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“Fair enough. And what would you claim if you win?”
“The winner will take a prize from both losers,” she announced. “If you win, I’ll give you exclusive rights to Primero’s bloodline. If I win, I’m certain I shall think of a suitable prize to claim from each of you.”
“Unspecified forfeits are dangerous stakes, but I agree. Two prizes to the winner, then.” He turned to Withington, his lips quirking. “And what would you have of me?”
His friend grinned back. “The same thing I’ve been trying to wrest from your possession since we were children, of course.”
“It’ll never happen.”
“I’ll still try, just the same.”
“What is it?” asked Victoria.
Julius smiled fondly. “When I was young, Father gave me an exquisitely carved chess set from India. Withy’s coveted it ever since he laid eyes on it. That set’s been the stakes for many a wager between us over the years—but he has yet to win it.”
“I look forward to showing you Silvertail’s beautiful hindquarters,” said Withington.
Victoria chuckled at his tone. “If we are to race cross-country, then I shall enjoy seeing both of you trailing in my wake.”
“Ah, but you’ll have to give us a handicap, my lady,” Julius said with a smi
le. “After all, you’ll be the only one on familiar ground.”
“True. Therefore, I agree to a count of fifteen ticks’ head start for both of you.”
Withington adamantly shook his head in denial. “Very generous of you, but I should feel unchivalrous taking advantage of a lady.”
Amelia snorted and immediately tried to cover it up with a cough.
Julius’s lips twitched with suppressed mirth. “I think, in this case, we had better take advantage of her goodwill. Especially when the stakes are so high. God knows what she might ask of us.”
“Very well. I shall concede to the handicap,” replied Withington, albeit grudgingly. “And what of you, Lady Amelia? Will you be joining the race, as well?”
Folding her arms, Amelia shook her head. “Not I, my lord. I do not share the same affinity for horses as Victoria. I prefer to admire them from afar, when at all.”
“What do you enjoy, Lady Amelia?” pressed Withington.
“Oh, the typical things: music, art, literature,” she said, seemingly caught off balance by his interest.
“Do you play an instrument or sing?”
“I play the pianoforte a bit,” she replied shyly.
“A bit?” cut in Victoria. “Don’t let her modesty fool you, Withy; she’s practically a virtuoso. Perhaps there will be time for a short exhibition after dinner? And you should see her paintings. She’s quite the artist. You’ll find my sister excels at all the feminine pursuits in which I so sorely lack talent.”
“I should love to hear you play, Lady Amelia,” said Withington softly. “I adore music of all kinds. Please say you will indulge my request.”
“Yes, of course. If—if there is time, my lord.”
“Please, call me Withy.”
In spite of the deepening shadows, Julius saw Amelia blush. He smiled. Perhaps there was hope for them, after all.
VICTORIA STARED OUT of the window, thinking how odd it felt to have people in her home, how strange it was to hear the noises of them in halls that had been wrapped in silence for so long.
Carriages lined the drive, footmen streamed in and out of the house bearing luggage, and maids hurried to and fro, settling their masters and mistresses into chambers. Tonight’s dinner would be an intimate affair with their overnight guests. There were twenty-nine in all, including Julius and Withington. Everyone else would arrive tomorrow afternoon for the ball.
Not one invitation had been turned down. Everyone had wanted to be part of what was being called “the event of the Season”—the first in over a decade to be hosted by the Duke of Richmond.
