meadow. You will both do a full circuit of Larkhill, riding over the common and open ground past the village, up to the woods and through the park, where you will pick up the trail back to the meadow. It’s punishing and steep in places. The full circuit will take an hour or more, but it shouldn’t be difficult since you have ridden it almost every day. The hardest part will be the steep ride up the woods.’
‘Have you familiarised Lord Chadwick with the route?’
‘Yes. He rode it earlier and he’s up for it if you are.’
‘Of course. I can trust Major to handle it.’
‘Lord Chadwick is already at the starting point—along with a hundred others from the house party who have come to watch and to collect their winnings.’
‘No doubt everyone is expecting him to win.’
‘Absolutely—although there are several who have laid bets on you.’
Beatrice looked sideways at her cousin. ‘Where is your bet placed, George? I trust you remember that I am family and that you owe your loyalty to me. Were you brave enough to risk your money on me?’
Kicking his horse into a gallop, he went ahead. ‘That is for me to know and for you to find out,’ he shouted laughingly over his shoulder.
The reception party was larger than Beatrice had anticipated. The entire meadow was filled with all types of people from house guests to grooms, footmen and stable hands and locals from the nearby village. The sun shone down on fashionable ladies beneath bobbing parasols, feathered hats and a colourful array of silk turbans. Curricles and chases were everywhere and those who wished to follow the race were on horseback. Everyone jockeyed for the best position, all animatedly discussing the forthcoming race.
Atop her spirited mount, Beatrice looked radiant, undeniably beautiful, as only she could do when there was something she wanted badly enough and had set her mind to getting it. She slanted an admiring look at her opponent as he approached leading his mount. He wore a tanned riding coat, a pair of buckskin breeches and highly polished brown boots.
Julius also wore a look of unconcealed appreciation on his handsome face as he surveyed her perched atop a raw-boned gelding, a giant of a horse, a glossy chestnut, its coat gleaming almost red. She presented a slender figure and it seemed incomprehensible that she could control the great beast. She met his gaze squarely, her face bright with invitation and challenge.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted politely. ‘It’s a good turnout. All it’s short of to make it a fair are the acrobats and tents. Are you still up for this, Miss Fanshaw—or perhaps you would prefer pistols at twenty paces?’ he teased as he leapt on to his mount with the physical prowess of an athlete.
Beatrice lifted her head, intending to treat him with cool formality, but he looked so relaxed atop his powerful horse and his smile was so disarming that she almost smiled. Confident, her expression open and her green eyes direct, she said, ‘Of course I am up to it, Lord Chadwick—we can try pistols at twenty paces if I lose, which I have no intention of doing.’
‘Then if a duel to the death is to follow, you’d better win if you value your life.’
She laughed lightly. ‘Not only am I a competent horsewoman, I am also a crack shot, so whichever method we use, you stand to lose.’
His horse drew Beatrice’s eye. It was a beautiful dappled grey gelding, its coat as smooth as silk. With sharp features, bright, intelligent eyes and a perfectly arched neck, it really was a beautiful animal, with powerful legs and shoulders. Her opponent was watching her closely and he saw her eyes gleam with appreciation.
‘He is a splendid animal, is he not, Miss Fanshaw?’
‘He certainly is,’ she agreed longingly. ‘As I told you yesterday, had I not already decided on the forfeit, I would be more than happy to take that horse from you.’
‘Never. I will never part with him,’ he laughingly declared.
They rode towards the open gate to the meadow where George was waiting to get the race under way. It was a bright day, but not too hot. The haymakers in the field next to the meadow leaned on their scythes and watched them pass side by side, doffing their caps as they saw the noble bearing of the Marquess, their hearts warming at the sight of their own Miss Fanshaw.
Julius slanted her a look. ‘It’s still not too late to