“Not a one.” Not even hers if she’d remained in her life. It simply wasn’t done in England, but it felt good to commiserate, even over something as small as their pathetic schooling. “Who are you going to bet on?”
“I haven’t decided.” She handed the program to Valerie. “What do you think?”
Little more than the names of the owners and the horses made any sense to her. Before arriving at West Woodhay House she’d never been on a horse, and her efforts to become a competent horsewoman had been a dismal failure. The grizzled head groom who’d smelled of hay and oiled leather had done his best to teach her confidence in the saddle but even the most docile geldings had refused to obey her. After the fifth pointless lesson, and despite Great-Aunt Lillian’s insistence that proper English girls must know how to ride, they’d abandoned the effort. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Me neither, but it’s still fun, isn’t it?”
“It is.” She returned the program to Christian, relishing the fresh air and freedom of the races. She waved to Lord Astor, Dinah’s uncle, who passed by with Lady Margaret Ogilvy. Even the farmers milling about while waiting for the Farmers’ Steeplechase were treated like equals, the love of horses a great leveler, at least for today. She wasn’t naïve enough to think it would last past the final race, but it hinted that true acceptance was at least possible, or so she hoped. All the talk of who was and wasn’t suitable for a partner wasn’t rolling off her back nearly as fast as she’d like.
“I’ll ask Jakie to place a pound on Schubert for me.” Christian tucked the program into her coat pocket and straightened her silver Scottish thistle brooch. “I feel lucky, especially since Schubert is Mummy’s favorite composer.”
“Ask Jakie to place a quid on Schubert for me too.” She fished a sovereign out of her purse and gave it to Christian. “Maybe we’ll both win.”
“Wouldn’t that be grand, especially since the odds on him are ten-to-one.” She hurried to catch up with Jakie, giving him the coins and her instructions before he and Michael set off for the paddock to place their bets and collect their horses from the stables.
Valerie joined Katherine, Dinah, and Elm at the fence to watch the horses assemble at the starting post. A robust crowd stood around them sending up cheers and murmurs of appreciation about flanks and withers and fine-looking animals.
It wasn’t long before Christian returned. “Jakie is placing our bets on Schubert.”
“You’re going to lose,” Elm said from beside Valerie, the woodsy scent of his aftershave carrying over the tangy aroma of wet mud and horses.
“We have as good a chance of winning as you do. Who’d you bet on?”
“Mixed Fouresome.” He slid her a sideways glance that made her silk scarf seem tighter around her neck.
Tilting her head so the brim of her Robin Hood hat covered one eye, she glanced at him, hoping she didn’t look too much like a little girl playing at sophistication. “A daring choice for a bet.”
He arched an amused eyebrow. “I enjoy a little thrill with my wagers.”
“Does that only apply to horses?”
“It applies to cars too. You should see me driving back to the barracks after a night in London.”
“You handle the wheel well, then?”
“I handle everything well.” He shifted a little closer, his fingers on the railing resting enticingly close to hers. “It’s expected of me.”
“What else is expected of you?” Careful, girl, you don’t want to come off sounding as cheap as Mavis.
“That I return to the barracks before roll call or I’ll have to resign my commission.” He straightened, the teasing chap suddenly replaced by a quite serious one. “We can’t have that.”
“No, w-we can’t.” His sharp change sent her reeling before she got hold of herself. “I’m sure you appear quite dashing in your uniform.”
“So I’ve been told.” He admired the line of horses on the track instead of her, his interest in their conversation waning.
She dropped the coquette act as fast as she’d put it on, failing to wind him up. He’d been ribbing her and she’d fallen for it like a convent school simpleton. Of course, she was one—well, not the simpleton part, at least she didn’t think so. A touch too worldly when it came to some things, but far from silly. “If I ever see you in it, I’ll tell you how dreadful you look, like an overdone peacock, so you don’t get conceited.”
“I’ll rely on your levelheaded judgment to keep me humble.” He swept off his fedora and bent himself into a bow before rising and tapping it down over his blond hair. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s Captain Petre, Mixed Foursesome’s owner.”
With his hands tucked into his pockets, he strolled off to join the mustached and uniformed man.
“What was that all about?” Katherine asked. She, Christian, and Dinah peered down the fence at Valerie, grinning like Cheshire cats at having overheard their little exchange.
“I have no idea.” He’d been enchanted by her, even if he’d been irritatingly confident in breaking the spell. She understood why Mavis had chased after so many men in Ascain. The attention was flattering. “But I enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” Katherine needled, the four of them falling into a fit of laughter.
“Oh, there’s Schubert!” Christian pointed to the tall, black horse with the jockey in green and blue in the saddle. The horse tossed his head against the bridle, nearly trotting in anticipation as he was led out by his groom.
The girls clapped and cheered with the rest of the crowd as the grooms left the jockeys to control the horses at the starting line. The animals snorted and danced in a wide row behind the posts until the gun sounded and they were off, urged on by a chorus of whoops and hollers.
Their Excellencies gripped the fence, pressed in by the crowd as the horses raced past. Bits of grass and mud went flying as the racers crested the hill and bolted out of sight of everyone except the people in the stands with viewing glasses. Over the loudspeakers, the announcer called out the leaders as the horses and riders cleared one hedge and fence and then another. The crowd behind them thinned as people walked out to watch the jumps or set up their shooting sticks to sit and chat until the horses returned to the finish line.
Elm sauntered up to Valerie. “I’m going to watch from out on the field. Care to join me?”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Nothing stood between the people and the charging horses. If an animal tripped and fell or forced the others offtrack, they might trample the spectators.
“I enjoy a little danger.” He winked at her and her heart skipped a beat. “It’s almost as thrilling as the sheer amount of fun I pack into every night. It’s part of my plan to live life to the fullest while I can.”
That didn’t seem like living but risking the very thing he feared, death. “Thank you, but I have no desire to be crushed and miss my chance to live life to the fullest. Be careful.”
“I will be.” He set off with many others across the track and the adjoining field. If he gave her another thought after he left she couldn’t say. He certainly didn’t bother with a second look.
A good reminder, that. Flights of fancy were all well and good, but one needed to keep one’s feet on the ground. That’d been Mavis’s trouble. She’d believed everything every man had told her, especially Augustus John. The painter had promised the moon and left her with nothing except a baby. Tristan should thank his lucky stars Mavis and Valerie’s father had still been married when he’d been born. It’d saved him from being a bastard and completely ruining what was left of his mother’s reputation. Believing too many charming smiles and teasing words was a mistake Valerie wasn’t about to make.
“Still feeling confident about your bet?” Katherine asked.
Valerie turned to answer, when the sight of a man over Katherine’s shoulder made her freeze. I should have gone with Elm. It was better than standing here and risk being seen by Mr. Shoedelin. If she sprinted across the track she might catch E
lm, but she’d look a sight running over the field, her coat flapping, one hand holding on to her hat.
“What’s wrong, Valerie?” Christian asked. “You’ve gone pale.”
“Something in the hamper must not have agreed with you,” Katherine suggested. “The egg salad did seem rather off.”
“It isn’t the egg salad.”
Mr. Shoedelin caught her eye before she could duck behind Katherine. He ambled toward her with the same arrogant stride she remembered from when he’d finally deigned to visit her and Father at their last awful lodging in Ascain. He was the single person in the world who knew the true depths of her humiliation in France and the last she ever wanted to see here.
“Miss de Vere Cole, what an unexpected surprise.” Mr. Shoedelin raised his pointy chin in that imperious way he’d done when she’d first appeared in his office begging for help.
“What are you doing in England?”
Their Excellencies’ eyes went wide at Valerie’s brusque question.
“I’m on holiday from my duties in France.” Mr. Shoedelin tugged at his houndstooth waistcoat, as irritated by this question as he’d been horrified by the one she’d asked him in France. “I thought to take in a bit of sport. Not much of this to be had in Bayonne, but a great many things are different here than they were there, aren’t they?” He narrowed his already small eyes at her and rubbed his thick mustache.
“Yes.” Valerie struggled to get the word past her dry tongue. She had to do something besides glare at him. One wrong word from him, and everyone would know how far she’d fallen in France and how unworthy she was to live in No. 10. Unable to think of anything else, she decided on introductions. “Miss Ormsby-Gore, Miss Grant, Miss Brand, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Shoedelin, the British Consul in Bayonne.”
The man who’d seen her in the hell of that flea-infested hotel in Ascain and condemned her to the hell of the convent school. The announcer continued to call the race over the loudspeakers while Valerie stood there, not giving Their Excellencies any hint as to her connection to the man.
“I knew Miss de Vere Cole and her father in France.” He raised his cap to the girls, who continued to gape at him and Valerie, not sure what to make of this odd encounter. “I saw your picture in the papers. Congratulations on your coming out and being at Number Ten.”
He said it as if high society were the last place he expected to find her.
“If you’ll excuse us, we’re watching the race.”
He glanced at the track, having the tact not to point out that it was empty and choosing a dignified retreat instead. “Give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain.”
He touched the brim of his cap and wandered off to trouble someone else.
“What was that all about?” Christian grabbed Valerie’s arm, keeping her from sagging into the mud.
“Nothing, I’m sorry.” She wanted to run to her car, slide in the back, and pull down the shades. Why couldn’t Mr. Shoedelin rot away in France like all those other minor diplomats and old army majors? Was he and every nasty person she’d ever known going to pop up in England like an invasion of garden moles?
“It didn’t look like nothing,” Dinah insisted.
“It’s just me being silly.”
“Come on, Valerie, out with it,” Dinah demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“A problem shared is always halved,” Christian encouraged.
Not with all Dorothy’s warnings rattling around in her head along with her own. She had no idea if Mr. Shoedelin was discreet or as gossipy as some of the ministers in Downing Street, especially Sir John and his crass wife, Lady Simon. She’d heard Their Excellencies carrying on about John Miller’s questionable prospects and the horror of dancing with poor solicitors. They’d balk at having her in their circle if they learned from a loose-lipped Consul how close Father had come to going to jail because of his creditors and how near she’d been to starving because there’d been no money for food or stamps to write to Aunt Anne and beg for help. The same searing shame she’d experienced the day she’d met Mr. Shoedelin was something she refused to endure again, but she couldn’t put them off. They knew something was wrong and, like terriers, they weren’t going to let it go. She had to tell them something.
“There was a misunderstanding between my father and a shopkeeper in Ascain. Mr. Shoedelin stepped in and made it worse, then convinced Father to send me away to that French école. It was more a boarding school than a finishing school and perfectly dreadful.” It was as much of the truth as she could reveal without giving everything away. She wished she could tell them the whole of it and stop it from weighing on her, to have them say she wasn’t the awful person that day had made her, the one Father had never been able to love, but she couldn’t.
“No wonder you can’t stand him.” Dinah clasped Valerie’s hands between hers. “Boarding school is dreadful, especially a French one, but you can’t let him ruin the day.”
“Not with our bet on Schubert. Forget you ever saw him,” Christian encouraged.
“I wish I could.” It’d be a short Season if Mr. Shoedelin decided to open his mouth to the wrong person and destroy her reputation and whatever chance she had of putting the past behind her. Lady Ashcombe and her ilk would be positively giddy then, and Mavis would crow with triumph. She could stand almost anything except them gloating about her ruin or watching Aunt Anne recoil from her with the same disgust Mr. Shoedelin had flung at her in France.
“You must.” Katherine held out a handkerchief to her. “Remember who you are and where you are.”
People passed back and forth behind them, tossing curious glances their way. At any moment she expected Vivien to saunter by and make everything worse. Katherine was right, she couldn’t fall to pieces here. She took the handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes. She might be that girl from Ascain but she was also the Prime Minister’s niece and everyone expected her to act like it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It happens to us all at times,” Dinah assured. “Especially since we’re getting so little sleep and doing so much.”
“I’ll say.” Christian smiled sheepishly. “I cried the other morning when I chipped my manicure. A month ago I wasn’t even doing my nails. It’s too ridiculous to imagine.”
“Is this really what we’ve become?” Dinah asked.
“Imagine how we’ll be by the end of the Season, but we’ll manage, won’t we?” Katherine added.
“We don’t have a choice but to.” There was nothing else Valerie could do. It was always chin up, no matter how much effort it took to keep it there.
Overhead, the speakers blared with the announcement that the racers were in sight.
“Your horse is coming in first,” Katherine said.
“Is he really?” Their Excellencies cocked their heads to listen to the announcer, the rising excitement of the crowd at the finish line lifting Valerie’s spirits. “He is winning.”
“We have to cheer him on.” Christian grasped Valerie’s hand and pulled her to the fence, the rest of Their Excellencies lining up on either side of them.
Overhead, the announcer frantically called the approaching horses. The grueling track had eliminated many, leaving only the fastest and most agile to round the bend. The final three jumps saw two more jockeys thrown from their mounts. Those still seated cussed at the dismounted men and riderless horses to get out of their way, the melee slowing those coming up from behind and giving the four front horses the advantage.
“Schubert’s in the lead, with Discretion a distance behind, followed by Mixed Fouresome” came over the loudspeaker to a flurry of whoops and applause. “And it’s Schubert for the win!”
“We won, we won!” Christian jumped up and down with Valerie, their screams of victory nearly dislodging her hat before they settled enough to speak, their voices hoarse from cheering. “Ten pounds. Can you believe it? I can finally buy a new pair of gloves.”
Finally buy? An odd remark
, but Valerie didn’t pry. Perhaps Christian’s mother wasn’t as generous with her allowance as Katherine’s. She’d heard more than one girl at a luncheon complaining about her stingy father giving her only a hundred-pound-a-month allowance and fretting over how she’d pay the hairdresser, manicurist, and seamstress.
“How are you going to spend yours?” Christian asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t imagine we’d win.” She had no intention of spending it. She’d learned the hard way in Ascain what the difference between money and no money meant to a woman.
“Let’s collect it and see Schubert in the paddock,” Christian said. “I want to thank him for my windfall.”
Their Excellencies made for the betting booths to collect Christian’s and Valerie’s winnings. The thrill of the race had distracted her from Mr. Shoedelin, but the peace didn’t last. Mavis wasn’t the only bête noir in London she had to contend with, but Valerie couldn’t hide and fret either. She must carry on, as Aunt Anne and Uncle Neville encouraged, and enjoy herself for however long this lasted. It was a great deal easier to do with Their Excellencies chattering and laughing beside her.
“MORE LETTERS ABOUT the monarch’s dinner?” Valerie sank into the armchair beside the sofa, where Aunt Anne sat with a writing desk perched on her lap. Miss Leaf pored over her calendar, the stack of invitations on her desk having grown in size since this morning’s post.
“There’s no end to it. I’m certain some military maneuvers have been managed with less discussion than this dinner.” With a sigh, she signed the letter and handed it to Miss Leaf before selecting a clean piece of paper. Late afternoon sun filled the White Drawing Room and flickered in the crystals dangling from the chandelier. “How were the races?”
Valerie slid the pin out of her hat and took it off, setting it on the cushion beside her. She might mention Mr. Shoedelin and ask Aunt Anne to have Uncle Neville banish him to some far-flung post, but it would raise questions Valerie didn’t wish to answer. “I won ten pounds.”
“How delightful.” The nib of Aunt Anne’s fountain pen scratched over the paper.
The Last Debutantes Page 11