Uncle Jonas rounded the corner of the house from the rear lawn and its scattering of outbuildings. As always, he was dressed in tweeds for hunting and surrounded by a small pack of dogs that nipped at his boot heels. “So you’re back from the track. How was this morning’s training?”
“Just fine.” Not a lie—it had gone well. For the horse. Her bottom, on the other hand…ouch.
“Good, good,” he muttered, his attention split between her and the pack of dogs. “And how are your jockey and boy working out for you?”
“They’re doing well.” So that was a lie. But she couldn’t help it. Her father and uncle would never have agreed to participate in any part of this scheme if they knew what she’d planned. They believed she’d found a professional jockey to ride Midnight and a dedicated exercise boy for the training sessions, and she’d said nothing to correct their assumptions.
“Ah, excellent!”
He put a small metal whistle to his lips and piped out three short blasts. Around him, the hounds immediately stopped and sat back on their haunches. All moved nearly in unison, so well trained were they. While Jonas’s horse stables were largely neglected, his dog kennels ranked among the best in England. Always full to overflowing, and each dog a prized possession. He understood the joy to be found in breeding the best animals, which was why he’d agreed to let her and Midnight stay with him in preparation for the Derby. He wanted her to win as much as she did, although for different reasons.
“Oh! I almost forgot. This arrived for you, my dear.” He fished a letter from his breast pocket and handed it to her, still not realizing that she hadn’t moved from the doorframe or that one foot dangled uselessly beneath her. But she was certain he’d noticed her father’s seal on the franked letter, even if he made no comment about it. “The Royal Mail! As dependable as…well, the Royal Mail.”
She forced a smile for him as he moved past her to fling open the opposite side of the double front doors, then entered the house. Once he was across the threshold, he sounded another sharp bleat on the whistle. The pack of dogs scrambled to their feet in a frenzy of whirling paws and clicking toenails on the stone. Not to run back to the kennel but to follow after him, right through the front door, inside the house, and past the aggrieved butler who rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.
Her smile faded, and she glanced down at the letter from her father. Oh, this couldn’t be good!
She snapped the wax seal. As she read the letter, her stomach plummeted to her knees.
Papa had found a man he wanted her to consider for marriage. Lord Charles, the Duke of Norwich’s second son. He’d already given Charles permission to court her and implied that he was willing to consider an offer for her hand—
“By August,” she choked out in a disbelieving whisper.
The letter slipped from her numb fingers and drifted to the porch floor to land at her injured foot.
Her only hope for escape now was to win the Derby. Always before, she’d allowed herself to believe in the possibility that Papa wouldn’t hold her to the agreement, no matter the outcome. But now that hope vanished like a curl of smoke from a chimney. If she won, though, Papa would never renege on his agreement, no matter how much it would irritate him. Viscount Darlington was nothing if not a man of his word. Yet dread squeezed her heart because the odds of winning now were nearly nonexistent.
Shaw was right. She either needed to find a new plan for the race or sell her soul to the devil for a win.
As she reached down to snatch up the letter, she unthinkingly stepped onto her right foot. Pain shot up her leg, through her body, and straight out the top of her head like a lightning bolt. She stumbled back against the door and held on to it so hard that her fingertips turned white as pain pulsed through her.
She blinked hard to fight down the burning tears of pain, frustration, and grief. She couldn’t ride, and now all the hard work she’d put in during the past three years would come to nothing. Ashes! All her dreams would be destroyed.
Worse—there would no longer be any way to delay marriage.
She rolled her tear-blurred eyes as the truth soaked over her like