Page 45 of The Gentlewoman Companion

She bumped his arm. “You needn’t express your doubt so obviously.” Miss Thorpe examined his face. “Was that a smile?” She leaned close to him, a rosy-cheeked grin luring him into deeper calm.

“Are you certain you are ready for a race?” he asked.

“I have been racing for days at Havenwood.” She cast him a brilliant look of self-satisfaction. “Or at least driving very fast.”

Miss Thorpe was prone to exaggerating her equestrian skills, but he could either play along or sit alone in the dark library. No better occupation was available to him. Hunting, fishing, riding, archery—memories of his father tainted other entertainments. He could no more concentrate on estate business than consider his political views. The company of Miss Thorpe was an appealing alternative. A race it would be.

“Choose your carriage, my lord,” she said.

“I will have—” James began.

“I was bluffing! The gray is mine. Nimbus, because he is saintly. You take Cinnamon.”

Was this some jest? Cinnamon, as she called him, was larger and stronger. He looked inside the donkey’s mouth. Young, too.

Miss Thorpe’s lithe frame stepped into the little equipage and took the reins. He followed suit, asking which course the race would take.

“You decide, since you are disadvantaged, not having as much experience as I in the sport of carriage racing.” She was bright and teasing, a restrained smirk on her lips.

He nearly laughed. “Impudent,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

“Oh! We are getting serious.”

“Once around the green.”

“And the prize?”

He knew what he wanted. Her confidence—but he could not force that. He said the second thing that flashed to mind. “The winner takes the reins whenever we are in a carriage together.”

“Perfect!”

Immediately, he regretted his choice. This was the woman who’d jumped a fence with no instruction. He set his jaw. “Prepare yourself, for I will not lose.”

“Very well.” The sparkle in her eyes was becoming, but it increased his suspicion. She was up to something.

They lined up. Miss Thorpe did her best to glare at him, but she was clearly about to break into a fit of giggles. Jones shouted, “Go!”

“Walk on,” James said, but the donkey remained still while Miss Thorpe’s Nimbus kicked up a cloud of dust. He tapped the donkey’s flank with the whip. Nothing. His rival looked back, laughing. “Step!” Cinnamon remained still. “Go on! Move!”

He looked helplessly at his mother. She was shaking, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What’s the trick?” he asked.

She came to him. “Cinnamon was trained for a peculiar client who preferred specific verbal cues. The trainer did an excellent job, but the buyer never returned. I purchased him at a discount.”

“The cues?”

She lowered her voice to keep the donkey from starting. “Hi-up to get him going. Ho to stop. Come it for faster. He’ll do left and right with the leads. Hurry on, now.”

“Hi-up!” Cinnamon took a slow step forward. “Come it!” James shouted, tapping the donkey with the whip. The donkey picked up speed. James kept shouting. The carriage was solid, if bouncy on the gravel path leading around the green, which was a quarter mile around. Miss Thorpe had covered nearly a fourth of the distance already.

“An apple for you if we catch her.” At the words, Cinnamon lunged into a near gallop, a speed he had never seen a donkey maintain. Yet, this one did. Step by step, they rattled closer to Miss Thorpe. “Good! Come it!”

Ahead, Nimbus slowed to a walk, as Miss Thorpe shouted, “Walk on! Walk on! Canter!” She was ahead by two lengths when Nimbus seemed to recall it was a race and darted forward.

Cinnamon maintained a steady gallop, gaining inch by inch. They were only one length behind. James tapped the donkey’s flank as they rolled around the corner, coming head-to-head. Miss Thorpe faced him and showed her teeth. A smile and a threat.

Her expression triggered a longing that made him want to take her in his arms and spin, to feel her laughter resonate and blossom against his chest.