North said nothing. They came to the entrance of the Park and proceeded along Queen’s Way Road in silence. Alison wondered what he thought of her directness and refused to feel guilty about her words. He was the one at fault, not her. A couple in a passing carriage hailed the Prince, who waved at them perfunctorily and did not stop to chat. They continued to the stable yard in silence, and Alison dismounted and handed Ebon Night’s reins off to a groom, giving the horse one last pat. “Thank you for the ride, milord,” she said.
“Do my compliments really offend you so much?” North said, looking down at her from Pacer’s back. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were narrowed, and she had the feeling he’d been thinking hard about her words all the way back from the Park. If he was finally taking her seriously—she cast about for something to say that would make him understand, if that was what he truly wanted.
“What offends me,” she said, “is not just what you say, but the fact that you continue to say it after I’ve asked you not to. We may not be friends, but I think even acquaintances such as we are should respect each other’s wishes.”
He regarded her silently for a moment, then swung down from the horse and extended his hand to her. “I apologize,” he said, “and you’re entirely right.” He smiled, and it was the natural, non-seductive smile that made him look so much nicer. “Will you forgive my presumption?”
The unexpected appearance of the man from the theater startled a smile out of Alison. She clasped his hand and said, “I forgive you, milord.”
“Thank you.” He released her hand, began to turn away, then said, “One of my horses is racing in three days; would you care to see it? I realize it’s sooner than one week, but this is the last race of the season, and you did seem interested.”
Alison hesitated. The agreement had been for the two of them to appear in public here, where anyone who’d witnessed Alison’s loss of control might see them. But surely the nobles of Tremontane went to the races? And, she admitted to herself, she’d always wanted to see a horse race. “Thank you, milord, I would enjoy that very much,” she said.
He smiled again, still that natural, cheerful smile, and said, “I look forward to it, then. But I warn you, now I know you actually have a sense of humor, I intend to find ways to make you laugh.”
“That sounds like a challenge, milord,” Alison said.
“Ah, but if I make you laugh, I think we both win.” He winked at her, a friendly gesture and not a lascivious one, then led Pacer away in the direction of the stables, leaving Alison to stare after him. That had been unexpected. It won’t last, she told herself, he’ll be back to his old self when I see him next. She hoped she was wrong.
Chapter Six
The Prince was a good driver, but even he couldn’t do anything about the condition of the road on the way to Hartsgate, where the race would be held. He kept the horses to a sedate pace, but the carriage still jolted and bounced down the rutted road. “I’m sorry this is such a rough ride,” the Prince said, interrupting the silence in which they’d ridden for the last two miles. His eyes were bleary and there were dark circles under his eyes. Alison suspected he was hung over.
“I don’t—oof—mind,” she lied. “How much farther?”
“Only another half an hour. I should have brought my other carriage, which is better sprung, but it was such a nice day I wanted to ride in the open.” His words were a little abrupt, terse, and Alison wondered if his condition would make him less inclined to ogle her out loud.
It was a lovely day for early autumn. A light breeze came and went through the trees, bringing with it the smell of earth, warmed by the sun that shone in a cloudless blue sky and made Alison a little uncomfortable inside her heavy garments. She wished she’d dared wear trousers, but this was a public event if not a formal one, and she’d opted for a dark blue ankle-length coat over a lighter blue gown with a fitted bodice and a high neckline. The trees lining the road held on to some of their vividly colored leaves while the rest made piles like brown and gold confetti on the dark earth around them.
A deep jolt nearly sent Alison off her seat. She grabbed hold of its edge and gripped it tightly, and laughed a little to cover her discomfort.
“You might take my arm, instead of that slippery seat,” North said.
“No, thank you, milord, I am well enough as I am,” she said.
They rode in silence a little while longer, then North said, “I won’t eat you, you know.”
She looked at him and saw his face had gone a little wooden and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. By heaven, I’ve hurt his feelings, she realized, and felt red blotches rise across her face. “I’m sorry. That was uncivil of me.” She hooked her right arm through his left and clasped her left hand over her right hand. “Thank you.”
He glanced down at her. “You don’t blush well, do you?” he remarked with a smile.
She gave him an outraged look, then had to laugh. “No, milord, I do not,” she said. “Nor do I cry well. It’s my curse.”
“I suppose everyone needs a flaw or two.” He seemed about to say more, but then subsided back into silence. He had the perfect opportunity to say something suggestive, just there, Alison realized. It boded well for the rest of the day.
“Tell me more about the race,” she said. “I don’t know what to expect.”
“There are several races,” North said. “My horse, Sandy Dan, is running in the third. It’s only his fifth race and he came second the last two times, so I have high hopes for his prospects. The purse in this case—”
“The purse?”
“The prize money. It’s not very big, but as this is the last day of the season, everyone will be looking to see what to expect next year. So it’s a fairly important race. And my rider gets the money anyway; I have no need of it.”
“You don’t ride in the race yourself, then.”
He laughed, but not mockingly. “I’m far too big for the horse. Jackley is an excellent rider and I’d trust him with any of my animals.”
“What about…I hear people bet on horse races.”
He stiffened. “Sometimes.”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes.” Once again he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Alison let it pass.
“You’ll notice many people come to see and be seen rather than to watch the races,” he continued. “I admit I enjoy that part myself, when it’s not my race.”
“I think the horse would appreciate your attention.”
He looked down at her as if wondering if she was mocking him, decided she wasn’t, and laughed. “I think of my horses as a little like people. They all have their own personalities, their own likes and dislikes. Some owners keep a stable, it seems, because everyone else is doing it, delegating its care to employees. I don’t see the point of that.”
“You sound as if it matters to you very much.” The carriage hit another deep rut, and she squeezed his arm more tightly.
“It does. I try to get out to my estate every other week, see how things stand, take some of the horses out for exercise. I love the city, but it’s good to get away sometimes.”
Alison almost said I’d like to see your estate and stopped herself just in time. Don’t forget this Anthony North never stays for long, she reminded herself. Do you want to be trapped in the country with the other one? She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she clung to North’s arm and watched the scenery slide by.
A few carriages passed them, going the other way, and North swung wide each time to let them pass. “During the summer this road is thronged with racing enthusiasts,” he said. “I would have thought, the weather being this nice, we’d see more travelers, even if it is the end of the season. Here, we’re coming up on Hartsgate. The road to the race track isn’t very good.”
“I shudder to imagine what that might be like, if it’s worse than this one.”
He chuckled. “Just hold on. It’s not much farther.” He turned right off the main road into another that was
closer to being a path than a road, muddy and showing signs of many carriages and horses having passed by frequently. Alison clung to North’s arm and hoped her hat wouldn’t fall off. If it did, and landed in this muck, she probably wouldn’t bother retrieving it; the thick soup looked like it was made of more than just wet dirt.
After a few more minutes of painful bouncing, they came out from beneath the trees into a wide field, or whatever an expanse of mud was called. Beyond this expanse lay a grassy oval, its green somewhat dull with mud, two fences made from ropes tied between upright posts defining a track running the outside edge of the oval. Tiered wooden structures, gray and a little uneven, stood facing each other across the long sides of the oval, their risers lined with white wooden chairs. Men and women dressed in colorful riding habits led horses onto the grass toward a pair of white posts that marked off an invisible line.
“That’s the first race,” North said, steering his carriage wide of the spectator stand to an area where several other carriages were parked. Alison released his arm so he could step down from the carriage. “Muddy,” he remarked with distaste, and reached up with both hands to help her down. Alison hesitated for a moment, then gritted her teeth and let him grasp her around the waist and lift her out of the carriage as easily as if she’d been an infant. His hands were firm and, surprisingly, showed no inclination to stray. North himself behaved as if nothing were out of the ordinary, only set her down lightly and then offered her his arm again. After another hesitation, she took it. Perhaps he has changed, she thought, but we’ll see how long it lasts. North looked down at her, and smiled, no hint of a leer in those attractive blue eyes. He really was too handsome for his own good. Alison resolved to be friendly. If he could behave himself, so could she.
Alison was grateful for North’s arm as they picked their way carefully across the uneven ground. Falling here would be far worse than losing her hat. Despite the muck, a number of men and women milled about the area, talking intensely, some of them receiving money pressed upon them and making notes in tiny books. “I don’t understand what they’re saying,” Alison said. “What does ‘four to one against’ mean?”
She felt his arm go tense. “Those are bookmakers,” he said. “They take wagers on different races and pay out to the winners. Four to one against means the bookmaker wagers against the horse winning and is willing to risk paying out four times the amount of your stake—the money you wager—if it does.”
“But you get nothing if your horse loses.”
“Naturally. Let’s go to the stands—” He steered her heavily around the group of bookmakers, but someone called out, “Milord Prince!”
North stopped, then turned around with a smile, bringing Alison with him. “Arthur,” he said. “I’m not wagering today.”
Arthur flicked his gaze at Alison and back again. “Thought you might be interested in Muddy Waters in the third at two to one against. He’s a favorite.”
“You know I never bet against my own horses. Next time, Arthur.” North turned and resumed his relentless march toward the stands.
“Would you mind slowing down? I feel as if I’m being dragged,” Alison said.
North glanced at her, then slowed his pace. “I’d rather not be stopped again. I want to see this first race.” A shout went up, and they could hear horses running all out somewhere beyond the stand. “Or, apparently, the second race,” he said with better humor. Shouting and cheering poured out of the stands, individual words lost in the noise. Alison felt as if it might sweep her away if she let it.
On a whim, she said, “I wonder you’re not wagering today. That man seemed to know you well, so you must place wagers often.”
“I’m not betting today because you’re going to tell my mother every detail of our excursion, and she hates it when I wager on the horses.”
“Why? Do you often lose?”
North looked at her incredulously, then began to laugh. “Countess, you have the strangest sense of humor. Yes, sometimes I lose. Sometimes I win. But my mother knows it’s a low-class habit and she gives me the most disappointed look whenever she hears of it. I would rather not give her any opportunity to do so.”
The cheering went from ecstatic to frenzied. Spectators began leaping from the stands and rushing past them to speak to the bookmakers, waving bits of paper. Alison, without thinking, pressed closer to North and felt him put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “Come this way,” he said, and Alison, a little flustered, stumbled along with him and accepted his hand to step into the stand filled with white folding chairs. “This will give us an excellent view, I think.”
He led her up a few steps and then across to a place near the central aisle, then held her seat for her. “It will take some time for them to ready the track for the next race. Now’s the time for us to see and be seen, Countess.” He grinned at her, then sat back in his seat and stretched out his long legs. Alison settled herself and looked around at the spectators. She hadn’t expected such a cross-section of Aurilien society. Women in trousers sat next to men in full morning dress. Young women in dresses far too sheer for the chilly air huddled together, gossiping and giggling. Young men in fashionable coats stood around for the young women to gossip about. Some of them caught sight of her and North and paused in their conversations, elbowing their friends and covertly pointing in their direction. Alison pretended not to see them. Being noticed was the point of this outing, after all. Well, that and the races.
Alison looked at her companion; he’d gone from sitting back to leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands, his attention focused on the track. He had an exquisite profile and, with his dark hair falling forward over his forehead, he looked younger, like a boy waiting for something exciting to happen.
“Should I be worried that you’re staring at me?” he said, not looking away from the track.
Alison felt a blush beginning. “I was trying to think of something to talk about, since nothing’s happening yet. I’m surprised everything seems so…unfinished, if racing is so popular.”
“This style of racing is the newest thing. It’s why the construction here is so raw,” he said. “Racing carriages is actually more common, men and women driving ten or twenty miles across country. But those long races are only of interest to spectators at the end, and there are so many factors beyond the quality of your horses, like the kind of carriage and how well you handle it. Eliminating the carriages, and shortening the track, makes things more evenly matched and I think makes it more exciting.”
“Have you raced carriages, then?” Alison said.
“Of course. I usually race my grays, though I’ve gone four-in-hand once or twice. It’s a pity, really, that this new form of racing means most of us who are accustomed to racing carriages aren’t able to ride our own horses, but I think it’s a fair trade-off.” There was that light in his eyes again, the light she’d seen the night they’d gone to the theater. He’d forgotten to be seductive in his passion for racing—but, Alison thought, he hasn’t paid me one extravagant compliment or given me a single suggestive glance all morning. Maybe he’s changed, after all.
“There, see that woman down there? She has the signal flag to tell the riders when to start,” North said. “Should be—”
The black and red striped flag swooped down and the horses took off across the earth surrounding the grass, angling to get to the inside of the track as quickly as possible. The crowd surged to its feet, taking Alison with it, and her cry of protest was cut off by the beauty of eight horses pounding around the track, their flanks heaving, their necks stretched out. She didn’t realize she was shouting until the first horse crossed the finish line, reaching out with its neck and head as if that would give it that much more speed. She turned to say something to North and was caught by the excitement in his blue eyes, an excitement that so matched her own that she grinned at him in pleasure and found him grinning back at her. She almost wished they were frien
ds at that moment; if he could be like this all the time, what a pleasant companion he would be.
“Wait until you have a stake in one of the runners,” North said. “It’s ten times as exciting. It’s the next best thing to running the track yourself.”
“I don’t think I could bring myself to wager on a race. I’m not fond of risk.”
“No, you seem a fairly conservative person. But you might choose a horse and pretend you’ve placed a fortune on it.” He winked at her in such a comical way that she laughed.
“Then you will pretend to be a bookmaker, and…is it give good odds on my wager?”
“Indeed, your ladyship. I—Alex!” At the bottom of the stand, Alexander Bishop saluted North with a casual wave. He’d looked as surprised to see North as North had been to see him, but Alison had been looking toward the track, had seen him begin to raise his head before the Prince had said anything, and was certain Bishop had known perfectly well North was there. Why he was pretending surprise, Alison didn’t know, but she glanced at North and saw his smile was a little too fixed for genuine pleasure. The Prince hadn’t expected Bishop to be there, and Bishop knew it; Bishop’s presence made North nervous. If North really did think Bishop was trying to ruin his chances with the Countess of Waxwold, did that mean Bishop was interested in having her for himself? She studied his long, sneering countenance as he climbed up the steps to greet them. He didn’t look at her the way a man looks at a woman he’s interested in—something she had years of experience in recognizing—he looked at her the way a man looks at a one-year-old filly he’s planning to buy. Whatever his interest in her, it wasn’t courtship.
“Alex, you remember the Countess of Waxwold,” North said, having regained his composure.
Bishop bowed, very correctly, over her hand. “Countess, it’s a pleasure,” he said. “Tony, interested in taking a flutter? I’ve heard Daisychain is eight to one against in the next race.”
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