The horses turned into the back stretch, a jumbled mass of glistening coats and long powerful legs. Meredith stretched forward as they approached the next turn, amazed that the animals could endure such a difficult pace.
“It looks like he might be gaining,” Trevor declared.
“Then he still can win.”
“It all depends on how he runs the final stretch.”
Meredith bit her lip as she saw the pack approaching the finish line. One horse, a sturdy looking black, was clearly in the lead, but Rascal was next and moving up with impressive speed.
Meredith grabbed Trevor by the arm and squeezed, her nervous excitement escalating as the crowd set up a cheer.
“We won!” She turned to him, laughing with delight. “How marvelous! We won!”
“So we did.”
“I never knew it would be so rousing,” she yelled to be heard above the shouting. “This is wonderful.”
“Winning always is.” The marquess reached into the basket he had carried from the carriage and pulled out a bottled wrapped in a white napkin. Holding it under his arm, he rummaged with his other hand for the goblets.
“Can I help?”
“Hold these.”
Meredith obediently accepted the glasses. She watched with undisguised glee as Trevor expertly popped the cork on the champagne bottle. Her laughter bubbled over as the foam spilled down the side of the bottle.
“Steady,” Trevor cautioned as he filled each goblet. With a smile, he handed her one. “To Rascal.”
They clinked glasses, then sipped. The wine slid down her throat, the effervescence delightfully tickling her nostrils. “Delicious.”
Trevor took another sip. “’Tis refreshing, though I prefer my champagne served a bit colder.”
Meredith rolled a mouthful around on her tongue, then swallowed. “We are celebrating Rascal’s win. It tastes like ambrosia.”
“Victory is always sweet.” His gaze was intense, yet oddly tender. “Yet never more so than when it is shared.”
That look sent a funny little flutter to her stomach that she deliberately ignored. She marveled anew at how her husband’s mercurial moods could have such a strong hold on her emotions.
And she wondered again why he bothered, when he claimed to be devoid of feeling for her. Was it simply something he could not control? A man of his experience, his reputation, had no doubt been with scores of other women. By his own admission, he was a rogue and a womanizer. Was this heat and invitation he seemed to be casting her way such a part of him that he did it without thinking? Without considering who she was? Or was it more?
The crowd let out another loud cheer, breaking into Meredith’s musings. She looked onto the course and saw Rascal being brought before the crowd. It seemed as though everyone wanted to celebrate the stallion’s victory.
“Thank you for bringing me today,” Meredith said. “I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun.”
“It feels good to scream and shout, does it not?”
“Oh, yes.” Her heart tugged oddly. “Tell me, whom do you favor to win the next race?”
By the end of the afternoon, Meredith’s reticule was weighed down with pound notes and coins. She had wagered, and won, on each race. Never again would she so forcefully criticize her brothers for their gambling indulgences, for she now understood how exhilarating the experience could be.
The crowd had begun to thin as everyone made their way home. While Trevor stopped for a moment to receive congratulations from a group of high-spirited young men, Meredith proceeded to the carriage. It had been a glorious afternoon. The tip of her nose felt a bit tight, for without her parasol she had nothing but the poke bonnet to shield her face from the sun.
She imagined her nose must be pink, perhaps even red, but it did not matter. Nothing could spoil her delight and enjoyment of the day.
The marquess’s carriage was easy to identify among the many coaches sequestered in the area. Its sporty yellow wheels stood out among the more somber black conveniences. Deciding she had had enough exposure to the sun already, Meredith moved to wait in the shade.
As she did, she noticed something in the carriage seat.How strange, I am fairly certain we left nothing behind. Curious, Meredith took a step forward. Then another. Her heart began a thunderous pounding when she realized what is was—or rather, what it had been.
Her parasol. That colorful bit of silk and lace that had mysteriously disappeared just before the first race began was now wedged on the carriage seat at an obscene angle. It fluttered gently in the slight breeze, jagged edges of fabric and lace hanging disjointedly from the exposed frame.
