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“Darling Quamby,” said his wife, sounding distressed, “of course, Mr Patmore’s coming back. He simply had some urgent business to attend to.”
“Well, that wasn’t my understanding. When I spoke to the gentleman, he said the summons he’d received was timely, as he didn’t have the fortitude required to suffer further rejection when Miss Montrose had made clear through her actions and behaviour that continuing to press his suit was pointless.” He leaned across and said in a loud whisper, “I, too, know what it’s like to yearn for a decade or more for the bright spark of love you once thought was yours forever, but which is now forever beyond your realms.”
Dear God, did everyone still think she pined for Mr Perceval? Is that what Mr Patmore thought? She was about to refute what the earl had said when a cry rang out, and everyone leapt to their feet and shaded their eyes to see two horses—a bay and a black—splashing through the marshes five hundred yards away, neck and neck.
“Dear God, it’s Kardashian and Devil!” Lord Fenton cried, turning to his wife in disbelief.
Eliza’s mouth dropped open. Had he really run the entire course?
With flaring nostrils, the two horses struggled through the muddy depths, their riders exercising their whips to the accompaniment of threats and encouragement.
Loud cheering and whistling issued from the assembled crowd, which now numbered around one hundred. They all surged as far forward as they were allowed since the view of the first families of the district must not be compromised.
“Devil’s lagging!” Lady Fenton shouted, and Eliza was surprised to hear glee in her tone. It certainly echoed hers. She wanted no reason to go through with her ridiculous wager, but tugging at her heartstrings were Lord Quamby’s words. Surely they couldn’t be true? Mr Patmore had left because he didn’t want to be humiliated by her rejection? He’d truly left? Forsaken her?
But then, all she had to do was write and tell him she accepted. Yes, that’s all she had to do.
“Come on, Devil!” There was Mr Bramley’s voice, hard-edged and gritty, urging on his beast. Yes, that’s what Mr Bramley mistakenly believed—that Devil belonged to him because Eliza was so desperate as to have thrown herself upon him, and he now realised the advantages of having a beholden wife.
“Devil’s falling behind!” Lady Quamby’s joyful cry echoed Eliza’s, but in the next moment, a great groan swept through the crowd. Eliza strained to see what had happened. One of the horses had faltered when it reached the final drag of the swamp. It was struggling to gain purchase on the muddy bank to haul itself up while the other horse—the black one! Devil!—was nimbly picking its way through the mud and reeds to break through. Clearly tired, it was trotting towards the finish line.
“Devil! Kardashian!”
The names were shouted with equal enthusiasm and a rising edge of panicked excitement, as Kardashian finally made it onto the flat, his rider urging him forwards, furiously using his crop. The distance between the two horses was narrowing, but still Devil trotted leisurely towards the crowd behind the finish line while Kardashian, foaming at the mouth and with a gleam in his eye, surged forwards.
“Devil!” shrieked Eliza, cupping her cheeks and feeling the world spin. “Devil!” He couldn’t win. He mustn’t!
“Kardashian!” exclaimed Lord Quamby beside her, dropping his opera glasses as he turned to her, his face the picture of shock. “By God, I was sure he was going to catch him. Why, I never saw such a relaxed win. And it’s your Devil, Miss Montrose. Your horse is the winner of the East Anglia Cup!”
Chapter 17
Dazed, Eliza suffered the congratulations around her. Hats and coins were thrown in the air; a bugle rang out; excited children wove through the legs of the adults.
A mud-spattered horseman came to a halt nearby, and leant down to say something in Lord Fenton’s ear.
“Good Lord! Fair and square, then?” she heard him say before Lady Quamby started squealing.
“You’ve won yourself a fortune, Miss Montrose! Now you just have to decide what to do with all that money! Why, to think that Devil actually covered the entire course as all the other horses fell by the wayside. It’s a miracle.”
“And it’s another miracle that the heavens have only just decided to open upon us now. Hurry, ladies.” Lord Quamby waved his sticks about as a glowering rain cloud suddenly emptied its contents. While most of the villagers scattered, Eliza and her friends huddled beneath the canopy that had earlier protected them from the sun.
“Eliza had a different wager on this race.”
Her skin crawled as George Bramley’s voice sounded in her ear, and she thought she might gag as he gripped her by the upper arm and pulled her proprietarily towards him. “She has promised to be my bride if Devil won. It was to be a secret, but now that we’re all gathered here, and Miss Montrose is looking surprisingly glum, I thought this an opportune moment to apprise you of the happy news and hopefully bring a smile to my betrothed’s beautiful face.”
How could she have thought for one moment that there was any future being married to this toad of a man? It made a travesty of her future, and Jack’s too. She must publicly refute it, and she would feel safer to do it here, though it would bring Mr Bramley’s ire upon her head, since he clearly had decided there were distinct advantages to this marriage.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Lady Fenton said brightly, “If you imagined you could keep any such thing secret from us, Cousin George, you’re wrong. We’d all planned to surprise you at the church.”
“Did you, indeed?” He looked enquiringly at Miss Montrose. “So, no secrets, eh?”
“Oh, Miss Montrose said nothing,” said Lady Fenton. “Young Jack made some mention of certain duties he was required to perform involving Devil, and, later, at the church.”
“Also, my clever Ambrose took it upon himself to tell Whittlesea that your wishes had changed, and you now wanted Devil to begin the race.” Lady Quamby smiled sweetly. And, of course, end it too. So, no secrets, Cousin George. And I’m surprised you imagined you could pull one over us.”
His expression had momentarily darkened, noticed Eliza, who felt a jolt of shock at what the ladies were insinuating—Mr Bramley really had intended to rig the horse race, though of course she’d had her own doubts. She supposed they were airing the information publicly so she knew what a blackguard she’d pledged herself to, but they didn’t need this as evidence to shore up her newfound determination to get herself as far away from Mr Bramley as she could.
“You ladies are too clever by half, aren’t you?” said Mr Bramley with a sneer. “Well, I hope Miss Montrose knows that a wager is a wager. She lost the first one, but won the second, and that means she and I shall be husband and wife before the morning.” He brought her hand up and kissed the knuckles. “Funny, but I thought you truly had developed a tendre for my friend, Rufus. He certainly was dangling after you. It was almost comical to watch. He’s gone now, though, and your lover’s tiff ain’t likely to be resolved. He left a note to say any correspondence was to be forwarded t
