Miss Delacourt Has Her Day (21 page)

Ginny found the girls to be lovely, but it was the boy, the youngest of the group, who most caught her eye. He toddled along behind his sisters in rapt adoration, and Ginny wondered how much less lonely her childhood might have been had she a brother or sister with whom to play. She would have taken great care of a younger sibling, just as did these girls, who kept a wary eye out for the racing carriage, making sure to round up their little brother and return him to the safety of their mother’s arms before he could be mowed down by the horses.

Ginny made a game of observing them. How many people importuned for candy in exchange for bundles of wildflowers would fall under the children’s bright-eyed spell this time around? The number seemed to grow with each of Anthony’s turns around the track, and Ginny could only mourn her lack of comestibles, as it broke her heart to turn the children away again and again.

In spite of the fun, Ginny spent a great deal of time mentally wringing her hands in anxiety over their antics. The little boy was highly inclined to dash across the road altogether and clamber through the brush that divided the Serpentine Road from the parallel river in order to splash a bit in the water. His sisters dragged him back on a regular basis, but it wasn’t long before Ginny began to worry that the children might not make it back across the road in time to elude the carriage. At the speed Anthony was going and the quantity of dust that obscured his view, she feared he would not be able to stop soon enough should the children not clear the road in time.

At long last the carriage was about to come around the bend for the last time, and Ginny’s current trials would cease: Lucinda’s chatter, her anxiety for the children, and the race itself, on the result of which the fate of her marriage was rumored to rest. Ginny wondered, not for the first time, what had instigated the need for these athletic contests, but she fully comprehended how things stood with Society. Someone, doubtless Lady Derby and her entourage, had put it about that Anthony must perform certain tasks in order to marry Ginny. Once word was out and wagers made for and against, Ginny understood that Anthony had little choice but to proceed regardless of the utter lack of veracity in every word. Who could possibly be so insensible as to deny them marriage based on whether or not he won a carriage race? The idea was preposterous, and her only sorrow in the entire proceedings was Anthony’s lack in confiding in her the truth.

Suddenly the cloud of dust that inevitably preceded the carriage rose into the air, and the reasons behind the need for these contests meant little more to Ginny than the dandelions that dotted the grass. The excitement in the air was growing with the cries and shouts of the spectators, who were jumping from their conveyances and standing in such large clusters that it impeded Ginny’s view of the proceedings.

“Ginerva, do stand and see what is happening!” Grandaunt insisted. “With all this noise it will be a wonder if we will hear that little man with the watch call the time.”

Ginny was only too glad to rise to her feet just in time to see Anthony’s chaise and four round the bend, then come to a screeching halt only a few yards shy of the finish line. The man with the flag became extremely agitated and ran to the carriage through a colossal cloud of dust, waving his arms and shouting that Anthony had stopped too soon, but Anthony, his face caked with dirt, either did not hear or cared not. Jumping out of the carriage from the side opposite his audience, he ran through the bit of brush and scree at the river’s edge and dashed into the water, while the crowd roared in disbelief.

“What is it?” Grandaunt asked with a tug at Ginny’s skirts.

“I don’t know exactly, but he is every inch covered in dust. It looks for all the world that it has driven him mad, as he has run into the river and is splashing about in a craze!”

“Oh, look!” Lucinda cried as she jumped up and down in her carriage, causing all the nearby horses to whicker and neigh. “He has found a dolly in the water!”

Ginny was aghast to see that Lucinda was correct, or mostly. It did seem at first that the object Anthony carried in his arms was a doll, as it had a head and four limbs. However, it also had round pink cheeks and bore a clutch of dandelions in its hand.

“No! Oh, no, it’s him, that precious little boy!” Ginny clambered down from the carriage unassisted and pushed her way through the crowd that had gathered between her and her objective just as a sharp cry from the boy’s mother rose above the gasps of dismay. Once clear of the crowd, she ran to Anthony with outstretched arms to receive the wet and muddy bundle he unhesitatingly deposited into her care.

“He’ll be all right. Find his mother.”

“Yes, but… how did you-?” Ginny asked, searching his eyes made even more blue through the streaks of wet dust that cascaded from his hair and down his face.

“I saw him fall in just before I rounded the bend. I stopped as soon as I possibly could!”

Speechless, Ginny was saved from forming a reply, for the little boy’s mother appeared to scoop him from her arms, prompting the child to wail his fear now that he was safe in the circle of his mother’s love.

Without another glance Anthony dashed back to the carriage and vaulted onto the seat. Taking the reins in his hands, he whipped the horses into movement and drove the few yards to the finish line as delineated by the man with the watch and the flag, who once again waved it and pronounced the race complete.

“He has won!” shouted the man with the flag as Anthony made his way out of the carriage. “He has beat the best time for a carriage race by a full minute!” he cried, and, grabbing Anthony’s wrist, he thrust his arm high above his head.

In spite of the fact that most men in attendance had doubtless wagered against a win, huzzahs filled the air. So loud was the cheering that the whimpering of the little boy was entirely drowned out, and more than one hat was tossed into the sky to land on the road at Anthony’s feet. Ginny was surprised to see that among the curly-rimmed beavers, half-moon bicornes, and hunting hats, more than a few high-poke bonnets could be seen littering the road.

The mood was festive indeed, and it was time to find Grandaunt. However, Ginny took a moment to speak with the boy’s mother, who still stood by her side.

“Is he going to be all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” the mother replied with a grateful smile. “He is a naughty little thing, and it is not, I am sad to say, his first tumble into the water. I should have been paying him more mind.”

Secretly, Ginny agreed, but she could hardly say so. Noting that full color had returned to the boy’s cheek, she gave it a buss and began to look about her for a clear path back to her conveyance, when a shrill voice from above broke through the noisy confusion.

“Hold! Might His Grace have your attention, please?” came the voice as if from thin air. Ginny looked above her head and spotted the disagreeable Mr. Simmons, confrere of Lady Derby, high in the branches of a tree.

“His Grace has something of import to announce!” Mr. Simmons claimed, and he directed the attention of all in attendance to a man standing in a carriage near the last bend in the road around which Anthony had just come. Ginny noted that it was the man who had been in the carriage with Lady Derby the day prior.

“There has been a mistake!” he shouted. “The race has been lost! The time was two minutes over, not one under!”

There came a murmuring from the crowd, but it would seem there were few who were willing to counter His Grace. Ginny turned to see Anthony’s reaction, but he was deep in conversation with the man who had officiated the proceedings. Together they nodded, whereupon Anthony climbed to stand precariously on the seat of the denuded carriage and turned to face his opponent.

“Mr. Shirley informs me he has timed the race accurately!” he shouted loudly enough to be heard by all. “He also timed the disruption and subtracted the minutes lost from the overall time, bringing the race time to just under fifty-eight minutes!”

His Grace made a loud tsk that seemed to echo and reverberate in the hushed silence that now prevailed. “And what of Mr. Shirley’s timepiece? An ordinary watch has not the delicacy of function to accurately record such infinitesimal periods of time!”

“By that I suppose I am to assume that yours does, Your Grace. However, Mr. Shirley’s timepiece is no ordinary pocket watch. It is, in fact, a chronograph and is capable of telling time with the greatest accuracy as well as stopping it.”

Gasps of dismay or surprise, Ginny was uncertain which, rose from every direction, quickly followed by shouts along the lines of, “Give the man Mr. Shirley’s time!” as well as, “I am with His Grace!” When two men in uncomfortably close proximity to Ginny looked as if they would come to blows over their differing viewpoints, she began to feel a bit alarmed. Before she had a moment to reflect on how she was to get through the mob to the relative safety of her carriage, Anthony materialized at her side, his arm around her waist, pushing their way through the crowd. He smelled of dirt, perspiration, a fair amount of horse, and, unaccountably, eau de cologne. She had never known any combination to smell lovelier.

Sensing that he would soon be off again the moment they reached their objective, Ginny considered pelting him with questions, but it would seem that she had her own to answer first.

“How fares the boy?” he asked. Circling her waist with his hands, he lifted her into the carriage, leaving Ginny to think what a pity it was that men’s fashions did not lean toward the display of bare arms, of what would seem, in this case, to be the superbly well-muscled variety.

“He’s fine,” she said once she had caught her breath after the unexpected ride through the air. “His mother is ever so grateful!”

“And your gown? Is it still on holiday in Hertfordshire?”

“We have seen or heard nothing of Madame Badeau since I saw you last.”

He nodded his understanding but avoided looking her in the eye, almost as if he were ashamed or afraid of being caught out in a lie. Once he saw she was safely settled, he turned his attention to Grandaunt Regina. “Good afternoon, Grandmama,” he said with his usual aplomb, though his gaze was focused on His Grace, who was still standing in his carriage a few yards down the row.

Grandaunt lost no time in making her wishes known. “Anthony, don’t let that man get the best of you! Tell him your grandmother insists that you beat Old Q’s time! And you saved the life of that poor little mite. Well done, my boy, well done!” she added, her eyes glowing with pride.

However, he had melted into the crowd before he could see her pleasure in his accomplishments. Ginny could only assume he had gone off to do his grandmother’s bidding. But who was “that man”? He was styled “His Grace,” which meant he could only be a duke. Anthony’s uncle was said to be about to breathe his last at any moment. Common sense dictated it could not be he.

“Whoever this man is, he must have bet a great sum against Anthony’s winning the race. He could have no other reason to cause such a commotion.”

Grandaunt sighed. “Ever since Anthony’s grandfather departed this life, there has been only that man left to cut up my peace”

Ginny felt her eyes go wide. “But no! It cannot be!”

“Indeed it can. He is my son, the Duke of Marcross”

As Anthony pushed his way through the crowd to confront his uncle, the duke, he indulged himself in an examination of his feelings. He was a bit taken aback to learn he felt nothing if not unworthy: of Ginny’s love, of her admiration, and, most of all, her forgiveness. Refraining from telling Ginny of the three trials his uncle had insisted upon was hardly better than telling her an outright lie.

What’s more, he had insisted upon Grandmama’s connivance in the matter. What dark thoughts must have gone through Ginny’s mind when she found herself an unwitting spectator of a race run by the man she trusted above all others, he shuddered to learn. How utterly frivolous the whole event must have seemed in her eyes, especially in light of their impending union and her missing wedding gown. How he wished he had spoken to her of this whole harebrained scheme of his uncle’s as well as his own reasons for participating in it.

He had fully expected her to be as angry as she had been the night previous, yet she had put aside her feelings of betrayal in order to cheer him on. She had come to him, unbidden, when he needed her help in finding the family of that poor, half-drowned scamp. Indeed, she had praised him for what any man might have done had he the knowledge and opportunity.

If he had lost one iota of Ginny’s love and respect through the events of this day, there would be no end to his need to blame himself. Yet, as he pushed his way ever closer to the duke, it occurred to him that there was more than enough blame to be assigned all around. His uncle topped the list, but the names of Lady Derby and Mr. Simmons came immediately to mind, as well. If they hadn’t spread about the news and made a wagerworthy spectacle of both the boxing match and the race, there was a chance no one would have been the wiser. Barring that, he might have consigned the whole thing to perdition without fear that Ginny, some months or years hence, would learn how her husband had turned tail and fled rather than fight for his uncle’s approval.