AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The high-steppers Savage had acquired to pull the new rig were a breed apart from the sturdy carriage horses she had tooled along the turnpike, but Tony swallowed her misgivings, telling herself she’d been around horses all her life and that “attitude” was everything. She believed it and she knew Adam Savage held the same conviction.
She wanted to win this race more than anything she’d ever wanted before. Not only did she want to vindicate her brother’s manhood, she wanted the prize money for herself. Savage passionately admired the ability to make money. She hungered to show him he was not the only one who could do so.
The hostler harnessed the horses in tandem between the shafts and walked the equipage outside into Stable Yard Road. In the sunlight the dark burgundy of the phaeton glowed deep red and the glossy coats of the blooded horses reflected the same color exactly. The stableman nodded toward the long whip standing erect in its pinch ring.
“These cattle are mettlesome, my lord. Don’t touch ’em up until you are out in the country.”
Tony knew the reins would be quite enough for her to handle and the whip would remain securely in its holder. She climbed up on the high perch with her heart in her mouth. Maneuvering about London’s streets would be the tricky part; she had nothing to worry about once she reached the country road.
Amazingly she encountered no trouble as she guided them down the street. Everyone had enough sense to get out of the way, even the languid macaronis who made a profession of sauntering quickened their pace to give her a wide berth.
Tony managed to turn the first corner smoothly enough and when she turned the second corner into Green Park she saw it was almost clogged with horse-drawn phaetons and a boisterously noisy crowd.
Postilions and post boys swarmed about between the carriages giving aid and advice to all the contestants. Tony felt discouraged when she saw that the Prince of Wales’s team consisted of three horses, but then her optimism rose again when she realized that he and Georgiana would take a royal postilion with them.
Crowds of spectators had gathered to vicariously experience the pleasures of the upper class, and a couple of turf accountants were collecting wagers. Colonel Dan Mackinnon was taking care of the private wagers and Lord Onslow was holding the prize money of a thousand guineas.
Southampton and Edward Bouverie, two of the Prince’s gentlemen, strolled up to admire Tony’s horseflesh. They raised their eyebrows and dashed off to find Dan Mackinnon to change their bets. Savage’s high-strung animals were restless, flinging their heads in the air and fighting the feel of the bits beneath their tongues, but fortunately a couple of quick-witted postilions grabbed their harness and tried to soothe them.
Vendors hawked eel pasties, gingerbread, and cheap gin known as “mother’s ruin” to the crowd. As well as availing themselves of the spirits being sold in the park, most of the bucks carried flasks of brandy and by the look of Sherry and one or two others, they had been imbibing to a dangerous degree.
The flowerettes of gaudy ribbon with numbers at their center were handed out. When Tony was handed the last one it turned out to be number thirteen! Her resolve hardened. She would make her own luck. It was another hour before some sort of order was restored from chaos, which gave Dolly Dawson plenty of time to make her way through the mirthful crowd to Tony’s phaeton.
Tony blinked at the garish outfit the actress had chosen. Her powdered wig was a foot high, decorated by scarlet poppies; her dress and frilled parasol were also scarlet. Unfortunately they were different shades and the colors seemed at war with one another. The girl drew every male eye in the park as well as the eyes of the horses, who shied away as she approached.
Tony cursed beneath her breath, then gallantly reached down to give Dolly a hand up. The postilion winked at Tony and said, “Blimey, ye should ’ave put blinkers on yer cattle!”
Dolly giggled, lifted her skirts to show a liberal amount of petticoat and ankle, and when the postilion gave her a leer, she replied, “Should ‘ave put blinkers on you too!”
She gave Tony a brilliant smile. “Coo, this is ever so exciting, my lord. I can feel my blood rushin’ about.” She put her hand on Tony’s thigh. “Ow about you, Lord Lamb?” she asked suggestively.
“Dolly, I suggest you use your hand to hang on to your wig.”
A starting pistol was fired and the Prince of Wales, who had been honored with number one, tooled his phaeton like a wagon driver. He was addicted to speed and had no intention of waiting until he was out of London before he whipped up his cattle.
“That’s the Duchess of Devonshire!” Dolly cried with awe. “I can’t believe I’m ’obnobbing with ‘Er bleedin’ Grace!”
Her bleeding Grace was in a reckless mood, urging George to leave the others to eat their dust. Tony didn’t worry that number thirteen was the last to start. The city streets were no place to vie for position. Caution would be her byword until she reached the countryside. Others who hadn’t the sense they were born with were already out of the race. She passed a phaeton that had lost a wheel and another whose driver had toppled drunk from his perch.
When the road widened and the first trees appeared, the horses picked up speed so rapidly, they outpaced half a dozen other teams in the space of minutes. They were bowling along at such a high speed, all Dolly could do was gasp and hang on for dear life.
Tony saw that the road ahead narrowed and reluctantly pulled back on the reins, knowing there would not be enough space for her and the carriage ahead. That was when she learned the horses must have gotten their bits between their teeth. They surged ahead wildly, passing the carriage as if it were standing still—and to Tony’s alarm she saw she had just passed His Royal Highness.
Dolly shrieked as her scarlet parasol turned inside out. She let go of its handle to clutch the seat with both hands and the thing took off like a projectile. Tony knew she couldn’t control the horses and began to worry about how she would stop them when they arrived at Richmond Park.
She didn’t remember passing any of the remaining racing teams, but suddenly up ahead she saw White Lodge, the royal residence. The gates to Richmond Park had been thrown open and a small crowd had gathered outside. As they thundered through, a great cheer went up. Tony heard it only dimly over the roar of her own blood in her ears.
The horses were thrown off their stride by the crowd and slowed slightly as they climbed the first hill. Tony braced her feet to the floorboards and pulled back on the reins with all her strength, shouting, “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” over and over until she was hoarse. The team veered from the path onto the grassy slope and Dolly felt as if her teeth would be jarred from her mouth. The team slowed to a canter by the time it circled the park, and Tony managed to bring the horses to a quivering stop, just as two other phaetons arrived, neck and neck.
“Blimey,” Dolly whispered, her poppies hanging limply, obscuring her vision, “if this is wot you do for fun, count me out.”
Tony jumped down to fasten the reins to a stout tree with shaking hands before the devil horses decided to bolt. Then she dropped to the grass to catch her breath and gather her wits.
It came as a surprise when she realized the shouts were directed at her. “You won! You won!” regaled the crowd, and suddenly she was laughing and a mollified Dolly was dimpling at the men who competed to hand her down from the phaeton.
The next hour was a blur for Tony as she walked about on wobbly legs accepting congratulations. The Prince of Wales, peeved for a moment that he had lost, told all his friends that he would have won easily if it hadn’t been for a bright red, unidentifiable object that deliberately spooked his gee-gees.
When Maria Fitzherbert arrived, however, the race was wiped from his mind. Here was a much more urgent prize he intended to capture. A picnic feast had been arranged on the lawns of Richmond Park. Footmen spread snowy cloths over trestle tables and were kept busy replenishing the food and drink consumed by the royal guests.
