"Just asking," she said. "I don't know what you would want..."
He put a finger on her lips to stop her. "Don't make this a bargain, Ginny. Just ask."
"I've already asked," she pointed out.
"And I'll not ask anything in return," he said. "Not a bargain."
"So, you're saying yes?"
He grinned. "If, and only if, I can get past your mother-in-law, darling."
Imogen felt the urge to throw her arms about his neck, but instead she just nodded politely. She took her leave, feeling an excitement she wouldn't have believed possible only two weeks before.
The new clothes fit far better than the ones he'd been wearing, and the colors suited him, the same warm browns and creams that Imogen favored herself. He didn't have the look of a fine gentleman about him, not the way Hammersly did, but Imogen didn't care. He was, in her opinion, splendid.
While Guaire went back to the stables to make certain Faithful was bedded down for the night, Imogen spent a long, long evening with Paddy and Mother Hawkes, playing an odd three-handed game of hearts--which Mother Hawkes won every time. Imogen had never been more relieved to retire to her bedroom.
After changing into her nightdress, she washed her face and waited as the sun set, curled up in the chair by the window with a book clenched in her fingers. She didn't think she managed to read a single page.
"Ginny." A gentle touch on her cheek woke her. Guaire stood over her. "Sorry I took so long, but Mrs. Hawkes is down in the stables, playing cards with Jack and Billy. They're going to stay up all night to watch over Faithful. I had to sneak around the track so they wouldn't see me."
She blinked at him blearily, and then woke enough to throw her arms about his neck as she'd wanted to earlier. With a grin, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down against the pillows, regarding her with a look in his eyes she couldn't place. Then he sat down and started unbraiding her hair. "This is only because you want me, and I want you," he said. "Right? No bargain."
She shook her head. "Only because I want you."
His fingers went to the buttons of her nightdress. "I like hearing that, darling."
And impatient, she sat up and undid them herself. They slipped loose at her merest touch.
PART 5
Imogen didn't know how much she slept that night, but when the dawn came, she felt more rested than she had in days.
Guaire slept on--at least she thought he slept. She watched him for a time, thinking that if he left her, it would hurt worse than anything she'd endured before. Her mother's death had left her alone in the world, confused and frightened. Henry's passing had burdened her with responsibilities, but she'd never grown terribly attached to him. Neither of those partings had been by choice, either. If Guaire left her, it would be because he chose to do so, and that would tear her heart out.
But he'd admitted he felt a tie to her. He'd hinted that he wasn't the sort to stray as her father had. She hoped those things meant he wanted to stay, even if he'd never said so.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her, lazily, as if the two of them had nothing else to do all day. He tangled his fingers into her hair, drew her down beside him and kissed her softly. Then he nuzzled her ear and whispered a name she'd never heard before--but she recognized it anyway.
Surprise made her go stiff. His true name--the name with which she could bind him eternally, the name her father had used to bind him for a decade in horse form--he'd simply given it to her. Imogen drew away and stared at him, her mouth open, uncertain what he meant by it.
Guaire smiled and touched a finger to her lips. "I trust you, Ginny."
It was a terrifying power he'd given her. She gathered her wits and said, "I won't betray you, Guaire."
"I know." He rose from the bed and gathered his clothes from the floor. "I'd best go down and check on that horse now. Your mother-in-law's probably put him off his feed."
By the time he'd dressed, she'd managed to untangle herself from the sheets. She kissed him, and he held her a moment longer. "Remember," he said, "you promised. Win or lose, you won't marry him."
She shook her head. "There's no chance of it. I'd let Hammersly have this place first."
Guaire slipped out the door, leaving her to bathe and dress. When Imogen came down in her dressing gown, the maids had already set out breakfast. Mother Hawkes regarded her wearily over a plate of eggs and roasted tomatoes.
"Did you stay up all night in the stables?" Imogen asked.
"I won't ask how you know that," Mother Hawkes said, "but nothing happened to the horse. That's what's important."
"Shouldn't you stay here and get some sleep today, then?"
"Absolutely not," her mother-in-law said. "I can sleep later, girl. This is more important." She sighed and pushed her eggs around on her plate with a fork. "I still don't trust that Hammersly won't try something."
"Guaire plans to walk Faithful into town. In lieu of the morning exercises."
"Excellent idea," Mother Hawkes said with a tired nod. "Keep that horse out of the public eye as much as possible."
"I don't know how to help," Imogen said. She'd never been to the races as the owner. "What do I do today?"
"Distract Hammersly when and if he comes to find you," Mother Hawkes said. "Wear that ivory and brown dress from last year, the one you look so well in, and that brown hat with the pheasant feathers. If Hammersly's looking at you, he's not near our horse."
Imogen shuddered at the thought of making polite conversation with Hammersly. Then again, if Mother Hawkes had been awake all night and still intended to go to the races today, if the stable hands had stayed up to guard the horse, if Guaire had trusted her enough to give her his true name, then she could damn well make a sacrifice. She might even smile at the man.
She would have to practice that a couple of times first.
***
The dress was her favorite, one of the few non-work garments she'd purchased since Henry's death. The princess lines of the ivory-colored dress showed that she'd not lost her youthful shapeliness in the last eight years, and the fine brown lace overlay on the bodice and split overskirt complimented her coloring perfectly. She looked at her reflection in the long mirror in the dressing room and, for the first time in years, felt pretty.
She surveyed the dressing room then, taking in the preponderance of pink gowns and suits and decided that as soon as she had time, they were all going to go. If the Young Women's Industrial Club could use bedding, then she suspected decent garments might be useful to them as well. She didn't care if it left her with only a couple of old riding habits and the clothes she wore to work around the farm. People in town wouldn't die if they saw her wearing the same thing day in and day out.
Pleased with her decision, she marched downstairs to talk to Paddy before she and Mother Hawkes left. He was frustrated at not being able to go to the race himself, but she promised to send back word as soon as they could. "And if you'll stay in bed," she said, sitting in the chair next to him, "I'll talk Mother Hawkes into having that wheeled chair of hers brought out here."
He was leaning back against the headboard, still wearing his nightshirt. "Good luck with that, girl," he said in a dry voice. "I've been trying for days."
Imogen pressed her lips together. "We'll see."
Mother Hawkes picked that moment to peek into the bedroom. "Are we going, girl?"
Imogen rose and, before she left, leaned down and kissed Paddy's cheek. "For luck. We would never have gotten this far without you, Paddy."
He waved her away, his cheeks a touch ruddier than usual. "Oh, go on before she starts throwing things."
Imogen hurried out of the room and ran to catch up with her mother-in-law.
***
Buggies crowded the entryway to the track, a few automobiles among them, making Imogen glad they'd decided it would be fastest to leave the buggy farther away under the watchful eye of a young boy eager to make a bit of money. They walked the rest of
the way. The many-peaked roof of the grandstand waited on their left, and Mother Hawkes headed that direction while Imogen went in search of their horse.
The paddock area was crowded, men and horses milling about between the races. Imogen didn't see any women there and hadn't thought to ask Mother Hawkes if a female owner was allowed inside, so she stopped at the white fence and tried to spot her people among the bustling crowd. She finally saw Guaire--looking quite attractive in his new garb--talking urgently to Billy and Tommy. Tommy held Faithful's reins. Despite the fact that the horse had already been saddled, she didn't see Dave Williams anywhere. She waved and caught Guaire's eye, and he came over to the fence where she waited.
"He's not here," Guaire told her, a line appearing between his dark brows.
"Mr. Williams?" Their jockey had never missed a race yet, and Imogen couldn't believe that he would miss today's running. He'd been looking forward to it. She glanced at the stable hands, trying to decide what would be the best course of action. "Can Tommy ride him?"
Guaire surveyed the wiry former jockey. "Faithful trusts him. I don't see much alternative if Williams doesn't show up soon. I was just going to send Billy to his lodgings to check on him."
"Well then, go ahead and ask if Tommy's willing to ride. I think he's still licensed." She tried to remember what had to be done to change jockeys at the last moment. "We'll have to improvise, but I don't intend to scratch. I'd ride Faithful myself, first."
Guaire snorted, touched the brim of his cap and crossed to where the hands waited. While Imogen watched, Billy dashed away on foot.
She headed back around toward the grandstand, clutching her hat to her head and holding up her skirt slightly with her other hand. She located Mr. Brown in the office below the grandstand and explained the situation. He noted the change of jockey with a raised eyebrow. "Your streak of bad luck is unusually persistent, Mrs. Hawkes."
Imogen couldn't help but agree. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Brown."
"I'll take care of this." He dispatched a clerk off to the judge's stand. "And best of luck to you today, Mrs. Hawkes."
Imogen thanked him and headed around to one of the many stairwells on the front of the grandstand, thinking she'd probably worn off the little heels on her boots. Currently in the interval between the second and third races, the crowds milled about. Imogen climbed the steps into the grandstand with its rows of small tables and bentwood chairs. She found her mother-in-law on the upper level talking with Mrs. Sanderson, the wife of a racing association member.
"Since we missed the morning exercises," Mother Hawkes said as Imogen sat in an empty seat, "people are already muttering about a scratch."
"I suppose it will inflate our odds." Imogen explained about the missing jockey.
Mrs. Sanderson gave Imogen a concerned look. "And Williams hasn't contacted you at all? Bother. He's scheduled to ride one of our horses next Saturday."
Imogen set her handbag in her lap and untangled the ties from around her gloved wrist. "I've sent one of my hands to check at his lodgings, but I thought it unlike him."
"Most unusual," the woman agreed into her lace-edged handkerchief. "Now, you must tell me about this affair with your trainer."
Imogen looked up, hoping her expression stayed neutral. She didn't know how the woman could possibly have heard about her and Guaire. Surely Mother Hawkes hadn't told her.
"I hear that Mr. O'Donnell has a broken leg," Mrs. Sanderson prompted.
"Oh, yes," Imogen managed, and launched into a brief explanation of the incident, which garnered several startled exclamations.
"A true shame." The woman patted her on the knee, and added, "I must say, dear, you're looking lovely today."
Imogen felt her cheeks go warm, but managed to mumble her thanks. She finally extricated herself and dragged Mother Hawkes back to the lower level of the grandstand. People had already started to move in that direction, the men heading down toward the rail while most of the womenfolk remained under the grandstand's canopy. Imogen ducked under an unnecessary parasol and dodged around an overlarge hat, finally managing to find them seats with a decent view of the finish line.
She leaned to one side to see where the trainers and handlers waited. Billy stood there, evidently having returned from Mr. Williams lodgings, but she couldn't see Tommy or Guaire at all, so she turned to look at the starting line. The horses hadn't been led out yet.
That was when she discovered that William Hammersly hadn't gone to the rails with the other men. He sat down in the bentwood chair next to Imogen's, and she barely kept herself from groaning aloud. Given their encounters over the last week, she expected he'd come prepared to gloat when she lost. She ground her teeth together and reminded herself to be polite.
On the other side of her, Mother Hawkes leaned close to whisper, "Don't do anything to him, girl, not on track-owned land. The racing association wouldn't be pleased."
Imogen nodded. She'd managed to master the unbuttoning of buttons the day before, and the graceless removal of gingerbread trim, but not anything more. She didn't know what she could do to him, no matter how tempting the thought.
"Mrs. Hawkes, how nice to see you here." Hammersly nodded toward Mother Hawkes and added, "And you, as well, Mrs. Hawkes."
Imogen was determined to smile for his benefit...but couldn't bring herself to be that friendly. "Mr. Hammersly. I understand your horse didn't do as well as hoped in the second race. So sorry."
He inclined his head in acknowledgement; a sixth-place finish wasn't something to crow over. "I've been trying out a new jockey. A mistake, it seems."
Imogen suspected that jockey would be riding for someone else next week. "Well, I'm expecting good results today."
"Even with Sanford's horse out of the running, your horse will have some stiff competition from McCarran's Voorhees." Hammersly gave her a patronizing smile. "But you're only running your second choice colt, aren't you? Too bad."
Anger burned at the edges of her awareness, but Imogen didn't let it loose. "He has rather long odds, I'm afraid."
"Twenty to one, isn't it? And I understand your new trainer didn't get him here in time for morning exercises. As I said, you really shouldn't hire Irish."
Imogen resettled her feathered hat on her head, wondering into which of his body parts she might jab her hat-pin. Surely the racing association couldn't censure her for that. She turned back to him wide-eyed, and said, "He's satisfied me so far, Mr. Hammersly."
Hammersly's eyes narrowed.
Mother Hawkes choked on something. Imogen turned to her and asked, "Are you all right, Mother Hawkes?"
"Too much soda in this," the older woman gasped. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and coughed into it. After a moment she recovered her composure, waving the handkerchief in front of her face as if to cool herself. "I would have to say that the younger Mr. O'Donnell certainly knows his horses, Hammersly. No faulting him on that score."
Imogen shifted back toward him, trying to look innocent.
"He seems rough-mannered to me," Hammersly said. "Breeding does come out in the end."
Unable to hold it in any longer, Imogen asked, "Did you know my father is Irish?"
That seemed to give Hammersly pause. "Your father?"
"Well, you apparently have such a dislike for the Irish that I thought you should be warned of my provenance."
"Is your father living?" he asked. "I understood that your mother was widowed, Mrs. Hawkes."
"It provided a simpler explanation as to why he didn't accompany us to America." Imogen suddenly had the strongest feeling that Hammersly wanted to move farther away from her. Everyone knew her mother came from a wealthy family, and was the daughter of an earl--an English earl. Learning that Imogen's other parent wasn't as noble must have sadly overset Hammersly's breeding program. For the first time since he'd approached, Imogen actually did feel the desire to smile. She turned her eyes toward the track to hide it.
At the starting line, the jockeys were walking t
he horses into place under the watch of the assistant starters. Dressed in the farm's blue-and-gold silks, Tommy perched up on Faithful's back. Imogen craned her neck to view the trainers and grooms congregated at the white rail and spotted Guaire slipping through the men to find a place. His head turned her direction and, for a second, she thought he looked directly at her. Then he turned back to watch the starting line.
The horses were lined up at the webbed starting barrier. Imogen laid one gloved hand to her breast, nerves suddenly making her stomach flutter. Mother Hawkes clutched her other hand. With a cry from the starter, the barrier sprang up, and the horses leapt into action.
The crowd cheered as the horses sped toward the end of the track. At first they bunched close together, but then two began to pull ahead of the pack--McCarran's Voorhees and Faithful.
Imogen jumped to her feet as they crossed the three furlong mark. The two horses had the field, with Voorhees on the inside as they headed around the curve. But Faithful kept pace with him, coming out with his nose slightly ahead.
Imogen clutched Mother Hawkes' hands as the two horses pounded out the distance, covering four furlongs, and then the fifth. And Faithful pulled a length ahead of Voorhees, crossing the finish line in a clear victory.
"He did it!" Imogen hugged Mother Hawkes, barely able to contain her excitement.
"Get down to the winner's circle, girl," the older woman snapped, barely audible over the voices calling congratulations around them. She wiped at one eye with a handkerchief and shoved Imogen in that direction.
Imogen excused her way through the press of bodies and chairs, slowed by the women who wanted to shake her hand. Then she flew down the grandstand's steps and dashed across the dirt to the rail, holding her skirt up to keep it from the dust. She finally spotted Guaire in the white-chalked winner's circle on the side of the track, holding Faithful's cheek strap.
Evidently someone recognized her, and the men parted to let Imogen through. Her hat came unpinned from her hair, and in her rush to get to Guaire, she just let it fall. When she got to the small circle, she threw her arms about Guaire's neck. "You did it!"
Iron Shoes Page 10
