The Romany Heiress Page 7

  “La! Moreland, you’re the devil to think to steal me away from right under my cousin’s nose!” She used the opportunity to link her arm through Giles’s left, much to Candice’s chagrin.

  Giles joined in with her jest. “It’s a good thing a man’s got two arms when there’s so many pretty women around.”

  Outwardly they made a gay party, going from stall to stall and exclaiming over the gewgaws on display, some ranging from a milkmaid’s cheap fripperies to luxury items all the way from France brought to the fair particularly to catch the eye of a gentleman with means to afford such quality.

  On Cecile’s recommendation, they bought cakes of French milled soap. Giles had found it easy to purchase the soap for his cousin, although he had not found it easy to fathom the expression in her eyes when he’d handed her the cakes, neatly wrapped in a square of white cloth and tied with a lilac-colored ribbon.

  At the ribbon stall, Cecile held up a narrow satin length of cherry-colored ribbon. “There, it would be perfect woven through your hair,” she said to Cate. “Do persuade her, Giles. It would be perfect for the ball tomorrow night.”

  The dratted ball to close the house party. He hadn’t wanted one but Candice had insisted that an entertainment of this level would be incomplete without one. Now it would be an exceedingly clumsy affair dancing attendance, no humor intended, on his supposed cousin and the jealous Candice.

  “Cecile is right, you simply must have it.” Giles confirmed, reaching to hand the vendor the required coins.

  “No, I couldn’t possibly accept it!” Cate protested. “The soap is gift enough.”

  Was that the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks? She’d been remarkably self-assured the entire afternoon, even in the wake of Candice’s put-down. Giles exerted his considerable charm. “I will brook no refusal on this, dear cousin. Soap will eventually melt away but ribbon will last longer as a memento” He was conscious of the hard stare Candice gave him, but he did not waver his gaze from Cate to return it.

  They approached the line of horse stalls, and Giles felt the tension growing on both sides of him; Candice waiting for the right opportunity to pounce, and Cate waiting to strike back. They’d become predatory animals, each stalking the other, and Giles didn’t like the sensation it raised in him. He was quite aware that he was the prize in this hunt.

  “I think either the sorrel mare or this brown are your best choices,” Alain told his wife. “Was there another horse that caught your eye?” He asked when Cecile didn’t immediately respond.

  “What about that one?” Cecile pointed to a chestnut gelding further down the line. The horse was stocky, maybe fourteen hands high, not much bigger than a pony, with a broad chest. His smaller size was thoroughly pronounced against the larger stature of the other horses surrounding him. Additionally, his face looked forlorn, and when he turned his big brown horsey eyes their direction, Alain groaned.

  “You are too softhearted, my dear. That horse is appealing to your emotions.” Nonetheless, the group moved towards the gelding to take a closer look. Alain grabbed the bridle and pulled back the horse’s lips to see his teeth while Tristan checked the legs.

  “Cecile, darling,” Candice gave a superior drawl while the men looked over the horse. “You can’t possibly want this one. It’s docile enough because it’s practically dead. The others are much better choices. They’ve been bred to be a lady’s mount. This one has fallen into it simply by accident.”

  Giles barely suppressed a moan. Of the group, Cecile knew the least about horseflesh on account that she’d been raised by a poor violin maker in France before meeting Alain. Riding and horses was something very new to her since their marriage. Candice had made Cecile’s ignorance very clear with her thoughtless comment. If she wasn’t careful, Alain would take her head off without compunction.

  Cate stirred at his side. That was unless Cate got to her first. Cate stepped forward and studied the horse close up, bending to run a hand across the width of its chest.

  “I suppose if your heart is set on it,” Alain began, returning to Cecile’s side. “There’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the horse”

  “Nothing wrong!” Candice exclaimed. “Wickham, you must persuade her to purchase a different mount. It is not at all suitable.”

  Giles cringed, not bothering to hide his disapproval of Candice’s conduct. His friends were right, he would do well to sever his relationship with her now that she’d shown her true colors.

  Cate straightened from her inspection, which had moved to the horse’s withers. “Baron Wickham is right. There’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the horse.” She ducked under the rope in fluid motion and took up her spot on Giles’s left. “However, I think the price is too much. You would do better to buy the horse after the races when the day is winding down and the vendors are more keen to sell. If the horse is not worth it, the price will come down. If the horse is quality, the price may go up. It’s a risk but at least if the price goes up, you’ll know the horse is worth something.”

  “I bow to your wisdom, Lady Cate,” Alain said. “Let us find a place in the stands to watch the races since they are set to begin in a few minutes”

  There was much activity surrounding the makeshift racetrack as they approached. People were laying odds on horses and others milled about looking at the entries. Giles handed Candice up into the stands and turned to assist Cate.

  “I need a few moments of privacy,” Cate whispered. “I’ll be back.”

  Assuming she meant to seek out a ladies’ convenience, Giles nodded and sat down next to Candice. To assure her safety and direction, he followed Cate with his eyes until she was out of view.

  Once out of sight of the stands, Cate doubled back around to the stall where Cecile had seen the dark gelding. She took off her wide-brimmed hat and shook her hair free of its pins.

  “Hello, Donovan”

  The barrel-chested man at the stall looked up, recognition dawning on his tanned face. “Caterina, I thought that might have been you but I couldn’t tell with that hat. It didn’t make sense you would be all those coves. What are you doing?” He crossed the rope barrier and enveloped her in a big hug.

  “It’s too complicated to explain.” Cate shook her head at her long-time friend. “Are you really selling King Charles here?” She motioned toward the horse, who like the king he was named for, was shorter in stature than most horses of his ilk.

  The man looked at the ground, dismayed. “Times are tough, too tough. He’s a good horse although the stubborn old fella is putting on a good show with all his acting today. I can’t afford to keep him and some of the others. I’m only keeping the ones I can breed”

  “But you can race him. He’s still fast enough for these pony fairs. Surely, his winnings are worth his keep,” Cate argued.

  “That won’t last forever and then where will I be with a horse that’s too old for anything? In the meanwhile, he might pull up lame. These fair races are not organized affairs.”

  Cate nodded in agreement. She knew from experience just how unorthodox these events could be. She’d ridden in plenty. The life of a gypsy ebbed and flowed with the cycle of horse fairs throughout the English countryside.

  “What’s turning in your head, missy? I can see you have a plan,” Donovan said, his own eyes sparking at the thought of a game.

  “Can I ride King Charles today? I’ve seen the other horses. They’re nothing special, just steady quarter horses. They look a lot better than Charlie so the odds on him will go way up. You can keep the winnings, and I can guarantee a solid sale after the race”

  “Not to that snippy broad that was with you,” Donovan protested.

  “Oh no, but definitely to spite her.” Cate laughed.

  In truth, she’d had all she was going to take from the uppity FoxHaughton woman, she thought, hurriedly stripping out of Lady Isabella’s striped muslin and into the spare riding breeches and shirt Donovan carried in his trunk. All afternoon the woman had done
her best to remind everyone of her place beside Giles. Interestingly enough, Giles seemed to begrudge her that position. Yet, gentleman that he was, he had done nothing to overtly dissuade her of the notion.

  The last straw had been her callous assessment of King Charles. That horse was all heart, so attuned to his rider’s feelings that he was practically human. She’d ridden him on a few occasions and knew him to be a mount that would do well with an experienced rider or with someone of Cecile’s limited abilities.

  She tucked her hair up into Donovan’s borrowed cap as best she could without the requisite pins and bloused out the overlarge shirt to hide the hint of breasts beneath. Then she swung up onto King Charles and headed him toward the starting line with a wink for Donovan.

  “Look, it’s my gelding!” Cecile cried, tugging at Alain’s sleeve excitedly.

  Giles smiled over at her, taking in her enthusiasm and trying to put aside his growing concern that Cate had not returned. But since the races were about to start, there was little he could do in way of searching for her. Most likely, she’d been held up by the crowd.

  “Lay a wager for me, Alain.” Cecile beamed up at her husband. “The gelding to win.”

  “Are you sure?” Alain seemed dubious. “To win? That means he has to come in first. Why not to come in second or third?”

  “My dear, it would be like throwing money away,” Candice spoke around Giles in her patronizing tone.

  Isabella broke away from her intense scrutiny of the horses as they lined up. She looked straight at Candice. “I’m in. The gelding to win. Tristan, place a bet for me and one for Lady Cate. She’ll be glad to know when she returns that she has profited in her absence. I think I’ll also lay a wager with you, Lady FoxHaughton. Shall we have a quiet bet on the side between us? Say twenty pounds?”

  “If you insist on throwing away good money, I am happy to take it,” Candice replied with a tight smile.

  “Very good” Isabella returned her attention to the starting line with a knowing smile creasing her lips.

  The starting gun went off. The horses bolted in a haphazard manner from the line. The race would be two laps around the dirt track. Cecile’s gelding managed to stay in the middle of the pack most of the first lap. Giles was impressed it could manage that much. Certainly Alain’s assessment was correct nothing was wrong with the horse, but it hadn’t looked as if it had much zest for something as taxing as a race over rough terrain.

  He had to give the rider his due. Whoever was riding that horse had a splendid seat and an excellent command of the reins. Giles narrowed his gaze, studying the rider-long-legged and slim-waisted from the look of things. Graceful and elegant were two words that came to mind-not usually words he associated with male riders but words he’d often associated with Isabella’s riding over the years.

  As the pack passed the stands at the end of the first lap, the horse edged up to join the two horses attempting to break away from the group. Giles’s estimation of both horse and rider rose. As they sped by, he caught a flash of cherry ribbon against the neck of the rider’s white shirt. A dangerous suspicion began to loom in his mind. Suddenly, he knew why Cate hadn’t come back from the privy.

  By the last half, the race had been narrowed down to the gelding and one other. Cecile rose, cheering beside him. He rose too, his heart in his throat. If it was Cate and she was discovered, there’d be the devil to pay. Anger and worry warred within. Concerns for her safety competed with his anger that she would risk exposure after they’d agreed in the curricle that morning that the best way forward for both of them was discretion.

  At the last, the gelding gave a spurt of speed and crossed the finish line by a decisive neck. It was not a large win but it was a clear win. Cecile and Isabella hugged each other in glee, while Isabella tossed Candice an “I told you so” smile and collected her winnings.

  If Giles hadn’t been so well bred, he would have laughed. As it was, he had enough to worry about.

  “Spelthorne, I have a headache coming on. I must insist on returning to the abbey immediately so I can lie down. Will you mind terribly, taking me back in your curricle ahead of the others?” Candice pleaded.

  Trapped, Giles had to acquiesce. She was his hostess, at least for now. He cast a look at Alain. “Make sure you find my cousin and that she gets back safely. I know the landau will be crowded with five,” he said apologetically.

  “Not to worry, Giles. It looks like we’ll be buying a horse. I can ride home on it.” Alain laughed goodnaturedly as he handed the ladies down to the ground and set off to claim Cecile’s horse.

  Giles handed Candice into the curricle and settled beside her, glad to be away from the fair and on his way home. The day had been full of tension. The drive home would prove quiet and uneventful. He knew Candice. She would sit there and stew, nursing her supposed headache. He didn’t really believe she had one. Candice had the constitution of an ox. She could sulk. He would drive and enjoy the peace.

  They hadn’t gone more than a mile, the pennants of the fair barely hidden from view behind them when Giles realized there would be no peace.

  Candice stiffened beside him, preparing to speak. “Spelthorne, you’ve got five miles to start explaining why you’re trying to pass off that tart as a shirttail relative. Anyone of breeding can see she’s no lady. The dress is probably borrowed. It reeks of Lady Gresham’s style.”

  “Madame, I think you go too far. In three sentences you’ve managed to malign my cousin and my dear friend,” Giles said coldly, hoping to freeze her inquisition with the voice of authority.

  “Oh no, Spelthorne, if anyone went too far, it was you last night. I saw her leaving your private rooms, and I noted that her feet were bare-no doubt to try and hide the sound of her departure”

  She knew. Giles stifled a groan. Oh God. There was going to be hell to pay.

  in the end, Giles was one guest short at supper that evening. After hearing the explanation, which even to him sounded a bit on the lame side of things, Lady FoxHaughton repaired to her rooms, packed her trunks and left for London posthaste to make the most of the fading daylight for the short trip back into town. All in all, Giles thought supper and the ensuing evening of cards was the merrier for her absence.

  While she claimed she left on moral grounds, Giles saw through the transparent claim to her real agenda; she wanted to unsettle the house party by depriving him of the needed numbers and a hostess to oversee the remaining activities. Giles foiled her ploy decisively. Isabella, who was a reigning London hostess of equal caliber to Candice, deftly stepped in to manage the ball for the following night and `Lady Cate,’ who Candice had obviously overlooked when planning her decampment, equaled out the numbers perfectly, slipping into Candice’s vacancy and allowing Giles to sit out the card games. He used the opportunity to circulate among his guests, ensuring their good time.

  By 11:00 and the arrival of the tea cart which signaled the end of the evening, Giles had discreetly dealt with all possible loose ends in regards to the day’s events except one-he had yet to confront Cate about her risky display at the fair. There was no sense in putting it off and there would be no better time to do it than now unless he wanted to risk a trip to her rooms.

  Seeing that Isabella was managing the tea, Giles scanned the room for Cate. Finding her in conversation with Alain and Cecile, he started towards them.

  Cate felt him coming before she saw him begin the trip across the room to her side. She had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, stalked. When she looked away from Alain and Cecile, she saw him searching for and finding her. Their eyes locked for an instant before she tore her gaze away and turned back to Cecile and Alain, animating her conversation with a false gaiety.

  She felt “stalked” because of the guilt. After the euphoria of being victorious with King Charles, she’d been swamped with guilt. She had told Giles she’d be discreet during her time at the abbey but racing King Charles had been an act of flagrant disregard for discretion. What i
f someone had recognized her as Lady Cate, Giles’s cousin? What if Giles himself had recognized her? He might rethink their arrangement and toss her out of the abbey.

  She’d told herself no one could possibly recognize her as she hastily changed back into her borrowed gown. But that fantasy was short-lived, quashed by Isabella as they piled into the landau for the journey home. Isabella had leaned forward and squeezed her hand, congratulating her on the victory. By that, Cate knew Isabella was referring to the horse race but also to the routing of Lady FoxHaughton, who in a moment of pique upon seeing the gelding she’d declared useless, had demanded Giles escort her home immediately.

  Horrified over her disguise being detected, Cate had asked how she’d known. Isabella smiled and made a small gesture to her hair. Cate knew at once Isabella meant the cherry ribbon. She’d felt her hair come down from beneath her cap during the race.

  Now she was worried that Giles knew too. He’d been polite all evening, and she’d been relieved to hear that Lady FoxHaughton had been called away suddenly to take care of matters in London. Everyone had accepted it as a plausible explanation for her absence. Still, whenever Giles had looked at her that evening, there’d been something predatory in his eyes, something that warned she had not fooled him. She was his quarry and there would be a reckoning.

  The reckoning stood next to her, immaculate in dark evening attire and a subdued waistcoat done in bur nished red the color of autumn leaves. “If you will excuse us, there is something I wish to show my cousin.” He nodded to Alain and Cecile, and Cate found herself swiftly detached from the safety of their company with Giles’s hand at her elbow.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he inquired, sounding genuinely solicitous as he steered her towards the open doors leading to the verandah. It was no secret where he was taking her. Neither was there any reason to disguise their destination. There was absolutely nothing wrong with cousins stepping outside to view the gardens. Once out there, they would be visible to the guests inside although their conversation would not be overheard.