up to meet him as he fell.
Chapter Seven
Frankie frowned at the overcast sky.
“Any sign of rain?” Uncle Jonas squinted upward as he took her arm and led her through the saddling paddock where all the Derby entries had gathered.
Around them, thousands of spectators had crammed into the grandstand and infield in anticipation of the race, most of them already foxed on the ale and punch being sold by helpful market wenches and boys who carried mug-filled trays through the crowd. The nearby fair had finally closed after a week of revelries, but most of its festivities had simply relocated during the early morning hours to the infield. Odds-makers shouted above the noise of the crowd to entice everyone to place their bets, echoed by the calls of race officials from their high-perched box as they gave last minute orders to the jockeys and trainers. Over it all, excitement buzzed as everyone anxiously awaited the call to the post.
Everyone but her father and Lord Charles.
After Jonas told the viscount what had happened at the bonfire, Charles had immediately been sent packing and deposited unceremoniously at the nearest posting inn to catch the mail coach home. Then Papa had surprised the daylights out of her by apologizing and admitting that he’d been wrong about Charles, if not about finding her a husband. His apology had been grudging, although a small step in the right direction, yet she couldn’t persuade him to join her and Jonas at the track for the race. In his humiliation over events at the bonfire, he preferred to remain at her uncle’s and learn of the race’s outcome when she returned.
“No rain yet.” Inwardly, she cursed rain, drizzle, dew, a freakish snowstorm, and anything else that Mother Nature might hurl at her that would cause Midnight to run a poor race. She had to win. After last night, she absolutely had to win! She couldn’t imagine marrying anyone now except Jack, could never let another man do to her all the wonderful and delicious things he had.
Winning was her only chance of marrying him.
Of course, he hadn’t asked her to marry him, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Yet when she’d awoken this morning, deliciously sore in all kinds of unmentionable places, she knew that he’d claimed her completely, body and heart and soul. But he was gone. A note left for her on the kitchen table explained that he’d left early for the track to see to the horses and that they’d talk once the race was over. Not a marriage proposal either, that note. Still, her heart had panged wildly with hope. After all, Jack loved her, and not even fate could be cruel enough to cheat them out of a future together a second time.
As she walked on Uncle Jonas’s arm past the line of horses, she assessed the competition one last time. Just as she and Shaw had predicted, the horses who possessed a nervous and antsy disposition couldn’t be convinced to remain still; they were unwittingly using up a good portion of their race energy in the paddock before the ribbon had even been raised. Then there were the ones who seemed asleep, as if they wouldn’t jump if someone set gunpowder off beneath them; these could be dismissed outright because they lacked the racing spirit required to win the Derby. Three had been scratched. Only two gave her pause. Both large bays, both alert to all that was happening around them and knowing fully well that today was special. Today was their chance to shine.
But even they were no match for Midnight and Ghost.
Her eyes landed on the end of the line where their two horses waited with their jockeys, along with Paddy and Shaw. Her heart skipped when she saw him. She couldn’t help the small whisper that fell from her lips, “Jack, marry me.”
Uncle Jonas leaned down to catch her voice over the noise of the crowd. “Eh?”
“Black will run free,” she blurted out to cover her slip and waved a gloved hand toward Midnight at the end of the paddock to distract him from her embarrassed blush. “And Mr. Shaw’s gray Ghost beside him.”
“Ah, yes! Very good. Very good indeed.” With pride, Jonas threw out his chest—and his belly along with it. “The cup will be yours, my dear. Count on it!”
No. Jackson Shaw would be hers. And she didn’t count on it. She prayed for it.
Nodding and waving politely to the other owners as she