The Romany Heiress (11 page)

“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 if 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.

“I am enjoying myself as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances,” Cate said, passing through
the open doorway in front of Giles.

They stood for a few moments at the stone balustrade,
appreciating the beauty of the lawn laid before them in
the early fall moonlight. In the distance, she caught the
burble of a fountain. She took a deep breath. “The lawn
is lovely this time of night, but I suspect that is not the
reason you brought me out here”

“No, it is not. It appears that you and I have different
understandings of what discretion means. For instance,
I believe discretion includes such behavior as making
oneself as unobtrusive as possible. You, on the other
hand, seem to believe discretion includes behaviors
such as donning men’s breeches and riding a horse in a
fair race on an ungroomed track”