"Good Lord, Spivey. Will this foal never come?" asked Gregory Grisham, Earl of Estabrook.

"We'll have to pull it out, Milord. We can't risk losing the mare."

"You're right. She's the cornerstone of our breeding program and our best hope for a Derby winner."

Sweat stained the shirts of both men as they worked hard to help the mare along. Suddenly, with a gush, the foal emerged.

"Ah," said Spivey, "he's a beauty. Look at the size of him."

"There, there," said Estabrook as he patted the mare's neck. "You've given us a fine lad. Big enough to be a bang-up courser." He gave Spivey a huge grin. "He'll put us on the map I'll wager."

Curious, Estabrook looked up as a young boy raced into the stable "Milord, milord, there's a messenger for you. Waiting in the hall, he is. He says to come quickly." The young stable boy put his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath.

The Earl frowned. "Clean up the dam and her foal, Spivey. Make sure they're feeding properly." He stood and brushed the hay from his clothing the strode through the kitchens. He washed his hands, earning a glare from Cook then grabbed an apple on the way out. He heard the old woman chuckle and smiled.

He met the messenger in the hallway off the kitchen. "Who sends the message?"

"The Duke of Alamuir, Milord. He says it's urgent. I'm to wait for a reply."

Estabrook took the sealed letter from the messenger. "Get yourself something to eat in the kitchen. I can recommend the tarts. You've a long ride back." He flipped the lad a guinea.
"Yes. Thank you, Milord."

The Earl of Estabrook sat down behind his desk in the estate room. He swung his muddied boots onto the desktop, sighed and put his feet back down on the floor. He wondered why he had received such an urgent message that he had to be called in from the stables. He opened the message from his old friend and read:

My dear friend,
I understand that your time in America has proven beneficial and that you have
restored not only your reputation but also your estates. I congratulate you. I've
heard good reports on your racing program. I only wish I could be there at your
success.
You were my truest friend. I remember with fondness our years at school and
our escapades in London. Those memories have been the fodder of my happiest
remembrances these last ten years.
My time on this earth is drawing to an end, and I beg this final favor of you.
I am desperate to see that my widow will be assured of her rightful place in
society. She is a lovely young woman, and I repent of the harm I have caused
her. I have endeavored not to engage her heart, knowing that I would leave her
suddenly. I believe that she will be happiest when she is remarried. I have done
all in my power to set her on that course.
Upon my death, she will travel to Paris and remain under the care of Lady
Sarah, who we both remember fondly. Please see that she arrives safely and is
not beset upon by wastrels and fortune hunters. She will return to London for
the Season, and I rely upon you to escort her where necessary.
My son will be traveling with her. He is a fine young man but at a vulnerable
stage of development. If I could impose upon you further to keep an eye out
for him, you would do me a great kindness.
Catherine, my wife, is unaware of our friendship. I'll leave this to you to
address as you see fit.
All debts are forgiven.
I wish you a long and happy life.
Regards,
Alamuir

He loved Alamuir like a brother. Estabrook took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There was nothing he would not do for the Duke. His life and his second chance at restoring his estates were all due to his friend's assistance. Estabrook's father had left the title in ruin, and rather than face the overwhelming task of setting it all to rights, he turned to gambling, general debauchery, and running from his responsibilities. He was not proud of his early years. Alamuir had seen him through and provided the financial opportunity for the breeding operation.

"Mr. Sharps," he bellowed to his butler, "tell the messenger I will do as Alamuir requests. I'll have a note ready in a moment."

He wondered at some of the phrases Alamuir had used. Whatever did he mean about not engaging his wife's heart? And why, had he never mentioned him to her. They had been friends, after all. He'd never known Alamuir to be ashamed of their acquaintance. He had no interest in the Duchess' heart. Well, there was no use worrying about it. He'd see the job done.

He could ill afford the time away from the estate, and he was not anxious to shepherd some spoiled duchess about London. His days of chasing women about were long over. At the age of thirty-eight, he was happily settled in bachelorhood and raising his horses.

Estabrook had no interest in attending the London season. Being chased by schoolroom misses would be a total bore. He had no wealth to speak of and wouldn't be a prime catch on the marriage mart, but there was the title. There was always a title-hunter willing to sacrifice herself at the altar, or some grasping mother willing to lay a trap for an unsuspecting Earl. Even his miserable reputation wouldn't keep them all away.

However, this was an obligation that he could not turn down. He'd given up hopes of an heir. It was for the best. There was some second cousin somewhere who would gladly inherit his horse farms and the entailed lands. They were self-sufficient and even brought in a tidy profit these last few years.

He did like the idea of visiting Paris. There might be some good livestock he could purchase to improve his herd. Yes, he could make that work. Besides, a debt was a debt, and he owed Alamuir. He sighed deeply, hoping the Duchess was not some headstrong coquette determined on cutting a swathe through the male population, now that he had promised Alamuir to protect her from the very sort she was likely to attract.