bite of sandwich and settled in his seat, the latter part of the elucidation apparently falling to Penwick.

“I’d appreciate your opinion if it’s not too much trouble,” Penwick appealed with a solemn expression. “It’s the new money and title that has me at crosses. I’m to suddenly fall in line with the loftiest aristocrats when last year I was nothing more than the distant relative of an upper ten.” He stifled a smirk that displayed his discomfort. “I’m not complaining, although the transition has been swift and unsettling. Purchasing a stable of superior horseflesh is both necessary and expected.” Satisfied with his explanation, he too prepared a plate and forked food into his mouth, his expression grim as he took less than enthusiastic bites.

“I’d be happy to examine the animal. What are your future plans? Will you stay through the week then?” The company would be a distraction. Aside from a growing interest to find the lovely miss from the moonlight, Kell had little on his agenda, and a lingering question hung in the air—were his friends here to check on his behavior following his distinct and abrupt exile from London, or were they passing through Brighton in earnest? He wondered for a fleeting moment if by chance Jasper had instigated the visit. St. David was a true and trusted friend. Jasper would be concerned about his welfare.

“Can’t say we will.” Oliver finished chewing. “Penwick’s not just about horses these days so back to the city we go.” He nodded his head toward the window as if London began on the front lawn. “He’s wife shopping too.”

This prompted an unexpected round of chuckles, although everyone seemed uneasy with the suggestion of volunteering for a leg-shackle. A fraught silence followed.

“Jasper appears content despite his new condition.” Kell admired his friend’s risibility, able to approach life with an effortless disposition. “I’ll stick with horses.”

Laughter made another round.

“The delightful Miss Shaw is a rarity and I’m happy for Jasper’s recent marriage.” Oliver replaced his dish on the table and reclined in the cane-backed chair. “May we all be so lucky when the time for betrothal arrives.”

“It is my purpose and next course of action.” Penwick appeared conflicted though his words rang with determination. “A man can plan his future, know when the correct choice lies in reach, yet sometimes Fate interferes.” A cryptic note of inquiry punctuated his admission.

“I doubt the future holds any such munificence.” Kell stated the fact with bald aplomb. He was a man of singular focus and despite his conflicted hopes for marriage he had his reservations about the condition. “Tell me more about your new horse. Can he compare to my Nyx?” The question was posed as a courtesy. No other mount had the stamina, speed, or intelligence of his Arabian. He straightened his shoulders with pride. Damn it, he loved the animal more than he should.

“Nearly as fast, I presume.” Penwick’s enthusiasm revived with the change of subject. “At least that’s what I was led to believe, although if you’re up for it, after lunch we can take them out for a run. It’s why Oliver and I chose to swing our travels to Brighton in the first place.”

The two men exchanged a meaningful stare and Kell again wondered at the level of truth in Penwick’s statement. He’d determine it soon enough. Discarding suspicion, he pursued the equine topic, always a gratifying diversion.

“Excellent. I propose we ride to South Downs. There are miles of flat range before the crest and as long as we avoid the steep escarpment to the north, our horses can race the wind unencumbered by hazard. The only way to determine your mount’s leg is by a good hard sprint.” Kell spent many mornings outrunning the susurration of regret and enduring remorse. Riding Nyx served as joy and release.

“You’re not suggesting a race through Hell’s Gate? Only a fool bent on expediting his journey to the underworld would dare such a feat.” Oliver’s incredulous tone announced his opinion, while Penwick’s head jerked up with mention of the notorious pass.

“Kell’s not so foolish.” Penwick didn’t say more. “The danger involved is out of the question.”

Hell’s Gate consisted of a narrow opening through dual opposing rock formations near the scarped slope of the undulating chalk downlands. Visitors and locals revered the precipitous rocks as a natural wonder, their irregular shape often epitomized in literature and art, although Kell saw it as a challenge waiting to be conquered. He’d often flicked his eyes toward the constricted opening and clenched his fists to tamp down temptation. He held no doubt Nyx could maneuver through the jagged rocks unscathed, as slick as a key turns a lock. It was more a matter of when he’d choose to accomplish the task and revel in yet another fulfillment of the unimaginable. He’d know when it felt right and then he’d accomplish the same.

“We can race wherever you like. Nyx knows the land well while your mount will be at disadvantage. Take a run along the cliffs if you prefer or eliminate all danger and keep to the vast flats. Nyx and I are game for any challenge.”

“You regard your animal as if a relation.” Penwick eyed him with dubious interest.

Kell couldn’t respond with the words that sprang to mind. He had no family. Not any legitimate sibling, although if bastards mattered he likely had a dozen. His horse served as his closest companion and the relationship worked well. Nyx was a confidant and loyal friend.